Purlygrl's Fresh Start

Comfort and Compatability

2010-06-03T22:18:00.003-04:00

Whenever one gets married there are always people who ask beforehand, "Are you nervous? Do you have cold feet?" and so on. Having been through the process twice now, I have to say that although the wedding ceremony has it's merits and value in and of itself, the commitment is experienced and expressed in more unique ways for the individual.

In my case I first felt the angst and ultimate surrender to commitment about six months prior to my wedding. For a variety of reasons including the arduous and lengthy Catholic annulment process and my limited finances at the time, I moved in with then fiancee, now husband. This was a difficult process both physically, trying to cram what was left of my belongings into a house that was already full and had NO storage, as well as emotionally. Giving up my little home meant giving up a great measure of freedom and control, which is why I experienced and expressed my commitment at that time. It was the first of my marital sacrifices and it was very difficult for me. The home that we now live in was once shared by my husband and his ex-wife, they bought it shortly after my step-daughter was born.

Since to this day most of my belongings are in the garage, it is easy for me to feel like a guest in their house. In the process of merging our households my husband did agree to paint and even get rid of a few things to make some room for me. The key item that I really wished to be rid of was his sofa. In my estimation it was an ugly, crusty, worn out piece of motion furniture that I found equally uncomfortable to sit or gaze upon. In his estimation there was nothing wrong with it and that was that. Still, he kindly agreed to sell it at a yard sale and use my sofa.

My sofa wasn't perfect, it was a hand-me-down from a dead woman, but I found it less revolting and ugly and it had no particular ties to his ex-wife (I sleep in the bed he shared with her for goodness sake!!) In the end it turned out that the dead lady sofa was pretty much on it's last leg, even with a slipcover that only I seemed to straighten, it was clearly not going to make it. So we commenced to sofa shopping.

I come from a long line of furniture lovers, my grandfather owned a furniture store and my mother, aunt and cousins rather enjoy owning and shopping for furniture. Little did I know that this process would ever be anything but fun. Thus I naively embarked upon what I thought would be our first purchase for our shared home together. Everything went horribly wrong. We couldn't agree on anything except maybe fabric, we liked leather. The first few shopping trips became a jumble of opposing feature preferences and the longer we looked the further it seemed we got from any sort of common ground. Too soft, too firm, too short, too deep, not tall enough, too tall, too overstuffed, to under stuffed, the unending frustrations went on and on. In time we were able to come to a point where we could define the terms of the conflict, and UN peacekeepers couldn't find a way to end our stalemate.

I like a sofa largely for it's design. I appreciate the art of good furniture design so much that I have a short list of pieces I have always hoped to collect for their sheer beauty as art (ie. Eames chair, Noguchi table and Barcelona couch.) I give little thought to comfort, in fact if it "looks comfortable" odds are I won't like it. Thanks to a quirky lower back issue I'm more comfortable on a kitchen chair than in anything I sink into and thus firm, clean, modern furniture is perfect for me, and is in fact comfortable. That said, I can find plenty of more pedestrian pieces that please me, so long as they don't appear to belong in a frat house or a trailer park. (Although squashing my lifelong dream of fine furniture collecting is as heartbreaking as telling a kindergartner there isn't a Santa.)

As we eventually discovered, my husband likes a sofa largely for it's ability to hold his head up for him when sitting so he doesn't have to utilize those pesky neck muscles. Picture one of those old fashioned wooden dolls made with all the limbs as separate pieces held together by strings rigged to a spring-loaded base. When you depress the base, the doll goes limp, all the parts dangling, head flopping to the side, the creature almost looks dead until you release the base and the parts all go back in place, head erect, doll upright and lively. This is my husband. When you depress his buttocks on a sofa, he is rendered incapable of holding himself together. His muscles fail him, he appears half dead. It is a particularly pathetic sight on the dead lady sofa because he has to slump down so far before landing on something to support his wobbly head.

And so, I want something clean, sleek and minimal, he wants something large, soft and supportive. When it comes to comfort beyond aesthetics, we're still incompatible. The upside is that we are incompatible optimists and so we went to every furniture store and sat on every sofa looking to find one that we both genuinely like without either of us having to settle. This year long process led to arguments in furniture stores, tears, and my actual fear that we simply could not be married because THIS was insurmountable. And in truth, it sort of is. There really is no way to buy a sofa that we both absolutely love. Many experts (well seasoned salespeople, therapists and even a life coach) have confirmed this, what is in order is a compromise. Ah, but how do we arrive at one we could really be at peace with? Well that's the big question with marriage isn't it?

