It Ain't Easy Bein' Green

"...a mass of tiny green things that looked like little stones or crystals, 

each one about the size of a grain of rice.

They were extraordinarily beautiful, and there was a strange brightness about them, 

a sort of luminous quality that made them 

glow and sparkle in a most wonderful way."

-Roald Dahl, James and the Giant Peach

Do you know this quote? This part of the story? It is one of my favorite parts of the book, when things are just about to start happening to James. The green creature seeds- so pretty, so fascinating- just looking at them offers the promise of having what your heart desires most. The caveat? The magic is worked on whatever or whomever they first meet. Poor James. And even us, when we see things like this, reflections of our desires, we can't help but be myopic. 

My life is full of friends. They are all glow and sparkle. I use them to fill my days with joy, I use them as sounding boards, I use them as a repository of giving- of my knowledge or time or listening ears and heart and mind. I think they use me for the same things. Also, I'm a pretty decent cook. So, having these people around me, not judging me, keeping me safe, has been deeply humbling. How do you sufficiently thank the people who sustain you? One day at a time. And yet-

I had an experience recently that involved an impromptu counseling session, a massage, and a renewed focus on meditation. Last month I was feeling run down and totally out of sorts. My mind was still adjusting to my new knowledge (or re-discovery) of Self from my retreat, and my body was beginning to show signs of the stress manifesting in my life. What stress, exactly? I mean, I had just come off a three-week hiatus, no? Yes, and I still had too much going on in my head. What to do? Arrange for a massage with my favorite Buddhist Hippie Sage? YES. 

It was a Sunday morning, early, and I met him at his work space. It was one of the last best days of summer, and so I was already feeling wistful (Summer! Do! Not! Go!), but the sun was still warm, and I could wear a skirt and flip flops and thought I'd go to the beach after my session. Little did I know where the day would take me.

Me and the BHS started talking, me relaxing a bit from the long drive, both of us feeling each other out, trying to gauge mindset, making small talk in between these silent assessments. The BHS sat in the corner, cross legged in a recliner; I sat cross legged on top of the massage table. Both of us had our hands rested on our knees. I must have looked a state. The BHS says to me as our conversation moves from one topic to the next, "Honey, do you have any love in your life?" 

Now, my modus operandi is to analyze and be intellectual rather than emotional. Oh, the walls we build in the name of Avoidance! My hands instinctively went up to cover my face and catch tears. 

Yes. No. I don't understand.

We talked about my life and the people I held on to and marveled at- those people who are my tiny green crystals, all luminous and willing to share their magic with me. Three hours spent talking (okay, me crying and listening, really) followed by a massage passed. Deep questions, strong hands. Catharsis. My body needed this. My mind was only partially ready, but I felt calmed if not spent. I went home that night with a quiet determination to pay attention to my Core Friends, my Luminous Seeds.

" 'Something is about to happen,' he told himself. 'Something peculiar is about to happen at any moment.' He hadn't the faintest idea what it might be, but he could feel it in his bones that something was going to happen soon. He could feel it in the air around him...in the sudden stillness that had fallen upon the garden."

My daily life outwardly returned to routine, to work and single parenting, to physical body care, to establishing a regular meditation practice and creativity practice, to time spent with my surrogate families. But I wasn't settled. I was still feeling peculiar, like James. Like I told one friend, "There is a disturbance in the Force." I was only half-joking. It got so bad one day at work, the overwhelming sense of discomfort, that I literally pitched a fit, collapsing onto the floor of my office, half laughing, half crying about how I didn't want to be there. And all my co-worker could do was stand there and say "Oh, please get up." We laughed, but I was being totally truthful, and he knew this, he sensed it. I wasn't alone.

I had to do something. I started taking walks at night to the lake shore. I'll sit and stare at the water or the sky, breathe the coming of Winter in the Autumn Damp. Recently, I decided to try a walking meditation on the stars; the swarms and night-star-clouds have helped clear my head, if only for an hour or so. My daily meditations since meeting with the BHS started out as being focused on thankfulness and gratitude for the love in my life, especially centered on my Core Friends, the women I use in one way or another- and their partners! Those men I know and use as supplements! After several sessions, though, I couldn't understand why I was still in a funk. Busy hands, wonderful friends, gratitude for all they bring to my life...why no movement? Why no progression from this spot on the road? What had I not yet learned?

And then it struck me one morning while I was starting my day: I picked up a pillow from my bed, the one that lays vertical next to me, the one on the side of the bed I do not sleep on. I grabbed it and tried to set it on the floor so I could adjust the sheets and comforter, and I couldn't let it go. I was overcome with such sadness over the fact that my bed- bought brand new after my divorce- was only mine. I am the only one to have slept there, to stay there. Loneliness, jealousy. One masks the other. I had been, under the guise of gratitude, coveting the lives of the very people I was thankful for. Talk about misdirected! I had allowed my emotions to creep into my thoughts and influence me in an unhealthy way. I had to sit with that, with the realization that I was incredibly jealous of what I saw around me, of the different kinds of joy others had and that I didn't at this point of my journey. I went back to my conversation with the BHS: did I have love in my life? Of course I did. Of course I do. But-

Friends traveling here and there and to the other side of the globe. Friends arranging date nights to reconnect. Friends making detailed shopping lists, complete with notations regarding coupons. Friends texting please pick up the Sunday paper. Friends taking dancing lessons. Borrowing houses. Borrowing pets. Borrowing partners. Borrowing from others' lives the bits I don't have, piecing them together, drinking the third cup of tea set out on the tray.

