Five Dollar Pizza From Heaven

Every now and again the universe sends you exactly what you need in the seconds before you think all is lost. In my case it was a piping hot $5.00 pizza from Price Chopper. Now you are most likely thinking to yourself right about now that I need to step up my expectations in life if this is my version of Heaven. Just read.

Won’t bore you with the minutia of my endless Friday but here’s the condensed overview: Awake at 5:00am after a couple of hours of sleep, get kids up, ready, out, work, errands, run Girl Scout meeting, pick up rest of the pack from babysitter, home, more errands, and then St. Patrick’s day grocery shopping. That brings us to the moments before my manna from Heaven (if manna comes with tomato sauce and a heavy handed layer of mozzarella).

Picture three tired children along with their cranky mom (insert my face) on their way to the second grocery store because first one did not have all of the necessary Irish accoutrements for our upcoming celebrations. It’s after 8pm; no one has eaten, and trust me when I say that doesn’t make anyone in this family any nicer. The wall of glass slides open and in we walk to be greeted by a woman in a flowing robe and a halo. Okay – the children are saying that she was in a Price Chopper polo shirt and the light over her head was the glare off the donut case but hey, we all see what we want, right?

Anyway…..in we walk to find this angel (a.k.a. underpaid Price Chopper employee) approaching us with a box held regally before her. Angels sang as she asked us, “Would you like a fresh, hot, five dollar pizza tonight?”

And there it was – the one thing I didn’t have to think about taking care of on our never-ending Friday. Dinner. Gifted to us from a woman who had to be Heaven sent. Wasn’t the best pizza we’ve ever had, nor was it the worst, but last night it was the most appreciated pizza I’ve ever eaten.

Pizza

Y is for Yeats

Blogging from A to Z challenge April 2012 “Y”

Looking to the masters for the “Y” of it all…..

TO SOME I HAVE TALKED WITH BY THE FIRE

by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

 

WHILE I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,

My heart would brim with dreams about the times

When we bent down above the fading coals

And talked of the dark folk who live in souls

Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;

And of the wayward twilight companies

Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,

Because their blossoming dreams have never bent

Under the fruit of evil and of good:

And of the embattled flaming multitude

Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,

And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,

And with the clashing of their sword-blades make

A rapturous music, till the morning break

And the white hush end all but the loud beat

Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.

To Some I Have Talked With by the Fire” is  from “The Rose”. W.B. Yeats. 1893.

 

Slainte!

Black dirt farms where boots catch in thick mud, a thatched roof protecting rough-hewn wooden tables, fireplaces wide enough for three women standing, and  the lingering smell of peat moss still hanging heavy after the burn off of foggy mornings….this is the Ireland I have seen.  They say that everyone is Irish today but luckily, I really am.  Many thanks to my Grandparents who kept the family line moving along.  I come from a lengthy lineage of, among other things, Irish farmers and artists and consider this a blessing in itself.  Having knocked around the world a bit, I can still say that Ireland is one of the most beautiful places I’ve been (nope, no bias here AT ALL – just keep moving along).

Because the rest of my day will be spent slow cooking corned beef and churning out Irish Soda breads (yup, family recipe passed down for generations – didn’t I mention I’m lucky?) this will be a quick post.

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day everyone!

Here is my own Irish blessing for you: 

May the words flow generously from pen to pages,

May your art shine with your spirit,

May your muse dance by your side,

And may your heart be filled with the lightness of creation.

By Laura Elaro