One. Now that Waleed's older and I no longer need to pack the equivalent of a suitcase bound for a two-week trip to Russia for a simple run to the grocery store, I'm pulling out my old purses finally able to contemplate using them again. If you've been reading a while you know I'm slightly obsessed with purses. I can't explain it; I'm not a big shopper, but there's something about a cute purse that makes me feel like a giddy schoolgirl. Clearing out my diaper bag today I came across a crumpled receipt from a DC-area desi restaurant I went to with my dear friend Tracy and her little boy. Usually, no matter how bad a desi restaurant, the tandoori naans are buttery fresh and delicious. Not so here. The first batch they bought resembled cardboard. Correction: Buttered cardboard. So I requested more naan, please. And then we waited. And waited. Finally, I flagged down a waiter scurrying past us and asked again: more naan please? Nada. Finally, I went to the attendant, once again, requesting for more naan please?!? resulting in a surly waiter tossing a basket of naans on our table. And the bill:
Two. I love going to the grocery store. There is a meditative quality in gliding ones cart down the aisles looking over all the possibilities that can be. I don't go nearly as much now, asking K to pick up items on his way from work instead. But yesterday the weather was nice, the ginger was in short supply and my recipe needed three hours of marinating before dinner so I packed up the kiddo and we went grocery shopping and I remembered how fun it is to be there. Now, I'm not sure if its because I'm writing a manuscript so am a walking critic lately, or because I'm a momma to a young-and-tender lad but this description on the bag of frozen peas made me stand and stare for a good minute:
Three. In a departure from levity I must admit I'm a bit stressed out lately. Nothing in itself is really that serious, but sometimes problems as small as snowflakes can start piling up until you feel you're staring into an impending avalanche. When I get really stressed out I begin daydreaming of condo-living or moving to San Francisco [because for some reason I feel like everything is always happy there- and if I can only just make it there I will never have any worries again, ever]. Today I read this quote: Bloom where you are planted. Such a simple phrase and yet it shook me. This is my life. Things aren't perfect- but they aren't perfect anywhere [even in San Francisco. I think]. I can choose to look at my life and focus on the difficulties and stressful situations and let them overtake me- or I can choose to look at my blessings. Tonight, as I nursed my son to sleep, instead of reading a book or checking my e-mail I closed my eyes in the dim light of his room and simply counted my blessings. My sight. My ears. My toes. My son. A roof over my head. Food to eat. A soft bed to land upon. Friends who love me. I lost count, my son asleep in my arms before I could finish counting all that I am thankful for- I doubt I can ever truly finish counting them. Its cliche- its banal and trite- and yet- there is so much to be thankful for- and the best way to show my gratitude is to bloom where I'm planted- to make the best of what I've been given and be aware that I've been given a lot. And while this does not make the world icecream and cupcakes, rainbows and sunshine- it helps a little- and some days, that's enough.
Purses. Memories. Meditating in the grocery aisles. And gratitude. So much gratitude. All in all a very beautiful Thursday indeed. Hope you had a beautiful day.