Today, A List

All of my time last night was consumed with baking these little buggers.

Because of this, I’m writing my blog post during lunch without time to really work through any of the million things that have preoccupied me of late, such as: Budgets—they’re not just for money, but also for time. Or: My sudden and intense search for modern arrangements of classic hymns that has somehow morphed into a nightly hour long search for “old timey” gospels/spirituals/I don’t know what search term to use and it is driving me nuts! I think these two things might be somehow related…

In lieu of an exploration of time (because I have none), I present you things that I’ve already thought about.

1. Baking is one of my favorite things to do. It’s a stress-reliever. As soon as I was old enough to eat solid food and could walk, my grandmother had a spatula in my hand and an adorable oversized apron around my toddler frame. Baking was an enjoyable pastime because it was always with family and for a celebration of some sort. As I grew older and began contributing to potlucks and gifting friends with yummies, I discovered—I’m good at this! I thrive on being good at things. Add to this that my love language is 50% gifts, and that makes baking for other people one of my most favoritest things to do as a labor of love that make me and others happy. (And I get to “test” the product!)
2. I don’t look forward to working full-time ever again. Not because I’m lazy. Not because I don’t enjoy being productive or working. But because I like having flexibility of when I work. If I could come to work when I had a meeting or when I needed to get something done—I determine the hours—and then was allowed to leave, I wouldn’t have any problem working “full time.” But unfortunately, employers like stability as do customers. Killjoys.
3. I will be working full-time for the next month due to staffing issues at my present job.
4. I will never read Moby-Dick despite its manifold references in popular culture—I’m looking at you Heathers.
5. I would like to read all of Murikami’s books. But I’m afraid a certain someone with the alias Chip will kill me if I don’t read Martin’s Dance of Dragons soon.
6. My perfect job would be wrapping presents. Day in, day out. It would be the best. But no. I want to contribute something to society.
7. Things I’m working on internally: creating a time and a money budget, memorizing scripture, praying more, not always offering my opinion as fact (sometimes it’s just an opinion [rarely]), asking a coworker for forgiveness for something that happened 3 weeks ago (the bigger the pride, the longer it takes to swallow).
8. Things that are happening this month: volunteering at the Freedom Conference (freedom from fear, anxiety, and depression), house hunting, ornament-making party with Bible study, finishing my freelance editing!!!, completing enrollment for Spring 2014 semester, finishing application for doctoral program in Counseling Psychology, baking 130 mini loaves for hospice I volunteer with, visiting hospice patients with Jasper, Donut Run 5k (wherein I eat 6 donuts while “running” a 5k for a special medal), attending a wedding, celebrating Thanksgiving, and Christmas shopping.

Thoughts to think about:

• What are you reading? Any implications for your life? Any suggestions for others?
• What’s your labor of love?
• What’s your personal internal project?
• If you don’t have one, you’re doing it wrong. 

The Cobbler: Part 1 - Buttercup Forays into Flirting

About the time I took my blog hiatus (December of last year), I was hired as a baker at—where else—a bakery. All in the quest to open up a coffee shop that never materialized. To work in a kitchen, you must wear slip-resistant shoes or you will slip and you will tear/pull something that should never be torn/pulled.

When I was looking for slip resistant shoes, I went all over the freaking city, and I ended up at the mall where there was a uniform store, and uniform stores usually have slip-resistant shoes. After bebopping around the mall at all the department stores and that uniform store and Famous Footwear and others, I ended up at the last shoe store I hadn’t tried. Sadly, there were no slip-resistant shoes, but there was a very attractive sales associate. Super tall, beard, black-framed glasses, heroine-addict skinny. Rawr. And he was funny. We just talked about shoes and that I was a baker, etc. Nothing personal. But we were laughing and whatever. It was fun. So I left not looking at his name or his ring finger or anything because I had no intention whatsoever of ever returning. I'm not that kind of girl. 

