Stress building, piling on unnecessarily.

Vacation is coming, but demands at work demand.

It is time to walk away from the chaos,

It is time my brain had a moment.

I’m making mistakes due to overload,

And losing my cool, truth be told.

Maybe this isn’t for me after all,

Let me study data and chart out the needs,

All this management just feeds my anxiety.

The break can’t come soon enough,

And I know I’ll just be so nervous while I am gone.

But, I need the break, my mind is taxed.

It’s almost time for me just to relax!

Bagels…

Now, don’t get me wrong. The taste of an everything bagel with a fried egg, bacon and Swiss is delicious for breakfast. It’s especially divine when someone else makes it and serves it to me with a lovely London Fog – Island style.

But, still, I hate everything bagels.

Their oniony smell permeates all other bagel flavors when buying a bakers dozen. No one likes to bite into their cinnamon crunch and taste onion!

Their poppy seeds and sesame seeds litter the counter. No matter how much I wipe, more appear even when no bagels had been consumed.

The scent of the bagel wafts through the air, even when it is only sourdough slices being toasted up. That scent invades my nostrils when I’m only wanting a whiff of fresh bread.

But still, the bag ends up in the basket whenever we run low. It’s a staple I can’t avoid. I hate everything….bagels.

I’m addicted. Not necessarily to eating it, but more to making it. Slowly, it is becoming a Sunday ritual.

First comes the garlic. I slide the papery covered cloves into a tube and roll until they release. Then I work my knife all around until it is finely chopped. I’ve also done the whole “rub the bowl” with a clove trick. I slide the garlic to one corner of the chopping board.

Next, I ready the lime. Sliced in half, I put half to the side and slice 4 wedges. Lime just smells so fresh…and helps neutralize the garlic a little on my fingers.

Now, the onion. I probably should do this before the lime. Maybe next time. I slice and dice it into little bits. The purple is pretty next to the creamy white garlic and the bright green lime.

Now, tomato! My serrated knife makes quick work to seed the tomatoes then slice and dice into perfect little chunks.

Next, some sprigs of cilantro. I go a little light with just two stalks. Rinse, pat dry, and chop it up. The chopping block is full of color now.

I pull out the cotija cheese to add at the end, and some salt. I also pull out the adobo san pimento as an extra hit of flavor.

All this chopping has relaxed me. I pull out the bowl and now it’s finally time. I grab the slim cado, a large smooth skinned avocado, and cut it in two. I remove the pit and segment the flesh, then scoop it out into the bowl.

Now the fun part. First, I squeeze the lime over the avocado and give it a toss. Then, I grab the smasher and begin mashing away. The yellow highlights blend in with the green meat.

I sprinkle in some adobo and salt, then grab a spoon and slide the blend of cuttings from the chopping block into the bowl. I stir everything lightly, blending all the flavors. Finally I break off a piece of cotija and crumble it atop the guacamole.

Now it’s ready to serve. I smile as I dish it out into mini bowls, then tightly cover the rest with cling wrap before putting it in the fridge.

Who knew making guacamole would be such a zen experience?!

She grimaced as she sat down. The black cape was securely snapped in place. She held up her phone showing her the picture.

“It’s time.”

“Shampoo cut and style?”

She nodded and followed her to the sink. A nice scalp massage and squeeze dry, then it was back to the chair.

She didn’t want to watch as the inches of curls fell away. Nine months of trying to grow it out, but it just wouldn’t cooperate. It should have been ponytail ready for the coming heatwaves, but the sides just refused.

“It came back in nicely though. The medicine is working.”

She smiled back, but realized long locks were never to be again. Her shoulders couldn’t handle the time it took to straighten it, and her hair was really too thin.

The stylist trimmed around her ears. A flash of white caught her eye.

“Wow, that is bright!”

“It’s a pretty grey,” she assured her, “It will be much cooler too!”

She knew, and she was tired of the disheveled look her curls usually brought.

A blow-dry, a few stray trims, and it was done.

“Thanks!”

She smiled at the mirror into her sleeker, more in-charge look. Her head felt lighter and her neck felt the cool air once again. She was sad at undoing all her hard work, but glad to have a fresh look at the same time.

The floor around her was littered with her failure, but at least it wasn’t her on her head, serving up a constant reminder. She settled up and walked out with a new outlook.

She typed a text to him, but paused.

She let the cursor flash.

The miles between them seemed to grow.

She didn’t know why this ebb and flow happened.

It was always around her birthday it seemed.

And would last for weeks or months at times.

She frowned. She didn’t understand.

But she didn’t want to be a burden.

She backed up the cursor, clearing out the text.

Closed the session and put her phone down.

“Quick! Catch him!”

The horde chased the diminutive man, dressed in a green velour jacket and black top hat. He giggled and kicked his heels, then ran off again. His flaming red curls bounced under his hat.

Every March 17th, it’s the same thing. He’d come to love the chase, but it’s even funnier when he gets caught.

He swung around a lamp pole and splashed through a puddle as he passed the pub. He heard a cheer as he ran past.

“Go Paddy! Go!

Better be quick,

Or they’ll get your gold!”

The throng stumbled through the streets. Their drunken haze convinced them they’d seen a leprechaun.

He ducked into a doorway, just out of sight. Then, he watched as they entered the dead end alley.

Confusion came over the faces of the crowd. The rapscallion evaded them once more. Faces grew long as they each wandered back to the pub.

Paddy snickered as the group disappeared. The gold remained his for one more year.

He cried out across the wire…

No! Don’t look that up!

Freaking out that it might scar my innocent brain.

Or perhaps he didn’t want me to think bad of him.

But my fingers were faster than he knew,

And the answer had already been revealed.

I chuckled as I replied… “Too late!”

But I found it cute, his act of chivalry.

A clear sky greets me, full of stars.

I grasp this moment, fleeting as it is.

But, no moon floats up in the sky,

No place for me to feel we’re connected.

I tuck my heart back in my chest,

And wander through the leaves.

I know the moon will soon return,

and I can dream again.

Till then, I bid you good night.