Nesting

Posted under Idiosyncraticness, Life, Seasons by Sarah

Hi, I’m Sarah, and I’m nesting.

Yes, it may be addictive, and perhaps there is no way to get it completely out of your system, but I have to find some way to deal! To me, it makes sense: I’m 26. I thought I’d be long married by now, or at least have a degree!

I lived away from mommy for most of six years, then moved back in for 10 months, after which I moved a few minutes away, in with friends. Mommy agrees that living with her again isn’t something she expects her kids to do well. Phew.

The friends have been great. Very tolerant and flexible. But how long would you really like to have your wife’s friend living just over the wall from your bedroom? Coming in late and sleeping in late? Paying you next to nothing? Honestly, we’re good. But I don’t want to push it, and besides, I want to nest!

Please, can I? Have my own little corner of the world? Where I’m the only one responsible? Be able to spread out into the kitchen and the living room, too?

The possibility of loneliness comes to mind. There is something about someone caring whether you come in at night or not that helps to calm the mind. So I’ve thought about maybe getting a pet. That’s complicated, too, because I’m not really a cat person, but dogs need more attention than I’ll be able to give them, I think!

So I’m looking for my corner. If you see it, let me know.

The Young-ness and The Hot-ness

Posted under Beauty by Sarah

This isn’t news to me, really, but every now and then I get a deeper revelation: I’m young and hot! Just when I get to thinking I’m old-maid-ish and the perfect man for me probably doesn’t exist and I should really get used to it and switch my affection to cats, I see people watch me walk by (mind you, it could be the tightness of my jeans that’s distracting them) and something clicks: I’m still young and I’m still hot, even with the few extra pounds I’ve gained over the past months (no, you don’t notice them, but they’re there).

I wouldn’t say self-confidence is about what you’re wearing, per se, but if you’re feeling low, I’d totally recommend that you get a pair of hip, up-to-date jeans that make your butt look good (yes, this is advice for both guys and girls, and I’ve learned from What Not to Wear that it’s possible for everyone), and spend a few extra dollars on a trip to a hairstylist. Then you can be confident that the heads you’re turning aren’t because of your mullet or your baggy t-shirt over shapeless pants.

Say it with me now: I’m young. I’m hot. It becomes true when you believe it.

A Lesson in Patience

Posted under Lessons, Life, Waitressing by Sarah

It’s really too bad for their business, but the fire that happened last week at the other restaurant that’s on the street my restaurant is on has been great for ours! This past weekend, we were swamped, especially on Friday, which was one of my twelve-hour days.

I don’t mind working twelve-hour shifts at The Brew’n Arms. It looks like a lot of hours, on paper, and sounds a bit like extortion, but the truth is that it’s not a bad shift, even through the long, empty afternoon hours that can tend to drag depressively on and on (we all know I always have a book in my massive purse anyway). And, usually, the busier supper hour makes up for the deadness of the rest of the day.

On Friday, there was absolutely no dragging, no deadness at all. In fact, it was the complete opposite. During the busier times, there are at least two servers scheduled, usually three when we expect the dining room to be continually full over the period of a couple hours. On Friday for lunch, we didn’t expect the dining room to be full. We’ve actually come to expect the dining room to not be full over lunchtime. But, on Friday, the dining room was full for lunch. And I was the only server around.

We open at 11:00 am. I should have been there around 10:30 to vacuum, or by 10:45 at the latest, but I was running late and didn’t show up till about 10:53. I should have foreseen how the day would go by the fact that there was already a man sitting in the dining room drinking coffee, before the “open” sign was turned on.

Around 11:30, a couple I knew came in to eat lunch, and they were the only ones in the restaurant. By the time they were ready to pay, they had to sit and wait several minutes before I had a free second to print their bill, because the dining room was full. Have I mentioned that we weren’t exactly prepared for this?

Two groups of six and one of four, plus several tables of one or two later (all of whom were still sitting and eating or waiting for food), an older and very amish/distinguished-looking gentleman who I had served before came in, sat down facing the 12 people who had just ordered, and asked for a burger.

Before any of the rest of them got their food, and while I was trying to monitor eight tables at the same time, he waved over everyone else’s head to me. He was crunched for time and where was his burger? I said I’d check, but let him know he’d ordered after all these people (I swept my arm in the direction of the rest of the dining room), and so there was only so much I could do. Starting to get a bit indignant, he remarked that someone should have told him so before he ordered! Busy, bit stressed, and anxious to move on to the next of fifty urgent tasks on my mental to-do list, I tried to adopt an even more polite tone as I said, “I thought it would have been obvious, sir. I’ll go check on the burger.” He wasn’t happy with me, but I hoped to improve his mood when, only seconds later, the kitchen rang to tell me his burger was miraculously done before everyone else’s food (you doubted there was a God?), and I delivered it with a cheery, “Believe it or not, here’s your burger!”

