Sweet Dreams

        Someday I’m going to get pulled over for swerving in the vicinity of ice cream or candy shops, and on the news it will say, “She was driving at a glucose level of 15.8, which is twice the legal limit…”

          Okay, I really have no idea what the glucose numbers would actually be, but I do know that if my blood is drawn it can double as chocolate syrup for a sundae.

          At a check-up I was telling my doctor about my face plant fall, and he said I need to turn on the lights so I don’t break something next time.  “Otherwise,” he said, “you could end up in a nursing home. And they don’t have desserts in there.”

          “I could have someone bring me desserts,” I suggested.

          “You’re missing the point of the story,” he said.

          “So you say,” I told him, “but that factor could play into my decision.”

          He sighed.

See?” I said. “We’re both patient. Get it? You’re the adjective and I’m the noun. Fine, fine, I’ll keep the lights on.”

 I didn’t tell him that when Bob and I drove up to my Seminary class door the other day, I commented that the lights in my classroom were on, and Bob said, “But no one’s home.”

Hey, lights on or not, you can watch my Youtube Mom videos here.

         

I Found My Tribe!

          I found my tribe!  I am in the Cinnabon Tribe.  Seriously, here’s the deal.

          Some back story: When I was young, I lived next door to an East Indian woman named Svarna who braided my hair, dressed me in saris, put a red Bindi dot on my forehead, fed me naan, and had a home full of wind chimes and exotic spices.  It was heavenly and I was sure I was East Indian.

          Here is a photo of me with Svarna, for whom I’ve actually been searching, and my school classmate, Kathy Salunkhe.

          Fast forward to our last Enrichment Night at church, a monthly gathering of women where—this time—we had a get-to-know you activity, since we have so many new members.  I’ve been friends with one of them, Brenda, for a couple of years.  She is from a reservation in Montana, but I never actually knew her tribe.

          She stood up to show photos and tell about herself, and I thought I’d finally ask what tribe she is from.

          “Cinnabon,” she said.

          “Are you kidding me?” I shouted.  “Cinnabon?!? I want to belong to that tribe!”  My mind was whirling with ideas about how to finagle this. Also, do you get free Cinnabons if you are a card carrying honorary member?

          Well, it turned out Brenda had said, “Assiniboine.” But she speaks softly, so what am supposed to do except jump to wild conclusions? Anyone—and I’m telling you, anyone—would think she said Cinnebon. At least if you have desserts on your mind 24/7, which I do.

          I could hardly get to sleep that night. What if there are all kinds of tribes we’ve never heard of, wonderful secret tribes like the Coconut Cream Pie Tribe, or the Cheesecake Tribe, or the Cookie Dough Tribe? 

          St. Bob thinks no tribe will allow me within five miles of their land because they know I’ll come in and eat all their food.

          I ignored him. “What if there’s a Lemon Bar Tribe? Or a Baby Lava Cake Tribe?”  

          I finally got so worked up I had to go downstairs and have an ice cream sandwich.  Being an honorary Native American is going to involve some careful planning.

While I plan, you can visit my website, watch my videos, and order my books.  And, okay, enjoy some desserts as you shop.

A Perfect Fit

          Sometimes people ask me when I find time to write.  And it’s pretty much when everybody else is at the gym. 

          If you’ve been following this blog, you’ve read my thoughts about visiting a gym here, and trying a spinning class here. From the time I was a wee child—okay, a teenager in high school—I have been finagling my way out of gym class, even getting a doctor’s note one time. But now (drum roll here) I am thinking about opening my own fitness place!

          Here is my plan:  First of all, we rename it.  Joni’s gym will be called FITLESS CENTER.  It will only cost ten bucks a month, and you do not need to buy workout clothes, a gym bag, or special shoes. You just need to walk in the door and sit down.

          All the stools will spin, and you can spin round and round without working up one drop of sweat.  You will notice these stools are very close to a dessert bar where you can enjoy any number of donuts, pastries, and ice cream confections. 

           Instead of a yoga mat, you will be given a place mat.  Instead of free weights, you will be given free waiters.

          Behind the waiters will be a mirrored wall where you can see how happy everyone there looks. 

           You will immediately notice the stark contrast to the expressions at the “other gym” and you will smile. You will even think how CrossFit makes you Cross and Fit, a combination that is not worth it.

You can wear ear buds if you wish, but then you might not hear the specials (Meyer lemon cheesecake, salted caramel truffles).  There will be lots of lively conversation, because this is a happy place filled with happy people.  When you leave, you will not have to wipe down any equipment or take a shower.  No one will make you feel inferior by talking about how much they lifted that day, or when their next marathon is. Instead, you will all recommend delicious dishes to one another, and feel the joy of sharing a great tip for next time. 

You will drive out onto the street, and somehow no other drivers will irritate you.  The sun will shine brighter, the trees will look greener, and all will seem well with the world. I think I'm onto something here.

And then you can go home, read my new book, GOLDEN, and the day will be perfect.  Order it in paperback or on Kindle.