Grace in Small Things, take 2

There were at least five whole things to find grace in, now that I think about it.  Hey.  Cool.

1. That my car runs, after 8 years and a variety of electrical problems (knock wood), so I can give a newer coworker who’s having an even shittier time in his life right now than me (details are vague but there is at least one school-not-working-out episode, one job loss and one family-throwing-out-of-house episode involved) a ride to the mechanics’ so he can pick up his new used car that is already broken.

2.  That I still remember the ins and outs of the Mass. Lemon Law and can tell him where on the state’s website to look for the information he needs to send the dealer a copy of his mechanic’s bill so he can either return the car or get the bill paid, and that two plus years after freaking out and walking away from the law, I didn’t have a panic attack while talking about legal matters with him.

3.  That it was such a gorgeous day out after two straight days of yucky grey rain that the two straight hours I spent in traffic on the highway weren’t even that bad because it was sunny and cool and breezy and the sun shone warm on my face, I was just a little bit sleepy but not enough to crash into anyone, and I got to see three different views of Boston Harbor plus the gorgeous Boston skyline during my very, very, very long commute home.  It was a kind of time spent outside.

4.  That the minute I walked in the door, feeling like ZOMG, I just want to roll into bed, my Dad asked “Thai or Chinese?”  The mango fried chicken rice was just the thing.

5.  That two different coworkers proposed marriage again (last time was over Patricia Wells’ Paris Cookbook Fresh Lemon Juice Tart) over today’s birthday baked good, a three-layer cocoa meringue (from the NYT cookbook, a recipe called something like “Chocolate Gooey Layer cake” something) cake layered with butterscotch pudding and almond brittle.  The meringue was kind of sticky, but the pudding?  Yeah.

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3 thoughts on “Grace in Small Things, take 2

    1. shecurmudgeon Post author

      When I was a teenaged girl and angsty and miserable and maybe just an angsty smart teenager who read too much Mercedes Lackey and Anne McCaffrey (LOL) and was “too fat” and all of that jive, I had the startling self-realization that “fake it until you make it” was sometimes what it was going to take to get yourself into a different frame of mind. (At least if your parents were too wrapped up in their own stuff to notice how unhappy you were being the Adult Child who kept shit together.) So I made up my mind to try to be less angsty about stuff and to try to take less personal offense to the world and to try to let things make me happy that were simpler because what was wrong with that, really? It didn’t mean I couldn’t still enjoy my sensitive teenager/talking animal books. It just meant I didn’t have to be a snob about early Steve Martin movies. And you know what? I played sports, and lost weight, and made friends, and if they weren’t my best friends all the time and if i was occasionally unhappy and if I was still awfully glad to get off to college to the wider depths of the intellectual world? I still wasn’t home, sobbing into my stuffed unicorn every night. And that counts for more than a little bit of something.

      Faking it until you make it, at least a little bit better. Saving stuffed unicorns from soggy death since at least 1986.

      Reply

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