The cheer lasted only until I presented him with the credit card slip he had to sign and he took the opportunity to berate me for my rudeness. “It wasn’t obvious to a person just coming in for lunch. I wasn’t looking around to see whether or not there was food on other people’s tables, so you can save your smart alec comments!”

“I’m sorry, sir, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said that, but it’s been a stressful lunch.”

“Young lady, you know nothing about stress, and I don’t want to hear any more.” (One of those times when I loathe looking like I’m 19 when I’m really 26!)

I had to walk away before I cried, right then and there, so I moved to the next table to clear dirty dishes, bravely trying to smile because right then, there were lots of people depending on my strength and together-ness.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I really can’t stand disappointing people, or maybe I should say I can’t stand having to face people when they’re disappointed with me. The gentleman apparently didn’t catch on that I had been trying to be polite the whole time, nor was he able to see that I am a person who tries to be aware of my surroundings, so if I were him, I would have known who was already eating and who wasn’t before I had spoken to the server. But no, none of that gives me a reason to be impatient in any way, and pointing out the man’s ignorance was not a stellar move on my part.

At the end of the day, after making over $1600 for the restaurant, Surly Guy’s complaints weren’t affecting my emotions anymore, but I had learned another lesson in patience: even when it seems beyond your strength, and when the logic seems obvious to everyone but the person you’re talking to, don’t say more than you absolutely need to! And make sure your tone is dripping with kindness.

Also, now you’ve learned patience after reading this lengthy epistle! Gotcha!

the flies are lethargic but i had a wonderful day

Posted under Books, Life, Quotes, Seasons by Sarah

Today was an unexpectedly wonderful solitary restful holiday day. Who could have imagined, after getting (or taking) only a handful of chances to hit the beach all summer, that I would be able to enjoy its inspirational warmth and beauty on the day after Thanksgiving?!

I got up late (again) and rushed to my massage appointment. I feel like I wrote that as if massage appointments are part of my regular life, but they’re not. Except now they might become part of it because it seems as if my new massage therapist will be able to treat the ache in my right arm which is a result of mudding and sanding all summer.

About forty-five minutes later, I left, feeling not as if I could fall asleep, as some do after massages, but rather positive and invigorated. I left the spa with all afternoon and evening ahead of me, and decided to take advantage of it by exploring the small town I’ve been working in all summer and now into fall, a town a mere twenty minutes south of my own but which I barely know and still get lost in.

I nosed around a few shops, and then followed the sign with a painted hand pointing down a side street, along with the words, The Village Bookshop. I can’t resist a good bookshop, though I rarely buy books from said bookshops because I find the price tags outrageous. I made the rounds of the small shop, enjoying its selection, and had made my way to the display right beside the exit when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw “Anne Lamott”.

Her name has popped up several times over the last year or so, through friends and such, but I had never taken the time to pick up one of her books. As soon as I opened the glossy-covered tome, titled Traveling Mercies: Some Thoughts on Faith, and glimpsed the gritty and refreshing tone of her writing, I knew I had to buy it. And, as if to walk in the opposite spirit, I bought a gift for my sister, whom I’m currently annoyed with.

Having worked in a restaurant in “the village” all summer and having only heard about the other eateries in town, I decided to expand my exploration to include The Martha Ritz. There, I sat by a window at a tall table and worked a crossword while sipping a vodka and cranberry with lime juice, and eating a pulled pork sandwich and a caesar salad.

Hunger quenched, I strolled across the street to wander through a few more shops, eventually aiming for a coffee shop, where I sat and opened my new book. I could tell right away that it was something I’d be devouring, and I would have sat in the chair at the round table by the sidewalk all day if it hadn’t been for the scorching sun pounding down on my shoulders. So I decided to go to the beach.

Armed with bikini, sarong, water bottle, sunglasses, and the book, I continued my lovely day. Yes, indeed, I got in the water, which was nice and refreshing. I didn’t stay too long, though, eager as I was to dig further into faith according to Anne Lamott.

A quote I wrote in my notebook while sitting on my bright green sarong on the sand:

“I can’t imagine anything but music that could have brought about this alchemy. Maybe it’s because music is about as physical as it gets: your essential rhythm is your heartbeat; your essential sound, the breath. We’re walking temples of noise, and when you add tender hearts to this mix, it somehow lets us meet in places we wouldn’t get to any other way.”

I stayed at the beach till I was hungry and needing a bathroom. Still in my beach clothes, I made quesadillas with fresh tomatoes, onions, and avocadoes, and ate at the picnic table in the yard. Then I rushed back to the beach, hoping to see the sunset. I got there just before the last sliver of that rosy orb disappeared, but sat reading and enjoying the beautiful red sky till it was almost too dark to tell what I was walking on as I made my way back to the car. Before I left, I stood with my feet in the water, gazing out over the huge lake and taking deep breaths of the fresh, slightly fishy air. As I watched a flock of Canada geese disappear in the distance, I smiled and remembered that everything is not about keeping busy.

