They are beautiful people and then... life at 90 miles an hour happens

I called my friend Pete today. It was so good to hear his voice, and his genuine concern for my well being. We talked for a long while, mostly just catching up on stuff. You see, I have been so busy trying to get work together for this upcoming exhibition that I have neglected a number of things, including my friends. I have been keeping up on my daily reading of blogs, Pete's included. Today he wrote about coffee, and his search for a new coffee maker. While being rung up he realized that the woman had the price wrong so he excused himself as he decided to go check on it, despite having a line behind him. I have to admit, I would have done this too. I have done it at the supermarket numerous times. In any case,  he made a comment in his writing about the patience level of the two men behind him adding that "they looked like they fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down". This had me in stitches as I imagined what they might have looked like, acted like, etc. Then, sadly, I must admit, I realized that stress causes that ugliness. All the life quests that happen in a NY second (a minute is a lifetime around here) makes for deeply uncomfortable people. The bitterness over the impossibility of a task creates these deep lines and pock marks on their faces. They were once beautiful people until life at 90 miles an hour hit.
I write this and think about our conversation and my own life, which is over scheduled and totally stressful right now. (brb, I am checking in the mirror to see if I am developing that Cruella scowl) Pete's right, I travel through my life at 100 plus miles an hour, no wonder I am exhausted all the time. I need to slow down and take the time to smell the roses. What is funny about that thought is that I just spent two weeks cooking my pots and having conversations about how wood fired ceramic artists tend to be down to earth slow cooked foodies and electric fired artists tend to be light, bright and in love with fast food, then there is the instant version called Raku. I guess in this case my life is definitely not imitating my art, maybe I am better suited for Raku? (lol)
When I was growing up I had the tendency to fly by the seat of my pants while I embraced everything life had to offer. I have never been able to outrun that character trait, only now my pants seem to be a bit threadbare and in need of some reinforcement. So please pardon my appearance while I get that hippy patch kit out and stitch things back together. In the meantime, don't forget to laugh the wait at the supermarket off when someone holds up the line. Think of it as a power R&R session ( you can even do some yoga while you are waiting if you want, it will add some flavor to the crowd and relax you even more). Whatever you do, don't scowl, grumble or otherwise show your distaste for the loss of precious time. The world is laden with rogue journalists and you might end up being part of the tale in someone's public forum and described as looking like you fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down before face planting on the sidewalk and getting dragged through the mud. Who knows that rogue reporter may even have incredible shoot from the hip paparazzi camera abilities and your stressed out mug will end up on the front page of blog central before going viral.
Pete, I love you! (so does my composure and complexion) Thanks for making me taking the time out to laugh!