Wordy Wednesday

As soon as you all take your seats today's lesson will begin. 

Alright, this evening we are talking about the word Agathist - derived from the Greek word 'agathos' meaning 'good'. More specifically, an agathist is a person who believes all things in general, the world included, are heading towards ultimate good. Hold on, does this sound familiar? Surely these people must be long lost cousins to our rosy-cheeked friends the optimists, right? 

Well, sort of. Unlike optimists, who see the best in the present, always looking at the positive, agathists are less content with the now. An agathist sees the bad things that happen in the world and confronts tragedies such as earthquakes and wars, while maintaining the belief that all things will inevitably turn towards the good. They also understand the road to goodness may run straight through a lot of trouble. 

For a long time, I didn't know how to categorize myself. I never considered myself an optimist, because I saw the utterly terrible things in this world and felt the weight of them on my heart. So, I thought myself a realist. Practical. Levelheaded. Reasonable. And yet, I've always had this inexplicable feeling that everything will be alright in the end - something a lot of realists don't have. I've always figured that somehow this crazy plot will work itself out. That despite the evilness that resides here, eventually good will triumph. 

Just call me an agathist. 

So, I'm Sitting Here

Trying to come up with something to write. Some days are harder than others. A blog a day seems like a good idea (not really) but on those bone weary dog tired days it's hard to come up with a subject, let alone write anything worthy of reading. Just between the two of us, I sometimes half-ass things. I don't really know what that means. No, really. What's the difference from half assing and full assing. I mean, I know it comes down to the amount of effort put in, but where did this colloquialism come from?

In regards to blog topics, many a things are running through my head. Mindy Kaling. Hitting the proverbial wall. Snacking. Powering through a less than stellar day. Knitting. Being appreciated. Crappy gifts. These all could be good, if I were in the right frame of mind, feeling witty and whatnot, but these topics aren't really striking my fancy. (What is a fancy? And why does it need striking?)

This is when I notice I'm not alone in this room. Dixon is with me. And he's up to no good. He's half on the coffee table and sitting on the couch. And he's pulling a box of Hot Tamales closer to him, inch by inch, ever so slowly. His little teeth and flappy gums have the edge of the red box. There is such concentration on his face.

I am sitting right here. Does he not see me here? Am I invisible? Does he think this is okay? What is his next step?

Last time I checked he wasn't allowed on the coffee table and we never let him eat candy. In fact, I am pretty certain the last time he ate a bunch of food off the coffee table was a year and a half ago when he overindulged on a bunch of Christmas goodies when no one was looking. Mostly chocolate. But there was some severe scolding.

I thought he learned his lesson.

When I asked, "What exactly are you doing?"

He jumped. Like he hadn't factored into the equation getting caught. It kind of seems as if he forgot I was sitting here. I have no doubt in my mind he would have eaten the whole box. Chances are I would have been waking up at four in the morning to let him outside.

Dogs are the best.

Breaking Down Full House

This morning I got to thinking about Full House. Not such an unusual thing considering the show spanned seven of my most influential years. And I was pondering Danny Tanner. You know, he kind of put himself in a rather unfortunate predicament. 

How sad was it that his daughters liked Uncle Jessie and Uncle Joey more than their own father?

I mean, everyone loved Uncle Jessie the most, because he had that awesome wavy hair. No one, could blame them. But to choose Joey over their father. Harsh. It's almost tragic. Nerdy, neurotic Danny never stood a choice against the flowing locks of John Stamos or the nerd chic humour Dace Coulier served up. 

Now that I am mulling the show over, did anyone find it odd that there were three guys raising three girls under one roof?

I think that'd cause eyebrows to be raised these days.

Because I wanted to ensure my facts were straight, I went over to the Internet Movie Database, which most people call IMDB, and actually laughed out loud. The synopsis for this show only makes it sound even more weird and creepy.

'A man raises his three daughters in a house he shares with two adult male friends.'

It's the two adult male friends at the end that causes me concern. I suppose it is better than two juvenile male friends. You know, I never questioned Full House as a child, but now I can't stop questioning. Like I remember the circumstances of Uncle Jessie moving in, but why the hell was Joey there?

Cut-It-Out indeed.

This picture seriously creeps me out.

For the record, since we are on the subject, I hated that Kimmy Gibbler. Even her name irked me. Actually, I wasn't a big fan of Stephanie or DJ either. Or Michelle. Now that I think about it, every single character on the show was annoying.

I am glad we have discussed this. Now I can go about my evening in peace. 

Did you know?

I am halfway through the 365 day challenge.

A blog post a day.

