Starburst fruit chews are eaten in this mouth-hold in an exacting and optimized order honed over decades. First comes orange, my absolute least favorite. I mean let’s be honest, is this anyone’s favorite? Let’s get it out of the way, and move on.

Then comes yellow, that is as you would expect light and lemon-y.

Next can be a toss up based on general whim, but usually it is red, that waxy cherry flavor that is soothingly artificial and takes you back to days of youth gone by.

Last, and the best by all accounts, the one you are waiting four chews for is the pink one. Mmmm…strawberry joy.

Like life, the pink one only tastes so good by contrast. By the variety and quality and relative enjoyment of what proceeded it. A whole package of pink ones would be no good at all. It would be satisfactory, then boring, then out-right sickening. Too much of a good thing.

No. Give me the oranges and the yellows first please. Let me alternate reds and pinks and then eat another orange so I can enjoy that last pink one. Let me choose how I intermingle the ups and downs of my tastebuds and I will do what I do as a matter of course to buffer my existence against scarcity. How I save up the best and hoard it to the last bite.

Make no mistake, I dream in pink. I covet it. I crave it. But I can’t eat a whole twenty chew package, and frankly wouldn’t want to. This is why happiness is so elusive. It’s meant to be that way. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be so damn sweet those five seconds you have it.

He popped the question on Friday. Friday the 13th. Spooky! He met me downtown after work for dinner and a movie. He told me his friend Jim recommended this Indian restaurant, while I normally prefer to just eat at Chutney, I acquiesced. We walked and walked and I was getting a bit impatient. We turned into a square, one I knew quite well, well enough to know there was no freakin Indian restaurant in it!

Before I could point this obvious fact out, he turned, opened a maroon colored velvet ring box, and blurted out, “Will my critter marry me?” I was stunned and totally surprised. Although I did pick out the ring a month prior, a 1930’s vintage ring, I nearly forgot about it.

Of course, I made him get down on one knee. That’s just the proper thing to do. Ron is seen here in this lifelike reenactment.

He asked again and I said yes! We kissed like lovebirds. And then hugged with excitement while I glanced over his shoulder at a gym up on the second floor. A guy on a leg press machine beamed a gigantic smile and gave us an enthusiastic thumbs up.

So although the square was gray and empty we shared the moment with a perfect stranger. I’m sure he wondered what type of location this was for such an occasion.

On warmer days, the square is sunny with low seating encircling a fountain, nice for a quick lunch during the work-week. On one such Tuesday, Ron first asked me to go steady. And six years later on the same spot, he asked me to be his critter again, this time for life.

In between we’ve had good times and bad, we’ve loved each other, moved in with each other, broken up and reunited. This past year, we’ve traveled the world together (and somehow didn’t kill each other). So safe to say, we know what we are getting into. He’s my best friend and now he will be my husband!

I just started working yesterday after a fourteen month sabbatical. Wow. It was hella weird. Like time warp meets bizarre clips of office space. I definitely feel refreshed, recharged, and raring to go. Mentally, at least. But I wondered how on earth I’ll keep up with the yoga. I don’t exactly have a great track record when a lot (or anything) is going on.

I’m quite pleased to announce that something quite miraculous happened this morning. I got up at 6 (yes, that is ante meridian for those that know me well, it is a pertinent clarification) and did 45 minutes of yoga before catching transit into the city for work. Holy shit! How virtuous have I become?! I know, I know, yogi’s and yogini’s all over the country and all over the world accomplish this every single day, but this is me we are talking about. I never get up early for anything.

I’m feeling quite proud of myself. Thought I’d let you all know.

There was also a relevant and super great article on a blog this week about waking up every morning on top of the world. I love their example of when the alarm clock goes off and, true to nature, my knee jerk reaction is: “Oh shit, it’s 6am!” Great advice, not only on coping for us night owls, but also on bringing positivity and gratitude into your life from the very first moment each day.

I know how to invoke some gratitude. What if my alarm clock had a sneaking resemblance to an iced donut, and I could snooze by snacking on it. Hmmm?

[This is the second reference to baked goods in the last week. It seems I’ve got frosty icing on the brain!]