I look at these people and am happy for them, really. The joy they have is what I thought I had for such a long time, and is what I yearn for now in earnest. If I figured out one thing about myself in my work on identity, it is that I am a Giver. I thrive when I have the opportunity to share and give of myself. I am happier. I am more balanced. I am calm yet energetic. I function best when I have not just all of these friends and the resources they offer to me (and I, them), but when I have a Touchstone. The pull of the comfort of that kind of intimacy- the intellectual, emotional, and physical- is not only something I crave out of jealousy, but out of necessity. Personal Truth, right? I'm a Giver. I know the importance of taking time for myself (I need to do this more often, I know), but I also recognize and accept that part of my Core Self is to Give, to make life easier for those I love. 

And so what's making this section of my Life Path so rocky, what is partly responsible for the unsettled-ness, the restlessness, the disturbance in the Force, the peculiar feeling, is not what I have, but rather what I'm lacking: there is no Touchstone. That is difficult to admit, and it is difficult to know this and still be committed to finding the Good in my days, to be outwardly grateful and gracious, to still Give. I think back to the conversation with the BHS that day and how he knew- he knew- so much.

" 'My dear...' the Old-Green Grasshopper said gently, 'there are a whole lot of things in this world of ours you haven't started wondering about yet.' "

Where does this leave me? It leaves me to tell myself: stop over-thinking. Look at the Good. The glowing green seeds will work their strange brightness and magic. The wonderment will sustain. 

Until next time, friends.

Permanence

permanence (noun): the state or quality of lasting or remaining unchanged indefinitely.


After 15 years of living in the Upper Peninsula, I've decided its time to embrace this place.

My new found enthusiasm for this place- the 906, the Yoop, God's Country- is, I think, indicative of the fact that I'm back to who I used to be. Explanation...???

I've never really been able to feel completely welcome here in the U.P.; there's something about being a transplant that, no matter who you know, or how hard you try to assimilate, or how much you try to learn about your adopted place, you will always be the Other.

Other. Its a role I know well, and it has (of course) spilled from general life to my personal life. It can't be avoided. Being the Other is something that people in transition become: new town, new neighborhood, new job, new relationships. When we move ourselves to a place where change is inevitable, we also need to recognize that so is our role of becoming Other. Anyone who has been in a difficult relationship or been through a divorce can relate to this role. Friends quickly learn that although two are invited, only one will ever RSVP; you, Other, will always be along for the ride as the third- or fifth- or even seventh wheel.

And mostly, you will be grateful for such kind friends who refuse to mention the absence of your partner. Every. Time.

But I digress. This post is not about transitions, really. It is about the permanence that results from change. Yet it is also about Returning to Self.

You see, the past two years have been a serious Return to Self for me, a transition come full circle, if you will. People who have known me for longer than 15 years surely know what I'm talking about. The people who have only known me since then may have caught glimpses of that girl from time to time, but are really only now beginning to experience her most of the time.

My time here in the U.P. has afforded me the blessing of creating a surrogate family for myself, friends culled from awful jobs or through mutual friends, through shared interests or family. And those people whom I am so lucky to include among the branches of my family tree have accepted me as Other without blinking an eye.

I figure then, that as a re-commitment or Return to Self, I can in turn accept this place I have called home for 15 years with open arms and a smile rather than deep sighs and eye rolls. There is so much I want to do now...

I want to spend time with that floating feeling near Lake of the Clouds. I want to get lost running the trails near Copper Harbor. I want to plunge into Lake Superior from the Black Rocks with Jeff while Kristina takes our picture. I want to go swimming in Christmas with Bridgette and her dogs. I want to have ice cream with Joanna and her babies at the Dairy Flo in Rapid River while we hatch grand business plans. I want to run the Kipling loop with Jessica- even the North Bluff hill part- in preparation for another last-minute, cheap & easy race vacation. I want to read books in the sand at the far end of Aronson Island on a summer day. I want to have too many late night cocktails with Kris and Steph while their baby and dogs sleep down the hall. I want to drive around drinking coffee and running errands with Pat. I want to eat copious amounts of guacamole and laugh, open mouthed and without sound, with Maggie (beergaritas implied).

I want to do all of these things as a testament to the power of transition, to the power of the permanence these family members have used to burn a place on my heart.

I'm just now, 15 years on, becoming comfortable with my role as Other; even though it was made mine as a result of transition, it is a role I'm comfortable making permanent.

Welcome home.

Risk vs. Reward

Its been just over a month since I posted anything here, and only a few months since I've taken an active role in looking for a guy to date, going so far as to sign up for an online dating service. I've even sent a few "winks" and emails to guys on the dating site, but let's cut to the chase, here: I finally went on a blind date. What hit me after I finally clicked "send" on that email agreeing to a bike ride and a beer was the idea of risk in life, especially when it comes to relationships.

I guess taking risks should be par for the course after a breakup or divorce; the guy I was meeting was nothing like I ever gave a second glance to in my younger days: short, bald, glasses. But he's witty, I told myself as I read his email, and he likes being active. Secretly, I hoped he'd be like Harry Goldblatt, Charlotte's husband from Sex in the City. Regardless, I was breaking from my usual definition of "date-able."

The plan was to meet this guy- let's call him "Not Harry"- in Marquette (about an hour's drive for me) and go for a bike ride, chat, have a beer, maybe two. I take my bike out of the basement, pump up the tires, and go for a short spin. So easy! Of course I can do this. Its only a bike ride and maybe a beer.

