Living Snapshots: Coke and Peanuts

I'm not one to take pictures, but if I concentrate hard enough on a moment, I can learn it by heart, storing away in my memory, not only images, but sounds, scents and emotions. To me, that living snapshot is worlds better than a whole album of two-dimensional pictures. I have so many of these moments stored away from this weekend... my own personal scrapbook of happiness to flip through in the upcoming weeks. Here's one of my favorites...

Jori and I stand in front of the glass doors of the drink coolers in the Dayton General Store, perusing the selection of old-fashioned glass bottled sodas like its the hardest decision that we have to make--and for the day, it is. Forget the worries and woes of grown-up-ed-ness; today we wear hair ribbons and light spirits as we wander the sidewalks of our old town in search of a  swingset and  some adventure.
Swinging the cooler door open, I grab a Coke, (I'm in need of something tried and true, something classic) and head to the counter to pay. Jori is behind me when she notices the snack display with its MoonPies and bags of peanuts.
"Have you ever had Coke and peanuts?" she asks.
I turn around to face her, seeking clarification,
"Do you mean putting the peanuts *in* the Coke?"
She's not the first ask me about this odd combination.
She nods, "My dad taught me to do it."
Maybe its my Yankee heritage that has kept me in the dark from this tradition, I hadn't heard of it till recently--since I've lived in the South.
Jori grabs a packet of peanuts and adds them to her purchase, "We're making this happen."
We stop by the bottle opener on the way out the door; I relish  the almost musical pop and fizz of the bottlecap seal being broken, and slip the discarded cap into the pocket of my jean--as a memory keeper.
Outside the general store we stand at a simple plank counter in the sunshine. Jori shakes some peanuts into my hand  and I drop them one by one through the narrow bottleneck.  The Coke fizzes slightly in reaction. Jori watches as I take my first sip. The salty peanuts accentuate the sweetness of the the Coke, and any skepticism I'd had beforehand dissolves. Its good, and Jori smiles at my nod of approval as we continue our wandering adventure down the streets of Dayton.

Little Things

"The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant."
 - Eleventh Doctor

This is my valentine for everyone who adds to my pile of good things. I hope you know how loved you are.

Your scribbler,

Little Things
Love is a secondhand book,
bought just because I thought you’d like it.
It’s a cuppa, piping hot,
delivered in cupped hands with a listening ear.
It’s the ready reply to your 4 a.m. text
that closes the hundred mile gap and says I’m here for you.
It’s the sacred silence when words aren’t needed,
the loop of each stitch in the blanket you knit,
the dishes washed and stacked,
the bed made on that harried morning when you barely had time to eat.
Little things, while sometimes overlooked,
Pile up to make a world of difference.

Late Night Scribblings: Overcoming Boredom

All. Day. Long.

I've been stuck in a rut since... Monday, when I got home after visit to Bryan and all my oldests and dearests. It was an absolutely amazing visit full of late nights of nothings and early mornings that mean everything.Today, the ennui was the worst yet, but I'm determined to make it go away. The problem up until this point has been, I believe, a severe lack of just that--determination... and movitation. There's been plenty for me to do, I just haven't wanted to do it. Writing is one of those things. I have a growing list of things in my head that I need to write out, either in my journal or here or somewhere, and I've been lax in keeping on top of them. I get antsy if I put off writing for too long. So, here I am! Oh, dear reader, how dedicated you are to be still reading this right now. I promise that it will not be one long pity-me-I'm-out-of-school-and-don't-have-a-job-yet party.

Lately I've been revisiting Naming in my thoughts again... I listened to L'Engle's A Wind in the Door (again) on my road trip this past weekend, and had a few thoughts:
 "Why do I not already own the entire Time Quintet" (well, I didn't as of that point, they're in the mail now.)
"Why is Ms. L'Engle always so dead on?"
"Hmm... I've written about what it means to be Named... I think I'm finally beginning to understand what it means to be a Namer... time to write some more?" (btw: that link goes to my old blog that I don't really use anymore for reasons that I can't remember anymore. The essay is something I wrote for fun Junior year.)

So, that's one thing I have on my "desk" (quotes because it's not actually on my desk, because I don't actually have a desk) at the moment. Now that I've told you, O best beloved, (I always loved how Kipling refers to his reader as "best beloved" in Just-So-Stories and I thought I'd try. I like it.) I'm more likely to follow through. So, thank you for holding me accountable in your silent way.

I'm looking at everything I've written and just itching to delete it all and walk away, but I can't let myself do that today. I said I was determined to get out of this rut of boredom and here I go, throwing down sand and salt and adding chains to my tires till I gain some traction. I'll be out soon.

Still scribbling; still yours,

S, who is not a high-functioning-sociopath, but is still rather bored--and has watched a good bit of Sherlock recently.