Naturally Dreamy

A blog about my life as an INFP living with an ESFJ, INTJ, and my pup. I blog about earth-friendly living and life through my eyes – not necessarily in that order. Come put your feet up where life is Naturally Dreamy!

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Sometimes I look around at my home, and the semi-mess within, and embrace their embrace of the untidiness.

Part of it is the simple reminders of the situations which brought about that particular mess. Sometimes it’s the recognition that the mess implies an obligation elsewhere.

Other times, I love that it shows a tolerance towards frailty, or that sometimes we can’t do everything, and things get forgotten and glossed over. Sometimes it’s our particular brand of … something, that causes us to rarely remove decorations, having birthday party and holiday decorations up long after the occasion has passed, and usually on into the next one.

All of this together is so reflective of the overarching character and personality of my family that I embrace the meaning of the mess, and revel in the capability to do so.

I know that not every one can live in this kind of haphazard attention to detail. My mom is one of those people, and merely by great grace sustains a similar ignorance to it.

But when a disruption of the perfectness of a room also indicates life within it, it sends a thrill in my heart. I love that there are visible representations of a person’s movements, and I love that we are allowed to have these.

I feel stomped on when I’m asked to leave no mark, almost like they wish I was not in their life at all.

Mess is usually considered messy. But in my mind it’s considered the trails of life left on a person’s heart. I love to tell the stories of them to myself in hopes of someday being able to share these memories with more people – a hope I know is futile for such insignificant things are only important to myself, I say.

But when a sink full of dishes needs to wait for another day because of a challenging day and my housemate says “I don’t care. We have clean dishes, so that’s all that matters. And if I was upset about it, I should wash them,” I’m struck by their graciousness. And when a bathroom sink holds shaving equipment, dog toothbrushes, recycling thrice forgotten and a project in mid-wash, I smile at the leniency for human mistakes, remembering that I was not once reminded to put away the toothbrush and recycling, like it was tacitly implied I would remember at some point, and the realization that only half the mess was mine.

I simply love it. And this is something that may not ever be able to be shared by another human being, because mess is considered a burden on others, so my reveling in it may be seen as callous.

But I love it, because I see it as life and kindness and memories, personified.



The Hidden Diamond of Acceptance

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It’s a pretty amazing feeling when at each new turn, you’re accepted. Each new piece of information you give them they don’t mind.

When you feel it, you wonder how you ever went without it.

If this is like finding a diamond, then realizing or seeing how you’re accepted with the people who have called you annoying, rebuked you, seemed disinterested, & more, is like finding an unpolished gem – there, but still hiding in the ground of your mind.

A gem hidden in the earth still, with unpolished facets that are there just the same. You hear their rebukes, you see their disinterest. But it’s harder to hear what’s more obvious about how they actually feel about you.

They love you, they’ve stuck with you. You’ve been able to do things that they’ve disagreed with and been frustrated with, but nonetheless they’ve given you another chance. It’s the same care, the same love, the same acceptance, even while it doesn’t feel like the elated feeling of not being able to scare someone off.

I’ve been learning to test a statement of “I don’t have that”. To make sure I’m not just running past what is right in front of me.

While no doubt I’ve been missing the ability to say what I feel is my worst and see it batted back to me as in inert substance, learning that this is not the only form of acceptance in my life, and this probably-more-important one is right here, I just need to open my eyes to it, may be the most important lesson yet from the mulling I’ve been doing since I lost that shiny diamond.

It’s not just about me being accepted, either. But how sad would it be if I believed I wasn’t accepted by those who love me most and yet they’d been trying to show me that, but I didn’t see it the same way? Like, the obvious faults I applaud the diamond for accepting, and yet those closest to me lived with it too – in fact they were actually there when I got them. That’s kind of cool.

I’m not missing the shiny experience as much any more. I want to learn to see how they show it, and how I can show it back.

(Update: While I will admit it is different, it is no less valid – and that’s something I forgot I wanted to say. :)) Anyways, onward ho!

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Cooking Pad Thai (A Story)

Last night I was hungry, and so even though it was only Monday, I decided to make a meal.

But first the dishes were piled too high to wash the saucepan that I needed to cook noodles in.

