Amazing how the little things can bring on a big change in attitude-----both negative and positive.
Don't sweat the small stuff, they say, but nobody ever sez what to do when the small stuff turns out to be something good.
I guess ya just come in the house yellin' out, "It's a great day in the neighborhood. Time to rejoice and be glad on it."
Well, that's a big mouthful to scream out, but I did yell the first part when I came into the house after morning chores, showing off TWO DAILY BEE'S.
Yes, TWO DAILY BEE'S, including today's edition were IN THE PAPERBOX, not on top of the mailbox.
I hadn't even walked out there to get the paper because we haven't received a morning paper for at least two or three months.
Maybe it was the "FORCE" which compelled me to walk over to the paper box, or maybe it was the 45 more steps I needed to total 3,000 on my Fitbit before going back inside the house.
Whatever it was, I can tell you there was suddenly a bit of a skip to my stride as I happily scooted to the house, papers in hand and ready to share the big news with Bill.
"We have two papers today, including today's!" I announced, waving the papers in the air as I stepped inside.
I'm not really sure, but now I think our morning papers started coming in the morning a couple of days ago. Our problem was that we'd given up on ever seeing a morning paper again.
Just the other day, I had been reminiscing about how nice it used to be to sit down with my second cup of coffee, start reading and occasionally spit out comments to Bill about certain items in the paper.
Well, we were back at it today. I truly hope this trend continues.
Our delivery person for the past few months remained consistent in seeing that we got our paper anywhere from 1-2 in the afternoon.
So, no complaints there. This person was running two routes, we were told, and the consistency was amazing.
Still, having the morning paper back definitely starts us out with a great day in the neighborhood.
This morning getting to read the morning paper also served as a reminder---thanks to a sports story---that the Bulldog football team is playing in West Seattle tonight. That led to my telling Annie about the game.
Since she and coach Ryan Knowles used to play together occasionally as kids growing up in our old neighborhood, it will be fun if they can get together tonight in Annie's current stomping grounds to say hi.
Both have followed their passions and both have gone on fascinating journeys since their days at Sandpoint High School.
My spirits were also lifted in the darkness this morning as I walked past the barn to hear that it's "World Pasta Day."
Pasta and gluttony go hand in hand with me.
In my later years, I've learned (thanks to pants that don't fit) to discipline myself when facing a plate of pasta, be it mac n' cheese, spaghetti and meat/meatballs, lasagna, pasta salad, etc.
I'm used to behave like a horse getting into a grain barrel; I could have eaten pasta 'til it almost killed me.
My youthful appetite had no conscience: if it was there, eat it, and eat a lot of it.
My lack of discipline with fresh-baked sweet rolls is well documented in my first book------13 fresh orange rolls devoured in one sitting after a 4-H meeting at Eleanor Delamarter's house.
Years later, in my adulthood and after reading my book, when Eleanor baked and sent me 13 cinnamon rolls via my brother Jim, I actually shared the baker's dozen of delightful goodies with family members.
My gut and body had suffered enough gluttony by that stage of my life that I was taking a more measured approach to what went in my mouth.
So, yes, bread products and pasta have always required great discipline during my more mature years. Plus, my stomach just can't hold that much.
I always wonder what happens to stomachs as they age.
The same stomachs that could once put away a dozen pancakes, slathered with melted butter and syrup, are now lucky to hold two.
I never ate a dozen pancakes, but I'm pretty sure my brothers did.
What I did eat, however, relates to today's celebration, and it has never been documented----maybe told out loud a few times but never documented.
So, here goes: in honor of World Pasta Day, which ironically for me is on a Friday.
Twas on Friday's that I enjoyed a few moments of private gluttony before heading home to Sandpoint from a week at the University of Idaho.
I was a senior in college at the time, as was my roommate (name withheld out of respect for what is about to be exposed in this story).
We met before school started that year. Both of us wanted to live off campus but didn't have a roommate. Luckily, my friend's sister, with whom I worked, connected us.
Ours turned out to be an amazing and instant friendship as we spent our senior year studying and, in between, learning about each other.
I don't know what brought out the revelation, but it was probably spring of that year that we both also learned that we'd been a couple of sneaks----sneaking from each other.
Basic story: I loved Franco American spaghetti with meatballs; my roommate loved toast. I think we learned this about each other fairly early on.
What we did NOT know, however, was the actual extent of what we would do in secret to thoroughly enjoy our culinary addictions.
When the revelation came out, I think I confessed first. That may have something to do with my friend's discovery of a recently deposited can in the garbage container one Friday afternoon after I'd gone home to Sandpoint.
Since we generally purchased our food together at the supermarket down the block, my roommate was very curious about the Franco American spaghetti can which suddenly appeared one day.
The mystery unfolded, as did our idiosyncratic food behavior.
Turns out AFTER I had revealed to my roommate that every Friday, I had stopped at Modern Way Thrift Store, purchased a can of Franco American spaghetti, walked home, opened the can, ate it cold and then stuffed the can in the garbage before heading off to Sandpoint, SHE arrived home later in the afternoon, sat down with a loaf of bread and made herself 8-9 pieces of toast and ATE them all----by herself.
Our dysfunctional food habits of gorging ourselves in solitude---if I'm recalling correctly---led to an outing party of sorts where I ate my spaghetti from a can while she ate her toast.
Yep, it was fun to think back on those times so long ago as I walked through today's early dawn darkness toward another present-day revelation----that we now had our morning paper back.
Life is crazy, funny at times, and when you unexpectedly get to read the morning paper in the morning, the crazy and the funny seem that much better.
Lord knows we need these moments of levity, especially when we learn that our government officials are soon to lose some of their newspaper-reading rights.
I guess the theory is that they'll have better workplace attitudes cuz they'll be spared of all that factual information in said papers, proving that lunacy is reigning supreme at the highest level.
Happy Pasta Day!
I think I'll go buy a can of Franco American spaghetti and meatballs and celebrate good times back in the day.
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