Every mouthful of this creamy, flaky chicken pot pie puts me in a trance. I am reading a novel by Frances Mayes , who writes dreamily about life in Tuscany. As I am transported to Italy through every word, every bite of this pot pie is reinforcing the tastes and the ambiance as I eat and read. Reading Frances’ books is like going on a vacation. I know Chicken Pot Pie is not an Italian dish but the richness of the pastry and the flavors of the herbs I added put me in that gastronomic mindset.

Since the era of working fulltime began (and its fine by the way – I’ve finally adjusted quite nicely), I don’t often get the chance to play in my kitchen anymore. I stopped at the local market (aka Sobey’s) to pick up a few ingredients and went home to bake my first loaf of fermented sourdough bread and make chicken pot pie from the leftover Hutterite chicken I had roasted for our Father’s Day picnic. I detest wasting food. I set up my blue tooth speaker with my favorite playlists and fixed myself a drink (apple juice in a wine glass) and began to peel and chop carrots and potatoes and onions. I steamed the peas I purchased from the frozen food section but soon will be able to get from my backyard garden. I sautéed onions in butter. There’s nothing like the smell of onions and butter cooking (or the taste for that matter). I ate a bit too much of this concoction and had to chop up some more onions. What did you have for supper last night? Fried onions! Yup. I’m good with that.

I picked all the leftover chicken pieces off the carcass and cut up the leftover picnic chicken and threw it all in the bowl with the vegetables. Next, I heavily seasoned it with salt, pepper, thyme, parsley, and savory spice. Then it was time for the rue (cream sauce). One must stand over this sauce with a whisk since cream burns so quickly. So worth it though. After I add it to the chicken and vegetables, I usually have a couple of bites without the crust. It could be eaten out of a bowl and enjoyed.

But that flaky, buttery pastry wrapped around the filling like a cloak is well worth the effort. It was amazingly fortuitous to have received this recipe from a family planning a celebration of life I catered a couple of years ago. I will never use another. I rolled out the pastry that I had previously made and froze. I always love to have some ready made pastry in the freezer in case the pie mood strikes. It speeds up the process so much. I usually make two pies at a time if I am going to the trouble anyway. Not to mention, I usually dirty every dish, pot and pan in the house for this particular entrée so I may as well make two. I had a small piece of pastry left so I rolled it out so I could cut out daisy’s with a cookie cutter to decorate the top of the pie. A quick and thorough egg wash and into the oven they both went.

While I was preparing the pot pie I was going through all the rising and preheating steps for my sourdough bread. I have a huge tub of dough sitting in the fridge and just schwack off a lump for a small loaf of bread. I will do something more exciting next round. I want to add nuts and raisins or cranberries and seeds and cut interesting designs with scissors. But I kept it simple this time so I could learn the process. Pastry and bread. Does it get any more carb heaven than that?

It took me til 11:00 pm to clean up the mess and complete the baking time. I usually go to bed at 9:30 because there actually is such a thing as ‘beauty sleep’ and I am desperate for it, but it was well worth it as I flopped into bed feeling domestic and earthy for having made something delicious, healthy and not full of preservatives.

That brings me to my lunch at work today. Eating chicken pot pie and reading Frances Mayes. Now that’s the way to escape the routine and get the most out of a hum drum life.

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I totally surprised myself and had a wonderful day at work. It’s incredible how changing your mindset about a certain thing can actually change your experience. I was in a lighthearted, jovial mood when I got in my car to drive home. I snaffled down my ‘way home from work’ apple. A couple of weeks ago I decided to embrace the apple-a-day philosophy. (And I’m not talking about electronic devices. If you were a fly on the wall, you’d believe I was).

I also started a seemingly easy and insignificant habit of meditating for ten minutes each morning before I leave for work. The yogic wisdom I borrowed this idea from suggests thinking about what you most want in life and imaging and feeling it as already true. I decided my focus during meditation would be the simple truth that God will never leave or forsake me. Therefore, no matter what today brings, God is with me and I concentrate on feeling His presence and deep breathing. Works wonders.

A blizzard broke out halfway home. Totally surprised me. The closer I got to home the less visability there was. Roads starting to get slick. I gratefully pulled up to my driveway and eased my car into the garage, excited about the prospect of changing into my flannels and sitting by the fire surrounded by all my favorite things. No, not girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes…

I’m giddy with indecision as to what to engage in first. I can hear the faint jingling of our chimes out on the deck, in between songs. I’m listening to the classic crooning of Nat King Cole but hope I have time for Ella, Louis, Frank, Miles, Harry and Josh before the sandman calls me to bed. I decided to read my journal from the past long weekend and was astonished to find that the information I copied from my Yoga-Well Being magazine totally resonated with the wisdom I copied down Galatians 5. I’m going to implement some changes. Small doable changes so as not to get overwhelmed and stop all good things. There is so much I want to put down on paper in one form or another. Writing brings such clarity.