However, a couple of things happened in quick succession afterward. I listened to an NPR story where a woman was talking about how she woke up at 34 and basically realized that she had forgotten to get married. And it was 36 before she met her husband, and 39 before she had her first kid. And it hit me that I'm pretty passive about my love life or, you know, just getting out there in general. I could totally wake up at 40 and realize I'd forgotten to get married—but man did I have a great career, or a wall full of degrees or whatever. The next day after the NPR story about freezing your eggs just in case you don’t have kids until your forties, I went to a movie with a friend and jokingly suggested we walk by and I'd point out my "mall crush." Just being silly. Her response: "You could totally tap that." Which was, uhm, unexpected. And I put the kabosh on that real fast—so I thought. But then after the movie we met up with our other friend, and other friend explained that this is how people meet people and I just had to ask for his number. Super simple, right?

So after sleeping on it and working myself up, the next day, which happened to be my day off, I drove to the mall and sat in my car and silently freaked out. I called Sprinkle for advice, which, you know, wasn't advice so much as just made me laugh and feel like it was more of a story/adventure than something real and possibly horribly humiliating. She convinces me to just do a walk by, see if he's even there. So I get out of the car and do a walk by—butterflies in my stomach the entire trek from car to mall entrance to store entrance—and I work up my nerve to look over to my right into the store just as he's walking out of the store, makes eye contact with me, and smiles. I lower my head and just keep right on a walking. It was not in the plan that he come out of the store (what?!) and see me and recognize me. 

Luckily, there was an Orange Julius and a convenience store type situation just around the corner. So I had an excuse for continuing to walk. After texting Sprinkle my moment of insanity, and her texting me more instructions [aside: she has no basis for expertise in this area. Not only has she been with the same guy since she was 18, but she also tried to set me up with a guy who a month later had a sex-change operation. Yet I continue to look to her for advice], I took a deep breath and walked back into the store. I had an excuse ready. I needed insoles. I really did. I don't have to spend money to get guys to flirt with me—or I don't think I do. 

"Hey." Weak wave, embarrassed smile.

"Oh hey! It's the baker. How you been?" said the Cobbler [nickname of hot sales associate, used here on out]. 

"Oh fine, fine. I couldn't remember if you had insoles." I still hadn't looked at him.

"Well of course!" He motions to a section of the wall in the very back corner that was all two feet wide, floor to ceiling. 

"Oh yeah. How did I miss your vast selection last time?"

He laughed. "I mean, we have at least...what? Three different types. What more could you need?" He walked to the wall and looked for the insole of choice. "What size were you again? Thirteen and a half?"

"Yep, yep. But let's try an eight and a half just for laughs."

He grabs the insoles and motions to the chair. "Okay. Now, I'm going to show you some magic because I'm all about the magic." 

I sit and try to get off my purse, which of course tangles on my scarf, so while I’m unwinding myself, I feel some hands on my ankles. The Cobbler is taking off my shoes for me, which feels weirdly intimate, and I might have been in mid-sentence and just stopped talking. Or whimpered. That part is a little fuzzy. 

"Okay," he says, grinning widely, "now stand on the insoles and stretch out your arms."

I do so.

"Now, I"m going to press down on your hands, and you're not going to go anywhere. The insoles are going to stabilize you." 

As he pressed down on my hands, I checked out those long digits for a wedding ring. There wasn't one. So, check that off the list. Now to get his name. I looked at his name tag, and then up into his eyes, and all I remembered was that there was a B somewhere. His first name maybe. Brian? Buck? Bob? Ben? Brent? Belvedere? 

During this time, he was listing off the reasons I wasn't falling and what my feet were feeling, which, apparently, was total awesomeness. I had my doubts—remember, I don't buy something just because I want a guy to like me. 

"Okay. I'm going to step on the ground, and you do your thing, and we'll see if I fall over or whatever."

He smiled. "I was just about to suggest that."

So we go through the ordeal again. I mean, we were practically holding hands. Ordeal might have been the wrong word. 

"Did you not find any shoes? That's why you need insoles."

"No, I bought some Keens. But they are killing my feet, so I thought I'd buy some insoles to switch out until they're all broken in."

"Oh man, Keens are going to break in real well. They're going to be like...like leather stockings on your feet." 

"Uhm, does that feel good? Are leather stockings really comfortable?"

"Leather stockings are the height of comfort. They're like moccasins. That's what I was thinking of. Moccasins. If I could make moccasins, I would be a rich, rich man. They're the most comfortable thing in the world."

