Pushing Buttons

I once heard it said that 'it's our family who are the most capable of pushing our buttons, because they are the ones who installed them.'  I don't know about your family, but in mine, I would say this is quite true.  People tend to think of this phrase in a negative way, but I am fairly certain that my family's circuit boards are well equipped with all kinds of buttons: some extra sensitive, some are capable of great destruction, while others are mostly pushed to send a resurgence of warm thoughts, shared hopes and love.

It's funny how we tend to carry on whatever our parents, grandparents and favorite uncles instilled in us.  When we are young, we think we are so different from our parents.  And yet, as the years go by, the similarities creep in more and more.  I can only imagine how this will mold and shape the generations to come.

It can be a scary thought; passing along whatever nuggets of wisdom or peculiar traits we pick up from our upbringing.  How much do you borrow from your parents? And which things are you better off checking at the door??

Is it like a recipe that we feel the need to keep secret and follow to the very letter? Or, should we attempt to improve upon the recipe all together??

It's a sticky subject, but in this day and age, I think it is a rather necessary one to consider.

As a writer and storyteller, I tend to sit back at observe others whether I am consciously aware of it or not.  And I can't help but get some sort of bizarre satisfaction over the dialogue that I overhear on a daily basis.  The things people do and say while at work vs. their home environment is rather amusing.  And I am sure, the same can be true for my own little quirks and sense of humor.

Some characteristics are intensified while surrounded by my family.  And I truly believe it has a little something to do with those buttons I mentioned earlier...

The truth is, I think I've finally come to grips with how similar I am to various members of my family, and on the flip side, how very different I am as well.

The most unfortunate souvenir we carry along with us is this business of needling the people we love the most.  I am not sure who decided way back in the day that picking on their loved ones was some fascinating display of affection, but it seems quite common not only in my nuclear family, but also among other families and within relationships that I see all around me each and every single day. Maybe its the way we manage to stand the people we share our past, present and future histories with. Hmmmm...

But overall, I think we could really do without it.  I wouldn't mind if instead of needling one another, we tried harder instead to build each other up.  Now that is a button I wouldn't mind dusting off for the betterment of all our sanity.

Why not try a little harder to keep our hands to ourselves and leave other peoples'
(more sensitive) buttons the hell alone! Or in the very least, press some positive buttons to build each other up while your're on a roll...

I think that would be a refreshing change of pace for sure!

Today:

Gin & Tonic! 
1 oz Gin
Splash of Tonic 
On the Rocks with a Lime Wedge!!
Delicious, refreshing and so simple!!!

Here with my big brother... the ultimate picker and best friend!!!  

Below: Two future buttons pushers (my nieces)!!

The Calm Before the...

From where I sit today, there is nothing but blue skies and calm seas ahead... literally. It honestly could not be a more picturesque afternoon here on the St. Mary's River.  And to be perfectly honest, as much as I am truly enjoying every moment of it, I can't help but wonder what is waiting on the other side of this seemingly picture perfect September day. How sad! 

I have come to realize just how jaded that sounds!! Does every good thing in life always come with a price? How fortunate are those lucky mega-million lotto winners anyway?? Aren't there a hundred different crazy statistics that suggest a wave of bad luck that ensues upon cashing in your winning ticket?? Ugh... I am beginning to sound pretty paranoid.  

I can't tell you when this little habit began, but somewhere along the way, I began to knock on wood.  After every possible statement of absolution or certainty, I would immediately sense some dangling threat of demise out there... just waiting to prove everything to the contrary.  

And so, I began to knock on wood, throw salt over my shoulder (though now I forget which side is the lucky one) and guard my hand mirrors from shattering at all costs. What is wrong with me???

I get extremely uncomfortable with statements like; 'That'll never happen,' 'that's impossible,' or the worst, 'everything will be just fine.'  Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!! (Knocks on wood.)

Recently, I have attempted to become less of a skeptic; perhaps because I so desperately want to believe that great things can actually occur without some torrid aftermath. Or maybe it's to preserve my delicate hands from knocking feverishly on dining tables, chairs, floors, siding, row boats, pencils etc.  It seems to be some new revised form of superstition, and so I'm not sure how counter-productive these new methods are.  

Instead of sweating bullets for what I fear could happen, I have opted instead to sweat out the anxiety through a ninety minute hot yoga session.  Instead of calming my nerves with an epic freak out, I am turning to the calming blend of essential oils and quiet reflection.  Exhale... Namaste.  

Is it working?? Hmmm, I may have to test this theory for years to come in order to answer that one.  That would only be fair, considering the decades I have spent looking over my shoulder for the, dare I say, inevitable?? 

Although I cannot promise any miracles here, I may just be a few steps closer to striking a happy balance between caution and optimism.  

Could it be possible to just look out and solely appreciate the absolutely perfect day? Given that I just winced while typing the word perfect... I would venture to guess I still have a ways to go. 

But a willing heart is capable of tremendous things! Oh...hello there my little optimistic other half... Welcome back!  

What can I say?? I guess I'm a work in progress.  It's so easy to get caught up in a whirlwind of anxiety over what could happen... 

But no matter what could happen tomorrow, it truly doesn't change how utterly beautiful it is today.  Perhaps this is the calm before the storm.  But if I'm wrong, and my suspicious nature is merely at work again, what a shame it would be to cast that "doomsday" spin on such an otherwise perfect day.

I kick myself and repeat under my breath, "It isn't doomsday. It's Wednesday."  And on that note, I think I will go for a walk and enjoy what is... and not fear what could be. Life is too short for that type of consistent negative mentality.  And this day is far too pretty to feel anything other than peace.

Today:

Brandy Alexander

1 1/2 oz Brandy

1 oz Dark Creme De Cacao 

1 oz Half and half

1/4 tsp of Nutmeg

Shake and strain into a martini glass. 

   

A Case of Cold Feet

You can be sure it is going to be a rather stressful day when every thought that crosses your mind upon waking ends with a question mark.  

