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Sometimes a muffin is more than a muffin …

July 27, 2011

After all this time, I am still surprised when this:

Turns into this:

I’m still surprised by how a warm muffin can spin my mood.

By how a smear of honey butter changes everything.

And then, I’m always surprised that it’s over almost as quickly as it began.

I’ve been baking a little. Not much, let’s be clear on that, but a little. It’s been fun. And relaxing. The kids have thought it awesome. I haven’t even minded the clean-up. (Well, maybe a little, but not much.)

I’ve also been thinking that it’s kind of funny—the way things get away from us. Not haha-funny, but weird-funny, like magic or amnesia or dreams. Things that we know well, people that mean something, ideas and desires and memories, all banished from this present moment or that future vision. Unintentional and often regretful, consumed by work and children and duty, those things boxed away in the darkness—how do we ever find?

I had dinner with my very best high school girlfriends a few weeks ago. It was amazing. Each exactly as I’d preserved them in my mind. We remember-when’d and caught up and shared some amazing food. Hours passed, patrons came and left the rough-hewn tables around us, but we laughed and reminisced until they locked the doors. I wouldn’t trade that night for a million dollars, but here’s the punch line: As we left, one of them asked an employee to take our picture. She said, “Will you take our picture. This is our friend we haven’t seen in fifteen years.”

Fifteen years. Two of the three were in my wedding. Two of the three were involved in the biggest lie I ever told my parents. Most, if not all, of the firsts in my life happened with these girls. And I hadn’t seen them in fifteen years. One had lost her mother. There were divorces. There were children, six of them. I’ve now met two.

I’m not okay with that. It should be more. I should do better.

Of course, there’s facebook and email and text and a million other ways to communicate, but there’s no way to make up for lost time—just like there’s no way to salvage cookies that have been in the oven two minutes too long. All you can do is start over.

And I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Starting over.

I burned the cookies this week. Start over. I’ve been slack on training for my City to Shore bike ride and lost my groove. Start over. I let the laundry get so out of control that nobody had any underwear. Start over.

Start over. Start over. Start over.

Oh what the hell, I’m on a roll:

4 Comments leave one →
  1. Candace Mann permalink
    July 27, 2011 11:23 am

    yes yes yes to all: starting over, muffins, friends, time flying, great writing. oh, and you.

    • Other annie permalink
      July 27, 2011 12:46 pm

      There just isn’t enough time, but we can start over, recapture, remember. Sometimes I think ( or at least fervently hope) that the impulse to get back on the horse and keep trying is worth quite a lot. Besides, if you were perfect everyone would hate you.

  2. July 27, 2011 1:05 pm

    I am always fascinated by the amount of things that get postponed. Years pile by and one day you ask yourself, wait, whatever happened to…
    today I spoke to one of my best friends on the phone, it must have been truly years since the last time we saw each other

  3. July 28, 2011 6:32 pm

    Awwww, you girls. Don’t hate me because I have muffins. Or muffin top. Or topless muffins. Or whatever. Love is the answer. Or as LMFAO says: “Stop. Hatin’ is bad.”

    I’m not sure what I’m talking about. I’m just thankful to you for reading and commenting. Down side — now I’m going to eat another muffin!


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