What? It's like the fortune writer was interrupted, bound and gagged, just as that one thing was about to be revealed to me. See? There's a comma, then nothing more. No answer. I'm supposed to figure out on my own what that one thing is so I can stop focusing on it, without focusing on it? Paradox, you win again!
But the cookies and I continue our relationship. Saturday I walked with Rob to Chao's and bought three bags full, yessir, yessir—52¢ for 12, a bargain! I took them home, packed them into an earthy ginger gar, and set myself a challenge, which by the way, is not too focused on that one thing; all I have to do is open a cookie and respond to whatever I read inside. Maybe with writing. Maybe with drawing. Maybe with movement. Whatever. The point is to create with a medium that suits my mood, be it ink or breath.
So. My first cookie? Opened it Sunday night. Thought about it all day Monday. It predicted: "You will be surrounded by things of luxury." Seems like everyone has a natural pathway pre-set in the brain to process a fortune like this one by painting elaborate pictures of how beeyooteefull life will be after the prize is won. It's all future-based, and that's fine for motivational carrot-dangling and occasional masochistic self-delusion, I suppose, but what about the luxuries that are right here right now? Chopped liver?
What things of luxury do I or can I enjoy without waiting, and surround myself with always, no matter what my budget or circumstance may be? The wherever you go, there you are kind of luxuries. I started counting them out on my fingers and toes. I got into a groove with c-words mostly, and I suppose that's yet another proof of my tendency toward focusing too much on that one thing. Some of these could do with a little explanation if you are to have a fuller understanding of this blogger, but that would make for a much longer post, so I'll leave it to your imagination unless you want to discuss any of these elsewhere.
Good for starters. It's an astonishingly luxurious life, and that's only me getting hung up on 1/26th of the alphabet.
Yesterday, for the purpose of celebrating (not to mention gratuitously flaunting) mein aforementioned überwealth, I spent some time luxuriating with my mates, Jeanne, Deborah, Lucy, Aaron, and Jeromiah. We made an enthusiastic and rather sticky attempt at group cooking—our intention: fruity homemade marshmallows. We now call ourselves the Marshketeers. Observe how this Big Event illustrates our genuine affluence:
(Jeromiah's response to a suggestion: sausage-flavored marshmallows?)
|colors, counting blessings|
I'm rich. My life is flooded with abundance. I don't have to wait for some magic to happen to see myself surrounded by the things of luxury. Maybe there are more creature comforts coming to me and mine, or maybe there aren't, but I've got nothing to complain about. I've got plenty of plenty.
And you're kind of rich too, aren't you? Tell me how.