A Deficit of Whimsy - Maybe I'll Make a Frittata

           For a while now I’ve been stoked about making sliced carrots with butter and harvesting kale from our garden and washing dishes and meditating on a semi-regular basis.  Ax started soccer and I get to be a real live soccer mom bringing cut up watermelon and dried mango and apple slices in a cooler to practice, as if it’s totally natural.  I even made peanut butter “powerballs” with raisins and granola and coconut oil once and whipped them out in their eco-fabulous glassware serving dish at halftime to the delight of several small players and their parents.  I’m fronting like I’m that mom a lot of the time it would seem.

            It’s a lot of California medium rare living.  And I mean, for a girl like me, a girl whose normal used to be going to dinner at midnight in gold leather mini skirts or hot pink satin sheaths and waking up at six am to rock pinstripe suits and pearls to work, this hanging around in some version of yoga clothes and un-brushed hair most of the time feels radical.  Or at least it felt radical, novel, magical and bold when I started.  Like a badass in black leggings.

            But it’s been a long time now since I wore shoes other than flipflops, clogs, or sneakers.  I purged all my heels, not just the daywear stilettos but the impractical trophy shoes too – a while ago.  And on a good day I smile to myself and swagger that I’m working the advanced course here, the advanced course where I’m not knocking myself out keeping up with anyone else but just living one day at a time, being grateful, raising my kid, enjoying what there is to be enjoyed.  I’m not jacked up and I’m actually present and of service a decent amount of the time which lots of folks say is the point.    

            And, I could use a bit more magic.  Some high fructose corn syrup to sweeten my quinoa.  There’s a noticeable deficit of whimsy in my life.  The advanced part is I’m going to mull that over for a bit before I do anything other than mull.  I’m not buying high heels, or a new car, or grousing at my man, or dying my hair even blonder, or taking off for Big Sur or Santorini or eating GMO cupcakes or getting a law job.  I’m not getting loaded.  I’m going to plant some more chard and maybe eat some pineapple and stay the course and see what happens.  Maybe I’ll make a frittata.  I really like eggs.

           

For Keen-N