Bad Business

I had some spare time this afternoon over my lunch break, so I decided to walk to the local library and perhaps the Cheese Shop to buy some chocolate (yes, that's what the specialty shop is actually called). I stopped short of the library when the sign of an herbalist shop caught my eye. It's hidden down below a set of concrete steps, and over the duration of the past year it's been occupied by a polish baker, a sushi maker and a different herbalist.
It's a bad location because it's out of the way. I walked down the steps and into the sparse little shop. There were bagged, loose-leaf teas surrounding one wall, a few hemp/cotton hats in the corner, and some oils and tree-less stationary at the other end. I picked up a bag of tea, but there was no price listed. That's always a bad sign. I picked up a cute hat lined with purple flowers, and, again, no price was listed. The woman behind the counter asked if I was looking for anything in particular. I said "no, I'm just looking", and she scurried off to organize something. I felt my heart beat in my chest and my hands tense up. I was trapped. I knew I was probably her first and maybe last customer of the day, and that's a heavy responsibility. I looked around trying to plan a quick, graceful escape. As I was walking around pretending to be interested, I saw a few items that I thought could make nice stocking stuffers for Zach or his sister. So I began asking the woman the prices of certain items. I immediately forgot each number she rattled off, because I need to actually see the numbers on the items. I walked around for another minute or so and then picked up a plain, white container of green clay facial scrub. There was no seal around it, so I unscrewed the lid to smell it. As the lid popped off, a plume of green dust flew down the front of my jacket and onto my shoes and the floor. It was too much to kick around with my foot and hide, but the woman hadn't noticed. I thought about running out of the shop at that moment, but I decided against that and took the high road. I said "I just spilled some of this powdered mask on the floor. I'm really sorry". She looked up, walked over and said in an agitated and stern voice "Please don't open any of the products". I felt like a little kid, but all I could think was "no kidding, _itch". I asked her the price and offered to buy it if she wanted me to. She said that someone else did the same thing a few days ago and did buy the product. (Hello, have you heard of sealing your products?) I said I would buy it. She ran around the shop looking for a broom to clean up the mess and then offered to top off what I had spilled from the container before selling it to me. As she came back to the counter, she asked me if that was it. I picked up a chocolate bar and said I'd take that as well. She looked me in the eye and said "you really don't want this mask, do you?" I said I would give it to a friend. She said I shouldn't do that because there was clay all over the label. She told me I didn't have to buy it. At that point I should have felt relieved, but a wave of indignation rose up over me, and all I could think was "what, I'm not good enough to buy your over-priced herbal crap?"
I bought the chocolate bar and left knowing I'll never set foot in that shop again.

The dog likes spicy chili

My parents just left after our mini pre-christmas christmas. Since they're not celebrating this year, Zach and I invited them to our apartment to eat homemade chili, cranberry walnut bread and cheesecake. We ate, went for a walk and then opened some unexpected gifts they had bought us. It was really a very pleasant day. I highly suggest celebrating on a day other than THE day. None of the stress was there, as were none of the expectations. My parents and I have been getting along very well, and I don't think I tell them often enough how much I love them and how exceptional I think they are. To answer your question mom and dad, "No" I'm not just saying this because I recently sent you the link to this blog.
On the 24th I'll head up to Cape Cod to spend Christmas with Zach's family. I have been skeptical toward Christmas this year and uncertain about how the grief will affect me. Christmas Eve was a big deal in our family, more so than Christmas day. On the night of Christmas Eve I plan on going to Smuggler's Beach, lighting a candle and spreading a few of Ashley's ashes on the beach. It's something I want to do in her memory. I also bought several books I know Ashley liked when she was younger, and I'm giving them to my nieces and the kids I babysit.
It's been really hard the past few weeks with the approach of the holidays and the one-year anniversary of Ashley's death. There really aren't any words to describe it. Sometimes my chest gets tight and I realize that I'm holding my breath. Sometimes my jaw is rigid and tense. Sometimes it's a dream I have; she's standing there before me, all of her features strong and clear, searching my face with her piercing blue eyes. The knowledge that she's gone enters my dream, and her image fades away. I try to hold onto the image, but it always slips away. It frightens me more than anything. The fact that there are things in life beyond anyone's control scares the shit out of me.

Each Day

I catch myself in a quick moment of peaceful mindfulness early in the morning on my way to work. I usually wake up in a frenzy, a little too late and a little too tired, and run out the door forgoing a shower or a decent breakfast. My ride to school is only 7 miles, and it takes me about 14 minutes to get there. As I round a bend a little over halfway there, a mountain ridge appears. It's not big, but it's serene and beautiful. The sun rises behind it, so the clouds are a soft pink and orange while the sky is slate gray. Snow covers the mountain, and some lights from the houses twinkle down its sides. It reminds me of the moment I entered the Fjord of Oslo by boat early one December morning 5 years ago. It is that small, fleeting moment that helps make the rest of the day okay.

My first paid "sick" day

I stayed home from work yesterday afternoon and napped, watched Roman Holiday and made turkey soup. The holiday season is hard. I didn't think I'd feel this way until closer to the end of the month and next month, but I've heard grief is unpredictable. Holidays are hard enough as it is. Why do we put all this undue stress on ourselves?
I really enjoyed my day off. Everybody should take at least one personal day in the month of December, if not more.
I'll be in Lancaster this weekend taking the GREs. Wish me luck!