When am I going to come back from NYC? When am I going to see my dogs again? Will they miss me when I am traveling? Or will they forget all about me?? Where will I get a job? If I get a job, will I end up staying through the winter in New York? Or will I go back to California in January? How long before my funds run out? Am I making the wrong choice? Is this a crazy plan? What if...? Where to...?  How much...???? When??? Why??? How??? Where??? 

I have to tell you, this is not a great way to start out the morning.  I sat in bed for nearly an hour as these questions ran through my mind; similar to the way the numbers on the stock market ticker race by with endless flux. 

And I couldn't help but ask myself one last question before getting out of bed: 'Am I getting cold feet?'  

I've had months to plan this excursion.  I have had ample time to carefully deconstruct every nagging fear or question.  And yet, out of nowhere, I am suddenly overcome with nerves.  

With nearly one week left to go before my impending journey, I feel more anxious than ever about taking this trip.  I know it is going to be such a good thing for me to experience, but the weight of the unknowns is a heavy burden to lug around... along with my huge suitcases. 

All these questions simply cannot be answered until I get there.  

And so, with that in mind, I am trying to look at it as a long vacation...  I have no clue what I will want to do after I arrive.  I am not sure if staying for more than a month or two will pan out.  But how can I know? I simply can't from where I sit right now.  

I guess this is just how life goes.  You have to take some chances and just hope for the best.  We can't always have all the answers laid out perfectly before us on a silver tray, but we can do our best to handle whatever may come. 

I'm just going to have to double up on the socks and slippers this week, suck it up, take a deep breath, pack my yoga mat... and try to keep my feet roasty and toasty...

Getting all worked up over the many variables isn't really doing me any favors.  Time to live and let go.   Let go and let God.  The rest are just the details. And who needs them anyway? Oh shoot... another question mark! 

Guess my feet are still a little chilly after all. Oh well... Better just enjoy what I have right now in front of me; two warm little dogs who love nothing more than to make every moment count. They are the zen masters of living in the present moment. Their paws are always nice and warm. 

 Today:

Absolut Stress

1/2 oz Absolut Vodka

1/2 oz Malibu Rum

1/2 oz Peach Schnapps

Equal Parts Cranberry

Pineapple and Orange Juices

On the Rocks!

The Zen of Broke

You know what the best thing about being relatively broke is?? If your answer was a unanimous 'Nothing,' then you are sadly mistaken.  I know, I know... it's very chic of me to make this case for the awesomeness of minimalism! 

So very zen of me; packing up the bare necessities for an undetermined length of stay in one of the United States' most expensive cities.

Well, all that being said, that isn't exactly the message I was going for, but hey... I can surely lean on the 'Less is more' approach when the time comes.  What I was actually going for here, was to build a case for making the most with the dollar you've got.  

Let me paint a very realistic picture for you.  

In two weeks, I will board a plane to New York City.  And when I arrive, the already dwindling numbers in my bank account will instantly subtract.  Cab fare to Astoria will cost approximately twenty dollars.  And I can assure you, that will be the only cab ride I will take when I am in NYC.  I simply cannot afford to take cabs everywhere I go.  But when you are just getting off an airplane at 10:30 p.m. with two full suitcases in stow, and all alone in the big city... well, it's the only way to go. 

Next up is the inevitable expense of an unlimited monthly metro card. This will cost somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty dollars.  Ok, at least I've got my transportation covered.  

Next comes food.  

Well, as you can imagine, the possibilities for cuisine of every variety are virtually unlimited in a city like Manhattan.  However, they are very limited when you are working with a tight budget.  Which leads me to my grocery shopping adventure in my very favorite market: Trader Joes.  (Dear God, Thank you for making sure to put a Trader Joes in NYC. You are so loving and kind.) And the good news about a tight budget for food is, I could probably stand to lose five pounds anyway.  

Alright, well that covers food and transportation.  Good. 

Now, let's talk about space.  In New York City, space is very limited.  It is the hottest commodity that is always in demand.  Square footage is one of those really really luxurious things that people like me don't even consider, because we simply cannot afford to.  So, what do you consider?  Well, in my shoes... not much.  

For an undetermined length of time, I will share a room with a friend of mine who recently moved back to NY from a long stint of living in Nashville (where we met three years ago).  Now, friends are key to surviving in NYC. But while space may be cheaper if shared, it still ain't free.  So, I will chip in the cost of one half of one room.  But I am fortunate to share a room with someone I know and trust... because trust me, it could get pretty rough otherwise.  

So there are the basics: food, transportation and shelter.  

Last night I came across a great coupon for a three month gym membership that is right around the corner from my shared room.  I have decided that this is a worthwhile investment, especially when living with a bunch of boys and girls.  

I need my own little escape.  And a place to wash my hair without the looming fear of taking all the hot water in the borough.  So, I think this is a good investment. 

And that about covers it for now.  

So, what's so great about being broke you ask?? Wasn't that argument the whole point of this little essay??

Okay, thank you for reminding me. Here is my zen theory of broke: if I have very little, I can only lose very little.  Genius!  

This is very similar to walking into a glitzy casino with fifty bucks in your pocket... but only fifty.  LEAVE YOUR CREDIT CARDS AT HOME PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

If you count on losing the maximum of what you have on you the moment you walk through that door, well then you ought to have a great time with that fifty and make it last as long as possible.  If you somehow manage to build on that fifty, then great! But you better not count on that odd. 

Where people get in trouble is when they keep going past a certain threshold.  The way I see it, I don't have too far to fall financially.  So, knowing that, as I enter the glitzy, money-sucking black hole of the city... well then that's good.  No big surprise when I am ready to cash in my chips and find a gaping hole where some semblance of a savings used to be.  

I am going to be really zen about this extreme phase of dwindling down.  Because while I can put a price tag next to almost everything in life, I cannot quantify the worth of an experience like this.  

