A fifteen hour day, followed by a thirteen hour day. Piled on top of
the chronic fatigue brought on by all the events of the past twelve
months (Chef quit almost exactly one year ago today—the beginning of the
end, so to speak.) But for that, we were rewarded with our highest
sales day EVER. A positive note upon which to close the book, if there
ever was one…
I packed up the money, turned off the lights,
drew the shades and locked the door without too much emotion. Saluted
the place as I drove away, with only an annoying mist in my
eyes...brought on more, I think, by the exhaustion than by any real
sadness.
As I dragged myself through my front door, the only
coherent thought I could form was that it will be months before I am
this tired again. Rather than tomorrow night…
Yes, I was
surprisingly dry-eyed during the process—saying goodbye to good
customers, hugging the girls before they left for the last time, locking
the doors and driving away.
Do you want to know what finally brought on the tears?
The dawning realization that now I have Time.
Time to do something. Anything. Or nothing.
Time. I’m going to wrap it around me like a new fleece bathrobe. Snuggle into my life and just BE for a couple of days.
What an extravagant luxury! I feel like I’ve won the lottery.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Running on Empty
The last pan of pumpkin bars. Baked, frosted and quickly disappearing to customers who know they’ll never get another one.
Out of: Turkey. Tuna. Salsa. White bread. Link sausage.
Gas. Energy. Inspiration.
Oh, and we have reservations for a full restaurant tomorrow. Mothers’ Day. Our last hurrah.
Hurrah? Right now, I can hardly squeak and wave a finger.
Until tomorrow, around 3:00 pm.
Out of: Turkey. Tuna. Salsa. White bread. Link sausage.
Gas. Energy. Inspiration.
Oh, and we have reservations for a full restaurant tomorrow. Mothers’ Day. Our last hurrah.
Hurrah? Right now, I can hardly squeak and wave a finger.
Until tomorrow, around 3:00 pm.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Carried by the Wind
"Sometimes I go around feeling sorry for myself; and all the while I am being carried by the wind across the sky."
This particular sentiment speaks to me on so many levels. On the one hand, I have a real penchant for going around feeling sorry for myself. I have honed that to a fine art, over the years. Add to that my fascination for all things "bird," and you have an admonition that, it seems, the Universe custom made for me. An invitation to turn myself inside out. A call to raise my head from my personal hog wallow and understand that I am, indeed, being carried by the wind across the sky, as free and as blessed as any hawk or crow upon whom I have gazed, rapt and a tad envious, as it soared high over my head.
Now, I have been writing about how surprised I am by my lack of bad feelings associated with the end of my business venture. Truly, I never would have guessed I would be looking forward to Sunday with such peace, and such an understanding that this is but the end of a chapter in my life, NOT the end of the world. Unfortunately, there IS a fly in the ointment, in the person of the Intrepid Husband.
It seems HE is the one experiencing all the withdrawal symptoms…from an undertaking to which he never chose to completely commit.
Go figure.
So, earlier this evening, as he began a litany of all the things about the end of our café life that are making him crazy (that he is allowing to make him crazy), I thought it might be helpful to share my precious bit of Chippewa wisdom with him.
After a pregnant pause, he looked at me and asked, dead serious:
What does that mean?
I did my best to explain it to him. I felt a bit as if I was digesting Shakespeare for a 12-year-old. After which he seemed to get it, but I could tell he had no concept of how to apply it to himself, nor any intention of wasting precious time trying.
Leading me to wonder, as I often do these days…
Who is this, really…this man next to whom I sleep every night? And what have we been doing for the past 35 years?
This particular sentiment speaks to me on so many levels. On the one hand, I have a real penchant for going around feeling sorry for myself. I have honed that to a fine art, over the years. Add to that my fascination for all things "bird," and you have an admonition that, it seems, the Universe custom made for me. An invitation to turn myself inside out. A call to raise my head from my personal hog wallow and understand that I am, indeed, being carried by the wind across the sky, as free and as blessed as any hawk or crow upon whom I have gazed, rapt and a tad envious, as it soared high over my head.
Now, I have been writing about how surprised I am by my lack of bad feelings associated with the end of my business venture. Truly, I never would have guessed I would be looking forward to Sunday with such peace, and such an understanding that this is but the end of a chapter in my life, NOT the end of the world. Unfortunately, there IS a fly in the ointment, in the person of the Intrepid Husband.
It seems HE is the one experiencing all the withdrawal symptoms…from an undertaking to which he never chose to completely commit.
Go figure.
So, earlier this evening, as he began a litany of all the things about the end of our café life that are making him crazy (that he is allowing to make him crazy), I thought it might be helpful to share my precious bit of Chippewa wisdom with him.
After a pregnant pause, he looked at me and asked, dead serious:
What does that mean?
I did my best to explain it to him. I felt a bit as if I was digesting Shakespeare for a 12-year-old. After which he seemed to get it, but I could tell he had no concept of how to apply it to himself, nor any intention of wasting precious time trying.
Leading me to wonder, as I often do these days…
Who is this, really…this man next to whom I sleep every night? And what have we been doing for the past 35 years?
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