The way I see it #76

So who else is excited that it's fall at Starbucks? In the past three days, I've consumed more than my fair share of various pumpkin-laced products. Yum.

But the real subject of this post is not what was inside of my partner beverage cup on Tuesday (btw, it was triple grande nonfat no whip pumpkin spice latte) but instead what was written on its side. Here's the quote:

"The irony of commitment is that it’s deeply liberating – in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life."
- Anne Morriss, Starbucks customer

Oh, how convicting for Little Miss Can't Decide. I believe in the truth of Anne's statement with all of my heart. I just can't seem to put it into practice.

"The time for sleep is now"

They’re mocking me, I thought, as I turned the key in my Taurus’ ignition at 4:30 a.m. and that Death Cab line shot back at me. Yes, I agreed, 4:30 a.m. is the perfect time for sleep, but, hi-ho, off to work I go.

I suppose my latest posts have been indicative of my current situation… some rubbish about mowing grass… Last night I was made embarrassingly aware of the pathetic-ness of said situation when a coworker asked me what I’d been up to all week.

Working overtime, I responded. And I ran on the treadmill. And mowed grass.

Yeah.

Last week I worked somewhere in the vicinity of 50 hours at various Starbucks stores. I could definitely use the overtime pay, but the nonstop laboring left me feeling an all-too-familiar sensation: burnout.

My coworker’s question inspired a rather painful realization about how unbalanced my life has become, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid by taking this job in the first place. I gave up the “career track” because I craved balance in my personal, social, professional and spiritual lives. However, what I’ve achieved looks nothing like the scales supporting the duck and the “witch” in that one Monty Python movie.

I can’t say I want to get back into journalism right now. I mean, if I can’t balance working at a coffee shop with outside life, how on earth would I manage to be healthy whilst operating the all-consuming machine that is the news? I need to find a way to work with what I have now for as long as it is mine. Huh… lookie here… a lesson in stewardship.

I guess the place I need to start reclaiming that balance is in my spiritual life. As long as it’s confession time, I haven’t picked up a Bible since shortly after graduation. I started a Donald Miller book, but never made it past the second chapter. My prayer life has degenerated to “God, please help me fall asleep right now” or “Please keep [enter loved one’s name here] safe as [he/she] travels.” On Sunday, Pastor David (who recently returned from a 5-week pilgrimage to Colorado to reclaim his lost balance) emphasized the importance of praying as Jesus prayed… first for God’s Kingdom and Glory and eventually for my own needs. Oops.

So I think I’ll spend some time with God before bed tonight, though the time for sleep is fast approaching. Alas, I open again tomorrow and he who does not work does not eat (and I like to eat).

Adventures in lawncare

There is a reason I will not be starting a landscaping business anytime in the near future.

With Nate back at the 'Due, the task of grass mowing falls to me. After much procrastination, I finally admitted that the forest that had been sprouting in our yard for the past two weeks needed a serious trim.

I rose early this morning to knock the chore out of the way as soon as possible, but the dew left by last night's cold spell didn't bother lifting until well after 10 a.m. By the time the grass dried out and I oiled and gassed up the mower, it was almost noon.

Of course every time, and I do mean every time, I mount the mower I forget how to turn it on. I try following the instructions inscribed below the steering wheel (which usually results in something sputtering and smoking) until I eventually give up, storm inside and call my grandpa. But today, not even the Lawn Lord himself could get that little red Snapper going. While Grandpa took our mower back to his place for further inspection, he left his faster, zippier mower with me. The grass would get mowed today one way or another. After all, today was my only day off.

After a few laps around the yard, I felt like I was getting the hang of mowing again. Sure, I got slapped in the face by numerous tree limbs and almost tipped over on one hill, but the fresh air felt great and it wasn't too hot out today. Regardless, I don't believe a bright future in professional lawncare is on my horizon.

