Resolution: make more of these!

It occurs to me in this festive week of overindulgence and resolutions, that what people ultimately want is to matter. Every resolution can be traced back to that very verb, if you think about it.

This year I want to give back by volunteering my time. In other words, to matter to those less fortunate.

This year I want to exercise more. In other words, to matter to myself and my loved ones by improving my health so I can stick around longer.

This year I want to dust off the manuscript and finish the book. In other words, to matter to those who will read it.

This year I want to spend more time with my family. So I can matter to them.

This year I want to be nicer to people.

And so on and so forth, do you see where I’m going with this? Well I intend to sever the intermediary cloaking and get straight down to it, because as we all know, life is too fleeting not to cut straight to the marrow.

This year I want to matter. Read more

Doritos Macaroni

Contrary to popular belief, I follow doctor’s orders. It’s just that no doctors ever tell me not to josh and jostle with drag queens on Halloween, or not to do flying leaps off skeeball lanes in skyscraper stilettos. But if I happen to do those things and then after the fact a doctor tells me how to ensure that they don’t happen again, I listen good. My ever so well-meaning orthopedic surgeon informed me that I have long, slender bones. In the spider world I would be more daddy longlegs, less brown recluse.

My bones are spindly, so they are more prone to breakage. I’m like one of those really dry wishbones from a big ol’ turkey that has been baking in the kitchen window for weeks- you can’t help but snap me on the first try. Over the years I’ve fallen prey to a boy on rollerskates and an appaloosa with a mean streak (my wrist, both) as well as a giant overhang while rock-climbing (my spine). And now, twice in one month the dancefloor dropdown and the skeeball stiletto swan dive took out my wrist and foot. Yoda only knows what fate has in store for my hip.

How to cook with a broken foot, photo by Greg of SippitySup.com

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I’ve been a busy girl the last couple of weeks. I didn’t get up to near enough kitchen hijinks, though I’ve managed a fair bit of fun. But it’s not all mischievous merriment in the life of Salty Seattle. You see that picture up there that opens this post? Well that, my friends, is the game of skee-ball, except I’m playing it wrong. Instead of dancing on the skee-ball court, you are supposed to calmly roll small, wooden balls up the lane you see me standing on. You are NOT meant to climb up there, but we were having such fun at the video arcade, how could I help myself? Well let that be a lesson to y’all. This is what happens when you swan dive off a skee-ball lane in 60mm heels:

But I’m a trooper. Despite what I thought was a sprained foot (which come to find out is actually a broken foot that must be surgically repaired this coming Monday), I boar-headedly maintained my social calendar. This included such things as an afternoon oyster date with Michael Ruhlman and Shauna Ahern, as well as a trip to Detroit.

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