Springtime in the Rocky Mountains is a sly and changeable beast. She’s* like Angelina Jolie–seductive and mesmerizing and crazy, all in one package.
Take the other weekend, for example: Saturday, she wrapped us in balmy 80-degree weather, and we dusted off our grill, made lemonade and watched the girls jump themselves silly on the trampoline. I got so excited that I invited a few neighbors over for Sunday lunch, and busied myself making cool salads and light appetizers. Sunday dawned, and BAM! Within a few hours, it was snowing big, fat, wintry flakes. We sulked a bit, wheeled the grill back into storage and reverted to Plan B. Indoor grillfest. Carpet picnic.
We know this about Spring in our neck of the woods, but still, she manages to Punk! us every year. We wag our tails in anticipation, break out the sunscreen, and then she shits in our backyard, just to show us who is boss. Meanie.
Luckily, we shook it off and our guests still came and we had a lovely meal. With board games instead of frisbee. Plan B was actually quite fine.
I never was really comfortable with Plan B until I had children. I like routine, and predictability, and a road map for where I’m going. I’m the girl who needs to be prepared for her own surprise party. Not that anyone who knows me would actually throw me a surprise party–not if they wanted to live, anyways.
But kids are little walking, boisterous bundles of Plan B. You either learn to flex those firm expectations or rendezvous with the Xanax on a regular basis.
And for that, I’m grateful; this rigid chick needed a little flex in her life. Plan B. is still not my favorite prom date, but I can at least make my way to the dance floor.
These awkwardly cobbled phrases and metaphors bring me to the point I probably should have just blurted out at the beginning of this post, but thanks for staying with me.
You know that opportunity I spoke of the other day? The new territory? Well, it’s not going to happen the way I thought.
It still might happen–will hopefully happen–but it’s going to be a longer path to that end than originally planned. Things happen. Life happens. So I am embracing Plan B.
I think in this case, Plan B. is the better option for me. Plan A. was a little too hectic and a lot too fast for this tortoise. This tortoise needs time and room to breathe, and a leeetle bigger compass to guide her.
She’ll make it, though. We tortoises always do.
The good news? I’ll be around for a while, and able to channel my energies to other things that really matter.
And anticipation of this:
And at the end of the day, one of these.
adapted from Cooking Light magazine
1 cup water
1/3 to 1/2 cup sugar, depending on how sweet you like your drink
1 sprig fresh rosemary or fresh thyme, whichever you prefer
1 cup fresh lemon juice, chilled
1/3 cup mandarin orange flavored vodka, such as Stoli, cold from the freezer (that where the cool cats store their vodka)
2 cups chilled Prosecco or other sparkling white wine
lemon or orange slices, to garnish
Combine first 3 ingredients in a small saucepan. Heat over high flame until sugar dissolves. Remove from heat and let stand 10 minutes. Discard rosemary/thyme. Chill simple syrup mixture.
Combine sugar syrup, chilled lemon juice, mandarin vodka and Prosecco. Stir gently to combine and serve, either straight up or over ice, whichever you prefer.
* Is it just me, or is Spring most certainly a female? For some reason, I always think of Spring as a feminine season. It’s the only season that I think has a gender. Anyone care to weigh in?
ps: Thanks for all of your support and love and high hopes for me these last weeks. And no, it wasn’t a book deal. :) But those of you who assumed that it was are in my good graces forever.