A Scoop of Peppermint Ice Cream

Hi. I don't think we've met. I'm a scoop of peppermint ice cream. You've probably seen me. I live at the ice cream parlor down the street. You know the one--it stays open pretty late and has those little white tables and chairs--ring a bell? Yeah, that's where I've been staying. I've seen what goes on. That whole thing with the sprinkles last year? All true. The petty back stabbing between regular, waffle and sugar cones? Yep, also true. Every word. 


Me? I have all day. I'm in no hurry. How would I describe myself? Well, I am neither pink nor green. I am rather cream colored with real flecks of crushed peppermint candy, actually. This sets me apart from my many imitators, of course. I can be mixed with chocolate, mocha, tea and fruit sorbets--even citrus ices. I know! It's fascinating, isn't it? However, I do not tolerate peanut butter, pumpkin-spice or caramel flavors very well. Let me tell you all about it. Wait. Hold on--I've got another call. 


I'm back. Anyway, I am peppermint ice cream. Not mint ice cream. There is a difference. I am, as well, uniquely suited for winter consumption unlike 99% of the other flavors. I know, I know, 'how weird' (cough! humble-brag). When people bring this up I glom on to it. Yes! Let's talk about the irony of my being peppermint flavored! No, I don't mind talking about it again. I never mind talking about it again. Hm? Why are all the other flavors leaving? Hey! I'm peppermint ice cream, what's the problem? Of course I talk about myself all day, I'm interesting, duh! 

Icy, Minty

icy
minty
saucers, spoons
menus
puddles 
random lull
weird momentary public silence
window seat
winter boots
snow soaked bags of groceries 
pre-washed baby spinach in a plastic box
yoplait
radishes
q-tips
other people shoveling in the distance
branches on trees that are rock-candy
a neighborhood that is a gingerbread town
wet woolen, church bazaar mittens
tiny paw prints
walking in the door
rag rugs
coat hooks
the heat coming on   
orange peels
warm 
dry

Workflow

Whenever my phone rings I remember that it's still on a one-beep setting. I need to change it back but I keep putting it off. It turns out that changing things like the settings on my phone interrupts my workflow. It breaks down as follows: 


1. My phone rings. 
2. I remember that it's still on one-beep setting.
3. I stop everything.
4. I go search for my phone.  
5. I change the settings on my phone. 
6. I go back to my desk.
7. I get into several well meaning yet unnecessary conversations along the way.
8. I sit down.
9. I attempt to get back into previous mode of workflow.  
10. I stare blankly at my computer. 
11. I think about the concept of one's 'body of work'.  
12. I think about the meaning of the word legacy.
13. I think about the sunshine. 
14. I think about getting up and leaving the building. About never coming back.
15. I go get a cookie. 


So, as you can see, it is for very good reason that things such as changing the one-beep setting on my phone (which was employed specifically to be less disruptive months ago but is no longer necessary) have yet to be addressed. Because such interrupts my fairly gullible, easily confused, much too fickle yet somehow lovable workflow. I could write about it all day long. I won't. But I could (just a little warning that things could start to go that way at any time).

Really Liking Today

It's winter. It's practically January and it's so mild outside. It's just perfectly rainy and gray. It's not even necessary to wear a heavy winter coat. This is my favorite kind of winter day. The trees are bare and dark against a pale white sky and the traffic sounds so pretty if not ever so slightly expectant after it has rained. I really love the way the traffic sounds after it has rained. I'm conditioned by this sound to both relax and focus and actually be wherever I am in the world instead of stuck in some loop inside my brain. Don't get me wrong, I like dry weather, too. And I like snow. I even kind of miss the snow right now. As well, the way snow alters the sound of the traffic. But it's different. The snow-traffic sound seems more fraught. Maybe even a little bit dramatic. It emphasizes how slow and defensively people are driving. This, though inspiring, is way less relaxing than rain-traffic sounds and more like a reminder to get back indoors. Not that it won't snow soon. It will--until then, there's today. 

Religious Experience

Today, now officially three days before Christmas Eve, is awesome. The day each year when I suddenly decide that I like Christmas. But--where did all the time go? There's so much to do! There's the frosting of the cookies. The wrapping of the gifts. The making of the antipasto. As well, there's the arranging of miniature pickles on a plate. The forcing radishes to look like roses. The stuffing olives with bleu cheese. The replicating a 1/4" scale Westminster Abbey out of Wheat Thins. Then, the moment of silence happens. It's just a lull but I find that I've come to rely on this one silent moment each year to renew and make 'blank' my life and brain. Then, on the day itself, there is the Doing Of Nothing. This state of being interrupted only occasionally by the experience of The Eating Of The Christmas Cookies (made lovingly by my mom) of which there are several varieties: There are the cut-out frosted cookies which are crisp, decorative and not-too-sweet. There are the chocolate layer cookies that cannot be explained other than to say that there are never enough of them (which I believe is by design). And, incredibly, there are the Russian tea cakes which melt in your mouth, transport you to a better place, solve all of your problems and somehow make you accept your own mortality--even if only briefly. Oh, and there are the pretzels dipped in chocolate for which I have no opinion.

