Thinking Aloud

me under our crabapple tree

photocredit goes to Miss Brynlee

First and foremost:  This Tuesday marks the last day of August. Already, sheesh. And with the last day of August comes the last day of Tour de Feet. Although I had a grand time doing Tour de Feet, I feel a bit disappointed in my efforts overall. It could have been a much better outlet to channel my creativity than what I made of it. But life got busy, Project: Master bathroom consumed, and Tour de Feet was what it was. Or was what it wasn't. Sometimes that just happens. 

I'm Feeling: Sore and, oh my goodness, achy. On Saturday we had a little party at my house with some of my old roommates. Spencer and the kids had a party of their own which included a Kid's Meal at McDonalds and $10.00 worth of tokens at Outer Limits. Brynlee insisted that her party needed to be a slumber party so to appease we slept the night on the hide-a-bed. My neck will never forgive me.

Oh, and the roommate reunion: A smashing success, if you ask me. It was so fun to work with the party planner extraordinaire and to glean some of her vast knowledge. It was equally as fun to reunite with old roommates; oh how I adore them. I think roommates can make or break your college experience. My roommates, all ten of them, made mine. And I will forever love them for it.

Excuse me while I get sentimental:  With my class reunion earlier this month, and then a roommate party this weekend it really has me thinking about old friends. It's been said that "The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that they can grow separately without growing apart." How true, and the last month has confirmed it. Life happens, we change: we grow up, get educated, fall in love, get married, have families, buy houses and get real jobs. But somewhere, in all of the change, there's seems to be a connecting constant: friendship. Somehow, even after years and years without talking, a good friendship is able to pick up where it left off. Don't you agree?

My newfound quest: Whenever my neighbors would go out of town we would be asked to feed the pets, water the flowers, scrap the snow or babysit the fish. And in return, she would make us a batch of Chocolate Cookie Bars. They were always warm, straight from the oven; and they were delightful. They have since moved away. I requested the recipe before they left and she delivered. Tonight I wanted to make Nyla's Chocolate Cookie Bars so I dug out my recipe. However, much to my disappointment, the recipe she had written down wasn't complete and now I'm in search for a similar {complete} recipe. I hope I'm successful.

Right now, as I type: The windows are open, the air is crisp, kids are snoozing, the house is clean, toys picked up and the dishes are done. Spence and I are snuggled on the couch eating my first attempt at Nyla's Chocolate Cookie Bars and watching the documentary King Corn. My review so far: fascinating, yet funny.

On my mind:  In a conversation with a friend this weekend I made a blunt statement that was in reference to something that happened previously, and something that we had conversed about prior {are you following me?}. I exclaimed, mid-conversation, something like: "Well, to be honest, I kind of do think my life is perfect. I mean, it's perfect for me." 

And then the conversation continued and the subject was changed and then later on I realized that what I said, didn't match what I meant.

Do you ever do that? I do it a lot. I talk. Then talk. Then breathe. Then think. It's a fault, and I should add that to my big ole list book of things that I should work on.

Anyways, what I meant was that my life is very, very far from perfect. Like the opposite of perfect. Like doesn't even resemble perfection in even the weakest form. Like if perfect was red, my life would be green. Like if perfection was a five star restaurant, I'd be eating corndog from the supermarket deli. Without mustard.

My life, not perfect.

But, hidden in the mayhem and pandemonium of this life of mine, there's perfection. Because I know it's not perfect; and that, somehow, is what makes it so. Because it's my life. And I share it with people I love. And I live it. Happily.

What is perfection anyways? Someday I'm going to write an entire blog post on defining perfection, just you wait and see. But for now I hope that my friend took from that statement what I meant, and not what I said.

On tomorrow's agenda:  Visiting Teaching, a trip to the post office to mail a CD of pictures to a friend, and finding a good mocktail recipe for this week's mutual activity: a flight to paradise. 

Happy Monday!