When in doubt, increase your options

I'm terrible at making up my mind. I mean, I ultimately do, about many things and in many circumstances, but usually only after much hemming and hawing and weighing and measuring and speculating and waffling. According to the Meyers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator, I am an INFJ; this stands for "Introvert/Intuitive/Feeling/Judging" and everything has a percentage.

I am 40% Judging. This not only means I tend to be opinionated (I am), it means I assess a given situation and often have a hard time coming to a decision.

This difficult aspect of my personality manifested itself this afternoon as I stood gazing into the freezer case at the grocery store. I wanted ice cream. It's been hot. And cool foods are good for hot days (see my earlier post on mayonnaise).



In fact, I headed to the store wanting a specific flavor of ice cream: Mocha Almond Fudge, to be exact. My favorite, just about, made by Dreyer's (or "Edy's" out here).

There I stood. But they did not have my flavor. They had many others, but not Mocha Almond Fudge, and I walked to the store in 90 degree heat specifically to get Mocha Almond Fudge.

Which meant, I had to decide on an approximation. And after picking up and putting down numerous half-gallons of ice cream of other brands and flavors, I finally settled on two pints of Ben & Jerry's--Coffee Heathbar Crunch and Mint Chocolate Cookie. Because a singular decision just wasn't being reached and I didn't want Buyer's Remorse, heading home with an entire half-gallon of something I'd get bored with. So I did the next best thing.



I decided I didn't need to limit my options, that I actually had choices about things in life (thank you, Al-Anon!), and instead of settling for one flavor I really liked, I'd settle for two. It felt indulgent and terrific and exactly like the right decision to have made. After all, variety is the spice of life, as they say.

I don't know who "they" is, but it works for me.

Yum.

Happy Feet

My dad, at the ripe ol' age of 75, is one hip (or "hip-ish") dude.

He wanted--and received--a pair of those foamy, plastic-y, trendy "Crocs" shoes for Father's Day, and he's been wearing 'em.

It's a respectable color, nothing outrageous (tho he did say he'd agree to wearing yellow, if they'd had 'em, as he has a penchant for most things either yellow in color or lemon in flavor, but the place they were ordered from had only more conservative colors in stock), and they seem to fit him fine.

But I don't think my sister's pug, Noelle, quite knows what to make of them.

Without further ado, I bring you my father's feet (and I think this is a hilarious picture, so this post was an excuse to use it):

Bring Out the Best

It's summer. Well, not quite; not officially, but soon. June 21st, to be exact.

Although, really, right around Memorial Day, and then just after the holiday itself, summer happens in earnest. It gets hot. Armpits and legs needs constant shaving (if you're a chick; hell, even if you're a guy and you're into it. This is a liberal, equal-opportunity, live-and-let-live kind of blog). The window air conditioner gets installed and my personal guilt rises about the hole in the ozone and just what sort of "carbon footprint" I'm making while the cat and I cool off.

But perhaps the most overt harbinger of the seasonal shift is gustatory. Plebeian and gustatory, but gustatory nonetheless.

I begin eating a LOT of mayonnaise.



Potato salad gets made. So does tuna salad. And in goes the mayo. And, admittedly, a bit of sour cream like the best Jewish Delis, but this blog entry is an ode to my mayonnaise-loving WASP side.

It's the kind of cool meal a body wants on a long, hot, bright day that wakes you up at 5:00 and doesn't end till around 9:30, when the sun finally decides to fade out of sight and leave the next 8 hours or so to the moon and the mosquitoes.

In fact, I made tuna salad for dinner yesterday, and had it for lunch today. I plan to have it for lunch tomorrow. I was inspired by a friend at work who had whipped up a batch for her husband and son. Just a few weeks ago, I made a batch of potato salad with redskin potatoes I'd bought at the farmer's market; they hold their shape well and don't just crumble into pasty mush when you mix 'em.

It hits the spot, when the mercury registers 90 and warnings are posted about air quality.

Sure, there are other warm-weather comfort foods that aren't mayonnaise-based. Deviled Eggs. Anything grilled. Fruit salad. Ice cream. And these are all good and delicious and very Betty-Crocker-in-the-50's, and they definitely all hold an esteemed spot in the pantheon of Classic American Cookery.



But to me, quite simply, it's just not summer 'til I get my mayonnaise.

Pack it in

Man, I am just itching to get the hell outta dodge, and I am so totally okay admitting that, here and anywhere else.

Just recently, one of my managers at work--conversationally, in passing--asked if I'd chosen an actual departure date for leaving Minnesota. At that time, I hadn't, really; all I knew was that I was leaving sometime in early October, and that was about all I'd established. So I went back to my desk and flipped through the calendar that hangs on the wall there and figured out a date to be done with work (September 21st, a Friday) and to be done with Minnesota (September 29, a Saturday).

Which should land me at my destination (Portland) sometime within that first week of October, and that was always the plan.


And not only can I not wait for salt air, mountain passes, the beach and fresh seafood, I can't wait to be back in a place where I am simply not esoteric (or if I am at all, no one gives a rat's ass either way), where I am, instead, pretty much the norm, or just some variation of the norm.

Here in the Midwest, I just always have this strange, overriding sense that, no matter how much I'm liked by people, how "down" with me my friends have been, I'm still a titch quaint in my perspectives and dealings with the world. I rant about things like global warming and eating less meat and gender roles and living car-less, and I most often receive kind, tight-lipped smiles and the verbal equivalent of a "there, there" pat on my head.

Okay, well. This might be a bit extreme. I admit, I am a bit crabby today because of a head cold I developed over the weekend, and now that I'm doing the actual work of preparing to leave--I've cleaned out my closet (3 huge bags of little-worn clothes) and 3 shelves of my living room built-in (lots of crap amassed there over the last 4.5 years since I've been living in this apartment)--I have my "eyes on the prize," so to speak (my destination) and I'm getting restless to be there. The ball is rolling, and my feet are itchy.

But time does go quickly, and it will soon enough be the date of my departure. In the meantime, I busy myself with adding tasks to my growing to-do list, such as getting my cat a new carrier/pet stroller thing for her comfort during the long drive and buying an American Automobile Association (AAA) membership, very practical for triptych plotting, as well as in the event of a van breakdown somewhere en route across the continent.



Stuff like that.

I'm transitioning already, slowly, and caring less about things here and more about things there. And I'm just excited to be closer to my family and to be spending October out west (I love that month) and to be able to buy a much cheaper plane ticket home for Christmas and to start the Life Coach training (ah, a career that doesn't involve outsourcing to partners in India!). And my friends have been very accommodating--one is accompanying me on the cross-country drive, one is letting me stash my crap in her "extra" room once I get there (there's a whole history here that I won't indulge, but let me just say, she is an utter doll for agreeing to this), and one that is letting me crash with him while I regain my footing there.

So I'm excited and growing more restless by the day, and I have the vague-yet-palpable sense that I am beginning to slowly, surely, identifiably pack it in and hang it up and call it quits. The summer will unfold and soon it'll be the first hints of fall and then the end of September and there I'll be in a van, cat, plants & friend, motoring across the miles.

As Gonzo sings in the Muppet Movie,"You can just visit/but I'm going to stay/I'm going to go back there someday."