"You know, they sell moccasin kits at places like Hobby Lobby."

"WHY am I not at home right now making moccasins? There was this customer one time who made his own moccasins. They were knee high and laced up starting at the ankle—he was kind of a weird dude—but his shoes were awesome. He was a security guard and said they were for sneaking up on the baddies. I listened to him walking around, and you seriously couldn't hear him."

I snorted. "Sure, soundless in a mall. Drop him in a forest and let him sneak up on a turkey. Then I'd believe those were quality moccasins."

The Cobbler's head dipped to the side and he paused, processing the turkey comment no doubt. And I paused to process it as well. Turkey. Not a deer or rabbit or any other average forest mammal. Classic Buttercup. I scrambled to take his attention off my weirdness as I bent to put my shoes back on. "So what kind of leather did he use? I mean, did he cure his own, or buy it?"

"I don't know. They looked good. He probably bought it, I assume."

"Because it's hard to find good leather for making moccasins. Don't ask how I know that."

He laughed and headed toward the register.

"So, how much are the insoles?"

"Well normally they'd be $35, but for you, they're on sale for $34.99."

"Oh man, gotta love those penny sales. Okay, I'll take them."

"Listen, your Keens really are going to break in well, and you're not going to need these any more. They have a thirty-day guarantee, and it doesn't matter what shape they're in when you bring them back to me—they could be covered in muffin batter, and I would still take them back."

"I hope I don't have muffin batter in my shoes. I mean, I'm into some weird stuff, but nothing like that." I laughed (joking, right? Everyone knows this is a joke.)

He laughed (he totally knew I was joking). "Well, whatever shape they’re in, I'll make the return if you don't need them anymore. And with the Keens, you shouldn't need them for long." He rang me up and leaned against the counter toward me. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything else you need?"

I thought about saying, "Yeah, your number." But nearly dropped dead at just the thought, and so said that that was all.

"Okay, great. I have to ask you, though..."

I looked up with big giant pink hearts in my eyes, I'm sure.

"I have to ask, where's my scone?"

"Your what?"

"You've been in a couple times and you still haven't brought me any baked goods from your bakery. Next time, I think you should definitely bring me a scone."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea you were a scone man. Next time, I will definitely bring some goodies."

So I left thinking he's given me two reasons, that he generated himself, for me to come back and visit him. Maybe...maybe it wasn't all in my head and it wouldn't be a lesson in utter humiliation after all...

Suzy Orman Is Not My Role Model

The big Three-Oh is barreling toward me at 60 minutes an hour, which is scary fast turns out. It’s got me thinking about adulthood and what it means to be an “adult” without the familiar trappings that usually accompany that life phase: spouse, children, career, a first killing. What does adulthood look like? What are adult habits? What are adult thoughts? (Get your minds out of the gutter! Those are decidedly junior high thoughts.) What does it mean to be an adult?

Things I have done this year to bring me closer to adulthood: a) Consistently listen to NPR on my way to work and on my way home from work—I will not cop to what I listen to the rest of the time, b) took the GRE, c) applied to a graduate program that could possibly lead to a career, d)accomplished a goal I’ve had for a while to train my dog as a therapy dog, and e)date men. My dog and I were actually supposed to go out on our first solo therapizing visit yesterday but he died. The patient died. I’m volunteering with hospice—that might be an important fact to mention.  

Thus bringing home mortality and the fact that I’m rapidly approaching mid-life and I still live at home. I need a role model, a strong female mentor. Tina Fey’s Bossy Pants while hilarious and inspiring in many respects did not provide the sort of role model I feel comfortable following—mostly because she’s so career focused. And I gotta say, that just does not appeal to me (hello, problem! Nice to meet you). Hillary Clinton, Suzy Orman, and Mother Teresa fall under that same category. Who has a decent work/life balance but isn’t necessarily married? Heck! It can be a guy. It’s sexist of me to limit myself to a female role model, right?