Marriage ultimately requires a partial death to self, a choice to sacrifice some freedom in exchange for intimacy. With that comes some new freedoms that are shared, but others that simply are gone. The delicate balancing act of sorting out the "me" vs. "we" is one of the age old mysteries of marriage, and yet for most of human history we've decided to engage in this complex pursuit. I can't help thinking that our immense emotional investment in this sofa crisis has been a practical way for us to flesh out some of the very real challenges of creating a shared life. I'm happy to report that after a year of blood, sweat and tears we'll have our new sofa tomorrow, we'll save the coffee table dilemma for another day.

Purly Girl Gets Married (Again)

2010-05-24T14:34:00.001-04:00

I am quite aware (thanks to those of you who've followed my blog in vain) that I have yet to post since my nuptials on New Years Eve. Although it's hard to believe this if you know me at all, but I haven't quite known what to say. Yes, I am in fact married again. There was a lovely wedding and reception that was fantasic and magical and unquestionably FUN, but still I couldn't figure out what I had to say about it.

I've been working a ridiculous amount of hours thanks to progress in my retail career, and that could be an excuse for all manor of things, even legitimately so at times, but that isn't really it. And stories about my surreal new career path aside, the real truth is that I've been at a loss for how to tell the story.

There is the American Hollywood version of the 2nd marriage story. In this version we'd paint the former marriages and spouses as somehow tragic and doomed, mixed with some sordid villainous imagery of the prior partners, whilst new partners rescued us from our pasts bringing new simplicity and joy. Or you could go the French film route and somehow all of it is a loose and ill-defined tragedy at the hands and whims of emotion and fate, yet our current love is the tragedy that binds us (although there are days it feels that way, I don't think that fits either.) Then there is that extreme romantic notion that this person is THE person that you've really been waiting for your whole life and everything before somehow magically led up to it. That one especially doesn't resonate with me.

Here is what I do know. Ten years after marriage no. 1 I'm less principled about some things, and more principled about others. I'm less concerned about what my name is on paper and more concerned about what I've ACTUALLY given up for my partner. I'm less certain about what I either do or do not know or believe about God and religion, and more willing to accept and accommodate my partners beliefs. I am more willing to communicate and less willing to ignore. I realize more every day that love is so much more about what we do and the choices that we make and the feelings grow out of all of that instead of the inverse. At some point I finally let myself consider what it was I really wanted out of life instead of trying to live some sort of imagined life that I should want and then it all shifted.

I'm still not quite sure how it will all come together, but my husband and I are at least on the same page when we are sorting out a shared life. We are best friends who have common interests and a great amount of chemistry. We enjoy our time together, and there is a long list of things we love to do together. Our life is exceedingly complex because we are trying to juggle shared parenting of his daughter and two less than ideal careers in a house we would love nothing more than to unload, in a lackluster town we dislike. At varied moments any one of those elements can become a distraction from the bigger picture of our family life and we are early in our marriage trying to eek out the joys of life from the elements we can control.

I don't know what kind of story that is, it's real, it's messy, and highly stressful and confusing. What I know for sure is that we've decided we're on the same team and we won't settle. We didn't enter this marriage with the luxury of a notion of assumed permanence. We know all too well that marriages do end and we live with the fallout of that every day. We have a very practical understanding of love that we didn't have in our first marriages, and we aren't likely to take that lightly. We love each other and we are less inclined to leave all of that to chance. We will always find a way to live a life less ordinary no matter what the circumstances and a love like that fills my heart with hope and joy.

21 Days of Love

2009-09-03T21:26:00.004-04:00

In the last few weeks I have been stressed out, freaked out and on the edge of causing bodily harm to everyone in my path. There is a whole battery of excuses that I could give for my edgy behavior and a number of apologies that I could, should, and have made (excluding U-Haul, I don't regret anything I said or did there!!) Here are a few standard excuses I like:

--Red Hair (a fun one to cop to whenever squeaky and irrational screaming is involved)
--Being Broke (this is a simple catch-all excuse for any number of things AND is entirely true)
--Moving makes me crazy (also a known fact)
--Being Tired (another handy blanket excuse)

That said, I know as well as everyone that hatred and violence only breed more of the same, and I have crappy health insurance and can't afford the collateral damage. So how does one quell the rage within? Well, love of course. Hmm..........and whom should I love? I could go the Miss America route here and say "everyone" but, that would be lame and difficult to measure, so I'll pick the future Mr. Purlygrl. That has a nice ring to it doesn't it?