I make the drive feeling fine, no nerves or butterflies or anything, and when I pull up to our meeting place, I spot him immediately: he is just as he described himself, and I know that Chuck Woolery was nowhere close, what with his witty and flirty questions, winks, and smiles. We have a brief, sanitary hug hello, and we're off. The day was brisk but sunny, and the conversation was...kind of a chore. Not Harry had a bit of a frat boy way about him, trying in that nonchalant way to name-drop and impress. Also, he was an interrupter when it was my turn to talk. Sigh.

We park our bikes and take his car to go grab that beer and a snack. Driving down a main road, he points out a new local microbrewery & pub that's pretty popular...and drives right on by, instead taking me to a nice but generic place further down the road. We chat more, drink our beer, then head back to our bikes where Not Harry and I say our thank yous and goodbyes, and with another sanitary hug, my first post-divorce blind date is over. Risk: going on a date with someone whom you've only had a handful of email correspondences. Reward: knowing that your instincts regarding the opposite sex are still intact after being dormant for so many years.

I immediately drive back to that new microbrewery, try a few samples,  and pick up a growler of beer to take home. Before I start the drive back home, I stop at another new business in Marquette that I've been meaning to visit- Everyday Wines- and begin thinking again about risk. Two new businesses, successful even though the economy is less than ideal. What would those people be doing now if they hadn't taken such a risk?, I thought as I wandered around the shop, listening to the saleswoman give her friend a coffee order. She chatted me up a bit, found out about my reason for being in Marquette that day, and helped me out with some great wine selections.

And then something else happened.

As I'm paying for my wines, signing the credit slip, the sales woman's friend returned with her coffee and she said to him: "I'm going to introduce her to Also Not Harry," pointing to me. Her friend looks at me and says, "Oh, yeah. Good idea."

Not only do I not know either of these people, but I obviously don't know Also Not Harry. As I look up and say "Um, what?" (clearly my conversational skills need practice), she is already texting Also Not Harry. Just when I thought my risk-taking was finished for the day, this woman throws another at me, telling me I need to befriend Also Not Harry. 

What's a girl to do? Well, *this girl* has learned to embrace risk these past few years, and whereas I probably would have smiled and shouted "Hook a girl UP, yo!"  in my younger, bolder, pre-married days, that day I just smiled, shrugged with that "Why not?" look, and said "Uh...okay." (Again with the words!) Everybody needs new friends. I have yet to meet Also Not Harry, and should say that making new friends doesn't necessarily mean more dates, even if that's how my day started. Risk: letting fate and a stranger in a wine shop take control of the day. Reward: new friends.

Taking a risk can be as big as opening a new business or as small as going for a bike ride. Risk nothing, and you're settling for Good Enough; the low level risks associated with Good Enough can certainly be an enjoyable way to pass the time, but deep down, you know you'll always mentally compare Good Enough to What If, even if the latter is only in your head.

Its fitting then, that you never know how you'll truly respond to risk, even if you're aware of what could happen, what the possible outcomes could be. Your business could fail, or you could fall off that bike and skin your knee something awful. Or you could make new friends thanks to strangers in a wine shop.

You'll never know until you pump up those tires and push off.

Still Hopeful

Last fall, I wrote about my new life, and how big life decisions influenced my state of mind, how I was taking up residence in Hopeful, Unincorporated.

Divorced life- divorced without the drama of infidelity or the tragedy of abuse, divorced only perhaps because of the realization that each was not whom we thought the other to be- is a state that I have found to be both profoundly satisfying (as I am now incredibly sure of who I am and what I want) and a good boost for my self-esteem.  Take, for instance the following text exchange with my friend Mrs. Hansen:

Mrs. Hansen: Question posed to Hansen children: Can you think of anyone to date Miss Rachel? Response from N: No and even if I could, she'd be way out of his league. J: She's too awesome to date anyone I know.

Me: And THAT is why they are my favorite kids. Those answers deserve pierogi.

Mrs. Hansen: N also added, "She can't date just anyone. We have to know he's a good guy that will treat her right." Smartest 11-year-old I know.

Big smile, warm fuzziness, and a contented feeling that I must be doing something right to get that sort of response from the children of my friends.

And yet.

I have spent almost every night the past year sleeping with a flannel pillow filled with feed corn; once zapped in the microwave for about four minutes, this pillow acts as a source of radiant heat for hours; the immediate hot heat fades through the night, replaced by the heat from my body. The weight of the thing- maybe five pounds- coupled with the slow, steady warmth lulls me to sleep, and acts as a sort of security mechanism for me.  The weight is also about the same as that of a partner's arm resting on your hip, or thigh, or between your shoulder blades while you both half-sleep, twisted in among blankets and bed clothes.

I write about this because divorced life- the other part, the part where your free time is filled with everything your ex never wanted to do, never could understand, never could grasp the importance of the things they rejected- is also incredibly lonely.

I have tried to ignore this part, hoping that it would go away, fade like the intense heat from my corn-filled pillow and somehow be magically replaced with a more mellow version of itself.

And yet.

I look at my family, my friends, people at the grocery store, the gas station, the mall. I contemplate the possibilities for a partner in this small community, in the realm of online dating services, or in a bar, or the grocery store, the gas station, the mall. I am at a bit of a loss as to how the juxtaposition of the happiness for my new freedom and the loneliness of my new freedom can coexist in my daily life without causing external conflicts beyond a knot of hardened steel between my shoulder blades.

"Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better," said Henry Rollins. He's got a point: loneliness certainly makes one aware of everything else around you, intensifies every part of your days. I understand the need for contemplation, meditation, solitude, quietness.  It's just that I think having someone to share those moments with- even if only in conversation after the fact- is what magnifies and intensifies those experiences.

My friends are trying to come up with possible dates, going so far as to help me compose "personal statements" for online sites. They toss names into our conversations, hoping that something will spark my interest, raise my eyebrows, make me say tell me more.

And yet. And yet. And yet, I remain unconvinced that My Best New Boyfriend will be the result of any of this requested meddling. I still want to believe that he'll just show up, I'll blink and look again, and say "Oh! It's you." That he'll have been here all along, waiting for me to turn around. That I'll wake up one morning and the flannel pillow will really be his arm. That the burning sunset will be something we can share.

Taking a cue from the quote above, I will try to remain in a place where possibilities are more prominent in my thoughts than not, and I will try to remain open to new experiences; I will remain ready for unexpected suggestions, and I will remain content with being alone (if only for a while longer) here in Hopeful, Unincorporated.

Balance

As I was walking through the airport the other day, I spotted an older couple- maybe mid-to-late-70's- holding hands and talking about the different sights the airport had to offer; I was immediately struck with one thought:

I want that.

I want someone who will hold my hand in the airport when I'm wrinkly. Because they want to hold my hand. Because maybe I need them to hold my hand. As I watched this couple interact, it occurred to me that one of two things could be at play: 1) this couple wanted to hold each other's hands as a sign of affection, or 2) this couple was holding on to each other for balance.

And then this thought struck me: "balance" in more ways than one. Physical balance, yes, like "I'll help you balance so you don't fall and break a hip." But also (and maybe more importantly) balance as in yin to yang, salt to pepper, butter to bread. Balance, Jerry Maguire-style: "You complete me."

So often our struggles are about how we will get from Point A (here and now) to Point B (where we'd like to be, like to have, like to accomplish), and we don't stop to factor in balance. Ignoring the need for balance in our lives can have awful consequences, though. We can lose touch with our friends, children, partners, ourselves. We can forge ahead with our A-to-B plans, and even meet those goals, but at what price? Are we able to maintain balance? Who is holding our hand?

It was my birthday when I wrote this post in my hotel room, and although I'd like to pretend otherwise, I had just realized/recognized the importance of having balance. It's more than finding time to help kids with homework, or having dinner with girlfriends, or going out on a date with someone you like, or squeezing in a workout before bed. It's about all of these, and none of these. It takes a village, right?

It has taken me all forty (!!!) of my years to get this far, and I'd like to extend a sincere thank you to everyone who has helped me find some semblance of balance.

Who is holding your hand? Go say "Thank you. I love you." Hold on, friends.

Annoyed, Defensive, and Relieved

In the past two weeks or so, I've been one bit annoyed, one bit defensive, and two bits relieved. Let me explain.

So, it's been almost a month since my last post, and you would think that I'd be swatting back men like flies from honey, what with those fairly easy rules for the guys to follow and my super hotness (Ha!). You would be wrong.

I personally don't think that I'm being all that particular with those "rules." My mother, on the other hand, is probably rolling her eyes upward and saying a little prayer for any future dates I may have; I'm told I've always been picky. And I can see where you might think I'm being overly choosy. Wait...no, I can't. I don't think I'm asking that much at all.

You see, I think that I have earned the right to be discerning, that I shouldn't have to "settle" or re-think and re-configure what it is, exactly, that I want from a relationship. I think that I have earned the right to be happy, using my own definition of "happy" and outlining my own parameters for a relationship. Which makes waiting for dates that much more annoying.

What's gotten me on my high horse? Talking to other people in my position, in similar geographic regions, with similar backgrounds. And this article certainly gave me tons to think about. I mean, you would think that with this "husband shortage" in the United States that I'd be willing to budge on some of those rules, that I'd be willing to look in unconventional places for dates (The grocery store! The Secretary of State's office!), and that I'd be willing to date a decent guy who just so happens to be down on his luck and living with his parents "until things turn around."

Again, you would be wrong. (There's the defensiveness I was talking about.)

One of the things that Kate Bolick writes about in the above mentioned article is the immaturity of men in my age bracket, that they are too willing to make do with less, that they can't be bothered to take the initiative, and they don't really see the value in trying so hard. At least that's what I got out of it. That, and how women are paving new roads for the way they'd like to live (like in that all-female apartment complex in Amsterdam), both with and without conventional relationships with men.

I, for one, like men. And I would like to find someone to share my time with. And I'm not about to "settle for Mr. Good Enough", even though I'm pretty sure I've suggested doing just that to at least one friend (and yes, she still talks to me).

Further, I think I need to clarify what it is, exactly, I'm looking for in a relationship: shared goals for the future; shared values; shared sense of optimism, but with a healthy dose of skepticism. Adventure. Romance. Companionship. FUN. Family. Friends. Food. Curiosity. Laughter. Sunshine. Rainbows. Unicorns.

Okay, I'm kidding about that last one. But Potential Prince Charming will spend hours with me dreaming up fantastical stories about those unicorns and making plans about what we'll do when I win the lottery. And if I could spend all of my free time with My Best New Boyfriend and our stories about unicorns and lottery winnings, well then I don't think I'd ever want to do anything else except maybe do all that with a thin crust cheese pizza and some cheap beer.

