A wise person once said, “You don’t find inspiration, it finds you.” Really, I have no idea if that was a) ever said or b) ever said by a wise person. But it just came to me and sounded poetic so I went with it.
I haven’t shared a story for the past two Sundays and only registered one blog post in the last couple weeks. There were many times I thought, “I should blog.” It has been on my weekly to-do list, but at the bottom and no real time set aside to write. When re-started this blog I didn’t want to force posts just for the sake of posting. My considerations of underemployment lately are not ones I want to share with everyone. They are negative, sucky, stinky, crummy, and every other quasi-swear word I could use in front of my parents growing up. Today I wasn’t planning on writing a post or a story, but then I went to church.
This sounds cliché, but I found inspiration at church this morning. Praise. The. Lord. And no, it wasn’t Biblically related at all. You see, God works in mysterious way and today, while the Lenten message was powerful and the music not completely out of tune, I was hungry. I had had breakfast, but by the time we got to church my stomach was grumbling. I complained to The H, he laughed at me per usual and joked about the upcoming meal. It was here that the rewind button was pushed and I was dialing back to my teens. We went to church at 8:15. As a teen, this was not ok. In my opinion, it is basically a sin to go to church that early. We weren’t a jazzy, praise band kind of church, and Lutherans love to stand during the service. You’re tired and you can’t sleep. You’re hungry and you can’t eat. You’re bored and there’s nothing to do. And all you can sometimes think is, “God, make it stop.” Sounds a little like that other place described in the Bible…
So back to my hunger, I used to love communion for two reasons (besides the whole symbolic meaning). 1) It meant the service was almost over. 2) Fortification. (The days with wafers were the pits!) Sundays were usually the only day I had no athletic-related events or practices to attend. We were a family on-the-go. No off-seasons. Family meals usually happened in less than 15 minutes, except on Sundays. When I got home from church and Sunday school, it was time to snack. Some of you know my weird food habits, and I don’t want to embarrass myself by sharing some of the more interesting snacks I came up with. (Ok, I’ll share one – sliced cheese and small slices of fresh garlic. Yes, fresh.) But mostly, snacking consisted of chips and cookies – your standard teen fare.
For a period of time I was literally (click to get the effect I’m going for) obsessed with Spicy Doritos. They used to simply be Spicy Doritos. No wild and crazy Nuclear-Burn-Your-Lips-Off flavors. (For the record, they are now called “Spicy Nacho Doritos.” I didn’t realize Doritos needed the disclaimer of “nacho,” but now I know.)
I was very protective of my Spicy Doritos. I really only got to eat them on Sundays. We didn’t always have them in the house. It was one of those “If it is on sale” items on mom’s list. I looked forward to binging on these chips more than talking on the phone to my boyfriend. Alright, you called my bluff there. There was no high school boyfriend. I just need to to fully understand my passion for these chips because what happens next needs at least some pathetic attempt at justification.
As with any mom-daughter relationship, we fought. I remember my freshman and sophomore year were the toughest. Especially during volleyball season. Because she was a coach, and there was nothing worse in the world to me. I regret I felt this way because she is perhaps the most loved coach in our school’s volleyball program’s history and I was the one who needed to chill out, not her. One day, we got home early for some reason. There was time before dinner and I was hungry. I had miraculously not eaten the entire bag of Spicy Doritos that Sunday, so there were some left that I would get to inhale for a mid-week snack.
My sister was already home. She was in 5th or 6th grade probably and she also liked Spicy Doritos. I would begrudgingly share if
asked forced by our parents. When I got home that day, the Doritos were gone. Yes, completely gone. Much like the artificial, chemical-laden “spices” on the chips, I was HOT. I clinched the bag and sprinted the 10 feet to my sister’s room. As she innocently sat on her day-bed doing surely innocent things, like reading, drawing, or any of her other cute hobbies of the time, I came in guns blazing. I screamed in her face as loud as I could. I’m sure many words were said, mostly to the effect of, “Those were MY CHIPS, STUPID!” I probably made some threats of physical harm as well. I was just a dream.
I’m not really sure what transpired next. I know that I obviously made my little sister cry and my mom had had enough. I am pretty sure we had already had a screaming match in the car ride home, so this was a definite tipping point. After brooding in my room, I came upstairs to find my mom gone. She hadn’t said anything to anyone. We didn’t have family cell phones yet. What had I done?
My mom needed to get away from me, so she did what any sane, good-hearted, loving, frustrated mom would do. She drove around. I just threatened my sister over Spicy Doritos. I was a moody teen, with a bottomless pit of a stomach, and I snapped. It was like we were a family on Dr. Phil. Those chips live in family infamy.
So, while the Gospel and Lenten reflection were also inspirational this morning, so was thinking about this family memory. And, I’ve decided that when The H and I have kids, we will just eat Doritos every night, so we don’t risk the chance of Spicy Dorito Fight Pt. II. Except the Cool Ranch kind, is there anything worse than a person with Cool Ranch Dorito breath? You shouldn’t even be thinking about it, the answer is unequivocally no. It belongs right up there with ketchup on my most gag-reflex-inducing foods.
In honor of my trip down memory lane, and the unplanned run to the grocery store for flour, I decided I needed to really get in touch with my muse today. So, I’ve been snacking on these.
1) They really are not spicy at all. I have likely built up a tolerance for heat, I do like jalepeño, crushed red pepper flakes, cayenne, or my “secret cajun fairy dust” I got in NOLA on my last visit, on nearly everything.
2) The color of orange that coats the chips is alarming. Not Flaming Hot Cheetos-red, but an orange that is not your everyday orange.
3) Despite my current consciousness of their lack of nutritional value, they still are addictingly good. Giant walking taco for The H and I this week? If you are asking, “What’s a walking taco?” Go to a small-town midwestern sporting event and order one from the concession stand. Your life will be changed. Thank me later.
4) Takis are so much better! Can you imagine what would’ve gone down if we’d have had Takis?
5) As you all are my witnesses, The H fully knows what will happen if he finishes the bag of Spicy Doritos without asking for permission.
I’m looking forward to a week of hope-filled days, spring-ish weather, and joy-filled hearts. Cheesy, but true.