According to conventional internet knowledge (I couldn't find a real consensus within the framework of actual psychological research) it takes 21 days to make and/or break a habit. So, with the wisdom of ask.com behind me, I will forge forward with 21 days of love. For the next 21 days I will do something loving for my sweetheart every day. I firmly believe that love is not a feeling (feelings are for sissies), it is an action, a choice, something we live, something we DO.

Thus today was day 1.

Day 1: Woke up early and made breakfast for my sweetie. I'm sure you wonder why this is loving? If you ever lived with me you would understand. Mornings and I have a very tenuous relationship, one largely associated with loathing, grunts and hostility. I simply don't understand morning AT ALL. Why is there morning? Why would anyone wake up before 10? Why do people talk to me before I've had coffee? Why am I expected to be nice before noon? All of these great questions factor into my disinterest in having breakfast with ANYONE at any time prior to 11ish. Still, my love wishes to have breakfast together and has made the request on numerous occasions and so my first act of love was to get up early and make breakfast for him. Funny thing is that it was actually kind of nice (except for the morning part.)

You Can't Make This Shit Up #5--The Legman

2009-08-20T21:43:00.008-04:00

It's almost laughable how many jobs I've worked over the past few years. In fact, half the time it is downright hilarious, the other half............well, that makes for less cheeky blog commentary. I really am not a transient, a hobo or a gypsy. I'm just a highly educated broad trying to eat AND have health insurance........and yeah, I'm crazy enough to dream big and want both of those things at the same time. So, yes, I've made yet another fascinating career change. I now work at a cemetery. What do you do, you may ask? Well, sales of course.

Which is how I met this interesting fellow. Now at first blush, this should be a sad story. A seventy-something man and his wife make an appointment to pre-arrange his funeral because he is dying. We spent hours in our mausoleum discussing the merits of ground burial vs. above ground entombment. Mr. Wentworth needed an oxygen tank to breathe and his wife appeared to be on the edge of tears off and on. There was lengthy discussion about the older unwed sister of his wife and their daughter, whom they may also purchase cemetery property for. It is a belabored and emotional Monday morning that ultimately left the couple exhausted and needing time to talk. We decided to break for lunch, I would call to schedule their next appointment later.

After a couple of days I called to set the next appointment. Mr. Wentworth answered the phone in a belabored and breathy voice, which could have simply been related to the oxygen tank, but in time I grew to re-interpret. (What follows here is and abridged and slightly watered down version of the conversation, the things he actually said would make a sailor blush and I don't care to repeat verbatim.)

Mr. Wentworth: I just have to tell you, you have the most amazing legs I've ever seen.
Purlygrl: Uh......
Mr. Wentworth: It's all I've been able to think about since we left the other day.
Purlygrl: ............Silence
Mr. Wentworth: I've always been a leg man, and I've got to tell you, you just have the sexiest legs I've ever seen. If I were a few years younger you'd be in trouble.
Purlygrl: .....more painful silence.......... (Also important to note that this last comment is VERY wishful thinking on his part.)
Mr. Wentworth: [at this point he continues to digress, we'll move forward]

It's important to note that at this point roughly 28% of me was willing to consider the possibility that Mr. Wentworth was on some sort of heavy opiate painkiller and wasn't fully cognisant of what he was saying. That is until...........

Purlygrl: (awkwardly) Ah, so, the reason I called was to set up that follow up appointment. Would next Monday at the same time be good for you and MRS. WENTWORTH?
Mr. Wentworth: I don't know, my wife isn't home right now. You don't think I'd be talking to you like this if she were home do you?

.....And the morphine explanation goes out the window with Mrs. Wentworth's dignity...........

On a subsequent conversation he detailed his hopes that he might die in his sleep dreaming of me and of course my lovely legs. In the end the Wentworth's bought three mausoleum spaces, and a second right of internment, which resulted in a pretty healthy commission for me.