To travel. To spend time with good friends. To see the leaves in Central Park turn with changing season is a luxury I can afford.  And if it cost every last penny I have, I figure this kind of opportunity may only come along once in a lifetime. So, I'm going all in.  You can bet on it. 

A budgeted girl in an expensive world; sleeping on the floor, walking through the park, releasing the fear of being broke and eating rice for every meal, you can't get more zen than that. 

Today:

Poor Man's Margarita

2 oz Tequila

1 oz Sprite or 7 Up

1 Lime wedge

Pinch of Salt. 

Live a Little

You know how people have bucket lists; all the things to see and do before you die?  I often wonder how mine would compare to someone else's.  Would it seem unrealistic or crazy?  Probably not.  I guess to my way of thinking, it is really quite simple.  I don't really have items to check off that are super dangerous or exotic.  In fact, you might even say it was kind of... a short list.

A short bucket list.  Huh.  Well I suppose that is the good news...  Shouldn't be too difficult to accomplish, right?  Eh, wrong! 

I may not have any desire to climb Everest, parachute from a plane, or anything extreme like that, but I do want to live a little.  

The older I get, the more I realize how difficult it is to accomplish all the things you imagined for your life, when you were young.  And although I am not old per se, I am old enough to understand that my bucket list may be a lot more difficult to execute than I had initially anticipated.  

Not every item on the list is something solely within my own power to procure.  Having a family for instance; it all sounds pretty simple, but it isn't something totally in my power or control.  Or is it?  You know, I will have to cycle back around to that one later.

In any case, having a basic outline of things you wish to see, do, experience or accomplish in your life is a good thing.  Checking those things off, is even better. 

In some ways, it's deflating to recognize how little I have actually done thus far to check off this list.  The Seven Wonders of the World for instance, may take years to see.  Seven widely distant, far off places; all requiring time, money and a current passport (if you want to see them all).  Anyway, you get the picture. 

After much consideration, I have made a minor tweak to my list.  I simply challenge myself to experience life (a little) outside of my comfort zone.  You know; try eating weird things with squishy textures, stay out walking with friends until sunrise, wear red lipstick like a fearless fashionista, audition for a broadway play, paint a portrait in the gardens of Versailles or Central Park, eat gelato on the back of a speeding scooter through Rome, or maybe even go on a blind date... 

I think it's time to savor the sweetness of life.  I've been a little scared.  I've been cautious. Because I have already fell on my face financially and romantically a few times this past decade, this shouldn't be too difficult a task.  

Life is for the living.  And I do believe that while we certainly cannot control much, we can do what is within our power to expand our horizons and push our own perceived limitations.  I think it's time to get out there and live life... if only just a little.

There's no time like the present.

Today:

Dirty Gin Martini (one of my favorites)

2 1/2 oz Hendricks Gin
Splash of Olive Juice
Swirl and strain into a chilled martini glass
Garnish with three olives.

Bucket List: Live in an Airstream

Fearlessly Eat Exotic/Squishy Foods

Have a little fun...

  

Driven

They're baaaaaack... back to school that is.  It's official: the school year has begun.  Time to reroute trips to the grocery store to avoid school zones and schedule every errand around peak school bus and minivan carpooling hours.  Crosswalks, slow zones and never ending bus routes may drive you to insanity, or in the very least, remind you of the days when it was you, walking to and from the bus stop.

As for me, I was spared from riding the big yellow school bus.  My means of transportation evolved in three stages: K- 8th my mom drove me, 9th grade I rode with my brother who was a senior, and from my sophomore year of high school, through my senior year of college, I drove myself.

Those mornings driving to school with my mom were some of the best memories I have from my childhood.  My mom has a way of making even the most mundane task extra special.  If we had an extra ten minutes to spare, we would go through a drive-thru and get breakfast.  Those mornings are intertwined with my entire academic experience.  It made me a happier kid and it undoubtedly showed.  Showing up on time with a hot breakfast was a pretty great way to go to school. I was the envy of all the kids in my grade because it was no secret that I in fact, had the coolest mom in school. They were the good old days.

Then... came high school.

Halfway through my freshman year of high school I was called into the principal's office.  When I sat down in the chair opposite to him, I could tell I was in big trouble but I wasn't exactly sure why.  "You've been late 17 times so far this year.  You're suspended."  Suspended?? But I don't have a driver's license yet!! It's my brother!! He is suffering from an acute case of Senior-itis!

I had to explain to the principal that I was at the mercy of my older brother who was rapidly approaching graduation.  Every morning, I would carpool with him and would wait patiently as he color coordinated his shoe laces to match his jacket and hat.  As an owner of a clothing store and yes, also a high school senior, my brother was quite particular about his fashion statement... every single day. 

And to his logic, as long as we were already running late, we might as well go through the drive-thru and get breakfast. What's another fifteen minutes?? Late, was late.

I never did get suspended.  I actually think the principal was even a little sympathetic to my case.  He let me go with a warning and a detention slip.

After that first year of high school, I finally drove myself to school for the rest of my academic career. And although I was driven to succeed and to be on time, I never forgot those mornings where I was not behind the wheel.

They were the best mornings ever.  Perhaps it was a relief in some way, to be at the mercy of whoever it was behind the wheel; sitting in the passenger seat, without a care in the world, along for the ride.

When I was in the driver's seat, I realized something both exciting and a little sad: those carefree days as a passenger were behind me. My course, destination, ETA and means to get wherever I want to be was and is entirely up to me; the driver.  It was a realization that changed the way I looked at the road ahead.

And... I've been rather driven ever since.

In retrospect, I kind of wish I hadn't been in such a hurry to take the wheel.  But isn't that typical?  When we are young and dependent, we long for the day when we can take the wheel.  And when we grow up, we look back and think; Wow, I had it pretty good.  

Perhaps that is why our parents and teachers always warned us kids to not be in such a rush to grow up; because once you are, you'll never again have the luxury of letting others drive you everywhere you want or need to go.  

If you want to get to where you're going as a grown-up... you'd better be punctual, have a good sense of direction and above all else: be driven.  

