Being Grateful and Cookies

I believe my greatest feat in happiness is finding something to be grateful for every single day. Some days I have to paint my own silver lining because I can’t find it, but I’m normally one of those disgustingly optimistic people who can find a (sometimes inappropriate-joke-at-the-right-time) positive light. 

When things got really bad this summer, I had my silver linings and blessings.  The Lady didn’t die in a terrible car crash that, by the looks of it, should have taken her life. My parents came to my aid when things got darkest. I had a friend to call to help me move last minute when I was kicked out. My job was easily transferrable. I had my health, so even without health insurance, I was still in the clear. And my boss from my high school job was kind enough to give me a shift that he didn’t have until I asked for a job.

Even on normal days when I’m just feeling off, I have things for which to be thankful.  One specific thought I have is that I’m not as terrible as I think I am on the bad days because I have four specific people who are still my closest friends despite my horrible communication, hundreds of miles, and terrible decisions.  If they want to stick it out and be my friend, then clearly I can’t be that bad. (I talked about Brenna specifically recently, but there are a few others.)

So when I have something very specific to be thankful for from someone, I want to show them that I honestly am grateful.

Since I moved to the new store, things have been happening that I need to ask people for help.  Without them knowing me, they don’t know how much I try to avoid this.  But when I could see the Lady for the first time in a while, someone switched a shift with me and saved my Thanksgiving. When my great-aunt Gen died, my boss very easily told me to take the time off to take care of my mom. When I excitedly made plans with my niece for a very delayed birthday dinner, someone switched with me so I didn’t have to be the worst aunt in the world to cancel plans.

So to pay those people back (deservedly), I did what I do. I baked cookies and wrote thank you notes.  When I got to thinking about it though, I realized that my boss was this amazing man who took me back, not many questions asked. He is a nosy man, that boss.  But he is a kind hearted and warm guy who makes sure I know he cares. So I baked him the cookies he’s been asking for after the first batch of regular chocolate chip cookies for the ones at Starbucks.

Love Languages: Pear Pie and Adventures to Utah

I rushed a pie. In so many ways.

My pears weren’t perfectly ripe (in the way that avocados are not ripe and very quickly bad, I feel pears are the same way).

I didn’t have enough time to let the crust set perfectly.

I walked very quickly to the grocery store instead of letting my body and mind wander about the pie I was about to bake.

And I usually bake on Fridays before a 4 o’clock shift instead of a Monday before a 1:30 shift.

But I did this for my sanity. A little rushed insanity for six days of slow, heartwarming sanity.

I met Brenna in 2007, my freshman year. She was my residential advisor and we fell in friend love months later when I realized she actually wanted to be my friend and wasn’t around because she had to be. She is not one to waste her time on things she does not want. This idea (that she loves me and doesn’t need to love me) is one that helps me realize I’m not worthless when I feel quite bad about myself.

She moved out west nearly four years ago and I hadn’t seen her.  She picks up her phone when I need someone. When she (rarely) needs someone, I try to be there for her too.  We don’t talk every day (or even every month), but I know that if I were ever to need her, she’d be there (figuratively, seeing as she’s many states away). But I saved some money and flew out to see her.  I expected to spend the weekend and after work hours with her, but in true Brenna fashion, she took two full days off as well. 

We talked and talked and talked. We spread the Gay Agenda.

She baked.

We traveled into the nest of security (the Spanish Fork Canyon) and shared secrets with the Prince of Norway and saw the Delicate Arch and made up stories of the Brenna as the weirdo-introvert petroglyph artist.

We IKEA-dated and ate ice cream and I built a shelf in my love language (Acts of Service).

 She fell asleep on me. I walked around Salt Lake City. I ate churros and wrote post cards and visited new Starbucks because I’m a nerd.

I found a print that I thought she would like and reminded me of her love of life and scribbled a note in a stream of consciousness way to tell her how much I loved and appreciated her and left a tiny elephant in hopes it would remind her of how happy she makes me.

 I left Utah with a sense of calm, a sort-of zen that would be shattered with a new store opening and new baristas and the busiest store I’ve worked in. But I left Utah knowing a lot more about LDS (that’s Latter Day Saints, see?!), Utah, mountains, and knowing I’m loved deeply by someone I love deeply. And nothing can shatter these feelings and memories.

But about that pie: people liked it. One person judged the pears with a true queen-like fashion, and my friend stood up for me and ate two slices. My boss (one of the few people who is totally honest with me about my baking) said the pears weren’t ripe enough. But he ate the whole (large) slice I saved him.