My hands grumble at me if I wash dishes without gloves, but the pair I have right now has at least one hole, so I decided “Imma risk it.”


(Quote from The Finder – a show I thought I didn’t like at all from seeing it’s crossover ep with Bones, but ended up liking a lot!)


But it also gave me an idea for a biodegradable, spray-on glove that melts away as you wash, and can just rinse down the drain, and I think that’d be great, but I have no idea what it’d be made of, or how that a sprayed?-adhesive?-vegetable-based? matter would actually work…

Once I’d washed the dishes, and got the nearly week-old chili remnants out of the saucepan, and taken out the garbage, I went in search of noodles, and came up a lot more skimp than I expected. But I finally found the linguini I was questing for, and set water to boil.

I’ll do half mung bean glass noodles, and half Italian linguini, I thought.

As the water started to heat, I brought out all my vegetable-y ingredients and found I’d forgotten the main one – bok choy. I’m SURE I wrote in on my list, but I sure didn’t read it! XD

That’s okay, I’ll use those few last stalks of celery, and that ancient can of bamboo shoots that needed using.

I washed all the vegetables, and started mixing the sauce which I was making up since neither tamarind paste nor prepared Pad Thai sauce (sans MSG) was to be found in our local shops.

Once I’d finally scoured the pantry for the surprisingly elusive ingredients (like molasses) and secured them all, I was already pretty tired.

The water was in a nice rolling boil, and I opened the linguini box, and felt my stomach drop. It couldn’t be, could it? I hadn’t had this problem since I lived in another country. But a closer peer into the box confirmed it, but it was even worse halfway down the noodle where the insects seemed to have done most of there work and was chalky white.

I exclaimed something, probably something like “NO NONONo!” alarming Rimfire, and tried to reassure him while hastily grabbing a plastic bag. I tossed it in, and tossed the rice krispies that had the same suspect box damage and was near the noodles, and last minute grabbed the moldy spaghetti sauce I’d found in the fridge while taking stock of ingredients.

I was shaking my hand vigorously as I walked back from the dumpster. Now what noodles was I going to use? I’ll just cook the glass noodles for tonight, and make more noodles later if we want. I set them in, and turned off the burner per instructions, and started the tofu.

Oh yeah, the tofu! I was supposed to press it for 15 minutes, which I’d done while the water boiled. I set the tofu in our strainer (I only have one, so timing was key) with a paper towel above and below. For weight, I set a plastic container on it, piled oranges inside, and set a can balancing precariously between two oranges for just a bit extra weight.

The contraption fell a couple times…

I sliced up the tofu, but left some out, and started to fry it. Which didn’t work the way the recipe had hoped, so I decided to just stir fry everything together. At least it wasn’t sticking like crazy as I was used to!

I’d added the whole pack of mung beans (which was open, though it was supposed to be brand new – I told myself it was just a weak seam), celery, and bamboo shoots, and was working (unsuccessfully) on slicing green onions when BT walked in, back from work.

After he’d greeted the dog, and I pulled out a second cutting board to efficient-ize my onion cutting balanced delicately half on and half off of the counter, I asked if he could help?

“What do you need?”

“That…” I motioned to the wok, “needs stirring.”

Ended up that somehow it was overly liquidy despite having like no liquid added, and it was simmering instead of stir-frying, but hey, it should taste good.

While we listened to the alternative/modern rock station I had on, he manned the stove and I chopped the remaining ingredients. “Can you open this?” I said motioning to the canned baby corn. “How do you like your sugar snap peas?” I asked for how or if to chop them.

“I actually prefer them, er, not cooked,” he said, chomping on a bean.

“Cool! Er, can you get a mixing bowl.”

“Yeah!…. Where?”

I chopped the nice and fresh beans and slid them into the mixing bowl to await the rest of it’s pad thai compatriots.

We were finally on the last stage. 2 eggs. Egg drop soup is one of BT’s specialties, so I was glad to have his help here, and left it up to him how he’d like to incorporate them once I added them. This would help to thicken up the strangely soupy sauce as well.

I cracked one in and he swirled it around, and it looked like it was coming together.

