My friend Jan is the craftiest lady I know...just look at this Golden Gate Bridge cupcake (with sailboats!) she whipped up on the spot! My contribution to the cupcake decorating portion of the birthday party was to eat mine before anyone even saw it :-/

Guest Post by Kim W.

I finally had surgery to fix my knee penguin. Apparently I tore my meniscus over a year ago and have been ignoring it (read: making it worse) ever since. The surgery didn’t scare me as much as the recovery. The last time I spent an extended time on crutches, things didn’t exactly add up:

+ first semester of grad school

- friends and family

+ shitty insurance

- money

+ third floor apartment

- elevator  

+ public transportation

- seats on public transportation

+ one billion degrees of Austin heat and humidity

-----------------

= sweaty, whiny, disaster


I dropped out of grad school and moved several states away. It was that bad.

Now, things are different. I’ve got sick days, a great support network, and most importantly, an elevator. My mom planned a four day visit. I promised friends that I’d ask for help if I needed it.

I didn’t ask for help.

As a yuppie, upper middle class, post-feminist, chock-a-block with WASP-y guilt, I have trouble asking for, or receiving help. Trish has written about this before:

My house was filled with flowers, everyone kept saying "get well" and asking to help, but I could not believe these people really wanted to help me. Or that I should accept their help.

My mom was the first to point it out. "Oh, ok, you just want to do it yourself. You’ll probably hurt yourself. Ok. If that makes you feel better, go ahead. Let me know when you’d like some help." Smooth move, mom. 

Cookie asked if she could bring anything when she stopped by to visit. 

This is what went down:

What I should have said was: my mom and I can’t cook our way out of a paper bag. Even if we had four functional legs between us. I should have said, Cookie, please save us, we’re broken and hungry. My mom saved the day again, "If she’s offering to help..." Cookie brought the guacamole. You’d think the positive reinforcement would help me learn this lesson: Ask for help, get guac.

But asking for help - receiving all this love - just didn’t come naturally.

E. picked me up from work and brought me ramen.
A. helped build a console table in my living room.
The "So You Think You Can Dance" crew came to my house, brought me food, walked my dog, and made fun of that one girl’s eyebrows.
Husband bought every Get Well balloon Safeway had to offer.

I felt like I was getting away with murder. Not at all deserving of such riches.

Then my mom went home and I went stir crazy. I managed a shower, put on a flowy, hippie skirt to hide my bandages and off we went to see a movie. On the way out, we went down the theater’s series of six escalators. (San Francisco movie theaters are like Escher paintings.) On the third escalator, I lost my balance and reached backwards to grab the moving railing. I missed. Hard. One crutch went flying and I tipped, trying to protect my busted knee. The remaining crutch somehow wedged between my good right ankle and my left shoulder, effectively pinning me to the descending escalator. I couldn’t do anything without causing serious damage to my injured knee. Completely immobilized, I had two thoughts:

"I hope this escalator doesn’t rip my skirt off,"
and,
"I cannot solve this."

After a week of reflexively refusing assistance, I had to accept help. I just waited for someone to swoop in and haul me off my broken ass. Which husband very effectively did.

Aside from some new bruises to my ass and my pride, I suffered no ill-effects from receiving a little bit of help on the escalator. In fact, it could have been much worse if I’d refused help.

Graciously saying, "Yes, thank you," doesn’t make me weak or greedy or selfish. I can be two things simultaneously: a strong, self-sufficient woman, who also occasionally needs guacamole delivery and escalator rescue. That’s a dichotomy I can live with.

Last month while spending a few days with B and his family celebrating his dad's birthday in Florida, I unfortunately started coming down with a wicked cold that ended up kicking my ass for about 2 weeks straight.

The first morning I woke up feeling as if I'd swallowed glass B and I took a stroll down the street to CVS to pick up some meds and other various feel-better-fast remedy attempts. While perusing the cough drop selection I confessed to B that while I know they are probably better for you, I really dislike the taste of Ricola and much prefer to happily suck on a sugary Halls Fruit Breezer to temporarily soothe a sore throat. What can I say? My sweet tooth continues to call the shots.

Just as I was explaining my preferences, the cute old man who'd been standing next to us (have I ever told you about my weakness for adorable old men? Another time, perhaps...) began interjecting his humble opinion:

Cute Old Man (COM): You really should use the Ricola's. They are the best for a sore throat.