What was I thinking?

Madness, I tell you.

Divine Mookies

Last night the Sidekick was feeling peckish, so I adapted a recipe to make him something divine. Peanut butter chocolate chip oatmeal mookies. We are calling them mookies because I don't actually have a baking sheet and I baked the cookies in a muffin tin. Turned out perfect.

Here is the recipe!

Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Oatmeal Mookies

Makes 18

Preheat oven 425
Ingredients

1/3 Cup - Smooth Peanut Butter
1 Cup - Sugar (white)

1/3 Cup - Coconut Milk (Or other non milky milk, like almond)
2 Tbsp - Canola Oil

1 Tsp - Vanilla Extract

1/8 Tsp - Almond Extract  

1 1/4 Cup - Flour 

3 Tbsp - Golden Flax (ground up)
1 Tsp - Baking Soda
1 Tsp - Salt
1/4 Cup - Chocolate chips 

1 Cup - Oats

1. Mix peanut butter, sugar, coconut milk, oil and extracts together until well combined.

2. Add baking soda, flax, salt, and flour and mix well. 

3. Fold in oats and chocolate chips. If there is too much liquid add a bit more flax.  

4. Lightly grease muffin tins and put a tablespoon of batter in each one, press down a bit. Do not fill past a 1/4 of the tin. 

5. Bake for 8-10 minutes, until the tops have a itsy bitsy bit of browning. 

Take out and transfer to a cooling rack. 

Simply delicious. 

Emotional Wardrobe

This evening let us gather around the (virtual) fire and discuss emotional baggage. This two worded expression just happens to irk the crap out of me. Not  just because of the insensitive way it is used but because people are ashamed by it. This phrase gets tossed around in such a negative way, as if the people hurling it at others don't have any issues of their own, as if they themselves have no residual emotions left behind from their childhood or the traumatic episode we call our teenage years, as if they have escaped relationships without acquiring any issues or sentimental scars.

People talk about emotional baggage as if it is a hindrance, an embarrassment, something to be ashamed of. Everyone talks about how we have to let go and overcome the past or else we will be held back by it. This is a preposterous notion to me. Take it from me, no matter how well you let go of something, it always comes back to you. Usually when you least expect it, like at work when you're cleaning the lint out of the dryer trap. Nothing is gone forever. Not even when you spend a sexless year working through your issues. The feelings and memories are always under the surface, just existing there.

And it makes me think, is not our emotional baggage something we should be proud of? To say, "This is what I've been through, and I'm still here, surviving. Look at all I have overcome. It's all packed into these metaphorical bags."

Like the good times in our lives, we carry the bad as well, from this relationship to the next, from one part of our lives to another. Why should we let either of them go? These are our memories, our experiences, the things that have moulded and shaped us, turned us into the creatures we are. We act as if the sad times, the hurtful moments are a pain to keep with us, but I cherish them just the same as the lovely ones. I have learned from them. Grown from them. And I keep them with me, not because I can't let them go, but because they aren't holding me back. They are a part of me.

Anyone who whispers the term 'emotional baggage' behind their hand as if it is a dirty thing is misunderstanding what exactly comprises the baggage. Some people don't understand what it means to be proud of the struggles you've been through. Once you embrace the baggage it can become your shield. It can protect you from future hurts. And it will teach you to wear your scars like armour. To hold your head up high and understand that where you came from and what you've gone through doesn't have to dictate where you are going or who you will become.

We call it baggage because it supposedly weighs us down, but the past doesn't have to be so heavy. Instead of lugging it around, why don't we unpack it instead? We can fill up our hearts with it and, when need be, we can open the doors to the emotional wardrobe and pull out a moment to examine, to remember what we leaned from it, to reflect on the life we have lived, then hang it back up. We can close the door and go about our lives, no longer pulling the baggage behind us, but carrying it inside us, where it can be reflected on as a lesson, instead of dragged around like dead weight we want to cut away.  

I firmly believe you can't let your past dictate your future, but I also don't think you can move forward without confronting your past. Packing your bad memories up and trying to hide them will only cause you to stumble. It's hard dragging something so cumbersome behind you, it's a strain on the heart and the head, not to mention the legs. Eventually, we have to realize we are who we are because of what we have been through. To deny the past, to try to forget it, or ignore it will only cause it to be harder to deal with. Maybe it's time to unpack those bags and put those experiences away in the emotional wardrobe, where they can change from a burden to a blessing. 

