Two things happened this week. Two horrific events. The first was an actual incident that took place. The second was a realization I had yesterday while thinking about movie theaters.
1. The Incident: He is Risen, Indeed!
I spent last Sunday, also known to many Americas as “Easter” or “Pastel Thanksgiving”, at my aunt’s house in the West Burbs. The weather was pristine, and the egg strata was bountiful. With great self-control, I nabbed only one blue foil wrapped Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup before brunch was served. Then, as I rode through the Easter buffet, I managed to make an appropriate plate with the right amount of everything. Then, as if the crack gods were guiding me, I tried Monkey Bread for the first time. Let’s just say I’m lucky to be alive right now for my mini Monkey bender was a dark and delightful experience. My aunt is one of THE best bakers I know, and going forward, I shall think of her not only as my aunt, but as my pusher.
The story continues. The family lounged in the West Burbs for a good 7 hours, which was enough time to eat, digest, nap, look at the Sunday ads, eat, and say goodbyes. Upon my return home, I suited up for a run around Lake Harriet. The weather was not meant to be wasted indoors and my belly full of eggy bread needed the fresh air. Since I’m a newbie at running as a hobby, my technique is sub par. Something went awry during my run and left me gimpy. My right foot is in pain, but it’s a bearable pain that I’m trying to deal with (I’m sure wearing high heels Tuesday night did not help remedy my situation). So, I made a trip to urgent care last night and came back with a prescription for elevation and ice. Done and done. My Meltdown aspirations for this week are on hold as my foot takes a timeout…and it’s only allowed ONE timeout.
2. The Revelation: My Life Sans Joy
I can’t remember the last time I ate popcorn.
If you don’t know me well, you shall soon enough; I.Love.Popcorn.
It’s a love that I attribute to my father for he is the master of “popcorn for dinner” nights and the “paper bag method.” It’s a sacred Roth tradition for any and all movie nights. The Roth popcorn obsession even extended to our two beloved dogs, Pepper and Cricket, may they rest in peace, on a complete unhealthy and neurotic level. Up until the Meltdown started, I was eating popcorn at least two times a week. Now, I’m not talking microwave popcorn; I’m talking homemade stove top and professional grade popcorn.
It was my go to snack, my party trick, my signature hors d’oeuvres, my bad day relief, my Fresca compliment, my joy. Once upon a time, popcorn was all of those things to me. Now, it’s a nostalgic memory of the past – like smiley face potatoes in school lunches or POGS. The revelation could not have come at a more inopportune time. First my foot, now this. A double whammy for this week.