I'm not so naive or puritanical that I am really all that shocked or horrified by men behaving this way. I really get it, men are pigs. When I was a waitress, a bartender, even a clerk I encountered guys like this, but this one takes the cake. In my wildest dreams it never occurred to me that a dying man would behave this way while buying, of all things, his own crypt. Honestly, you just can't make this shit up.

You Can't Make This Shit Up #4: Makeup Madness

2009-05-29T10:51:00.003-04:00

For almost two years now I've been working in cosmetics doing sales and makeup artistry. I've moved on to another endeavor so now I feel comfortable sharing some of my quirkier stories about my clients. This little gem is nothing short of crazy. In fact, that is what I intend to call her.

So one day a perfectly average housewife walks up to the counter and starts examining the lipsticks. Weirdly, lipstick appears to be the most difficult decision women make. Otherwise intelligent and capable women who make hundreds of critical decisions at work and home each day are utterly flabbergasted by lipstick. As a salesperson this can be a grueling and unfruitful sale that can suck up an hour of your time for a $22.00 sale, resulting in your inevitable frustration and a whopping $.66 commission. Thus, I developed a foolproof system to speed the sale along AND sell them something else.

The first thing you have to do is get the woman away from the display unit filled with over a hundred colors of lipstick in 4 formulas. This is too complicated, too much choice. You have her sit down and ask her questions. What is the lipstick for? What will it be worn with? Where will she wear it? Is this an everyday choice or something for evening? What kinds of colors do you already like and wear? You keep asking questions until you can narrow it down to 3 lipsticks to show her and you choose the appropriate liner, don't even ask about that, it's too complicated. Once she is presented with just three choices the decision is fairly easy and you put the one she likes on her. While she is sitting there you throw on a little blush to match it, maybe touch up her eyeshadow and eyeliner and then have her look in the mirror. Presto! She looks lovely, she buys the lipstick, liner and lip gloss and wow, that blush looks great, she gets that too. This technique works nearly every time and thus it was always my practice to use it.

And so I did, not knowing that this woman was crazy. Having someone validate every one of her bizarre lipstick concerns opened the door for what was tantamount to a therapy session. What she would really like is to be the prettiest woman in the room, but not look like she tried too hard to be that way. She wants the makeup to not be recognizable as makeup and yet significantly alter her appearance. Because certainly I must know how it feels to be a woman, constantly being judged and compared and held to an unreasonable standard. After all when you walk in a room everyone is really staring at you even if they don't appear to be. She then paused to let me know how connected she felt to me. "You must be an angel. I just know it."

She had left home that afternoon in an uproar over some emotional upset that apparently involved all members of her family and somehow I understood her. Of course truth be told the only thing that I did understand about our bizarre encounter was that this woman was incredibly insecure, borderline paranoid and had strange intimacy issues that involved her glomming onto perfect strangers at cosmetics counters. She proceeded to buy a lipstick and liner totaling $43.00, which in her view was some sort of wild rebellion that would teach her husband a lesson. As an added bonus, she became a regular customer and our therapy sessions became a regular part of my routine.

What's funny really is that she is representative of an entire group of strange women. There are all kinds of crazies out there. Needy women who seek the council of a makeup artist instead of their neighborhood bartender as the good lord intended............ honestly, you just can't make this shit up.

Stepmonster

2009-04-24T00:42:00.004-04:00

Nobody wakes up one day and says, "You know what would make my life complete? I think I should become a crackhead, a garbage man, a substitute teacher OR a step-parent." I've been a substitute teacher, thank God I haven't been a crackhead or a garbageman and I'm soon to become a step-parent. The question that is surely on every one's mind (including mine) is, "WHY?"

As far as I can tell it is a largely thankless job that includes all the same duties and tasks without the influential decision-making power of a "real" parent. Other added "perks" include your being the scapegoat to blame for the parents not getting back together and the extreme awkwardness of all school plays, soccer games, graduations and weddings. And then there is always the fun of the influence of the "baby mama or baby daddy" on your family. Somehow a person who was once the love of your partner's life magically transforms into a heinous troll whose main goal in life is to make everything complicated and everyone miserable.