"Grief is good"

Today's Courier & Press detailed a 16-year-old boy's suicide in a local public high school parking lot yesterday. As I read the piece, I found myself remembering my late-night library shift on April 26, 2006-- a night that changed my alma mater forever.

That was the night five members of the Taylor community died in an I-69 confrontation with a semi-truck. For hours we sat in the chapel waiting for identification of those who had left us. Tired of sitting, I left before the announcement, anxious and upset. I laced up my running shoes and began circling the campus in an attempt to burn out the helpless feeling that sank in my gut. It was the one night I wasn't afraid to be running alone. My fear had been replaced with agitation.

The steps the administration took to ensure community healing in the following weeks were exemplary. Classes were cancelled for the two days following our all-night vigil. Memorial services were planned and arrangements were made for students and faculty to attend funerals in neighboring states. Professors went so far as to cancel major assignments in hopes to alleviate our stress levels and make room for corporate grief. Although these adjustments may have seemed excessive to students relatively untouched by the tragedy, those closest to the deceased found some measure of comfort in the university's compassion.

I couldn't help but wonder if the Castle High School students struck by this suicide will remember their administration the same way. Of course, Taylor is not perfect, nor is it as sheltered as it might appear. Inside the "bubble" resides a community scarred by suicide, death and vandalism. Real life will attack any institution, regardless of whether or not it receives state funds. I hope those closest to the Castle case will feel safe and supported by their school. Certainly, my prayers are with them.

"What looks so strong, so delicate"

Cliff just linked me this. I guess if myspace's obnoxiously designed interface isn't enough to ruin your day, the viruses you might pick up there will. Just be careful, surfers.

Mighty MO

This isn't my first long-distance relationship, but in the past it seems I've always been the one to initiate them. It's not like I've ever wanted a long distance relationship, I just find myself going to Ireland or school or something like that. This time is different. This time he's moved away from me.

It's nothing personal, either. He has a great opportunity and I'm excited for him. I spent the weekend moving him into his new apartment in Columbia. I had so much fun getting him all settled in. Plus, I really enjoy the area. We walked around this park with a fake lake in the middle of it and played on this sweet playground. Later that evening, we strolled through Mizzou's Peace Park to the exhilarating rhythm of the MU drumline. They were awesome and I reeled in envy of their coordination.

Today I drove home, unsure of what awaits me. On the radio, Sean Hannity warned of impending doom following the UN ceasefire agreement. Like the Middle East, I feel equally unstable, though not so much doomed. I just feel antsy, as though I'm on the brink of a huge life decision and I don't know which way is up or down...

But I'm following my heart. We'll see where that gets me.

"... What's goin' on in the kitchen, but I don't know what's cookin'"

I love Rachael Ray.

There, I've admitted it, but it's not exactly my deepest, darkest secret. Actually, it's no secret at all. It's common knowledge that I'm quick to tune into anything starring the bubbly brunette, be it 30-Minute Meals, $40-a-Day, Tasty Travels, etc. She's fun, she makes great food, and she has excellent advice.

Therefore I was sold on the virtues of Balsamic Vinegar the moment she touted it's benefits. Indeed, her Rosemary Chicken Breast recipe was a real crowd pleaser when I made it earlier this summer. Great, I have one recipe that calls for BV and a bottle of the stuff collecting dust under the stove. What else can I do with it?

The idea came to me after my mom let me in on the family recipe for Salmon Patties. They're delicious, but lack something in the flavor department. As I thought back on my chipper days in Ireland, the thought occured to me: fish and vinegar rock together. What would happen if I put balsamic vinegar in the pattie recipe? The rest is history.