Then there’s my iPad calling me in soft whispers to browse Netflix and Pinterest. There’s a stack of inspirational magazines enticing me to flip through their glossy pages for tantalizing tips and wisdom on everything from “Mindful strategies too feel balanced, happy and healthy”, “Pursuing Authenticy: The world needs who you were made to be”, “Starting your dream business”or “The heart and soul of cooking” and “Inspiring workspaces of extraordinary women”.

When can I read all these interesting books? I want to know how to ‘Rise Strong’. I want to ‘Taste and See’. I’d love to be ‘Fiercehearted’. I’d love to be ‘Fully Alive’. And ‘Embraced’. I want to experience ‘The Gifts of Imperfection’. To learn to live ‘Present over Perfect’ or ‘Brave the Wilderness’. ‘Girl, Wash Your Face’ has proved to be just what I needed. Can’t wait for ‘Girl, Stop Apologizing’. ‘Authentic Living’ has me pondering all these things in my heart.

Robert Louis Stevenson wrote a short but powerful poem. ‘The world is so full of a number of things, I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings”. Short. Simple. Succinct.

I forgot to mention the arrangement of roses gracing the table where I sit. The dainty rose gold mulled apple cider candles burning warmly around the table. And my tall takeout mug of cold apple juice (Lexie and I have become addicted lately. There’s no middle of the road for us. We either dislike a thing or we’re addicted). No added sugar. In fact, I usually drop a few ice cubes in to dilute and chill it. My ruffled black flannel pyjama pants covered with white hearts coupled with a cozy black loose, tailed vintage lulu lemon sweater completes this moments favorite things.

I’ve been watching Marie Kondo lately. I wanted to see what all the hoopla was about. Maybe everyone loves her because she is so cute and mini and can’t speak English. I think that’s her schtick. She lova mess, it make her happy. Cha-Ching. Cha-Ching. Being her interpreter would be a great gig, except I don’t speak Japanese. I realize now that I’ve been Marie Kondo-ing our house for years, in my own way. It’s certainly not rocket science or revelational. Even her little ritual of thanking the house before they begin the purge. Hello? I’ve been praying a blessing over our home and its people for as long as I have had a home and a family. I could easily go into people’s homes and tell them to toss everything that doesn’t bring them joy but I’m afraid that some people would probably just burn down thier homes.

You know what brings me joy? My beautiful stuff. Seriously, folks, most of the things in my home DO bring me joy. That’s why they are here. I love the simple clean look but I also love my sentimental treasures. One problem with being a creative is that 60% of the ‘stuff’ in our home, I have created myself thus, it brings me joy. The other 40%, I’m planning on making more sentimental stuff out of. The armoire that I found in the ditch at the lake – we repainted it and it brings me joy. The boardroom chairs that I inherited from three jobs ago and recovered and use in my living room – they bring me joy. The canvases that my daughter and I have painted – Spark joy. The seasonal décor that I switch out every six months brings me joy. The four sets of dishes that I use alternatively when I entertain, spark joy. The bedroom furniture from my childhood that we repainted and Lexie uses in her room – spark joy. Knowing I have clothes in every size I have ever been brings me joy. Since I have an incurable medical condition characterized by weight fluctuation (its actually quite common), it means I will always have something to wear. Can’t even remember the last time I said, “I can’t go because I have nothing to wear”.

I’d better be careful that all those sparks of joy don’t ignite and start a fire. That’s one way to get rid of all your stuff.

My method is keep, organize, stash and camouflage. Here’s the thing. Creatives have a lot of stuff because we have a lot of ideas and see a lot of potential and we can imagine making something out of just about everything. In my case, I’m going to make something out of it and make millions selling it on Etsy. My creative supplies (and I have a lot) are all organized in see-through containers that stack on each other. And these are stacked in a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit keeping them out of the way and off the floor with the added bonus of visibility. I have three sets of filing cabinets in the basement that I also use for storage of my event planning paraphernalia. Fabrics that I am going to use imminently are stored in plastic three drawer Rubbermaids (see-through) for easy access. All else, that I’m not regularly using (like Christmas decor, home decor fabrics, seasonal clothes, kids toys saved for posterity or grandchildren, whichever comes first), is stored in numbered and indexed Rubbermaids. I also decided about fifteen years ago, after witnessing many neighbors and friends homes flooding from monsoon rains that hit our fair city, that there would be no more cardboard boxes or plastic bags in our basement. I began the process of switching everything we were storing into plastic rubbermaid containers. Each bin is numbered with all contents listed in an electronic notebook, making adding or subtracting contents easier. Also, extremely helpful when I’m looking for that thing that I know I have.  I look it up on my list and go directly to that bin number and voila! I have the bins stacked four high and seven stacks wide (do the math) and have a bit of a Tetris method to access every one.

