The Scoop

I've sat down to the keyboard repeatedly in the past few weeks, full of intention to write another post.

I've stood back up repeatedly, consistently.  For some reason I have been stymied (blocked, as it were) - the words just will not come.


This is the point at which I have heaved a big sigh and started hitting the "delete" button.  Then turned off the machine.

I have pondered (I ponder really well).  I have given my "self" a good talking to.

My "self" responded by telling me to piss off - she's a plain-speaking broad.  Then she told me to get back to work - there's a lot to do, and it isn't going to get done by itself.

Therein lies the rub, I think.

I have a really full plate (like most people).  All the time.  I don't expect that fact to change anytime soon.

The plate, surprisingly, has become a bit of a heaping mess.  The usual, with a heap of new concerns, a sprinkle of plot twists, and a large scoop of uncertainties to top it off.

That scoop, which I would love to say is the cherry on top of my personal meal, has been threatening to be the fish bone you don't see that gets caught in your throat and makes you choke (nothing quite like mixing those metaphors).

I have learned, after many years of being, that in order to be happy with the meal placed before me I have to look at each thing on the plate as a gift.  That's a bit of a stretch with some things (asparaguts, for example - I just can't embrace that stuff, no matter how I try), so for the rare thing that shows up on my plate that makes my face screw up I do try to remind myself that I CAN deal with things that I don't specially care for and that, since it's on the menu, I have to choose how to manage it.

This new scoop of uncertainties has put me off my meal.  I have stared at it for too long, and now it's all I can see on the plate - it has skewed my perception to the point that I haven't been taking the time to look at all of the good stuff that is sitting right there in plain view.

Ah-ha!!

So today I am going to look at everything on the plate, and savour a bite of each dish.  I will keep my mind open to the possibility that I might find some glorious new flavour combination that will excite my tastebuds and surprise me.  Perhaps even the possibility of something amazing to look forward to, rather than staring at that one scoop and dreading the what-ifs that are attached to it. 

I'll even take one small bite of the asparaguts - it's there, so I must eat it.  There has to be some redeeming quality to it, and I'll never find out what it is if I don't give it a try.