That said, at nearly 40% of weddings at least one member of the bridal couple has been married before. Furthermore, 70% of marriages that involve stepchildren fail. So why do we do it? Sentimental saps and wise sages will likely say the same thing.........love, hope and the human tendency toward coupling. We all know from the moment that we engage in any relationship with another human being that there are infinite possible outcomes. A stranger on the street could be a serial killer or a saint, a potential friend or foe. Every interaction shapes who we are and how we behave in our world, and yet most of us are likely to hope that the person has the potential for good. As creatures humans are actually quite hopeful and I find that to be our most fascinating trait.

People aren't numbers or astrological charts or actuary tables, they are complicated, intricate and infinitely variable. Thus, human relationships are difficult to isolate statistically. My ex-husband and I passed all the "tests", we were a statistical marvel. We were spaced appropriately in age, had dated for the optimal amount of time, had compatible personality types, and astrological forecasts, passed premarital counseling with flying colors and we even married under nearly optimal religious and astrological circumstances and our marriage still failed. It just isn't a numbers game. The heart and soul of the whole thing gets lost sometimes in the aftermath once the bomb goes off.

Marriages don't fail because someone was too young, or because it was a "shotgun wedding" or any number of other over-simplified excuses. The truth is that at some point, for whatever combination of what are most likely a series of overlapping and complicated reasons, one or both people give up, check out, quit or run away. It's easy to pass judgement, assign blame and assume the position of martyr, victim, or hero, but at the end of the day, for those of us who've lived it and are honest with ourselves we know it simply isn't that simple. When it comes to divorce everyone loses................and maybe that is part of why we remarry. We all want to win, we all want to love and be loved, and on the whole humans are at best serial monogamists.

I have no data to support my belief that I can be a good step-parent. My parents were married and still are and all of their siblings are the same. There had been no divorce in either side of my family for over 2 generations prior to my divorce, therefore I have no frame of reference for stepparenthood whatsoever. I liken it to moving to a country where I am unfamiliar with the customs. At times I commit serious infractions without ever knowing why or how. I always feel as if I only knew the customs I would have been able to blend in just fine, but sadly now I have just made a mess of things.

My aunt once lived in Indonesia, where it is customary to shake hands using your left hand rather than your right. This doesn't seem like such a complicated thing, but Americans are quite accustomed to our right-handedness with this custom. So what if one forgets and offers the wrong hand? The problem is that manners and customs are usually not without reason. In that country toilet paper is a luxury for affluent families and thus the custom is to wipe oneself in the bathroom with your right hand. Even though the hand is washed, it is understood that the left hand is decidedly cleaner and more appropriate to offer to a friend. Imagine the horror if someone were to offer their right hand! Thus, in the country of Stepmonsterland a simple photo with Santa or a trip to the zoo could be unknowing cause for great horror and offense.

Thus I have decided to accept that I am an immigrant in a foreign land. I will try to learn the customs of the people here, but I also know that I have a contribution to make. I may never be able to join the DAR, but really, what have they done for the common good anyway?

Love on a Bicycle

2009-02-06T16:40:00.005-05:00

I've never believed that we only have one love in life. I just don't think it's possible, in part because I don't think love stops when life moves forward. I still love everyone I've ever loved no matter how great or small that love was. The love may have shifted and changed form, but I think love is like matter. It can't really be created or destroyed. I suspect that when we "fall in love" we are just becoming aware of something that has always been and always will be. I've fallen in love in kindergarten, in History class, in marching band, on vacation, at a kitchen table and most recently on a bicycle.

I suppose my first love (if you want to call it that) was in kindergarten. I was so smitten that with some spelling advice from my mother I wrote the poor chap a love letter. Of course I failed to consider that he might not be able to read the note and much to my horror he took the letter to the teacher to read it to him.

In eighth grade there was a boy with unnerving confidence and floppy blond hair who sat near me in history class. I LIVED for history class, I was in awe of everything about him, even though I knew absolutely nothing and as best I can recall never even spoke to him.............

My high school sweetheart was in the marching band with me, and a talented musician and songwriter even at the age of fifteen. He saw (and still sees) the world through different eyes than the rest of us and his creativity and quirky sensibilities were absolutely intoxicating.

I met my ex-husband on a family vacation. He was the first person I'd met outside of art class who had ever heard of the Pieta and actually loved Shakespeare. We were the best of friends and had the most amazing conversations from the moment we met and for 10 years after that.

I never dreamed the story would continue, but divorce has a funny way of opening the heart to new loves and so I fell in love over dirty dishes and half empty bottles of wine sitting at a kitchen table.