And since doing all that doesn't pay the bills around here, I'm two bits relieved that I still have a real job. But a girl can only entertain her fantasies for so long before she gets more annoyed or more defensive; and lest you think I'm one of those women who can smile and fake it...

...you'd be wrong one more time.

The Rules

And so it begins: my foray back into the dating world. It has been twenty-plus years since I've been on a date, and as a courtesy to 1) all the guys lining up to ask me out on dates *that was a joke*, and 2) my friends (hopefully) trying to set me up on dates, I've come up with a list of rules. Without further ado, and after Level One, in no particular order:

The Rules: Level One
Thanks to my friend, Bridgette, for this part of the list.

Any guy hoping to take me out on a date should:
1. have a mouth full of teeth.
2. have a full-time job.
3. not live with his parents.
4. have a sense of humor (but I'm not kidding about those first three rules).

Made it this far? Let's move on to Level Two.

Any guy meeting the Level One requirements can proceed with date plans if:
1. he is still considerably taller than I am even when I am wearing my highest heels.
2. he is at least as smart as I am; I don't want to date someone I have to explain a lot to.
3. he is social without being a party animal or bar fly.
4. he is a non-smoker.
5. he enjoys participating in physical activities that are not sex.
6. he thinks learning is a lifetime activity, not limited to "school years."
7. he is a smart dresser, and has an overall awesome sense of style.
8. he will indulge my inner fashionista with approving looks and compliments.
9. he recognizes that my pickiness extends beyond food and date choices.
10. he understands that no one can out-Martha Stewart me, except for Martha Stewart.

Still with me? You've reached Level Three, Potential Prince Charming.

My Best New Boyfriend will:
1. not buy me chocolate; he will be well-versed in my candy likes and dislikes. The list is long, friends. SO long.
2. understand that sometimes I can swear like a dirty, dirty sailor. Not usually done in public, though.
3. never interrupt a viewing of Project Runway, nor will he argue that Clinton and Stacey from What Not To Wear aren't my friends. Because, oh yes, they ARE my friends.
4. be kind and considerate and not afraid of a little PDA from time to time.
5. give awesome gifts. (Side note: one year for Christmas I received a box that contained a roll of toilet paper, a can of Lysol spray, and a bottle of raspberry-flavored vodka. The piece of paper inside the box said: "Thanks for putting up with my shit. The vodka is to help you forget." I am NOT making that up. Also, I hate raspberry-flavored vodka.)
6. give awesome back/shoulder/leg rubs without complaint, and with the right amount of pressure.
7. be well-versed in popular culture, will enjoy it, and will play bar trivia with me if that's what I would like to do.
8. will love music. Bonus points for being able to play a musical instrument. (However, if you are a "professional musician," you didn't even make it past Level One- why are you still hanging around? Unless you are my skanky boyfriend, Tommy Lee, in which case...)
9. understand that my friends are very much a part of whom I call "family," and that I love my family no matter how crazy they seem.
10. know that a room-temperature Coca-Cola Classic, Lay's Original potato chips, and pink-frosted Loft House cookies are the best & quickest way to my heart.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go set up the velvet ropes for the masses. ;o)

Truth #5

This year has absolutely flown by; it's already October tomorrow! WTF?

More than that, though, October marks the month where one year ago I decided to change my life.  And although divorce is something that is sad and awkward and tense and prone to make people avoid you and prone to make you experience jags of frustrated tears, I remain a resident of Hopeful, Unincorporated.

Truth #5:  I wish I had the balls to leave earlier than I did.

I know that I cannot change the past.  I know that I cannot please everyone.  I know that some people may think I am disparaging my wasband and our marriage.  Please know that I am not trying to do any of those things, honestly. 

This past year has taught me that making the decision to move forward without being married was a Good Decision.  Believe me, I played Devil's Advocate with myself and looked at every which way that leaving would be a detriment to my life.  There were just more checks in the "pro" column.

And now that I've had some distance from that decision, from the days of living in a friend's spare bedroom, from the days of listening to NPR every evening in the one armchair I bought at Goodwill in my rental dollhouse because I didn't have the extra cash to hook up the cable, from eating the same four meals overandoverandoverandover because they were cheap and the ingredients were available in bulk, from sneaking over to my old house during the day when no one was home to pilfer more of the items from the marriage that I thought I didn't need to share any longer...

...I can say that I wish I had done it sooner.  Maybe even years ago.

And now that I reside full-time in Hopeful, Unincorporated, I can look back at the dark days from last winter and this spring, and look at what many would call hardships and smile to myself because I know that I am a capable and intelligent woman, and that my strength comes from my gut, and what I know to be true right there. And so I leave you with this, one of my favorite Jewish proverbs:

"I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders."

I Feel A Whole Lot Better...

Dang, I love that song!

And better yet, I do feel a whole lot better since my last post. So much has my outlook improved that I've decided to write a top 10 list about it. So, without further ado, here is my list of things I've realized I like best about my new life:

1. Grocery shopping is a breeze. I've never minded household chores, and when my kids were younger, the grocery store offered a respite from Being Mommy. But now I feel even less encumbered: my kids are old enough (and I like them enough) that I don't need to escape from Being Mommy. Plus, the grocery cart no longer contains items like horseradish, pickles, and copious amounts of meat.

