Multi-grain blue berry pancakes are my new drug

Lest you think I’m a recovering addict my old drug was French Toast. Most mornings I go with scrambled eggs or a bowl of Cheerios and fresh fruit, but when I crave something with a little more personality I’m drawn to those pancakes. Actually, it’s singular. I order just one. I don’t know what it’s like where you live, but here (and I think most of North America) ordering pancakes results in about two pounds of breakfast which is more than I can eat. There was a time in the not too distant past where I would have made a valiant (some might say idiotic) attempt to eat everything put before me and rolled out of the diner a wafer-thin mint away from exploding. Now, I am actually able to just say no.

All things chocolate, however, have yet to be tamed.

My laundry has been assimilated. Fabric softner is futile.

If you aren’t a fan of Star Trek and are unfamiliar with the Borg and their cubes of death then you probably don’t think this is nearly as humorous as I do. Of course, you could be a huge fan of Star Trek and know everything there is to know about the Borg and still not find this as humorous as I do in which case you’re wrong. Cubed laundry is universally funny.

Are you a list maker?

I love making a list and then ignoring half of the things I put on it. I am building up my stamina, however, or maybe it’s matching expectations with reality, although I don’t like the sound of that because it sounds a bit like giving in. Most times I’d rather shoot for the stars and come up short than shoot for the moon and hit it. But what I am learning, after a lot of bumps and bruises, is to also plan for some way stations along the way. So now when I make a list if I do hit the moon I’m more apt to see that as a stepping stone rather than a failure. And what didn’t get accomplished today gets put on tomorrow’s list…unless I change my mind about it or events overtake me and the task is rendered moot, like watering a plant that is no longer capable of photosynthesis, sigh.