Counting my sweet blessings...

Every day I try to count my blessings, one of which is that I work from home. I can work in my pajamas. I don’t have to comb my hair. I’m on my own schedule; no accountability, no rules. How lucky am I? To add icing to the cake, I live next door to this little French lady who loves to bake. This week’s confections consisted of warm peanut butter cookies, lovely little lemony muffins, and today, a creamy tray of tiramisu. Seriously, this is true. It’s like living next door to my private bakery. Her delivery method is always the same. She’ll call me on the phone, and in a rushed French accent, she asks, “Mona, do you like tiramisu? I just made it.”

I think to myself for a moment, is there really someone out there that would say no?  Before I can answer, she says, “I’ll be right there.” 

“I’m on a diet,” I stammer, but I hear a click.

She is in her late 80s, but has more energy than I do because what seems like seconds after she hangs up the phone my doorbell rings. I narrow my eyes and look down at her (she’s less than 5 feet tall), shaking my head in protest. She smiles at me devilishly and hands me my treat, fresh out of the oven. “Oh,” I moan, inhaling its sugary aroma, “It smells so good.”

“This recipe is from Bon Appetit,” she states casually. “Let me know if you like it.”

I want to yell at her and kiss her at the same time, but before I can make up my mind, she pivots around and flutters on her way, giggling to herself.

“Thanks,” I yell after her. “You’re crazy!” If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s trying to kill me one sweet delicacy at a time.

With my gift in hand, I head to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.