Because if you can't get to where you're going, you won't have anyone else to blame.  For once you're in the driver's seat, it's entirely up to you to take the wheel and hopefully arrive safe and sound.

I just hope all these kids today know how good they've got it! Life is a journey, so you'd better enjoy the ride whether you are in the passenger seat or behind the wheel.  Slow down... It goes by so fast!    

Today:

Tijuana Taxi 

2 oz Gold Tequila
1 oz Blue Curacao
1 oz Tropical Schnapps

On the rocks in a highball glass
Splash of Sprite!

 

Don't Rock the Boat

All Summer long I have been completely mesmerized by the sailboats that zig across the bay in the most swift and elegant fashion. When their sails are full and gleam bright white in the sunshine, it is utterly perfect.  The contrast of color against the deep blue water is like something out of a Hemingway novel.  

The sailors who charter these boats are like characters from the novel as well; adorned with classic nautical shoes, striped shirts and crisp pants.  They would often sit at the bar and keep to themselves.  I would always give them their space to sit on their own in what was presumably a state of quiet reflection before heading back to sea.  

I thought of how carefree and easy the whole picture appeared and I imagined that one day, I too would set sail.  In my next life, I will be a great sailor and set out on the high seas... exploring alongside giant grey whales and bottle nose dolphins... 

Hey...WAKE UP.  That ship has sailed! 

You see, there is a reason for the expression "Don't rock the boat." You would think it had something to do with capsizing, but after a few days out on the boat, I have arrived at another conclusion. My theory is that the saying is the result of sea sickness.  Even as I slouch here in bed, awake and typing, all I can feel are the rocking waves.  Up and down. Up and Down.  Did I mention that I am on dry land???

When I close my eyes it is much more intense... The rocking sensation hasn't let up for two days now and I am longing for the moment when I can lay down in bed and not feel like the ship is sinking!  

I bet those sailors weren't in a quiet state of reflection after all!! They were probably trying to concentrate on not falling off the barstool amidst the ceaseless imaginary rocking motion of rolling waves.  

Ugh, I can hardly stand the feeling much longer.  If there is some trick or magic cure to make this feeling go away, I haven't found it yet.  

Perhaps this is why we become so fascinated with one another as human beings.  We all have strengths and weaknesses.  I can't imagine how amazing it must feel to step aboard a great ship and not lose my lunch the next day.  I romanticize the experience because it is one that I am quite sure I won't ever be able to physically endure for prolonged periods of time.  Maybe; maybe not.  I wonder... Could I ever change my nautical ways?

Perhaps people can change if they really set their mind to the task.  I suppose if whatever they are attempting to change for matters enough, it is almost certainly possible.  But honestly, I don't know how much people can actually change.  I would like to think it is possible, but I'm just not sure.  Is it mind over matter? In this case, the obstacle is a physical sickness, which seems to be out of my control. So even if I wanted to change this; could I? 

Nope, I just don't know how much people can change.   

Maybe one day I will attempt to set sail.  But if I ever try, please do me a favor and don't rock the boat.  Trust me, it will be rocking enough all on its own. 

Today:

Classic Sailor's Drink

Rum and Coke

1 oz Sailor Jerry

2 parts Coca Cola

On the rocks in a highball glass

Lime wedge to garnish is optional. 

   

  

Clocking Out

One of the most unsettling aspects of today, in addition to the stormy weather and unbearable late summer humidity, is conjuring up a somewhat convincing answer to the most frequently asked question posed to me all week; 'What's next?' It's Friday, but not just any Friday... Today is my last day behind the bar of my summer job.

I suppose I have mixed feelings about today.  But overall, I am relieved.  It has been a grueling assignment: serving up a few thousand cocktails to some extremely demanding tourists,  a dozen old school regulars and a handful of unhappy happy hour patrons.

Generally speaking, I like almost everyone I encounter in life: strangers both young and old, rich or poor, of every culture and background.  Perhaps it is because I am a writer and I get some sort of bizarre pleasure out of examining the eccentricities of human behavior.  I've always been eager to ask questions of where people are from and what has brought them here.  It is one of the most interesting aspects of my job behind the bar: the people.

That was, until recently... 

About a  month ago, I came to a rather disturbing realization: I didn't like people as much as I used to.  I was like an old shoe, steadily worn down to where very little soul remains... And in that analogy, if I was actually a shoe, I would have enjoyed drop kicking a few hostile patrons right upside their heads.

If I hear one more person complain that the blender is out of order, or that food is not served outside, or demand lime wedges as if it were a heart transplant, I might actually lose it.  There are some things I can help you with, and many more that I simply cannot.  Sorry.  And to that end, is it right to take your frustrations out on me?  I ought to write on the specials chalkboard tonight: "Don't Shoot the Messenger, Thanks."

As I wiped down the bar last night, I shook my head in disgust over the state of my beloved country; Miley Cyrus' ridiculous circus act on the VMA's last week was enough to make any American citizen nauseated.  And the way I am spoken to on a regular basis as a bartender is appalling to say the least.

What has happened to us?

A blender out of order is nowhere near a crisis; the unthinkable acts of warfare and violence in our country and abroad more aptly fit that description.  I think about all the people suffering in Syria, having lost a loved one and who are struggling to survive.  It makes me really sad and all the more impatient when I face the guy who acts as if the broken blender is appalling and outrageous.  I can't help but think; Dude, you are outrageous and a complete waste of space.

What is happening to me????? My own distain is beginning to reflect theirs... and I just don't need to stoop that low.

This is coming from the girl who genuinely used to like people!!!  So you see, that is where the overwhelming sense of relief stems from today; knowing that I will have a break from the bar and in that, a break from forcing a half-smile when faced with some of the most obnoxious people I have ever encountered.

I truly stand by my belief of providing excellent customer service.  I think it is imperative to treat people as if they are your guest and employ hospitality and gratitude toward that aim.  When it is no longer possible to exude these qualities,  then you can be sure it is time to get out of hospitality: if only for a short while.  

