The Beautiful Disasters

[There may be typos: I wrote this quickly. If you have the inclination to tell me: Please don’t. Life is short. Typos are inconsequential. Namaste.]

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Pizza — I loves it. There’s “pizza,” and then there’s pizza. I like to think I make pizza, because it seems like those who’ve enjoyed it think so.

Pizza night? Sacred. Celebrated. Beloved.

So when I dropped my pizza with five-day-old sourdough crust and homemade ricotta face-down on the floor of the 550-degree oven, it was one of those stop-motion Ferris Bueller moments where life has TWO WAYS IT GOES, and EVERYTHING rides on your choice.

There’s me, a suddenly-light pizza peel in my hand, a tragic upturned pizza on the floor of the oven, a blood-curdling scream of NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO hanging in the air, when my INNER HERO leapt into action.

I grabbed the crust. Saved it to the side. Looked around, panicked. Grabbed a silicone spatula. Scraped up what little I could, put it back on the pizza. Grabbed another spatula, scraped the rest off the floor of the oven and onto my floor-floor.

Shit’s starting to burn, the oven’s still going. I quickly grab a sprig of rosemary from the balcony, grab my jar of freshly-made ricotta — since there’s no more mozzarella, of course — chop some onions and pistachios, throw everything on the pie. I grab the dregs of the dish of cream I’d used for my base, mix it with some salt and Sicilian olive oil, drizzle it over the pie, throw it back in.

Meanwhile, I grabbed a cleaning rag, tended to the floor and the drawer beneath the oven, where I’d accidentally shoved a half-dozen meatballs and a puddle of cheese.

By the time the whole fiasco had been semi-reckoned with, I’d double-baked the pizza and was ready to GO. Out it came, got a drizzle of that expensive-ass Sicilian olive oil that I will guard with my life, a sprinkle of salt, and dinner was had.

It tasted like VICTORY.

Was it the pie I wanted?

No. But it was the deliciously different pie of a quick-thinking hero. A woman who kept her cool, said “shit happens,” and didn’t blame herself or get angry or feel disappointed or anything.

It happened, I couldn’t change it, but I could salvage it.

Life’s short. That’s big. Personal growth is a thing to be celebrated.

There’s a time I would have cried and just given up and went to the burger shack just 300M from me and gotten a double cheeseburger because there was “nothing to eat.”

My mood would have been shit for hours, once upon a time. But this ain’t that time.

Tonight? I feel great. I’m amused. I feel smart and resourceful. (And pleasantly full of delicious things.)

The lesson? Go with the flow. You can’t change what happens, you can only change your reaction. It’s such a cliche saying, but when you finally learn how to do it, it’s life-changing.

I think Qi Gong, on a serious note, is partly why I’m able to have this much more chill attitude about these things. It’s a moving meditation, and I think as long as you’re meditating, you’ve got tools to slow down your reaction.

*

I’ve tried to write for you a few times. I had a big old cancer scare a few weeks after my last post. My brother had been for a visit for a week, which was great, and then began about a month of Not Very Fun Medical Tests and Much Not Fun Waiting.

In the end, things are much better, no cancer, and bonus perk is I now know just how awesome my health is in All The Important Ways, after having lost 100 pounds.

But yeah, went from that into a non-stop work mode, all while trying to find a Job Job, making a variety of resumes, growing a garden, running my home, staying active, cooking for myself.

You know how it is.

And it turns out a little cancer scare is a good thing when it reminds you of what your real priorities need to be. I’ve been taking a lot more time for ME this spring and it feels like a momentous turn on a personal level.

*

That cancer scare feels like it was the end of a Long Trying Time. And like the song goes, every ending is just another beginning.

I suspect Something Big This Way Comes, because I have this weird, weird habit of having my life unfold in four-year chapters. For the last 28 or so years, looking back, my life falls in four-year segments. Absolutely bizarre. And this summer? A new four-year chapter begins.

In a few ways, it already has. Not the least because Yours Truly has been greasing the wheels of change, of course.

I’m pretty excited about what looms, since I have absolutely no friggin’ idea what it is. I have a few hopes, though.

Door’s open, universe. Come on in!

The last three four-year chapters: Started my move to Victoria in 2011. Went nomadic in 2015. Returned to Canada in 2019. And now?

Don’t ya love a cliffhanger?

I’ll report back soon. Hope you’re all well and ready for a restorative (or hectic) summer.

Guess I got me an oven to steam-clean. Sounds relaxing! I’ll tell myself it’s what victorious heroes do with their evenings as the Solstice sun sets.

Happy weekend to y’all.

Love Steff

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