Moving Day

Hi everyone,
Just wanted to let you all know that this blog is moving!  You can find me here:  http://www.lkayjohnson.wordpress.com.  I've been on a bit of a hiatus, but it's only because I've been doing a lot of writing. I hope you'll visit my new blog and (soon) updated website.  I'm working on lots of writing projects that I look forward to sharing with you!

Merry Christmas!
Kay

Encouragement in a "New York Super Fudge Chunk" Minute

On Monday, I was at a Christmas party where I somehow ended up talking with my friend Jeanne about our first jobs. I laughed when I recalled my first job at Baskin Robbins where I quickly gained 10 lbs.! 

"What was your favorite flavor?" she asked, awaiting my answer with the eager anticipation of a 10-year-old. 

"Pralines and creme."  

"No way!" she said, "Me too!"  We were fast becoming secret ice cream buddies. I had to admit, though, that I'd moved on from Baskin Robbins:
"As far as I'm concerned, there is no greater flavor this side of paradise than Ben and Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk." 

"No way!" she said, "That's my favorite too!" she gasped. We soon forgot everyone around us while we gushed about the rich, dense dark chocolate ice cream filled with dark and white chocolate gobs, as well as huge fat chunks of walnuts. Ah...divinity. 

The next day, my husband and I received some long-dreaded disheartening news regarding a family matter.  Jeanne called me later to just say she was thinking of us and if I wanted to get together for coffee, she was available.  Later she called again, "I'd really like to stop by and give you something. Will you be home tomorrow?" 

Today she showed up on my doorstep with a Christmas bag. Jeanne makes beautiful handmade jewelry, so I thought maybe she had brought me one of her creations.  She insisted I open it right away.  Inside were four pints of Ben and Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk Ice Cream. FOUR PINTS!  Do you know what GOLD this is? This, my friends, is love.

Never underestimate the power of New York Super Fudge Chunk.  More important--never underestimate the power of a thoughtful gesture, even a silly one, to bring encouragement. Jeanne didn't help my waistline, but the fact that she took the time to go buy 4 pints of Ben and Jerry's and bring it to me...well, how can you put a price on friendship like that?

Side Streets

My husband cannot resist side streets and detours. When traveling, he is equal parts instigator of adventures and destroyer of “best laid plans.” I can no longer number the times we have headed for some destination—any destination—when something catches his attention that demands further investigation: an undiscovered alleyway, a cool shop he never noticed before, a side road that leads to God only knows where—but it all simply must, must, be explored. It doesn’t matter that we are a mere 10 minutes from our original destination, which, by the way, is not even close to a priority any more. If life is all about the journey versus the destination, then Barry is a master at living.

His propensity to wander used to make me crazy. I, too, am easily distracted, and I so wanted to stick to a plan. But now when that “We have to check this out!” look comes over him, I just go with it. Had I not learned to do this, I would’ve missed so much—like the Hotel California sing-along with a bunch of Italian guys in a Tuscan art gallery, located—you guessed it—on a side street. I wouldn’t have seen the tiny, lone grave next to the remains of an old cabin we hiked past. (The entire site had to be explored—knee-high weeds and all.) I would’ve missed the mountain goat in Crête that stood on a huge boulder like an ancient sentry as we rounded a winding mountain road.

I would’ve missed that jazz club in Paris with some of the most talented musicians you’ve never heard of, and the eerie café in northern Italy that turned out to be some kind of Mussolini shrine. There was the wine tasting in a tiny Spanish hillside village with a panorama of the Mediterranean; and the flamenco bar where the locals nursed small glasses of moscato, played guitar, and sang in that mesmerizingly mournful and flowery Arabic style. And of course we had to stop when I spotted a two-room shop filled with handcrafted Spanish guitars, the master craftsman himself as old as the Al Hambra. There was also that boat ride on Lake Geneva that was memorable simply because we lived through it.

Even when we are not traveling, he takes detours. On a bike ride the other day, he (naturally) noticed a gravel pathway that led…somewhere, by God! It was our bounden duty to find out where. It wasn’t earth shattering, but had we bypassed it, we would’ve missed a pretty lake, a covered dock with a gazebo, and some very large turtles who greeted us before shyly ducking under the dock.

In almost all of the above cases, I don’t remember the original destination, but I do remember the detours. The long way really is, apparently, sometimes better. For creative types who berate themselves about their inability to focus, maybe it’s encouraging to know that this need to explore is ok. It’s part of your artistic spirit. You need to satisfy your curiosity. When you squelch it, you smother your inspirational soul. So go ahead. Wander a bit. Check things out. Take the side road. You’ll come back to the path—or at least a path—all the richer for the experience.