And that is where I'm at; knowing full well that I need a break from service.  I'm turning in my keys and clocking out after one last Friday night behind the bar.

To answer that frequently asked question honestly, I would have to produce an equally unsettling response: I don't know what's next just yet.  I guess that is going to have to suffice for now...

With that, I am headed off to work (if the rain subsides) and will clock in, ready to serve with a smile.

I will miss a few of the people I have worked with over the summer.  It was almost like being in the peace corps together: calming the nerves of the after five o' clock crowd.  But I won't miss the repeat offenders who sit on the other side of the bar and think that a good tip somehow justifies ongoing blatant sexual harassment.  Nope, I won't miss that one bit.

Alas, two things to remember tonight: don't forget to smile and don't forget to clock out.


Today:

Long Beach Tea

1/4 oz Vodka 
1/4 oz Gin
1/4 oz Rum
1/4 oz Tequila 
1/4 oz Triple Sec
Splash of Sour 
Splash Cranberry

Garnish with a lime wedge

Lost in the Fog

I'm stranded on a remote island near the North Channel... No really, I am.  I woke up this morning to a thick white blanket of fog, engulfing the entire expanse of the surrounding waters and distant shores.  Okay, stranded might be a small stretch of the imagination, considering I hadn't really planned on leaving the island anytime soon anyway.  But the reality of the preventive conditions remain; even if I wanted to leave, I simply couldn't until the fog has lifted.    

It is quite eery to sit here along the harbor's edge and not be able to see beyond the shoreline.  Somewhere, echoing upon the surface of the lake, is the murmuring rumble of a presumably small engine.  I have no real gage of where it is coming from, or for that matter, where it is going: as everything if muffled by the enclosing fog.  

As I thumb through the index of my mind, a great inventory of memories emerge from my very own precarious condition: the 'thick-as-soup' mental fog that engulfs a few dozen great shipwrecks of the past.  I sing to myself a haunted old tune of a fog horn whistle blowing Into the Mystic. 

I don't even know where that little tune has been hiding all these years... 

Just as soon as I disappear momentarily Into the Mystic, I am encountered by a very inquisitive snake.  Yes, that was a literal statement, and not a metaphor...  Although I can plainly see the irony... 

This island has a way of bringing about thoughts and curiosities you may not have realized existed.  But I don't mind.  There's nowhere to go even if I did... 

The fog is lifting before my eyes, and I have come to realize a few benefits of immersing myself in the island experience.  Reflection, patience, stillness and surrender: this is what losing yourself to an island escape can procure.     

I realize that I can flip through the index of my mind and feel perfectly at ease.  The fog has lifted there too, and it's a comforting feeling to be able to see clearly once again.  I can rest assured that safe passage is now in sight, whenever I choose.  

That snake is hanging out on the other side of the deck, just sunning himself and enjoying warmth of what promises to be another beautiful day.  

When I do leave this island, I will be faced with a few difficult decisions.  My summer in northern Michigan is coming to an end.  And my time served behind the bar is nearly up... for now. 

To be lost in the fog isn't such a bad thing.  I have lost my sense of time, of worry and even correctly catalogued a few misplaced memories.  

In fact, I've created a new folder where I insert all the memories that used to make me sad.  I'm no longer sad singing that song.  I can't recall when the sorrow lifted; it's a little foggy. 

But I do know one thing for sure: the best chance for survival is to momentarily surrender to the elements and patiently wait for the fog to lift... because when it does, as it most certainly will, it will be time to set sail into the great unknown.  

Sometimes the greatest gift of being lost in the fog is the inability to to see beyond wherever you stand; forcing you to close your eyes, look within and just be right where you are at this very moment in time.  

Today:

Gilligan's Island

1 oz Vodka

1/2 oz Peach Schnapps 

Equal parts Orange and Cranberry Juice

The fog this morning...

Sneaky Snake...

Finally able to see.

 

 

     

Cents and Sensibility

The other day I came across something I hadn't ever seen before: a 1943 Wheat Penny.  As I plucked it out from the pile of loose change jingling around in the bottom of my purse, my fingertips glided across the worn face of old "honest Abe." The coin itself has seen better days, but remains in fair condition.  Just by looking at it, you probably wouldn't guess that it is seventy years old, except for a few worn edges and the exposed base metal.

I did a little research because I am, without a doubt, a bit of a romantic when it comes to antiquities.  What I discovered surprised me a little.  1943 Wheat Pennies were minted with a different base metal than the traditional copper pennies created the previous and following years; they are unique.  Even more curious, is that some of these pennies minted in 1943 were accidentally minted in copper rather than the base metal originally intended; these are extremely unique.  

In the same excavation of my oversized purse, I found a few more wheat pennies that sparked my curiosity: 1944, 1941, 1952 and even a well worn penny from 1911.  Unbelievable.  

Now, I am well aware of my giant nerd status and I am pretty sure, upon reading this post today, you will be too.  Perhaps it isn't a big deal to find wheat pennies.  I wouldn't really know because I am quite an amateur coin collector.  In fact, I am hardly a coin collector at all.  But, I would say I know a lucky penny when I see one.  To me, the 1943 wheat penny is the golden ticket.  

You see, that was not the only unique face of American sense minted in 1943. It was also the year a true American ambassador was born: my father, my hero. 

These two particularly uncommon sojourners are worth more than words could ever possibly express.  How does one measure something or someone's worth?  How can you possibly begin the tedious process of examining the quality, the origin, the circulation, the condition and place a set value accordingly?? 

Like I said, I am quite a novice when it comes to the business of antiquities.  I do however have a keen awareness of value and rarity.  And in 1943, I can assure you, the two most rare faces of American values, were minted.  And today, I am fortunate enough to be in close proximately to both.  

Perhaps you'll just have to take my word for it.  But I believe that in time, both of these 1943 treasures will be spoken about for decades more to come. And I will have been the lucky benefactor. 