2. My cute little dollhouse is clean, all the time. I have a postcard that hangs in a clear, acrylic photo frame that I brought with me to my new house:

Its a dream that I seriously had about, oh...everyDAY in my old house. That old house (literally, an old house) was never clean, even when I spent all day cleaning to the point of making my hands raw from bleach and scouring pads. No longer a dream, friends.

3. Everything smells good. Is that funny? Like strange funny, not haha funny? Ever since Daughter #2 was born, my sense of smell can be likened to a super power. Did you have onions for lunch? Yesterday? I just knew it. Absent of men and pets and meat and dirt and cigarettes and alcohol (and, cigarettes mixed with alcohol- think of the ickiest dive bar ever. That is how my old house could smell sometimes.), houses are lovely things. I find that I don't need to burn fancy candles or buy Febreeze in institutional strength gallon-size jugs anymore.

4. Pets are a thing of the past. Growing up, my parents had children, not pets (although, we could have a lively discussion on whether or not the children were substitutes for pets? Another time, perhaps). We didn't have dogs or cats or fish or birds, save for the early years of less than five kids. My parents may have liked the chaos of a large family, but adding an animal to the mix was just taking things too far. I've never been fond of animals, either. I've never felt the need to nurture something that won't eventually grow up and move away. Plus, I don't enjoy cleaning up shit. (Side note: I've always been fascinated by the cats who use the toilet- and flush it!-rather than a litter box.)

5. I don't have to be cheap when it comes to coffee. I used to wander the grocery aisles, giving those small bags of Starbucks coffee a sideways glance as I reached for the monster bag of Eight O'Clock coffee I would take home. Who actually buys that? What kind of person spends so much on coffee beans? A rich person. Someone whose closest Starbucks is on the next corner, not 70 miles away, I'll bet. Yes, it was a bit of jealousy. But now that I'm only buying coffee for one, you bet your bippy I buy the good stuff, and its worth every penny. Plus, that little bag lasts me almost two weeks! And, there's the added bonus of never being faced with an empty pot when I finally get around to pouring my second cup; the pot is always just as full as when I poured the first cup.

6. "There is a place for everything, and everything should be in it's place." If I've heard this once during my lifetime, I've heard it a kajillion times. It was my mother's mantra on Saturday mornings as her small army of children would clean the house top to bottom before either receiving weekly allowances or being allowed to go anywhere or do anything. I, too, have adopted this mantra. The difference now is that I say it with an assured amount of smugness, because I know that no one has misplaced anything. Also along the mantra-from-my-mother lines, I no longer have to say "I guess if I want something done right, I have to do it myself." Oh, yes. That phrase came out of my mouth. Often. Now the only person I can rightfully say that to is myself.

7. I can smell good or bad. Like, my personal scent, not the aforementioned sense of smell. Sometimes, as my running friends will tell you, I have been known to run for 13 miles or more, drink beergaritas, and then head to the grocery store. Unshowered and still in my running clothes. Gross, I know; but taking a shower is something I'll do when I'm ready to relax, thankyouverymuch. And how can I relax when there's so much to do? I've been known to spritz on body spray before venturing out on errands, though, so I'm not a complete boor. My daily dressing routine involves actual perfume, though, and the scents I'm drawn to were not always appreciated in my former life. I have been hoarding a small, travel-size atomizer of one of my favorite scents- "Earth" by Gap - for years. I love it. It is no longer made, and the last time a 4 oz. bottle came up on eBay , it went for almost $300. In my former life, *someone* would complain about the scent, "It smells like soap." Um...and?! I certainly don't want to smell like baked goods or my grandmother. I no longer worry about pleasing someone else with my perfume choices. Or my hair, makeup, shoes, or clothing choices, for that matter. I look and smell pretty for me. And so my friends aren't embarrassed when we go out in public.

8. And speaking of exercise...I no longer endure eye-rolling and snarky comments muttered through disgusted sighs as I mention that I'm going for a run. Or going to work out. Or going for a bike ride. Or doing something, anything that could be considered exercise. I love that that is no longer a part of my life. I can't believe I allowed someone to make me feel guilty for indulging in activities that: one, keep me healthy; two, keep me trim; and three, keep me from going crazy.

9. I get the whole bed to myself. Let me explain: I enjoy cuddle time, sure, and I also like that sometimes cuddle time turns into *bow chicka wah wah*. But when it comes to sleeping, I would appreciate it if you could stay the fuck away from me. Its nothing personal. As with many things in our adult lives, we can trace origins back to our childhoods. This quirk is no exception. With nine children and two adults in one house, economy was key to sleeping quarters. And so, I shared a full-sized bed with a sibling until I entered high school. Then I got to switch to a solo twin, and it was totally rad. As I moved around for college and found a mate, sleeping together was just the thing to do. Every minute I spend with you is the best minute ever. *GAAAAGGGG*. In addition to recoiling from anything to do with my childhood, some of my OCD tendencies have to do with bedtime: the bedsheets must be crisp, clean, and the bed made with hospital corners. The bed must be made every day. If you are in the bed before me, DO NOT "warm up" my side of the bed, as I will then be forced to dream about ways to bring great bodily harm upon you. Do not try to cuddle with me, or spoon; I am trying to sleep. And lastly, every day that I wake up in my brand new queen-sized bed, I can't help thinking of a song by Phish that goes: "When you're here, I sleep lengthwise, and when you're gone I sleep diagonal in my bed."