Now I'm following in Ray's footsteps engineering my own recipe. I'm so excited about it, I want to share it with the world. So here it is, Megan's Balsamic Salmon Patties:

Ingredients:
1 can of salmon fillets
1 egg, beaten
1/2 cup of oats (substitute crushed crackers)
2 tbsp balsamic vinegar
Pure canola oil

Procedure:
Combine ingredients in bowl (TIP: strain fillets first. If cohabitating with cats, strain excess oil/water into dish on floor for them to lap up). Fill frying pan with oil to between a quarter and half an inch from the bottom. Heat on medium. Fashion salmon/oat/egg/vinegar mixture into patties. Plop in oil, cook on both sides for 3-4 minutes or until golden brown. Remove from oil and wick away excess liquid with paper towels. Enjoy.

Get your kicks...

Shopping for shoes with a side of insanity? Look no further than your neighborhood Shoe Carnival.

I hadn't been in a Shoe Carnival in years, so when Cliff suggested we swing by the Green River location to get some new sneakers, I didn't think twice. I'd heard there was a sale there (buy one, get one half off) and I needed some new shoes for work (my 7th grade gym shoes that I'd been wearing were losing their soles). Besides, Cliff had a gift card he needed to use up, so after we stuffed ourselves with all the Fazoli's breadsticks we could stand, we headed over to the happiest shoe store on earth.

I should clarify that by "happiest" I mean "most psychotic." The minute we stepped in the door we were greeted by a creepy looking man in a bow tie standing atop a pedestal hawking promotions like an auctioneer. The music (70s/80s dance classics) was so loud I had to shout to hear myself think. The crowds, the deals... they just kept coming. I quickly located some adequate footware to meet my employer's dress code standards and plopped down in men's athletics while Cliff paced the aisle... first New Balance, then Asics. After much deliberation over comfort, style and affordability, he settled with the New Balance.

We at last escaped with our brand new kicks, a few dollars saved, and, believe it or not, our right minds. I even sported my new Sketchers at work today to the applause of many. Of course, this applause only came AFTER I pointed them out enthusiastically.

Call me by my secret agent name.

I just worked an eight hour shift at Starbucks with no bathroom breaks. Add to that a meal break and travel to and from the Bux, that's nine hours straight! Haha, take that ADH inhibitors!!!

I received the most interesting comment ever today. Cliff told me: "You smell like St. Louis." Yeah. Not sure...

My new "alias" in my coffee passport is Tootsie Roll.

"No more papers, no more books..."

In the past week or so, stores have begun to advertise Back-to-School sales. As I peruse the newspaper ads for discounted Jelly Roll pens and Trapper Keepers, I feel an acute emptiness. Suddenly, I reach a startling realization: This fall, for the first time in 17 years, I will not be going back to school.

I've been looking forward to this state of being for quite some time, but I must admit the situation strikes me as a bit odd. I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself. Of course, there isn't anything I should be doing with myself. I have entered the Real World. I've been there for a couple months by now. Why am I so surprised?

Three weeks ago, I found myself and three friends walking the campus of Taylor University, our Alma Mater. As we reminisced about the past four years spent in the midst of corn, we couldn't avoid admitting to the specialness of that place. "Oh no," one of us exclaimed. "We've become Taylor Alums!"

Being back on campus was a strange experience in itself. Everything was so familiar, yet at the same time entirely foreign. I can never go back to being a Taylor student. Nor would I want to; I quite enjoy the freedom graduation entails. Yet something within me aches for that familiarity. Perhaps it's the fear of the unknown.

Recently, I disclosed to a coworker my awkward feelings concerning Back-to-School sales. He affirmed my emotions, but reassured me.

"It's ok. You can still buy new shoes."

Under pressure

About two weeks ago, my Mr. Coffee coffee maker broke. It was nothing special. I work around coffee everyday, so brewing my own cup isn't a top priority to me. I like coffee, but I get along fine without it if need be. Still, I've wanted a french press for a while now and yesterday the price was right. Check out my new toy:



It's a thermal french press that recently got marked down to half price. With my discount and my current lack of brewing technology in my own home, the purchase just made sense. I drank my first cup of Komodo Dragon Blend from this baby this morning and, let me tell you, it was awesome.