Seventy years may be a long time for a wheat penny to circulate from person to place, but is not even close to enough time to measure its inherent value.  And to my dad, I say the same is true... 

1943 was a good year.   

Happy Birthday Dad.  The value of one cent and a whole wealth of common sense is what you've instilled in me: cents and sensibility.  I can't even begin to know what all to give back to you.  But here's an idea... How about a 1943 penny for your thoughts?? 

I think that would be a good place to start...

Today:

Amaretto Sour

1 oz Amaretto 

Splash of Sour mix

Serve on the rocks!

  

An Ode to Mondays

Thank God it's Monday.  No really, I love Mondays.  Several years ago I took my first job in a restaurant.  It was a huge transition from the Monday through Friday hamster wheel I was accustomed to.  The schedule varied wildly from week to week as well as my income.  Working every weekend and holiday was a major adjustment as well.  But when the going gets tough, the tough get going: I was tough.

Fairly early on, I had come to a realization.  I needed a day off to get caught up around the house, and more importantly spend time with my friends.  Since most of my friends were in the service industry as well, most weekends were impossible for us to have off.  So, after a small deliberation, we settled on Mondays.  They were typically slower days at the restaurant, so it was easier for us to request off each week.  Dinners, happy hours, movie marathons, yoga, coffee, and as much Sex in the City as we could possibly absorb; these were the hallmarks of our Mondays.  

While everyone around us despised and dreaded this day, we celebrated, indulged and delighted in it. It was the perfect day to do absolutely nothing but sit around with a nice glass of wine and catch up with the best friends a girl could ask for.  

A couple years have gone by and the Monday fun has continued right along with the passing of time.  I'm still in the service industry and my Mondays are as sacred to me now as they have always been.  Even though I have recently moved a thousand miles away from my friends in Nashville, I still feel that connection to them whenever Monday rolls around. 

I sit here today with my coffee (of course) and remember the great Mondays of the past.  I am quite sentimental, so even though I do not have my friends nearby, I have continued the tradition of preserving my Mondays as my much anticipated day off.  

This past weekend was much longer than normal for me.  I typically do not work on Sundays as well as Mondays, but I decided to help someone out who needed it off.  So I picked up his Sunday night shift.  It was slow, hot and windy.  The entire night I had one mantra that got me through: Monday, Monday...La La La La Laaa, Monday, Monday.  

I peered across my bar top to the tiki hut where my fellow bartender was struggling to pour, count cash, catch flying napkins and entertain guests amidst the fierce and relentless wind.  If you recall my post from earlier in the week, Mama Said Mama Said,  I spoke of an epic bad day behind the bar: battling extreme wind that forced the keg handles to release beer all over... everywhere.  Well, it happened again last night, and I could hardly contain myself. 

This morning, I am relieved.  I feel the wave of Monday wash over me and along with it, the momentary sense of calm relaxation and happiness. 

I love Mondays.  However, I'm sure in time, I won't always be able to enjoy this day of the week as I have over the past few years.  Circumstances will change.  Schedules and work opportunities will present a revised outlook on the day.  Even still, I am sure of one thing, no one can ever take away my Mondays.  Mondays are nostalgic and represent one of the most cherished aspects of my life: time spent with true friends.  

To my friends in Nashville.  My heart is with you today, and every Monday.  Have a Margarona Monday (rocks and salt of course) ya'll. 

Today:

Margarona AKA Coronarita

1 oz tequila 

1/2 oz triple sec

Sour mix

Tip a mini corona bottle upside-down 

and immerse into the margarita.  Enjoy! 

The Most Exclusive Real Estate on the Planet

There have been plenty of days where I struggled to get through; having felt like things were not going the way I had imagined or intended for my life.  It's hard.  I look around and I do not see the picture that I dreamt up years ago.  But that's fairly normal... isn't it?

For the sake of my sanity, I have settled upon an enthusiastic answer: YES it's completely normal!!  I look around and realize that I am not alone in this struggle.  Many people, most I would venture to guess, are not exactly living the life they'd imagined for themselves.  Why is this? Well, perhaps it is because we live in relation to others and their choices and aspirations have a way of influencing our own.  

We get so far along our path and realize that we've tweaked that picture to accommodate another person and all of their wants and needs.  Factor in the relationship you may have with your family, your friends, significant others, employers etc. and all that space you had initially allocated for yourself is now seriously sublet by a few dozen demanding roommates.  

The welcome mat to my mind reads a simple phrase: Life is Better When Shared.  Even if the path looks different and that space gets crowded, it's a wonderful thing; making accommodations in your heart and mind for the ones you love.  

At the same time, you'd better choose these roomies wisely.  Taking up real estate in your head is a rather expensive transaction.  What could it cost you in the end?  Still thinking about that last sentence? That's okay, I am too. 

How do you know when it's time to evict someone?  That's a lengthy and emotionally taxing decision that only you, the landlord, can make.  

All I know is this: you can only bend so much for another person (no matter their relation to you) before you break.  The picture you see for yourself may not align with the one the other has painted...  And unless you have mastered the art of photoshop completely, then I imagine that there is some serious restoration/remodeling to be done.  Uh oh... I am mixing metaphors... Whatever, it's Sunday and on Sundays, anything goes.  

Why am I on this subject to begin with you ask?  Well let's just say that as I am sitting here drinking my coffee and reflecting, I can't help but feel so grateful for the extra space I have finally carved out in my brain.  It was a mental renovation of sorts and has made all the difference in my life.  Over the past ten years or so, I had repeatedly sacrificed what I envisioned for my life by committing all my energy to another person.  I bent over to the breaking point and nearly lost sight of myself; the framework of my being.   

As I watch the tug of war play out in the lives of the ones I love, I can't help but think back to the times in my life when I was faced with some incredibly difficult decisions.  Releasing the grip on the rope that tugs you can be a scary thing to imagine.  You get so accustomed to the rope, you sometimes forget that it's your own two feet holding you up.  You can let go! 

