to dance, without music

Once I assured myself Jeff’s mask situation was secure, I headed to the other end of our house. Out of courtesy. I doubt my husband would have woken up if I’d exercised my option to use our en suite. Since he was solidly sleeping, I didn’t want to take the chance.

By the end of August 2019, with the help of Jeff’s Salsapalooza plan, our still relatively tiny store (although, comparatively, a mansion to our minuscule starter-store) had broken even YTD. We were unbelievably ecstatic knowing we’d be heading into the holiday season in great shape.

Yes, we’d have to work hard to keep the momentum going. Hopefully, we’d need to keep purchasing stock. The final quarter of 2006 could be significantly profitable, fuel the future of our business and solidify our dream.

With any luck, MHSC could conceivably close out non-red in just our third year.

Of course, we weren’t planning on letting it be a luck thing. We’d never leave it up to that. It would be a face-to-face, phone-to-phone, email-to-email, direct mailbox mail, somewhat prehistoric print, semi-regular radio, and weekly BNI thing.

That same year, we’d also created a postcard mailing advert for Jeff’s next fantastic idea – Sauce of the Month Club. We simultaneously debuted the program in our web-store.

When the very first participant signed up and purchased the plan on-line, it was a banner day.

Jeff was hilariously giddy, grinning from ear to ear. I was right there with him because he waited until I got home to tell me.

“You’re the first person I’m telling this to,” Jeff started out of the office, as I came in the front door. Opening his arms wide, he declared. “I wanted to celebrate this with just us.”

Without knowing what we were celebrating, I jumped in for a hug. Once he had me in his arms, Jeff began to dance. I followed his lead, without any music, while he explained.

I smiled up at my love, as we took waltzing steps. Without any music, I got to thinking. Jeff took one look at my face and figured out I was contemplating.

“Now, now, now,” he admonished, with over-dramatic fake seriousness. “Don’t worry about any of this,” he confidently continued, clasping our hands over his heart. “I already talked to the guy and it’s a present for his Dad.”

“We made a list of stuff he’d like!” he beamed. “And, get this… he might even get his Dad to come in with him to get it each month. So, we might not need to do any mailing!”

Quote for the Week: 2019 08 27 to dance without music jakorte

simply non-absorbing

Canceled flights, postponed meetings, put downs, over-waiting, under-eating, the over-ignored melancholy of having missed the importance of affections; meltdown. The unusually stacked, short-time string of dismissals tweaked me one tiny notch too far.

The result was a temper tantrum; the kind that comes about when I haven’t gotten my way in a really long time. The sort pressure-cooker steam-off that surfaces when my worths (self or external) are ignored or devalued.

I never know when that’s going to be. I only know when I get there.

It wasn’t entirely my fault. Truly, I may have been headed toward angry-ville anyway, but I had an over-sufficient amount of help getting there. A few fast-run to dead-stop power kicks helped punt me through the uprights, and the wide-open door to furyland.

I could have kept shrugging my shoulders, knowing from experience, the weight of the world loses its heft when you religiously exercise the muscles holding it up. I just chose not to.

Instead, I walked away. Literally, down sidewalks, around corners, unconcerned. If my random turnings turned me around, GPS would just have to guide me back. As usual, I made it on my own. A few miles and almost an hour later, I was tangled up in spent.

I de-shoed, de-capped, de-socked and de-shorted and decided I couldn’t decide what needed to happen next. Too confused to eat, too upset to make sense; too watery-eyed to read texts, I couched.

I really do try to avoid confrontations. It wasn’t always that way, and it’s not that easy for me now. Even though a trying moment might have ended, I can’t always get over it. I can’t always let go.

I’d like enlighten, enrich, and make the world a better place by pointing out bad faith and false profession, but history has shown there’s not much success in that approach.

I try not to tell it like it is, and give myself credit for having learned something over the years.

Nobody wants to hear the truth. Nobody wants to know if they are bossy, or inconsiderate, or lazy… or bordering on mean for no good reason. I know this, because I’m one of those nobody’s too.

I’ve examined the clichés, the verses and the proverbs. I cannot find any evidence to support the notion that we are all supposed to be sop-ups. Nothing requires any of us to be an emotional sponge.

Soaking in the dramatic static of others’ lives just isn’t healthy; repeated wringing wears away our civil surface and unprotects the soul.

So, while I strive to seem pacifistically accepting, I embrace an entirely different definitive power beneath my stoic surface. This is my solvent and my equilibrium.

I am no longer swaying with or subscribing to the soak and squeeze.

I am only self-obligated to osmose the good stuff, at my determination.

If there can’t be any of that, I’ll stand here silently; simply non-absorbing.

Quote for the week:

I am responsible. Although I may not be able to prevent the worst from happening, I am responsible for my attitude toward the inevitable misfortunes that darken life. Bad things do happen; how I respond to them defines my character and the quality of my life. I can choose to sit in perpetual sadness, immobilized by the gravity of my loss, or I can choose to rise from the pain and treasure the most precious gift I have life itself.  ~ Walter Anderson

Enjoy this week’s discovery links:

Osmosis for Kids: http://www.ehow.com/info_8650496_osmosis-kids.html

Minimize Drama: http://tinybuddha.com/blog/7-crucial-steps-to-minimize-drama-in-your-life/

In-depth Goal Posting: http://www.diynetwork.com/how-to/how-to-build-a-goal-post/index.html

Soaking in the dramatic static of