My birthday is tomorrow — I’ll be 45, you guys, which just astounds me (it wasn’t so long ago 25 seemed old) — and when I sketched out my loose plan for this week, I decided that what I really wanted was to enjoy my last days of 44 and my first days of 45, and not worry about my to-do list so much. So basically rock it old school and have a birthday week is what I’m saying.
I’ve got some awesome stuff planned: Reflexology on Monday, acupuncture on Friday, a girls’ night on Tuesday, and my little family party Wednesday. (It’s just occurred to me Thursday has been left out of the mix. Maybe coffee and reading on the deck after dinner?)
I’ve also got some NOT awesome stuff planned because I’m an adult and for some reason I’m in charge of things like laundry, plus I have a job where your mistakes are very public. (Wrote an article about a business closing, thought they sold, they’re just leasing, oops, there’s a phone call I need to make. Thank heavens everyone commenting on the story online is so forgiving! 😉 )
You know what’s fantastic about the 40s, incidentally? What you want becomes crystal clear, and you have the experiences and lessons behind you to make things happen. Or not, if you so choose. You’re through with the “searching” and the “finding” and you’re just going for it. It’s like I’ve lost that part of my brain with the filter — I am all in, or maybe all out.
I probably come off as unhinged half the time, but the good news is that I am, so whatever, let’s move on.
So once upon a time, like last Wednesday, Abby was at work and in need of snacks. I’d just picked Johanna up from my parents’ — she had a tennis camp all week and they were awesome about ferrying her to and fro — so we hit the store at around 5:30 p.m., which, incidentally, is a terrible time to go grocery shopping. (Um, because Everyone In The World is off work and at the store too.)
After wandering the aisles rather aimlessly, I finally decided on some all-natural fruit leather for Abs. All wrapped in plastic. Then I let Johanna get some barbecued-flavor Pop Chips because they were on sale and she has needs. I also picked up some eggs — cardboard — a chocolate bar — paper and foil, and slave-labor free and fair trade. It’s like I’d be ruining the world if I didn’t buy this chocolate. You’re welcome, world!
So we’re trying to find a checkout line that doesn’t have 58,000 people already in it. Johanna informed me we only had 8 items and could get into the express lane, which didn’t look very express, but we hop in. I get the guy who’s usually in customer service and tares my jars. So we’re talking about how it’s a little busy and suddenly he’s like, hey, are you the zero waste family? And I was like, um, yes? Although wow, look at this stuff, I’m not doing so well today. How ironic that he pointed out my zero waste tendencies on a day when I was not.
Oh, wait, no, Abby was very appreciative of her fruit leather, although she only got four because Johanna snitched the cherry-flavored one.
Now it’s the end.
We went to a picnic on Saturday — Sons and Daughters of Oregon Pioneers — and I packed plates, silverware and napkins for us to use even though paper and plastic equivalents were being furnished. I don’t mind paper, per se, because that’s technically biodegradable, except in a landfill nothing biodegrades because it’s not supposed to. And plastic will be around forever. So anyway, that’s why I brought our own tableware.
I got one comment: That’s really smart. Another new best friend to add to the pile. Also, Pro Tip, when you bring your own, you bypass the line for the plates et al and can head straight for the food. I mean, I can’t really eat at potlucks (thanks, jerky stomach!) but I was looking forward to the salad and cherries we’d brought. The girls weren’t complaining, either. Eric is more patient and waited for the older people to go through. Ah, well. It’s no secret he’s a better person than I am.
Really the end.