I’m going to give us a challenge.
Both of us – you and me.
Let’s take a day, and choose to see everything through rose-colored glasses.
I’ll start now.
When I close my eyes, they start to water, and a fuzzy warm blanket spreads over them under my lids. It feels good. If I weren’t tired, I wouldn’t be reminded that:
- a good night of sleep should be appreciated whenever it happens.
- our bodies are amazing, resilient things.
- taking a few minutes to close my eyes and take deep breaths is a gift.
It’s raining today. That means a couple of things.
- My pants and feet will get wet when I go outside. It’ll be a challenge to get into the grocery store without getting soaked. It means we’ll be inside all day today.
- It’s a great day to cook something delicious smelling in the slow cooker. Maybe bake some cookies and spend time cozied up with the kids. It’s an excuse to be lazy. It gives me reason to play up the fun side of being stuck indoors – to exploit the wonders of home.
- That means my body is working well.
- I am healthy.
- It magnifies the fact that I want for nothing.
- My life is blessed. I can open the fridge and fix something both filling and tasty.
I sliced my finger on aluminum foil last night. It hurt. But it tells me that:
- I am blessed with convenience,
- I am blessed with a fully operational body with sensitivities, and that
- I am blessed with provisions – I have plenty of bandages handy.
I’ll be back. I’m keeping tabs today. I’ll see what I can come up with, and then you too – you keep track, and let me know. It’s an exercise in choice and perspective.
The icing on the cake, my friends, was this: I cooked and entire chuck roast in the slow cooker with red wine and butter.
All rainy-freakin’ day.
We basked in the savory scents of wine and butter and tender-cooked red meat.
Only to realize, upon opening the slow cooker at 6pm, that I had let it simmer away with the white plastic soaker-pad that comes in the packaging.
The plastic was shriveled and torn in one spot, exposing the hairy absorbent pad in the middle.
You know what this meant?
Good-bye delicious smelling, fork-tender roast. Goodbye money I spent on you. You look and smell fantastic, but I have no idea what goes into that packaging, and I refuse to risk a six-person trip to the emergency room over $15 in the slow cooker.
Rose colored glasses my tush.
When I told my husband about the roast, and grunted and gasped sighs of frustration at him, he said, basically,”Don’t worry about it. . . there are worse things. . . . “
He was 100% right. There are much, much worse things.
Rose colored glasses, ON.
Destroying my roast gave us a fully focused opportunity to truly appreciate the awesomeness of our mashed potatoes.
Which I must say, go very well with emergency chicken nuggets.
It allowed me a moment to toot my own horn. They were darn good spuds.
Thank you life, for handing us the opportunity to fall in love with mashed potatoes, and really savor them – as though they were the main dish.
Seriously though, this was the real catch: our life is a pretty sweet one if my big worry for the day was that I messed up our dinner.
There is the pink lens.
Life is all about perspective.
And, if we can manage to train our eyes through rose-colored glasses, we’ll be viewing it from the loveliest of vantage points.