The Turkey, The Tension, and the Giving of Thanks

Posted under Discipline, Family, Ranting, Seasons, Writing by Sarah

It’s 1:17 AM and I should really be sleeping. It’s been too many late nights and too many mornings hauling my behind out of bed while feeling like I’m being irresponsible and/or missing something important. I hate that feeling. Still, I had this great blog title in my mind, and the conviction that I should be writing more, and that I should discipline myself to write at least a little something every day if I’m gonna be serious about this blog and about the whole writing thing.

Yes, I’m rambling (settle in, folks).

Today (well, yesterday, technically) was our Thanksgiving celebration. We held it at my brother’s house, the one that’s married, and one of my mom’s sisters and her family joined us: something we’ve never done before. Auntie and Uncle have five kids, three married and the other two with significant others. All were there but one sibling and her husband (and their two sons). We are six plus one wife and one significant other. All of us were there but one sibling.

Auntie and Mommy both have cancer and aren’t in the best of health these days, and decided they weren’t going to be cooking or hosting, which was fine with us because we have a sibling who is married with a cool house in a different town and three gorgeous little daughters to distract us from ourselves.

I started the day later than I’d have liked, missed what would have been a fun and refreshing walk with the friends I live with, and got to my mom’s house to pick her and little bro PK up to head to big bro SK’s house. PK was still in bed because, well, he’s eighteen and Tegan and Sara were playing last night in London. Nuff said. Mom had been up for hours and was ready and waiting for her sleepyhead children to pack up the stuff she was responsible for and get their butts in the car. PK was annoyed at being summoned from his slumber, Mom was annoyed at our tardiness, and I was wondering if that was gonna be the tone of the day.

Thanks to the novelty of having ten relatives, a sibling’s girlfriend, the youngest brother we rarely see, his worker, and three nieces in attendance, not to mention some great food (yes, and wine), it wasn’t. I made up for my earlier lack of responsibility in having neglected to get up in time to make my usual rolls and cranberry sauce by making other rolls and buying canned cranberry sauce, and then by generally making sure the whole food train was running on schedule. And by looking cute, if I do say so myself.

There was a general sense of gratitude that we were able to be together for the special occasion, especially right before we ate, when we took a few moments to poll each other for things we were grateful for. A few of us became teary-eyed when some talked about how we need to make family time precious these days, and especially when one of the cousins’ girlfriend shared her thanks to my mom for giving her hope.

Several hours, laughs, and food courses later, it was time for the mother and the little brother and I to head out, away from the convenient distractions, into our car with just the three of us, on the road for forty-five minutes. That is, we finally pulled out of the driveway about twenty minutes after I took the initiative to announce (because Mom was out of energy for the day) that we were leaving, and started to make preparations for it, including having PK take the food containers out to the car. I stood around for a while in the general vicinity of the door, waiting, waiting. Then I made the rounds of good-byes, hoping to further signify that our time was indeed up, following which I stood at the door some more, with my bags (yes, there were two) over my shoulder.

Mom got up: finally! A motion in the right direction! She moved to the bathroom. So I stood for another few minutes as she did her business and began her farewells. I then announced my next step: leaving the house to approach the car (insert fanfare here). Before I left, PK got up from the couch to which he’d returned after loading the car, and headed to the throne room for his turn (have I mentioned it’s only a forty-five minute drive?), following which I assumed he’d head outside. I put my stuff in the car, arranged some things in the back seat, and was just getting into mine as Mom came out. Perfect timing! Then we turned the car on, ready to drive away as soon as PK came out. What seemed like ten minutes later but was probably only one, Mom suggested we turn off the car. I didn’t want to because it felt like enabling, but I did because I pay for the gas.

Still we waited. Had I not just stood inside the room waiting for, well, a while before leaving the house, then waited in the car for what seemed like too long, and had I known that Guy Cousin Number One was doing something special for my mom, the patience would have lasted longer. As it was (as I perceived it, anyway), the logical expiration of my patience had come and gone, so I stormed the castle. I met my opponent just past the drawbridge, looking for his shoes, and we had words that might have been in Greek for all he understood them. Big, Bad Bitch (or B—h if seeing all the letters offends you) strikes again!

It’s 2:00 AM right now. Just wanted you to know that. And you can feel free to take the blame!

Ahh familiar familial tension and how it just makes me want to run, run, run in the other direction. For the record, I didn’t ask for my personality or my birth order, and I’m willing to trade if anyone has something cooler to offer.

Not being able to swerve to miss hitting a skunk after only a few minutes on the road went a little way towards alleviating the tension, but I have to say I didn’t finish the day on as grateful a note as I would have hoped. It’s a good thing my passengers were both sleep-deprived: I got time to cool down.

Turns out the things that I listed as being the most grateful for I really truly am: my new (fake) glasses, wine, and my Uncle for bringing the wine, but mostly for being immune to all the family crap. Cheers, Unc! And Happy Thanksgiving to all!