I tapped the second one on the counter, and he bid me wait a moment, and then said, “Ready!” I cracked it and part of the egg came flying out on my arm, but the warning bell didn’t go off quickly enough, and I dumped the egg in. The smell hit me a millisecond later, after the first finessed spins of BTs wooden saptula, and I knew I’d just dropped in a rotten egg.

A browned interior of the egg confirmed as much, and BT held all as I went to the bathroom to wash up.

“Did I just ruin it?!!” I said, and quickly researched about eating bad eggs. Which I turned up nothing, and BT came and tried it and found it first off.

The symptoms were awful. Even if we’d managed to isolate where the egg had gotten to, neither of us wanted to risk it.

As he stood up from reading the screen, BT spread his arms and looked down at me. Wait, was my INTJ really offering me a hug? A motion confirmed it. It was so sweet of him; I accepted it gratefully. I was so tired and it’d been so close! And I’d just wasted our money on that. And he wasn’t the least upset at me which was so nice.

We walked back over to the kitchen.

“So, what do we have?” BT asked.

“Well… we’ve got noodles!” I said indicating the dished up glass noodles, “and peanuts, and, the beans!”

“Can you do a peanut sauce?”

“I can! I can make a good peanut sauce. Oh, wait, what is that?” BT’d been looking in the fridge, “Is that teriyaki sauce?”

“Yeah! And I have chicken…”

“… and I have tofu! I saved some of it back. There we go. That sounds good to me. What about you?”

He said as long as I had enough with that, he was definitely good with what he could add, and that was that.

We left the mix in the wok to cool down, and watched a few episodes of Monk while we ate the improvised dish and snacked extensively. XD

But that was just nuts XD As BT said, “Lesson: Always crack the eggs separately before adding!” 🙂

May your cooking adventures go better than mine last night! And if they don’t may you be surrounded by people as gracious, caring and understanding as I was blessed to be. 🙂


Have you had any silly cooking stories recently?

What’s the worst cooking mishap that’s happened for you?









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An Inside Look At My Brain During a Conversation


I feel like I’m the only one who talks with other people the way that I do. So, I know I’m not. Most anytime I think, golly this is terrible. Why am I so weird and do ___? I see someone post something somewhere, and I realize not only am I not the only one, I suddenly feel a lot better, and like it’s manageable, too.

I don’t know why, but I’m so glad. It’s kinda like magic…

So, I thought it might be entertaining, but perhaps also helpful if I wrote about how my brain worked as I met someone new the other day.

The conversation is still fresh in my head, and it was with someone I’m unfamiliar with, so I was well aware of what was happening as it happened, as well as not actually having a familiar flow to settle into.

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Selective Memory

In school, I briefly took a logic course. There was a chapter on “selective memory” which I found disturbing.

As I recall, the idea is, say you go into a photo booth, 10 times. 8 out of those 10 times you get pricked. Likely as not, when you think about going into a photo booth next, you’re going to think or say, “I don’t want to. I always get hurt when I go in there.”

But the truth of the matter is, twice, you didn’t get stabbed and you had a great time. But either a positive or a negative memory has the capability or overshadowing other memories so that really truly in your mind you only remember the negative/positive experiences.

Also, the other thing is you’re more likely to notice when something happens versus when something doesn’t happen. Usually, unless they are being facetious, someone wouldn’t say, “Remember that time you didn’t tell a joke?”

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Will the Real Me Please Stand Up?

I was talking to BT yesterday, and he said how it was frustrating how even with how long you might know someone, it seems that trust isn’t really cultivated. He meant a different sort of trust – like trusting someone’s judgement – but what struck me is the horrbile trait that I don’t tend to trust someone as “they would never do ___” even after knowing them for a while.

If I consider how I trust other people, I think to myself, I never am sure that they wouldn’t hurt me. Or lie to me. Or do something horrendous for some reason.

I was thinking about it as I packed away recycling in the vehicle, that I don’t think that’s really what it is. I think it’s the same thing that stymied my starting to recover from an ED – I saw people for their weight (a lot of times), so I expected the same. I didn’t realize that that could change – and it did. But it took me recovering, first.

So I thought, I can’t trust someone else to not be something, if I never trust all of who I am with anyone. If I never reveal all of myself to someone I could never expect to know who they are all the way through, either… could I?

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