The bus

What to do when the bus is very late? Start writing a blog post.
This will be the teenager bus. Yay. Maybe I should put in my earbuds. They are fine, but they are so many! At least I'm at the beginning of this route, so I'll likely get a seat. And no, my grey hair and stooped posture don't guarantee me a seat in teenager land on this particular bus. I'll push them and their backpacks out of the way, if there's a spare seat hiding under their gaggle. People who know me, they know I will do that.
City living has made me pushy.
And I like it.
Shrinking wallflower days of yore were useless and spirit-draining. I shouldn't have to walk in the mud or turn my ankle on a sidewalk edge because you (rude people) didn't learn how to share in kindergarten.
This behaviour plagues all ages, for sure.
A young gentleman held a door for me recently, and I made sure he heard my nonsarcastic thank-you. I value those brief, kind moments in the writhing mass of city lifeforms.
I know most people are "just trying to do the best that they can" and the consequences of their actions don't come from a place of malice. I'll try to remember that in my interactions with the crowd.
Sometimes ignorance and carelessness seem like malice, though, to sensitive people like me. I work to rewrite that story I tell myself on a daily basis.

Red, red wine

This is not a post about wine.
Strawberry picking,
one summer,
when I was a teen.
Early to rise,
thanks to my clock radio:
local station
(the only station)
played "Red, red wine" by UB40,
every weekday morning at 6 am.
I grew to detest that ditty
by the end of the week.
Permanent connection
in my brain:
every time I hear that song on the car radio,
I'm transported to the hot, damp, draining work of strawberry picking.
That summer of little money, tortured knees, and ruined jeans,
but I could eat a few berries as I crawled along the rows.
Worth it? No.
The end.
A poem.
An anecdote.
A memory.

French Toast

I go through phases when I'm obsessed with looking up and reading recipes online.
For the past month, it's been upside down cake recipes: did you know there are many variations beyond pineapple? I've made a couple, with the help of Betty Crocker boxed cake mixes. Delicious!
Now I'm into discovering savoury French Toast recipes and topping variations. They sound divine. While reading a few of these recipes this morning, I realized I could combine those popular toast toppings with savoury French Toast: so exciting! I know what I'll be making on the weekend!
Did I make you hungry with this post? Me too!

Two

A fun sci-info tidbit learned this past week: some scientists arranged a new aurora's acronym to read STEVE. The purple spearlike aurora is named Steve! The best.
*** Aside over ...
This morning's blog post is brought to you by my most recent earworm: the song "One" by Harry Nilsson. The line "two can be as lonely as one" is stuck in my brain today.
I'm a person who enjoys my own company and craves alone time frequently. My favorite saying lately is "It's too people-y out there!"
Sometimes "two" can feel lonely when there's a profound disconnect or worldviews conflict or communication feels almost impossible.
I am grateful every day that my chosen plus-one rarely makes me feel lonely when we are two.
Trying to think of things I'm grateful for instead of giving in to the complaint-oriented part of my psyche.
And it's Friday! Another thing to be thankful for this morning, along with the fuzzy old doggo snoozing on my feet.

Insomnia

I only infrequently suffer from insomnia. Perimenopause causes more frequent insomnia: yay! Another awesome part of that time of life for women [sarcasm]. Today's bout had many causes, from late evening eating, watching scary movies (Harry Potter 6&7), and excessive ragweed exposure yesterday, to worrying about old dog and hearing old dog get herself into an agitated state.
I always feel guilty about having insomnia because I live with a sleep technologist, aka polysomnographer. I know all the sleep hygiene methods for ensuring a good night's sleep, but I choose counter-indicative activities on occasion. And my anxiety always plays a part, which even the best sleep hygiene routine cannot ameliorate.
I forgive myself for not getting enough sleep last night. I hope the people I run into today will forgive my sleep-deprived brain if it makes me a little short or grumpy. Maybe I'll keep the office door closed today at work.
It's amazing what a difference a few hours of missed sleep can wrought on my personality.