Lately, I’ve had a bit of what writin’ folks call “writer’s block”. That, and I can’t figure how to fit writing into my new busier—and apparently messier--life. Anyway, that’s why I haven’t been posting much in this here blog. So, to get the ball a’rollin, I have decided to do a report on recent happenings in my little world. If you are easily bored, or uncomfortable with disaster, check out now and go take a nap or whatever you do when you have a little free time.
I’ve had a few difficult days this week. That feeling could be compounded by the fact that late Sunday night, after we had gotten home from the lake at 10:40 pm and I was cleaning out the cooler, a glass jar of salsa slipped out of the fridge and plunged onto the tile floor into about a million pieces, decorating everything with red tomato messiness. Have I ever told you how much I hate messes? This was not happiness for me. In fact, it felt like much sadness and I just wanted it to go away. So my sweet husband, seeing my distress, offered to clean it up for me. And when he had worked hard to get everything spic and span, and as I was moving the cooler to get the last of the remnants of glass underneath, a container of sour cream fell from the top of the cooler and broke open and splattered all over my floor and cupboards and dishwasher. Really. Too bad, we weren’t in the mood for tacos just then because we had all the toppings readily accessible. Eyeing my repeated look of terror, my husband once again assisted me as I was
near in tears. Finally, after watching my rescuer clean up most of both
disasters, and after pulling myself together, I vacuumed and mopped the entire
floor. Then I slogged to bed and
collapsed smelling faintly of pico de gallo.
Now you may think this was the end of the food disasters, but you would be wrong. There is more. And I am beginning to wonder if something is wrong with me—like maybe I have an alternate persona or maybe God is trying to get my attention with some analogy that I am not quite catching…kind of like when He told Ezekiel to cook a barley loaf over human dung (Ezekiel 4:12)—what was with that? Fast forward to Tuesday morning when I was dutifully making a green smoothie for my aforementioned helpful husband. As I added ingredients and turned on my megablendeer, the sound it was making was unfamiliar but it often sounds loud and weird, I mean it has a 3 HP, 1560 watt motor (like a lawnmower), so I just left it. I blended once, twice, and still my smoothie was not smooth, and still the whirring sound continued. In my ignorance, I pushed blend again, and the Blendtec Wildside became furious and blew out the entire side of its plastic jar in protest, spewing green gunk all over my kitchen and dishwasher and sink and cupboards and windows and floor and myself. As I surveyed the amazing mess I had made—again—I found a very disgruntled metal spoon which had accidently fallen in the blender. Don’t ask me how. I don’t know. Maybe I was super tired and temporarily stupid. Or maybe I was another person who had watched www.willitblend.com one too many times.
Oh, and did I mention that this entire debacle occurred just 15 minutes before I had to leave for an appointment. Did I also ever mention how much I hate messes? Especially messes that take place right before I need to leave? I cleaned up as best I could and left Shay to buff the stainless (stainless takes a huge amount of time even when I don’t dump green smoothie all over it) and wash the window—which she did—I guess—but it was still super streaky when I got home and a little green so I cleaned it again. As an added bonus, I had a sink full of dishes when this occurred. And since they were also covered with thick green goo, I had to wash them upon arriving home; exhausting and disheartening all at the same time.
But now, just to convince you that I may indeed be struggling with another personality unaware, I had additional accident.
So, I was in Wal-Mart picking up a few things on the same day that I suffered the green smoothie explosion and I remembered that Shay had used the last of the cream cheese on the bagel she so sweetly prepared for me when I was hyperventilating. I walked to the cheese isle, picked up a (plastic) container of cream cheese, put it in my cart, and promptly walked ahead. The cheese fell out of the front part of my cart (where the seat is) and rolled to the floor cracking the top.
I felt like crying. And throwing up. But restraining myself and doing neither, I walked to the check out and told the lady that this now-cracked container had fallen on the floor and broken. And it was my fault. I then asked if I needed to pay for it. Seeing my pitifulness, she had mercy on me and said no. Then she put it in a Wal- Mart bag and wrapped it up and stuck it under the counter just like nothing ever happened. I wanted to hug her but I just paid for my undamaged groceries and left.
So that’s the news folks. And because I am unsure if I am just one person or two (I’ve taken to calling myself Sybil), I am being very careful when I handle plates and crock pots and jars or even plastic containers of any kind since I never know when I might snap into the reckless Tori and destroy the rest of my house.
Pray for me. And only serve me supper on paper plates.