10. I love embracing the realization that the only problems I need to worry about are my own. Other people's problems are NOT. MY. PROBLEMS. Through the magic of Facebook , I reconnected with a friend/boyfriend from high school a few years ago. We were both married and met for drinks when I was in his city for a work-related conference. We were talking about books that had changed our lives, and I suggested to him The Pecking Order by Dalton Conley , and he in turn recommended Codependent No More by Melody Beattie . Can you say eye opener? He was, at the time, going through a divorce, and shortly thereafter got a new girlfriend and stopped using Facebook. I haven't been able to meet up with him again to thank him. When we do meet up again, you can be sure that I will thank him, though, profusely.

Too often we let negativity and unfortunate circumstances bring us down, and its so unhealthy. I guess the reasoning behind this post is to remember to focus on the good. And smile, friends- the weekend is here! Make it a great one.

The Power of Dreams

I'm not talking about dreams in the larger sense, like "I have a dream...", rather I'm talking about the kind you have when you're asleep (or, half-asleep).

Last night I had a dream that I was watching television and holding hands (and then snuggling...and then cuddling, lengthwise...but no further!) with Kyle MacLachlan . Huh? I mean, yes, I was slightly infatuated with him in Twin Peaks and also thought he was dreamy in Blue Velvet , but he's not on the same level as say... Derek Jeter or my all-time favorite, Paul Newman . So, what gives?

Usually, I take matters of the brain and subconscious to my friend, Tha Doctah. Like about a year or more ago when I had a similar dream involving a different guy (couch, television, and more than snuggling in this dream...*bow chicka wah wah*). What does it mean?!

Well, after remembering what Tha Doctah told me, and after considerable research on the matter (ha!), I've found out that dreaming about celebrities- especially being somewhat intimate with them- indicates your drive to be successful. And that being intimate with someone in general can mean that you're lacking something in your life. So, if you're being all lovey-dovey with someone you don't normally get all lovey-dovey with it can mean that you see this dream partner as someone compatible, or as someone who has qualities you admire in a partner. Huh.

So, what's up with that?! Well, I've been thinking about my job and the future lately, and I've been thinking about what kinds of things I am looking for in a partner, so it all makes sense.

Let me be clear, though: I know that I won't be hooking up with Paul Newman or Derek Jeter or Kyle MacLachlan anytime soon. Or that other Shall-Remain-Nameless Guy. But its all food for thought, right? It gives pause to all of those things you thought were truths about yourself, those things that you always thought were no-brainers: the "givens" of your daily existence. Like, its a given that I prefer dessert to an appetizer. Or, its a given that I'd rather take a vacation someplace warm. For me, at least, I end up asking myself: What if...?

Remain curious, friends. And if I end up in your dreams, let me hear about it, okay?

My Strange Relationship with Food, Part II

My last post was all about the foods I dislike. Indeed, I have banned them from the grocery list, and will not even consider partaking in dishes which contain said ingredients. I've never thought of myself as someone who holds a grudge, but by the same token, I guess I have a memory a mile long, so...

...onward to the foods I do like. Despite my desire for nutrition-in-pill-form, there are many things I love to eat. I am not usually a "gusher," I don't go on and on and on and on about things. Okay, maybe shoes. Or clothes. But food?! Not me.

Note: these are different from foods I crave, or foods that fall into another separate category entirely: SUGAR. My philosophy on that category can be best summed up thusly:

Now, without further ado, my list of foods that will always have a spot on the grocery list:

1) Apples- As I mentioned in my previous post, my mom would hide the apples she bought. I would eat them all to the point of...let's say...intestinal upset. Or so I'm told. But apples are so versatile! Depending on the variety, they can add sweetness or tartness to a dish. There's a depth they bring to savory dishes (like my favorite Moosewood Tart & Tangy Baked Beans), and their flavor in sweet baked goods...with cinnamon and nutmeg...YUM. Favorite varieties for straight-out eating? Gala or Golden Delicious.

2) Avocados- I was a late-comer to the avocado parade. My first experience with the green goddess was at a Christmas Eve celebration at my Grandma Gert's house. A cousin's girlfriend brought guacamole, and so I gave it a try. Her version, as I remember it, had sour cream and shredded cheddar in it. Eeewww! When I finally tried avocado properly- in real guacamole, in Mexico- it was instant love. How could I have missed this for so long? I love an avocado on a veggie burger, with TexMex dishes, with grilled fish, in salads. My friend My Jenny used to feed her babies avocado mashed with cream cheese for a snack. I'm told I make a mean guacamole, and maybe one day I'll share that recipe with you. Maybe.

3) Nectarines- Is there any better taste of Summer than a perfectly ripe, juicy nectarine? I think not. Save your breath in trying to tell me that its "just like a peach, but without the fuzzy skin." Puh-leeze! No comparison, in my book. That orange/amber hue of the flesh, the smooth skin, the sweet juices...the richness of the flavor reminds me of how completely satisfying the smell of a mock orange tree is. All-consuming. I'll stop now before this gets pornographic.

4) Greek yogurt- I've always been a fan of plain ol' yogurt. I like the neat new flavors they have nowadays: Key Lime, Coconut Cream, Banana, Dreamsicle. But the moment I tried Greek yogurt- what with its heavy, heavy silken texture and impossible creaminess- I bid a final adieu to those thinly flavored varieties. Even the Red Velvet Cake flavor.