In lieu of a clear role model, here are things that I associated with adulthood:

• -cleans—as in does dishes immediately after eating/cooking, scrubs the toilette more often than just when company is about to come over, and hangs up clothes rather than piling in the floor next to her “dirty” clothes pile (just for instance)
• cooks—even if living by him/herself, an adult cooks regularly at home (turbo adult points for nutritious food)
• files—doctor invoices? Filed! Car maintenance? Filed! Receipts? Filed! Credit card bill? Double-checked for accuracy instead of never opened and thrown in a drawer!
• exercises—a regular part of the routine
• routines—a routine exists
• lunch dates—adults have lunch dates with friends, clients, family members. Doesn’t it just ring with maturity?
• budgets—knows what kind of lifestyle is possible, puts money back, and budgets for things s/he knows s/he will want in the future or will have to pay for in the future (such as dental work—we’re all getting older and so are our childhood fillings, as I found out this year).
• hobnobs*—adults should have enough life experiences that they have accrued hobbies that they enjoy and pursue regularly as part of their routine.
• schedules—teeth cleaning twice a year, yearly physical, eye exam, oil changes—all scheduled a year out
• currents—stays up-to-date with news by listening to NPR or reading the NY Times or watching nightly news—whatever it is, they know who their congressional representative is and how they hope s/he votes on such and such a bill and how it will affect the state and the nation (maybe this is too high an expectation, but when I get in conversations with “adults” I feel like they know everything and have really thought it through carefully with a much wider frame of reference than I have access to [probably because I don’t read newspapers and sometimes don’t listen to NPR so I can listen to I Heart Radio])

Looking at this list, I see that I perceive much of adulthood as a productive routine. One that allows the adult to plan for the future. One that feeds the dog every night at 5:30 rather than sometime between the hours of 5 and midnight. One that provides structure for those desirable adult activities. When I think of those of my friends that are the most “adult,” they are above all organized individuals with structured routines. They’re also not afraid to tell me no when I want to hang out and they have something else planned, like cleaning the house. I will say yes to just about anything rather than clean my house. Which, if you’ve ever visited me unannounced, explains a lot. Hm?

So here are my questions I leave you with. 1) Who is your role model? 2) What characterizes an adult in your mind? 3) If you don’t see yourself as an adult, what is it that is preventing you from achieving that? Is it a prioritization issue? Is it Peter Pan syndrome?

*I do know that to hobnob is to socialize or rub elbows with. But I like the word and I’ll use it however I feel like. You knew what I meant, and that’s the sole purpose of language anyway.

YA Addict Anonymous

Six months of working from home and I’m more than ready to return to the workforce. No deadlines, no schedule, no structure make Buttercup a very slow girl. The work ethic is there, just not the diligence when I could be watching Adventure Time or reading books. Gobs and gobs of books.

And what have I been reading? The only legitimate book is Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. Began it in November, and have steadily made progress so that I’m in the middle of the story. Unlike the other books I’ve been reading (we’ll get to my silliness soon enough), Tolstoy cannot be read in a single day…or night, as the case is more likely to be. Like all Russian literature of that time, Anna Karenina is encumbered with too many points of view and sprawling explanations of characters’ personal philosophies and the events that change those philosophies. The character develops not by overcoming some heroic flaw, but by showing a progression of social and religious beliefs. Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment “overcame” his belief in Nietzsche's superman to Christianity’s Christ. Levin in AK has an evolving social-eco-political understanding of muzhiks and how they fit into his life as workers on his farm. As his understanding evolves and changes, so do his actions rationally align themselves to reflect those changes, and so we see the character develop as his relationship with the Russians peasantry develops.

It makes for slow reading. A few things have lodged with me, and eventually I might get around to exploring them in a blog. I have always sympathized with Russian internalization. The characters are forever analyzing themselves, their actions, and others. In that way, I feel very Russian. However, this rational alignment of actions to beliefs I do not find to be true in life. People just don’t behave in accordance to their personal philosophies most of the time. But more of that in some future Russian post. (I know, what fun!)

So Anna Karenina is my legitimate reading, but I’ve had quite a few illegitimate page turners as well. Young Adult fantasy fiction. Shiver me timbers, is it addicting! I didn’t always love YA. In fact, when I was a young adult myself, I read adult books such as Murakami, George R. R. Martin, classics (of course!), C. S. Lewis, Neil Gaiman, and loads of historical fiction about Queen Maud, Mary Queen of Scotts, and other primarily United Kingdom-centric personalities. Now that I’m in my middling twenties, I’m reading YA like a teenager. What’s that all about?

