journey

Why do we stay in places in our lives where we feel, sometimes with every ounce of our being, that we should not be there?

Because we fear the unknown.

As wrong, as lonely, as sad, as infuriating or as unfulfilled as we may be, we are comfortable in the KNOWN.

And even though what lies ahead and is unseen may open doors that we never thought possible, we still can't see that far, and that's scary.

I know that no matter what happens though, I need ME.  I need to be the person that I was born to be; to not waste the talents I was given because I am in a melancholy funk.  I'm still not sure who that is, and I imagine I'll be working it out until I can't remember where to put my fingers on the keyboard anymore.

I need to be a friend, in return for all the friends in my past and present who have given to me when I couldn't give in return.

I need to be a mom to my kids, to fill their world with the joys of life that it took me so long to find on my own.  To give them the tools to be strong and to know that their greatest ally is themselves.

I have a feeling that this walk down a long unknown trail of many turns, through a forest I've never traveled in before, has already begun.  I am surrounded by stands of tall trees, thick shrubs and May apples covering the ground, still believing that I'm in the parking lot, that I can go back home and life will resume with the known.  I have yet to fully recognize the implications of where I am.

If I do finally figure it out--when I do--I expect poison ivy, thorns, ticks and spider webs on my face.  I also know that there will be surprise blackberries, fields of wildflowers, the croaks of a family of bullfrogs, and a soft breeze that cools me in my weak and tired moments.

And it is those moments that I will wait and hope for, because I know they will eventually come.  They always do.

I've been in stalking mode and have gone for months now without blogging, but after all this time I'd like to write about:

McDonald's!

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First, let me make the disclaimer (I am dripping with guilt as I sound like an organically-concerned poseur mother) that I don't remember the last time I've been to Mickey D's for anything other than coffee after seeing Food, Inc.  Even so, that was a brave move, since I had once found beard hairs floating in my latte.  But it was one of those running-around days--you know the type.  One of the kids shouted it out along with "meat paste!", I made a justifying statement about why McDonald's might be okay just this one time, and there we were.

No fries with the Happy Meal--Claire asked for apples!  She wanted the caramel dipping sauce though.  What a way to negate the nutritional value, I thought, but hey, those apples are surely coated in every pesticide approved by the EPA, and who knows what they were soaked in to keep from turning brown, so....food values tossed to the side once again.

But wait!  The cashier said they no longer carried the caramel dipping sauce at that location.  We asked why and got a garbled response over the speaker that included "customer" and "lawsuit."  We were intrigued and grilled the guy further when we got to the window.

Turns out our local McDonald's was sued over this harmless condiment!  

The caramel had been on the warming tray, and supposedly exploded when opened in the car of the offendee.  I am thinking that this person did not drive a '99 Buick as I do (or anything remotely similar).  

I probably would have cursed out the package, considered going back for more, ruled that out from hunger, and then proceeded to dip the apples in whatever was gobbed up on a clean part of the seat and chocked it up as another "character stain."  When I got home I might have let my dog hop in the car and lick up what she could since she is so much better at handling messes like that than I am.

I can't imagine taking time out of my life to sue a restaurant because my car got stained by their food.   Eating in the car is not the best idea anyways, especially if you own one that would cause you to bring a lawsuit over a splatter of caramel.

It's like the frothy matcha latte I bought today that was foaming out of the cup and onto my pants as I walked through the grocery store.  I appeared to have an episode of uncontrollable diarrhea, with dark green splotches running down the front that I couldn't hide with the groceries I was carrying.  Hmmm...could that pass for emotional distress???