Somewhere along the lines, maybe in a past life three generations ago, I must have murdered a duck, threw pebbles at passing nuns from a second story window or maybe I was the villainous creator of the song "98 bottles of beer on the wall." Either way, I am convinced that I must have done something to truly move serendipity (Not myself, or rather my blog name, but some true force of sporadic random events) to catapult mischievous action in my direction. I say this because, due to some chance, the random hand of serendipity takes a turn with me. Never anything serious, which I thank my lucky stars for that, these random events create just a bit more excitement than what I usually like to have in my average day....
And that day was today.....
I awoke this morning to a funny smell that was wafting through my apartment. No, not the earthy fall breeze of a November morning, or the homey smell of automatic coffee. This was a smell that was a bit more foul. It appears that during the night, due to some unexpressed emotional tension on the part of my 8 month old puppy---I did neglect playing time last night in lieu of a 20-page paper---my dear puppy Pandora pooped on a pair of pants that were lying on the floor. Her anger seethed in mounds of fragrant dung that cut the air like a waterbuffallo taking a swan dive into a placid lake. Obviously upset, I communicated my anger much like a cave-man, in grunts of dissatisfaction, jerky "clean-up" movements, piercing looks at my dog and interjections of guilt-provoking statements like "WHO POO-POOED IN THE HOUSE????????" After the mess was cleaned up, I raged into the bathroom to wash my hands. Reaching for the soap-pump I had forgotten that if I didn't put my hand around the soap-pump it often shot forth soap in a myriad of directions. This time it was only in one direction and that direction was straight for my eye. Severely regretting my decision at that moment to buy Dr. Brommers minty-fresh soap, my eye seemed to form a life of its own, crying out for relief. Shoveling water in my eye I now resembled a slightly soapy, red-faced dripping Amazon woman. I peered into the mirror wondering if it was just going to be one of those days.....and it was.....
During supervision, I made the decision to turn off my phone so as to absorb every piece of advice on how to be a budding young therapist. To my dismay, when I left supervision I saw my neighbor called seven times throughout the hour of supervision. Thinking my apartment was in flames, my neighbor in some sort of peril or my dog dead I dialed her number twice only to get her answering machine. Finally I got a text from her saying that she couldn't talk now, that she was in a meeting but that everything was okay. What was okay? My mind was spinning with the possibilities of what could have happened to warrant seven phone calls and was the emergency really over? (Really, I hadn't even had coffee that morning). I finally got the text that she had left her iron on and was hoping I could run over and check it. As I was about 30 minutes away, I decided to take my chances and hope that a curling iron wouldn't cause The Great Louisville Fire of 2008. How strange would that be....a cow in Chicago....and a curling iron in Louisville?
After a day of classes and papers and almost missing deadlines, I decided to finish the evening with a heartwarming night with the teens I lead in group. They can be quite a source of inspiration and inspiration was what I needed on a day like this. Everything was perfect, the room was full, the chatter reeled about the room in a constant hum and the smell of turkey was fantastic. After the majority of the kids had gone to load their plates, I went up to the front to receive a plate of southern Thanksgiving goodness. I was surprised to find that I did not recognize any of the foods besides the turkey. Always interested in new foods I tried a sampling of collard greens, stewed tomatoes, creamed corn and green beans. I was ecstatic. i love new foods and sampling foods from the regions I visit and live in is a favorite activity. Feeling as though with the consumption of this new concoction I could be officially southern, I began the meal with zeal. Some of the facilitators watched me cautiously as one might watch a large cooler in the middle of a six-lane freeway---unsure whether this food might be hit or miss. Under great pressure to please I placed the collards in my mouth to find a taste like none-other I had experienced before. Although green and resembling a vegetable in a former state, it tasted much like bacon. My taste buds were confused. Why would vegetables taste like bacon? I managed to nod a fake smile towards my on-lookers and tried the green beans. Wouldn't you know? THEY TASTED EXACTLY THE SAME AS THE GREEN BEANS! Confused as to whether or not a slice of ham had materialized on my plate I decided to casually move on to the stewed tomatoes with the excuse that I wanted to try all that was on my plate. No go there either. I was expecting something akin to a marinara and with the first spoonful of tomatoes my face puckered uncontrollably. I was horribly embarrassed and was met with shaking heads, smiles and people telling me about "real southern food" and something about Yankees. My dream of being southern smashed, I have come to the conclusion that I am not southern, and probably never will be. If southern is flavored with bacon, I am out of luck.
Dramatically retelling my story in text form on my phone to my girlfriends (who live here and understand these foods) about my failure to be eclectic in the culinary sense, I started walking towards the door. As I was distracted by my texting, I did not see that one of the teenagers had spilled about half a pound of an apricot casserole/bread pudding like item on the floor. Promptly, I stepped in it, slipping about trying to catch my balance (these dishes do, I found out, have quite a bit of butter in them). I regained my balance only to hear one of the teenagers say, "Aw nah, Miss Erin, why did you go and step in that for?" seeming to imply that I guess that I had done such a thing on purpose....perhaps for recreation? My shoe was covered on all sides with apricots and bread and lard and the only thing to do was to take off my shoe and go to the sink for a proper cleaning. As I returned back to continue out the door I operated under the assumption that the girls had cleaned up the bread-apricot-casserole-pudding. They had not. And, I promptly stepped into the casserole again, this time slipping about like I was on the Dancing with the Stars Ice-Capade edition, flailing my arms Matrix-style and nearly landing rear first into the pile of slippery dessert. Convinced that somebody, somewhere in the universe, perhaps serendipity was laughing, I called up a good friend, told her about the day, and heeded her advice to go straight home, avoid any more potential obstacles and go to bed. Writing about it however, had to come first, as I believe the world needs to know the tricky little ways of this slap-stick comedy show that serendipity is sending my way.....in the form of my life.
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