Me: Oh really? Hmm...yea maybe...

COM: This flavor is good. Here {taking one off the hook}, trust me, I've been taking them for years.

Me: Oh...OK. It's just that I'm kinda a baby with these and really only like the fruity ones {awkward laugh}.

COM: Well then try the ones that have a cherry flavor mixed in {takes another off the hook}. That other stuff is all sugary junk, but these are really what you need.

Me, feeling more childish by the minute: I know, but I feel like I'll just spit it out after a few seconds...

This conversation went back and forth for a few more minutes, me uncomfortably (but with a smile on my face) hemming and hawing and cute old man working his best powers of persuasion (looking like the character from UP and possibly sensing I wanted to hug him).

To summarize, we walked away from cute old man, icky Ricola's in hand, frown on my face.

B, laughing: Why did you do that? You just said how much you dislike those.

Me: I didn't want to hurt his feelings! He was cute and nice.

B, eye rolling: Tricia. That's so dumb. You don't like them! Who cares if he was cute and nice, you are the one with the sore throat!

Me: I care! He was trying to be helpful and I didn't want to make his spirit feel small {dramatic puppy eyes frown}

B, still laughing: His spirit isn't going to feel small you doink and now you are stuck with cough drops, that you paid for, that you don't even like! You're never even going to see that guy again.

...point taken. Ricola's still gross. Throat still sore.

The Food For Thought board quote above made me think of this story today, as well as my general bad habit of not being great with "no" in certain scenarios.

"No" is, without a doubt, a complete sentence. Yet it can be so hard to utter when a huge part of me is  such a giant people pleasing "doink", as B likes to say.  Keeping other's feelings in mind is not a bad habit to have; being mindful in general is a great way to be. But pushing aside your own preferences and right to choices, whether it be in smaller instances like finishing a crappy book...eating at a restaurant with a menu that doesn't knock your socks off...purchasing cough drops that make you gag ...or on a larger scale of staying on a life path against your better judgment, is just...well...doink-ish behavior that paves the way for dissatisfaction, frustration, disappointment and a general heart of boo- hiss-hrumph.

Note to self and TGL family: Don't be a doink. Say how you feel (as kindly as possible, of course)! Value your time and money and unique, authentic, rocking lifestyle choices! Don't settle. Do what works best for you and never forget to make your own spirit feel big, too.

love and light,

Trish

This photo is horribly unflattering, but I'm (getting) over it because I was so excited to take a trip to the Weebly datacenter today to see where The Grateful Life lives!! The team was so sweet to show me and to let me cheese it up big time next to my "shard" (fancy tech word I am in no positition to explain) for a photo opp:

I have been so blessed in keeping this blog for 2.5 years...if I could have hugged the equipment without taking down all of Weebly, I would have!!

New favorite homemade (and vegan!) dressing...I could eat this by the spoonful, Gwyneth, you saucy little kitchen minx, you...

My one comment/concern with whipping up Gwyenth's waffles is the lack of fluff (as you can see from the photos). They ended up turning out more like waffle crepes, which honestly still tasted really great...but don't look like your average waffle-iron waffle. I'll have to try again soon and see if I can figure out how to bulk these babies up a tad! Or maybe that's just a typical American reaction? More! Bigger! Grander! They're actually quite lovely just the way they are....

Happy Tuesday,

Trish

Who knew that a couple of baked sweet potatoes like these guys...

...could yield (gluten free and vegan) muffins as tasty as these:

(The answer to that question is, of course, Gwyenth. Gwyenth knew).

And on a complete side note, just because it makes me smile, my nightstand is looking so lovely and summery right now:

Yep, looks about right.

I think these photos do a great job showcasing my Saturday picnic success with some darling friends and coworkers.  Thanks for organizing, passing the camera around and helping me celebrate my birthday for one more day, guys and gal! :) I am so thankful for all the sunshine and laughter...I wish every Saturday could be that care free!

In Gratitude,

Trish

Beautiful hand made (from salvaged plastic) art...a lovely and cherished birthday present from my parents. Check out the artists work/story/joyful vibes at: colleenattara.com

So many thoughtful Weebly friends...I've died and gone to cupcake heaven!!