At this moment in time, I am happy to report that nearly all the occupants taking residence in my mind are all doing their fare share to maximize the space and help make improvements there.  No one person has overstayed their welcome and I am enjoying the extra space I have to create, decorate, restore, write and thrive.  

I hope that any future prospects looking to take up residence in my heart and mind will respect to a few simple house rules and respect the space I have worked so hard to create.  My heart is my home.  At this time, I am neither accepting nor rejecting applicants; rather, enjoying the view from my recently remodeled point of view.  Peace of mind: the most exclusive real estate on the planet.  

Today:

Adriane's French Chateau

1 oz Bombay Sapphire Gin

1/2 oz St. Germain Liqueur

Splash of Rose's Lime Juice

Splash of Sprite

On the Rocks! 

3-2-1- Time Bomb

As most of you probably know by now, Fridays for me are more like Mondays for you.  It's a mad rush to accomplish everything I need to do come Friday morning, before heading off to work an extra long shift behind the bar.  On Fridays and Saturdays I open an hour earlier, forcing me to wake up, moderately function, write a blog post and suck down nearly an entire pot of coffee in record time.

It's a hustle.  The alarm goes off and almost instantaneously, the countdown begins.  Gotta get up! OH NO, IT'S FRIDAY. Yuck! As the clock ticks relentlessly, I roll out of bed, stagger to the coffee pot, fire up a few brain cells and sit down to write. 

Write about what?? Oh gosh, who knows?? The truth is, ideas pop into my head just as soon as I wake up.  They are spontaneous little bursts of wonder and analysis that I surrender to each and every day; all the while, keeping one watchful eye on that damn ticking clock.  

3-2-1 FRIDAY

I must admit that lately, I have been unable to silence the little voice inside my head that is counting down the weeks, days, hours and minutes to liftoff.  Only two more Weekends to serve at this job before... Oh I don't know, whatever else is next! 

Decisions, Decisions... I've had it in my heart and mind to go to New York come fall, and as the slightest hint of the changing season casts a rosy hue to the very tips of the maples, I am reminded of one thing: the ever oppressive passing of time.  I look at the date on the calendar, and then to the hour this Friday morning and I sigh: Yes, I do believe it's almost time...

And for as much awareness that I possess of the passing time, I do however, attempt to live for the present moment and enjoy the here and now.  

Is there any way to get my hands on a little more time in a given day?  When looking back to generations past,  didn't they just seem to have more time?  Great authors, painters, philosophers and homemakers alike, created masterful works within a seemingly small measure of time.  Yet, the daily allowance for time remains the same.  So what gives? 

I woke up today and thought: two hours to write, respond to some pressing emails and phone calls if I have time, thirty minutes to get ready for work, thirty minutes to drive to work, and wait... Don't forget to eat lunch today! And then, as if the shot was fired high into the air, I was off and the race began.

I'm trying desperately to accomplish everything I need to do each day, but sadly, am finding less time to eat, sleep, drink and be merry.  On more than one occasion, I have been known to not have enough time to eat a proper meal before work.  And that my friends, is not a good thing.  

Is our ability to maximize our time each day directly correlated to measuring (with skilled precision) each and every waking moment between rest and waking? Or is it possible to strike a balance and lose track of time, without also suffering the loss of productivity?

Shall I continue to sprint out the gate each morning as fast as humanly possible? Or, is it wiser instead to pace it out and take the long view? I wonder...  

All I know is that the hyper awareness of the unforgiving passing of time and the process of distributing it according to each task, is utterly exhausting.  

Why not just stop or slow down you might ask?  Well, I guess it's like this: for as much as I aspire to achieve in my life, I fear that there just isn't enough time.  It's the ultimate time bomb...

Time to create, time to enjoy, time to share, time to earn a dollar, time to move forward.  It's about that time...  And so with that, the countdown continues. 

Today:

Irish Car Bomb

1/2 shot Bailey's Irish Cream

1/2 shot of Jameson Irish Whiskey

Drop the shot into a pint of Guinness 

And lose track of time completely...

Photo credit: physicscentral.com

Times Square.

Wishing it wasn't time to go to work... 

Breaking Bad JuJu

Long ago, in a tiki-bar far, far away, a lowly bartender was in a fight to preserve her sanity.  It was known across the land as the Terrible Twos: a curse that afflicted this otherwise enjoyable second day of the five day work week.  Tuesdays had suffered a massive plague.  It was a mysterious curse, affecting only a rare few within the tribe, and she was one of them.  As the rain poured and her identity was stolen, she wondered; how will I ever survive Tuesdays and break the bad juju?? 

AH HA! I will have someone cover for me!! I'll take the day off and hopefully break the spell... And that is exactly what she did... And she lived happily ever ...

WAIT... We're not even close to the end of this story!

Let's re-cap.  Breaking the Tuesday curse has been an ongoing battle.  The bad juju had fallen heavy on the shoulders of many good civilians on both sides of the bar. But with some persistence and scheming, the past three Tuesdays have consistently evolved into a day of renewed rest and relaxation.  

And although I've relished in the newfound delights on this slain day, I have to wonder: did I really do it?? Did I really take back my Tuesdays and break the bad juju for good?? 

That first tainted Tuesday I had covered by a coworker was an improvement to be sure.  Although the weather was still a little drab and stormy, I somehow managed to sink down into my small vessel and stay mostly dry as the raft continuously crashed into the jagged tree branches along the riverbanks.  A metaphor you ask?  No no, this actually happened. 

Okay, so it wasn't the greatest start to breaking the Tuesday curse.  I was hungry, a little cold and hung up in the tree branches: causing ice cold water to rush over the walls of my little inflatable boat.  But on the bright side, my sweatshirt somehow managed to stay dry and I hadn't lost grip of my beer to the strong currents of the river.  I wasn't behind the bar that day, the first Tuesday in weeks, so I considered it to be one small step in the right direction.

