Patience: Do not aggravate a situation with wasted grief

Never Done: Popbar

I don't know where the time goes. Saturday. The whole day off. So many things to accomplish, so many things to do. I did plant my paper white narcissus bulbs so that when they come some time in December, the apartment will smell like my mom's kitchen (tshuve.) I did package up the birthday present I am sending to my friend Carol in Maine. I did go for a bike ride in the stunning November day. I did spend 3 hours in parenting class, learning that getting out of foster care is really about getting out of the foster care mindset. I did go to Queer Memoir, and listen to stories inspired by the subway. ("And then you know what it's like, when it's 3 AM, and you're riding the L train home, and you're still a little drunk, and the garbage train goes by, and you look at it, and you think, "Hi Daddy.")

After, I was with Dana and Rimma, and I had the choice between riding the direct train home, or going with them to get popsicles at popbar, which I had wanted to do since June, and yet never done, but it was going to mean I would have to take the train to the shuttle, because the F train wasn't running. I don't like shuttles and I don't like transfers. I like direct rides, and then to rely on my own feet to make up the distance. But I also like Dana and Rimma, and I also like popsicles, and I had never gone to popbar yet, so the choice was easy.

Earlier this summer, I was in Cold Spring and Beacon NY on a very hot day, and in both places ate a gourmet popsicle. The one in Cold Spring was OK -- a lemon ice with whole blueberries in it, but the one in Beacon was resplendent -- a lavender, honey, bee pollen creamsicle that I might remember for the rest of my life. That was the day that I realized that gourmet popsicles were the new big thing, and that was the day that I set my sights on popbar.

After being assured that it is made with almond paste and not almond syrup, I chose an almond creamsicle. I took a bite, and ... it tasted like almond, cream, salt, and freezer burn. I passed it around for others to taste, and after they confirmed the freezer burn, I went in to tell the popbaristas that they had a situation. I didn't expect a replacement pop, since this one was already half gone, but they offered, so after asking them what were freshest pops in the case, I chose a deep purple mixed berry sorbetto pop dipped in dark chocolate. Let's just say it was beautiful to look at, but nothing to write home about. (Or to write a blog post about.)

It's about this point in the blog post that I try to wrap things up, draw a life story, relate my experience to Mussar, or at least be funny. I think the way to do that now is to write about this week's mide: Patience: Do not aggravate a situation with wasted grief. I was tired. I had a long way to go to get home. I was going to have to take a shuttle. And I didn't like my popsicle. Or my replacement popsicle. At another point in my life, my mind would have been full of should have-could have-would have thoughts. But it wasn't. Instead I noticed that I was actually content to be tired with my good friends and my bad popsicle. And you know what? The shuttle was there when we got there, and it took a really long time to get home. And that was OK too. Shehekhianu.