Then one day I started biking with a new friend I'd met along the way. We rode 22 miles round trip every Monday for weeks on end and we talked and laughed about everything. Somewhere along the way we fell in love, and my dear friend became so much more to me. We became so close on that bike path, he is the only person I've ever known who I trust enough to share everything without reservation. I can say anything at all and it will be okay. It all sort of snuck up on me and was even a little startling. And then, even more to my surprise, I fell in love again, this time with his daughter. This past Christmas he asked me to be his wife and I said, "Yes."

So, of all the places to fall in love, so far a bicycle has been my favorite :-) And although I believe that we have many loves in our lifetime, I also believe that there can be one who holds the special distinction of being the love of your life. I hope that the new loves in my life will all grow out of this love, and that is what makes this one the love of my life.

20 Things I Believe

2009-01-28T11:30:00.000-05:00

1. There are queen bees and worker bees, I am a queen bee and I've made my peace with that.
2. I'm exceedingly laid back about 70% of things, but ridiculously anal about the remaining 30%.
3. In my presence, for your own health and well being, I highly advise you to use a coaster.
4. I can't stand helpless, needy women.
5. I am even more repulsed by helpless, needy men.
6. I believe with all my heart and soul that a high quality free public education is essential to American democracy and in the past has been the foundation upon which our greatness has been built.
7. Knitting is magical.
8. I should do more yoga and drink less coffee.
9. I've learned to never say never. Nearly everything I said I'd never do or experience has happened.
10. There are many things I could give up, but I honestly can't imagine life without cheese.
11. I am convinced that the biological clock is a cruel joke. I never dreamed I'd want kids, or that wanting them could absorb so much of my mental energy.
12. The people in my life are amazingly wonderful and what is even more incredible is that the longer I'm on this planet the more wonderful people enter my life.
13. I can't believe I'm going to be a stepmother and I'm a little overwhelmed because I have NO idea how to do that job well.
14. The best days are the ones I start out grounded in gratitude, the worst are the ones when I'm feeling sorry for myself.
15. I hate winter with a fiery passion that grows stronger every year.
16. I've learned that people always meet my expectations. When I expect someone to let me down, they usually do, and when I expect great things, I usually get great things.
17. I'm glad my mother had the wisdom to turn off the TV and read to me.
18. Creativity is one of the greatest privileges of being human.
19. Laughter, though, must be the single greatest human ability.
20. Love really is the answer.

Christmas Wish

2008-12-02T12:36:00.004-05:00

Every Christmas I catch myself reminiscing about the days of my childhood when I would lay awake on Christmas Eve trying desperately to fall asleep so that Santa would come (he won't arrive until you're asleep you know.) Belief is so powerful and wonderful. My own was so strong that I didn't figure out that there wasn't a Santa, rather at the old age of 8 my mother had to sit me down and explain that Santa is simply a story. There once was a real St. Nicholas, but he lived a long time ago and now moms and dads do all of Santa's work. Even after being handed this frightful news, I still said, ".......but there is an Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy, right?"

In time I made peace with a cruel world without Santa and all the other fictional characters that bring magic and wonder into the life of a child. I may have grown too comfortable with it. Like it or not I've grown pretty cynical really. I don't trust strangers, I don't give money to homeless people on the street and I rarely give my phone number or address to anybody. If there were a Santa he'd have a hard time finding me. Is that to say I'm heartless? Not at all. Avoiding eye contact is a useful way to be safe in a city, I happily give granola bars or candy to homeless people and 3% of my income to the salvation army, who can do much more good than I can; and my personal information is best kept with people I know. The truth is that the world children know is largely fiction and that is okay.

Still, even though I know that most of the magic I once believed in is no more than a fantastic story, occasionally I catch myself wishing. When I look at the wide world and the small one that surrounds me I catch myself wishing for things. Little things and big things. Possible and impossible. There is brokenness all around us. Broken hearts, broken homes, broken countries, broken minds, broken souls, broken relationships and broken lives. I find myself wishing I could give a little girl her divorced parents back together and loving each other and her. Or wishing I could give the peace of forgiveness to someone filled with hate and self-loathing. Or wishing I could end wars and send young boys back to their distraught families. I wish no one would go hungry or lose their home or job. I wish everyone were cared for.

