May 27, 2012—friends, truffle pigs and alfredo sauce

As I was leaving the shop tonight, I was chatting with Kimberly Santiago, a local artist who has written and published a book, A Collage Playground. I am fortunate to have her as a tenant in our historic building on Franklin Street—you can actually find her studio on the Strawberry Alley side of the building—but even more fortunate to call her “friend.”

Just a few years older than myself—I don’t think she would mind me saying that (one of the many reasons to admire her)—she has allowed herself to become my sounding board and confidant. She is willing to collaborate with me in business matters and share her experiences as a mother, wife, and business person. Everyone needs a Kimberly, but to be honest I’ve surrounded myself with her kind—Jane, Rogate, Monica, Sherri and Sheila are the tip of that proverbial iceberg—friends whom have ventured into business ownership and are willing to share experiences. I can’t imagine making it through my days without them.

I hope you have someone like them in your life. We all need friends to help keep the checks and balances of our lives.

 

So, right, back to the story . . . as we were leaving the shop, we were admiring the weather (as women of our age are prone to do—far more frequently than I care to admit) and wishing we hadn’t spent the entire day inside. We both agreed that the appropriate next move would be to make every effort to complete the work we anticipated at home—preferably on the patio.

 

As it has been a particularly stressful week, I immediately started formulating the plan. I’d start boiling the water for the pasta, then start the grill, grab my laptop and begin writing my article on the patio. So far, it’s working. I feel much better. Letting go of some of the stress of the day just by being outside on what is quite likely the final day of comfortable weather for the foreseeable future.

 

Even with all of the mulberries on the ground and the inevitable flies which accompany them, I am relaxing. Then our dog, Brogan, begins snarfing up the mulberries, which will lead to a stinky dog, if you know what I mean. Since he sleeps in my room, I beg and plead with him to stop—finally convincing him to lie down. He, naturally, lies down in the grass, where he can continue the snarfing, thinking I cannot observe his surreptitious efforts. Stress is returning, but still manageable. (My daughter refers to it as “truffling,” as he reminds us of those videos we’ve seen of Truffle Pigs hunting for their prize.)

 

 

Then my mind waders . . . Oh look! Is that a Robin or a Towhee? And would you just look at those swallows? I wish they would fly down around my head, arms and legs—they would find plenty of their prey feeding on my blood. Do I have time to add that final layer of paint to those Adirondack chairs? Then the clanging of the lid on the pot of vigorously boiling water returns me from the day dream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back inside, the kitchen has really heated up with the boiling pot of pasta water. I add the whole wheat pasta to the water and start warming the Alfredo Sauce. It’s out of a jar, but practically gourmet, as I swish around a little white wine to loosen the sauce still clinging to the jar. I finish grilling the chicken breasts and turkey smoked sausage. We love this meal—especially on a busy work/school night. I chop the chicken and sausage, toss it into the sauce. My daughter helps whip together a healthy green salad and we sit down to a semi-family meal (my husband is out of town). We enjoy good conversation and a few laughs. I find myself sitting there, feeling a little self-satisfied in the knowledge that this is something we do nearly every night of the year. The stress is almost all gone; I then remember I haven’t written my article.

 

 

Rats! What will I write about . . .?