Nothing Happened

Wednesday 3 am
You wake up confused by all the coughing. Then you realize that it's you that is coughing. How long have I been coughing? You cough and cough even though your lungs are clear--and that's the thing--your lungs are just not getting that there is no reason to be coughing like this. You're disoriented, exhausted and covered in sweat. For a moment you wonder if this is actually your death-day. 


4 am
You manage your way in semi-darkness to the bathroom to find the cough syrup. A small herd of concerned kittens has collected around you and are all meowing. You answer their questions but they seem unconvinced. Your boyfriend, who is already downstairs getting you tea, has, thankfully, not yet caught this cold. 


Thursday
Work goes okay until about 3 pm where, while in the middle of a sentence, you lose your voice. Completely. You try to clear your throat but it's no use. This is funny for about twenty minutes. Finally, you just go home. You have no voice. 


Friday
You stay on the couch all day with your laptop, a glass of hot tea and your phone. You text people. All people--even your mom. After all, you can't talk. And you find that this simplifies many things. 


Saturday
Your voice starts coming back. Somewhere between 40% and 60%. Though you no longer have any other symptoms, you decide to make soup and remain in pajamas all day. You wrap a blanket around yourself. You 'can't talk', you rasp, you 'have no voice'. 


Sunday
To your utter dismay your voice is back 100%. It's actually an improvement on your old voice. You've never felt better in your life. Still, you keep checking your glands and clearing your throat only to find that you aren't in any pain. You are well. Healthy. Your voice is clear as a bell. No matter, you think, one more day of bed rest and pure silence can't hurt anything.  


Monday
You can't believe the text you have jokingly composed to your boss while waiting for the coffee to brew: You are 'so sorry' but you 'might need another day or so'--you stop yourself right there--what am I doing? You deliberate. You take out the 'or so'. You press 'send'. You regret it instantly.


Tuesday
You return to work and begin talking to people again--just like that--though considerably less than before. You're even a few minutes early. It's as though nothing happened. 

Roman Sat Uncomfortably

Roman sat uncomfortably in the old red leather banquette with the worn arm rests. He was waiting in the designated waiting area that was really just a narrow hallway between two offices. The walls there had been painted an umber-yellow and there was a window with a too-small sheer curtain above where Roman sat. Sometimes he could hear their voices beyond the door but not what they were saying. Why, Roman wondered. Why must I always be waiting for her? He looked up and noticed a potted plant balanced precariously on the window sill above his head. The plant was dead. 


I must forgive Gus.


Those had been his father's dying words: I must forgive Gus. You must forgive me and I must forgive myself. 


How, Roman wondered, did the old man manage all of that in the last few hours of his life? How was that even possible? But that was exactly what Roman's father had done. As though forgiveness were so simple, Roman thought. As though the alternative were somehow--!


Roman? 


Yes?


Thanks for waiting. Please, come in. 

I Want Soup

I want soup. Soup or chili. With bread from the oven and with little pats of butter wrapped in gold foil. Or stew. I almost forgot about stew. Stew would be great on a day like today. Wait. Stop everything. Three words: Grilled Cheese Sandwich. On pretzel bread. That would be great. Or cake. I could just have cake. There's stuffed cabbage. That would be fine. Or pot roast. It doesn't matter. 

The Phone Drawer

It turns out I saved all of my old cell phones. I didn't set out to do this. It just happened. So, now, every time I open the drawer that happens to contain my old cell phones I feel weird about the whole thing. As well, nearly every single time I open that drawer I imagine the cell phones finally on a shelf in an antique store somewhere. Left over crummy plastic artifacts. But, you know, why not? I ran across several unopened cans of soup at one of my favorite antique stores recently. They were only fifty years old and very reasonably priced. No, these cell phones, though functionally dead, haven't even begun their real journeys, yet. They don't even know what they're in for. They're just resting, now. Gathering strength. Being protected from dust, direct sunlight and the threat of landfills so that they can one day fulfill their real, penultimate purpose (their ultimate purpose being something beyond my imagination though fuel seems likely). I almost envy them, these cell phones. Almost.  

Having a Taco

I think this is as good a place as any to mention that I am eating a taco and that it is very good. It was brought home yesterday as leftovers. This was unbeknownst to me. I just found it all wrapped up in foil in the refrigerator. I am eating it cold because, after weighing the options of microwaving versus baking the taco in the oven, it seemed simplest to just eat the taco cold. Besides, microwaving tends to change the consistency of things like tortillas in a bad way. And baking seems extreme considering the waste of energy and time involved in getting the oven to the correct temperature for just one taco. The third, rarely spoken of but valid option of buying a toaster oven to reheat the taco, too, seemed a bit much. So I took the chance of eating it cold. Of course I could have let the taco become room temperature but that would have taken forever. So, I just went with the cold-variety taco. And it's good. Even though it's cold. So I can only imagine how good it was while still hot. But that was yesterday. Like I said, I didn't know about this taco until today.