In the Tuesdays that followed, I had somehow managed to gain the upper hand.  Camping on the boat in the harbor of an enchanted Island definitely proved to be the moment that I felt sure that the tainted Tuesdays were a thing of the past. 

Oddly enough, I haven't been scheduled to work a Tuesday in weeks.  It's weird... IT'S GREAT... But it's weird. 

Ever since I took action and sought out someone to cover for me that one time, Tuesdays have consistently been my day away from the bar, to relax and recover from the madness of the weekend rush.  

Dare I even go so far as to say that I have come to enjoy Tuesdays immensely?? Well, there it is...  Hello, my name is Adriane and I am a Tues-aholic.  

A few weeks ago, a reader had suggested that I post a follow up to see if I had in fact successfully broken the negative cycle.  So today, perhaps a little preemptively, I have provided an update to show the progress of taking back Tuesdays. 

Although I have yet to leave the house today, I suspect that it is shaping up to be a lovely day off (she says reluctantly while knocking on wood).  

My hope for you dear readers, after learning of this little modern day quest for vengeance, is for you to break the bad juju in your lives as well.  Perhaps it's a different day of the week that you find particularly offending.  Perhaps it is an unfortunate work environment.  Or perhaps it is an overall slate that could use a deep cleaning. Whatever it may be, I encourage you to think outside the box and take back the tainted days in your 52 weeks a year as well.  

It may be one small step in a week's time, but a giant leap for the overall quality of your life.  One week rolls into the next, and before you know it, a brand new season is just around the corner.

While we can't always be sure as to whether or not we've truly managed to press the reset button on the dramas that repeat on a seemingly endless loop in our lives, we can (at the very least) do everything within our power to try. 

So far, it appears that I have somehow managed to turn my Tuesdays around for the good of mankind.  And I imagine we are all a little better for it.  

Today:

Tuesday Cure

1/2 oz Vodka

1/2 oz Gin

Splash of Cranberry juice

Splash of Grapefruit juice

Twist of lime 

a sprig of mint 

Before:

After:

photo credit: fanpop.com

Xena Warrior Princess

              

   

Shifting Gears

There's no experience quite as simple and gratifying than that of driving down the Pacific Coast Highway along the Southern California coastline in a standard shift sports car.  For a cool hour or so, and just a short stretch of blacktop from the Venice Beach boardwalk up to the dramatic cliffs of Malibu, the salty wind blows against your cheeks sending chills down the back of your neck.  As you head North, the afternoon sun casts a golden hugh across the windshield as it sinks into the vast expanse of the ocean, directly to your left. The road curves and the pace accelerates; it is truly a joy ride.  

This was the picture I had locked in my mind as I stood before my dream car: a hot little royal blue Mini Cooper.  With tricolor leather interior, a jamming sound system, and a huge sunroof, I could honestly say it was perfect.  I sat in the front seat, and for just a moment, I felt like a true road warrior.  I glanced up into the rear view mirror and adjusted it to my liking.  Bond, James Bond.  

I gracefully sank deeper into the driver's seat and imagined the drive.  Then something occurred to me that nearly drove my little imaginary joy ride off the cliff... I don't know how to drive a stick!

The car salesman didn't seem to be overly concerned about my lack of experience. "I'll teach you.  We'll take it for a test drive,"he volunteered. 

Is he delusional? No way am I going to take a brand new car off the lot without knowing how to shift gears!! He must have had a big plate of crazy for breakfast!

But somehow, with the subconscious image of James Bond as my alter-ego, I agreed to the challenge.  

It was horrifying.  I am pretty sure I stalled the car three times before even making it out of the lot.  First gear to second, push the clutch, shift, and release. The jarring forward motion was far from the vision I had initially fantasized: heading effortlessly down the highway.

The salesman seemed to take some twisted satisfaction from his temporary role of Driver's Ed teacher because no matter how many times I stalled that Mini, he patiently coached me through the process of getting all of us back to the dealership in one piece. 

The second time around the block was a little smoother.  By the third turn around the block, I was hooked.  This switching gears thing is actually kind of fun! Woo hoo!!  I'm taking it to third now... I'm such a bad-ass! 

As we pulled into the lot, I had experienced a type of bonding I hadn't ever known possible to share with an innate object.  And probably at the same moment, the salesman and I both realized something that made us both very happy: there was no way I was leaving without that car. 

Though barely broken in, I was ready to ride.  

Slowly, with the passing of time and a few hundred miles, switching gears was a process that felt like second nature to me.  From behind the wheel, anything was possible. The curve of the road, the peddles, the wheel, the gears, the pavement all felt natural: like we were one.  And I knew it was finally time to take the drive down the Coast Highway. 

It's funny how some fantasies really can come to life. 

Today, I set out on the open road yet again as a novice.  The process of shifting gears in life, is one that takes years of practice to perform with grace and ease.  It is an awkward experience to stall out, just when you thought you were about to kick it into high gear.  

But I believe that it's true what they say about this road we call life, 'It's a journey, not a destination' (or something like that anyway). 

Getting out of the passenger's seat to behind the wheel, I've learned a thing or two about switching gears: roadblocks, detours, fast lanes, slow lanes, turnouts, U-turns, and yes, even a few unfortunate accidents all led to the intersection I am at today. 

Though I'm not exactly stalled out, I have pulled over for a minute to study the map.  Which road should I take?  How much will it cost to get there? How much time will it take?  What if I get lost along the way?  

I realize, oftentimes it's perfectly okay to take the long way around.  The scenic route offers a perspective that short cuts may not.  And if switching gears is too awkward, remember to be patient with yourself when you are trying to master something new. 

One way or another, you'll get there.  And when you do,  you'll smile because you'll remember that first awkward moment when you first began shifting gears, upon hitting the road and never turning back.  

Just don't be too proud to ask for directions if you feel little lost.  That's how people end up right where they start: stalled in neutral gear. 

Today:

007

2 oz Vodka

3/4 Highball glass full of 7 Up

Splash of Orange Juice

Serve over ice.