Wasabi Eye

Since moving to Vancouver Island, I have cultivated only a handful of friendships. By a handful, I mean no more than five and most likely around three. Don't get me wrong. I'm friendly with a lot more people, it's just hard for me to bridge the gap between 'being friendly' and 'being friends'. Maybe because I think things should unfold organically and, though it may come as a shock, I'm actually fairly introverted and, even more telling, I have a fondness for being a lone.

Because I work and interact with the public every day, I don't need anymore time with 'people'. After hours and on weekends, I go home and read, write, edit, do a puzzle, bake, knit or watch bad television. This is in fact ideal for me. Going out once a month isn't a problem for me because I'm a low key lady with a predilection for being alone. Also, I really like my Sidekick, so when I'm at home with him, I feel as if I am with a friend and socializing.

Still, it's nice to have a friend or two in real life, other than the Sidekick, that I can chat with and knit silly things for. So, in an effort to be more social, I had a date with two feisty females last Friday. We had sushi, watched Divergent (it wasn't the worst movie ever) and went to The Whistle Stop for drinks. No worries, I stuck to water with a bit of lemon and didn't force myself on anyone unwilling.

It was nice and very revealing.

See, by some weird twist of events, I ended up with wasabi in my eye. The right one, if you must know. Now, I was wearing glasses and a hat and I can't honestly tell you how it happened, but I'm pretty sure magic was involved. All I can say for certain was it hurt like all kinds of hell. If I had of been alone, this would have been a horrible memory for me shudder over in the future. I would have had to stumble to the bathroom, probably ram into the table of the people behind me, and chances are I would have tripped and fallen flat on my wasabi stinging face.

As it was, I had friends with me. One of those beautiful individuals took it upon herself to help me clean the wasabi globs out from under my eye and off my lashes, while I remained seated. Oh, don't think I was composed. The tears were flowing and whines came forth.

There is a lesson in this story. Don't eat sushi alone. Or maybe that it is nice to have friends.

Did you know wasabi looks like this? 

I always thought it looked like this pretty flower of green paste. 

And did you know there are wasabi Kit Kat bars? 

Yeah, I'm not sure how I feel about this either.

A New Beginning

There is nothing more invigorating than a blank page. A fresh start. This new beginning.

And I'm not just talking about starting a new book, even though that really is one of the best feelings in the world. Until you reach about ten thousand words and realize you have no idea where the thing is heading.

It's a new year. People will be making resolutions. Trust me, my Facebook feed is already overwhelmed with how many people will be changing this year.

I will no longer be calling this resolutions. Let's just say what they really are. Tasks. Jobs. Chores. Because people don't like doing them. In fact, if I may be so bold, it seems people hate doing them.

It's always the same three things, too. Eat healthier, quit smoking and exercise. These are the most important changes people can think of at this time of year. While it is all fine and dandy that you want to be the best you that you can be, I think things need to start on the inside. With the heart. No, I am not talking about cholesterol. I am talking about love.

Just be nicer. Sweeter. Kinder. Lovelier.

And maybe patienter. (I totally didn't think that was a word!)

I guarantee if you drop the negativity and woe is me attitude, if you leave behind the regrets, what-ifs, and blame placing, you will notice a difference in all facets of your life. Inside and outside. And it will make the world a better place. Just put the drink down and do a good deed, big or small, it doesn't matter. Goodness begets goodness.

I'm not saying your non-smoking, skinnier self won't make Earth more enjoyable, and perhaps lengthen your life, I'm just saying you should mind your manners and stop moaning about how horrible your life is, especially on Facebook. I get tired of hiding your whiny status updates.

Really, in the grand scheme of things, how bland your meal at the Swiss Chalet was means very little to me. To put it bluntly, it registers a big fat zero on the what's note worthy scale. And we also don't need weather updates. One, a lot of us probably don't live near you and, if we do, we know what the weather is already like. Complaining about it won't change it. Last time I checked, Mother Nature wasn't on your Facebook. And if she was, she'd just laugh at you.

Oh, and you don't need fireworks and a noise maker to make this happen.

Every day is a blank page. A fresh start. The new beginning you've been so desperately craving.

Now, onto more important things. Remember how, two posts ago, I said I was entertaining the idea of taking note of one thing I am grateful for each and every day of this year. Well, it's a green light on that one. So, let's kick this thing off in true Tyson fashion with my dog. Oliver.

Yeah, that's right. I am grateful for this guy:

He's a jerk some of the time, but for the most part he's a lovely little guy with a face I just can't get over. My Instagram is riddled with pictures of him. He makes my life a lot happier. And every time I wake up next to him, the day starts on the right foot.

So there, day one, done. 364 more to go.

This may have been a mistake.