Every time I purge, which is at least once a year, contents are rearranged as I consolidate and purge. In all the other rooms of the house I have lovely wicker baskets and designer storage boxes strategically placed to fit in with the rest of the decor that cleverly disguise how much stuff I have.  As a result, there is never clutter sitting all over (except if Lexie is in the house).  Sorry lexie…. you know it’s true. But I still loving having you’re clutter around.  It means so many great things.

Hence, I actually have a LOT of stuff but it doesn’t look like it. I have become very skilled in this technique. I think I need my own reality show. I think there are many that would prefer my method. Keep it and hide it.

Now here’s something you shouldn’t do unless you want to spend the next five days crying your heart out. Don’t go back and look at your Facebook albums from 2007 forward. That’s almost twelve years of memories.  So often when I’m living and breathing in the moment, I can find a lot of things to be upset about.  Sometimes anger.  Often frustration.  More often fear.  Most often, sheer panic.  Exhaustion. Despair.  And I can hear my age old mantra playing on repeat on the victrola in my head ‘nothing ever turns out the way I plan”.  Sigh.

Sitting here watching the flames rising up from the logs. Small blue flames framing orange embers. The warmth is beginning to fill the room as I snuggle beneath my fur blanket. All is quiet. Except the chimes on our deck that I can faintly hear now and then. All are in bed sleeping the cold away. Even my husband has not stirred and I think he is supposed to be ushering at church in forty five minutes. Will I wake him now? No, I won’t, as it’s probably too late at this point anyway. I’m thinking he must need the sleep if he hasn’t woken on his own yet. I’m sure there won’t be that large of a crowd on this -37 morning. I think whoever does show up can find their way to their seats on their own. (Ok, I got in big trouble for not waking him up…oops. Apparently we are not on the same page about these things).

I was probably just being selfish because I wanted to absorb this quiet warmth on my own and this is exactly the mini retreat I was looking for on this chili Sunday morning. My new status, working five days a week, doesn’t leave much time for reflecting and writing and reading. Not much time for quiet meditation and focused prayer. My weekends are now filled with housekeeping, grocery shopping, cooking, meeting with friends, connecting with mom and running errands. I’m not complaining. My recent employment is a blessing and a gift. For such a time as this. I know it’s where I am supposed to be, contrary to many of the resolves to do my own creative thing from now on.

I wanted to live the dream of working my bliss, but I neglected to responsibly set myself up to make this dream viable. So now I’m going back and crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s. A creative always creates like it’s her job whether it is or not.  I may not be decorating cakes or making butter tarts and pies for 400 anymore. I may not be decorating people’s parties or fancy hotels for Christmas anymore. I may not be designing and setting up wedding venues or giving people’s furniture new life anymore but those creative ideas and the practice of them never leave my heart.

I subconsciously bring my creativity into everything I do and have done in the past. It’s the way of creatives. The way I decorate and manage a home. The way I raised my kids and made holidays and special occasions into lasting good memories. The way I attempt to create our own traditions. The way I put together an outfit. The ways I have endeavored to bless others. Even the way I have served on committees. Always bringing my insane ideas to the table and making others query ‘you want to pull off what?’ The creative mind runs every waking hour.

And all the ways I truly want to leave my creative mark in the entrepreneurial world, well….. sadly, weren’t  happening because I was too busy responding to commission work. Which filled a much needed financial gap. I am grateful for that work. But I really wasn’t being true to my creative self. If that makes any sense to the more practical personality.

So now that I don’t have time for commission work, I will focus on those creative endeavors that are near and dear to my heart. Designing, creating and writing about beautiful things that make the world a better place to be. There is still much beauty in this world and I want my focus to be bringing it to the attention of those more cynical. I also believe that it’s still worthwhile even if you are just creating for the pure joy and love of it and no one else knows it’s exists.

You can put the girl in an office but you can’t take the creativity out of her veins.