5) Beans- I'm not talking green beans here, although I do like those. I'm talking what would be considered shell beans: kidney beans, black beans, Great Northern White beans, pinto beans. As a vegetarian (and a less than wealthy one, at that), they have proven to be an economical and tasty alternative protein form. The aforementioned baked beans were a turning point for me (Homemade baked beans? Instead of from a can with that blob of pork fat? Who knew they were so easy? Who knew they'd be so delish?!). I also use them in salads and that Thrifty Girl's stand-by: Empty Out The Fridge Casserole.

6) Onions- Flavor flavor flavor flavor flavor! A staple for so many reasons. I even prefer it to garlic. That is all.

7) Salmon- As I mentioned in my last post, I have only started to incorporate fish into my diet in the past few years. I grew up with those rectangular frozen fish sticks like everyone else. And being raised Catholic, I had to endure my share of Lenten Friday Night Fish Dishes. My father is a die hard fisherman, and would often bring home buckets and buckets of blue gill and crappies. I never enjoyed fish in my childhood. Gah-rosss-ah! But as an adult, I found that I missed the satiety meat brought to a meal, yet couldn't eat farm animals (my disgust of animals is another post altogether). So, fish it was. Salmon was what was in the freezer, and it was prepared simply for me: olive oil, salt, black pepper, fresh dill, lemon slices. Foil packet on the grill. Its still my favorite way to prepare it. I have also come to appreciate such fish as tilapia, grouper, and tuna. Mmmm...sushi.

8) Cheese pizza- While technically more of a dish rather than a food, it is still a staple in my grocery cart. Tomatoes in a form I can handle? Check. Cheese in a variety I can handle? Check. Warm bread? Check. Its a food ingredient hat trick, and when you take the frozen variety, add a bit more shredded cheese, and bake it until its bubbly and golden? That's comfort food, right there.

9) Lay's Original Potato Chips- "No one can eat just one." One of the reasons I run and exercise as much as I do. No ripples, no flavors. Just greasy, salty goodness.

10) Loft House Frosted Sugar Cookies- These are my nemesis. They are also my salvation. And coupled with #9, why I run as much as I do. They are what I have referred to in the past as the Chupacabra of Baked Goods. They are Evil. They are Heavenly. Chemically soft cookies with not a single browned edge topped with Keep-Your-Dentist-In-Business frosting. And sprinkles. I prefer the pink frosting to any other color, and come Christmas time, the Candy Cane ones have an honored spot on my counter top.

Needless to say, if I didn't practice self-restraint, I'd eat only Lay's and Loft House cookies, washed down with a room-temperature Coca-Cola Classic (Not diet Coke. Ever.), read fashion magazines, stalk people on facebook, and have an ass the size of Montana. Thank you, 8 lb. 6 oz. Baby Jesus for giving me a rational, practical brain.

Next post? A love letter to all things sugar.

WTF?

A bit of a rant, so bear with me.

I'm frustrated once again (and always, it seems) with the behavior of men. Not men in general, but the men in my life, both intimately and peripherally. I am confused as to why they behave in a way that makes them seem like their personal growth stunted at age 15 or 16. Why the perpetual adolesence? Is it something done in response to something women do? Their parents? Their siblings, cousins, friends?

I want to believe that men are capable of rising above fart jokes and petty arguments in favor of intelligent conversation and responsible actions. I want to believe that when I say to them, "I need you to do X, Y, and Z" that they will actually do X, Y, and Z. I want to relate to someone- not a female friend- who knows me well enough to anticipate my wants and needs and act on those rather than looking past those in favor of...more fart jokes.

During my bartending years, a regular of mine told me that men don't grow up until they hit age 45 (and he knew what he was talking about, I'm pretty sure). Look, I'm 37, and I think waiting another 8 years is a ridiculous thing to ask of me.

So, thank you dear friends for bearing with me. A good rant is, as my Martha says, "a Good Thing." The weekend is only two days away...

Sex and the City!!!

Have you seen it yet? I have, and OH MY GOODNESS! I loved it, and will see it again with anyone who hasn't seen it yet but wants to. Call me. :o)

So, I knew SOME things were going to happen (yes, I read spoilers. I am the type of person who reads the last few pages of a book "just in case."), others threw me for a loop, but overall I was entertained and loved this movie, or as I like to call it, "The Second Series Finale."

I will not reveal plot points or spoil anything here, but let me ask the ladies (and any men who watched the television show): Have you ever thought about which "girl" you are? I know that during the show's heyday, there were many writings about how every woman can relate to these characters, and that women will identify with one of the characters more than the others. For instance, I think Sister #3 is a Miranda, and not just because of her red hair.

I'm taking it a step further here. I think that the reason the series (and now the movie) is so successful is NOT because women want to see what their alter egos are up to; they watch because they identify with ALL of the women, whether they admit to it or not. Yes, the four main characters are stereotypes, and yes, the majority of women identify strongly with one of those. But in reality, women are too complex to be whittled down to a stereotype (albeit a stereotype in fantastic clothing and *sigh* those shoes!), and so I posit that we are all Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda mixed up together. You can add some Anthony (wedding planner) into my mix, too. And...discuss.

Shall we move on to the man aspect of the show/movie? I always rooted for Big- I think Chris Noth is sexy as all get out. What can I say? Crankypants likes crankypants. What do you think of Steve? I think that he and Miranda's relationship is the most relatable, the most realistic. And Samantha and Smith? Charlotte and Harry?

I will save comments about the FASHION for another post. Here's my plug: GO SEE THIS MOVIE and you'll be able to end your weekend with a smile.