It began with Harry Potter—that seemingly innocent series of J. K. Rowling that makes the magic world seem so fantastically and ridiculously opulent and somehow plausible. It took me a year to finish the series because I just couldn’t bring myself to read of the death of beloved characters, but by then I had the YA bug. The next book club I was in was Looking for Alaska by John Green. Mister Green, I believe, has more to with my unnatural obsession than any other author (even J. K., though she got the ball rolling).

Hello. My name is Buttercup Harding, and I am a female whose favorite genre is male coming-of-age novels.

John Green is a master. Hilarious. Each character is quirky but believable and identifiable and endearing to the nth degree. After reading Looking for Alaska, An Abundance of Katherines, and Will Grayson, Will Grayson (not his best), he landed on my list of literary loves. His talent totally deserves to be on my list, but the fact that I a) identify with high school-aged male protagonists, and b) identify with the themes/messages of the books worries me about myself.

For instance, An Abundance of Katherines ends with three different epiphanies by the three main characters: 1) I’m not a doer, 2) I’m self-centered, and 3) I want to matter. All three of these I identify with, and that worries me that at twenty-whatever I am still struggling with the same issues of high school students?

What book genres do you read and why? What’s the appeal? Do you think that your late twenties is an appropriate time to be coming to terms with such issues as selfishness and wanting to matter? What literary character do you most identify with?

You've Been James Robinsoned

I’m supposed to be working on The Business Plan right now, but I’ve been working on it all day and think for my general mental health that I should take a break and write a blog about it instead. Well, it and what else is going on in my life and see if anyone can relate.

As an update from my last post, I have not talked to my brother directly about the coffee house because a) I’m yellow as a chicken, and b) I’ve taken the safer and, I’ve convinced myself, more effective route of short, direct questions. Example: What have you done today? Is the menu done? Why not? I follow this up with the list of things I have been working on/accomplished. It seems to be working. He’s done a bunch more research of his own volition and done pricing and we have a sandwich menu! And he finished the advertising and marketing plan. I'll post our entire menu once I've finished the soup/salad portion (now whose butt isn't in gear?).

Of course, he’s also understandably disgruntled (one might even guess as disgruntled as he would be if I would just man up and have the dream/momentum/feelings conversation with him) every time I use this new tactic on him. But all I care about is results. Who cares if I’m creating an unhealthy pattern of interaction for the future business partnership? Right.

Since I’m practically out of money, I’ve been concentrating all my efforts into finalizing the business plan—the one thing that doesn’t earn me any money. It’s an investment in a future job that might not ever materialize. Right. My logic is that if I can just get that pretty much done, then I can go get a job(s) and when/if we finally do find a location, it’s ready to go and I don’t have to stress about it while I’m working full time.

We go on a walkthrough of a location in the Plaza tomorrow. I’m pretty excited to see inside the building and hear what an architect/contractor has to say about the space. I’m a visual person, and seeing a location where I can visualize the coffee shop will go a long way toward curbing my anxiety and hopefully revitalizing my enthusiasm.

In other news,

>I have visited a church twice and managed to talk to only one person total (the pastor made a beeline for me upon my second visit)

>I went with an acquaintance who I hope will become a friend to an unexpectedly awesome (I expected good) show in Norman (The Wurly Birds and Deer People)

>I made some pretty cool animal broaches

>I finished Will Grayson Will Grayson by John Green and David Levithan and began Anna Karenina by Tolstoy

>Grant convinced me to join D&D (I’m a fox Hengeyokai rogue [scoundrel version]) (i.e., nerd badass)

>I volunteered at the Plaza Festival, which was practically rained out but not a total bust because, boy, did I meet a character!

James Robinson is the character of which I speak, and once I have a moment to sit down and really write (as opposed to blog), y’all are going to hear all about him. He’s going to end up in my gypsy books. He has to. His long, pointed fingernails and beard balls demand it.

Until then, fill me in what weird hobbies/adventures you’ve been getting tangled up in! Normal’s for the birds.