A Rose by Another Name and A Very Silly Goose

I've often marveled at how true it is that when you hit rock bottom (or at least sink pretty low) there's nowhere to go but up. And up you go, as if some force of nature has decided that you have indeed had more than your share of crap.

A good five days filled with bad news and just a pervasive feeling of abject yuckiness (pardon the technical term; I generally try not to intimidate with highfalutin vocabulary, but sometimes ya just gotta), culminated in a Thursday that could do no more than beckon me into the numbing oblivion of my canine scented bed. The glorious sunshine and an entire work-free day seemed incongruous with my mood. Other than slogging through what should have been an enjoyable hour and a half of tennis, I wallowed in my malaise, immersed myself in pillows, spider solitaire, chocolate, and the stinky companionship of my dog. News of teen suicides and toddlers drowning made worse (if that's possible) by my daughter's feelings of despair. A phone call from a best friend telling me that her father's illness had finally taken the inevitable downward turn. Consciousness was becoming less and less appealing.

Which probably explains why both my daughter and I woke on Friday feeling as if things were starting to look up. That mysterious force of nature had lulled us into deep, long, and restful sleep, and even she was smiling and optimistic. She even spoke to me. At dawn on a school day. Mysterious forces of nature had gone above and beyond.

Inspired by a small burst of energy (and an instinctive avoidance of all the things that needed doing around the house), I decided to make a quick trip to a little boutique I had discovered a few days earlier, just to return a pair of shoes I had thought would change my life for the better but as it turned out were a bit too tight. (That kind of thing happens when you convince yourself that you will fit into shoes that are two sizes too small just because they are the cutest things you've ever seen.) The mysterious force of nature that propelled me there was so strong I left an entire bag of groceries sitting on the table in the kitchen, frozen stuff and all.

When I arrived at the store, it was complete chaos. The owner and one employee were doing their best to take care of a gazillion customers who seemed to have descended upon them. I felt kind of bad, bothering them for an exchange. We chatted for a moment, and, as only Jewish women can do with great speed and efficiency, learned everything about each other and became fast friends. Which meant I was invited to wander into the back room and help myself to the mountains of new merchandise that was still packed up in boxes on the floor. And, come to think of it, I was invited to be an employee for an hour or two and unpack all the boxes and sort through the merchandise which, as people who know me know, is my idea of an orgasm because it means I get to try everything on. And while I was trying things on I met someone else in this magical back room and we exchanged business cards and are both certain we will establish a mutually beneficial and lucrative relationship. What a difference a day makes. From hell to nirvana in twenty-four hours.

I called my friend from the store phone, the friend whose dad just got the really bad news, and she somehow knew that it had to be me calling from Payton Rose, the little boutique I had dragged her into days earlier. I told her lunch would be delayed, and encouraged her to come shop -- maybe have her own little orgasm. She was skeptical, but took a ride on her own mysterious force of nature (which included my begging and pleading) and showed up. Which brings me to the part about the very silly goose. With grim news about her father weighing heavily on her, and with the logistics of trying to get her father to see his brother, who is laid up with some bizarre contagious illness of his own, enhancing the emotional burden, she couldn't help but smile after a bit of back room shopping. Which made her laugh about her mother, who was throwing a wrench into the reunion of the brothers because there happened to be a goose in her freezer, which she suddenly absolutely had to cook. Who the hell has a goose in the freezer, and why the hell would anybody suddenly need to cook it? But sometimes, when things really turn to shit, silly things become very important and one just simply must cook ones goose.

So, yesterday evening, my friend and her mom and dad and the goose packed themselves into the car to visit the contagious brother (against the oncologist's strict instructions) and, in the process, throw themselves into some other family dysfunction that goes well beyond the goose but I won't get into that here, and though I haven't spoken to my friend yet, I just have to assume it all went well. And I have made some great new friends and found a wonderful new store to add to my retail therapy itinerary. Added bonus -- my favorite tortilla soup is just one doorway down.

Life can throw curves sometimes, but sometimes it tosses one right into your wheelhouse, and, if you're open to it, you can hit one out of the park.