My original intent was to make a list of Christmas wishes, but what is interesting is that all of my wishes really have the same root. I really want just one thing. The cynic in me initially scoffed at the idea, but I guess that little girl who believed so fervently in Santa Claus ultimately won out. My wish is simple. I wish for love in every one's hearts. Love really is the answer. If we are really filled with love for ourselves and each other we will only bring love and joy into the lives of those around us. It's when all those other ugly things like selfishness and fear creep in that we begin to do harm and grow to be disrespectful and hateful. So it is simple and yet profound. My Christmas wish is love for all.

What do you wish for this year?

Live, Collapse, Smile

2008-11-24T19:45:00.005-05:00

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote the only book about the experience of divorce that I read and enjoyed. Most books about a woman surviving divorce are like a bad (as if there were good, but bear with me) Lifetime channel movie. Eat, Pray, Love hit home in ways that I can't even begin to express. This complete stranger is somehow a kindred spirit, we weirdly even share the same birthday. I cried through the first few chapters of the book, not because these were laden with any sort of sentimentality or overt emotional manipulation (as they do on Lifetime), but more because she had somehow managed to have a similar trajectory for her marriage.

Our stories start out similar. She married the person who seemed perfect at the time and eventually ended up with the marriage, home and career that she set out to have and somehow it was completely empty. There she was crying on the bathroom floor because she wasn't pregnant and was relieved, and yet that wasn't how she was supposed to feel. I've been on that bathroom floor, I've cried those tears. And much like her, it wasn't long after that realization that the marriage finally fell apart.

After and during her divorce she almost immediately fell into a passionate and ultimately doomed relationship, one that was intense and hard to shake, even after it was supposed to be over. I had the same experience, but this is where the overlap in our stories ends.

Elizabeth was a successful writer prior to her divorce, and so she managed to get a book deal allowing her to spend a year traveling the globe and writing about her experiences. I simply lost my job and home. Eat, Pray, Love refers to the three parts of her journey. She went to Italy and experienced pleasure to it's fullest through eating and soaking up life, while yet being celibate. Then she traveled to India where she learned spiritual devotion and even experienced some degree of enlightenment. Finally she went to Bali of all places and there she ultimately learned to balance pleasure and spirituality while learning to love again.

My story is less glamorous. My job ended, in part related to my divorce, but largely because I didn't fully appreciate it until it was gone. I didn't get to travel the world while I figured things out, I went to Ohio. So if I were so write the story using Elizabeth Gilbert's format, my story would be titled Live, Collapse, Smile.

After my ex-husband left I soon felt very free. I spent time with my friends, I finally began to feel at home in Detroit. Eventually I fell head over heels for someone in a short period of time. I'd never fallen so hard or so fast, for the first time in years I felt like I was really living my life rather than watching it pass me by. Suddenly I was making choices for myself, rather than doing what I thought I should or felt obligated to. No more resentment, no more feeling trapped, just me and my life. What is interesting is what I learned in that period. After all those years of resisting having children, of wishing I weren't married, and devoting my heart and soul to my career I came to realize that I really wanted everything I'd been fighting. I wanted to be married and have children and my career just didn't matter to me at all anymore. AND the current love of my life, the man I was so crazy about, wasn't the one to give me all of that.

Thus, the Collapse chapter began. I somewhat abruptly broke up with my love and everything fell apart. The full weight of everything crashed in around me and I felt like I was drowning. Everything I knew and understood about my world had changed. I cried without ceasing for over 24 hours, I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. I gave up. In the middle of all this I learned that I was losing my home. I felt such hopelessness and despair. All I wanted to do was sleep until it all stopped hurting. I wanted to just wake up years later when everything was better. Of course this is never an option, we have to live through our pain, and I barely did, but I made it with considerable help from my family and friends. Ultimately I had to let the last remnants of my old life go. My friends and family pulled together to pack up my things and move me to Ohio where they could take care of me while I picked up the pieces.

Ohio has been a string of unfulfilling and menial jobs living in a place that is far from interesting or cultured and somehow in the middle of all of that I found myself. For the first time in my life I'm clear about what I want and where I want to go. I even managed to find a wonderful person and fall in love........(yes again.) As much as it shocks me, what I really want is to take care of him and have a family together. I'm living my life as I want to, not as I perceive I'm supposed to or to please anyone else. Despite my being broke and having no discernible career, I'm happy. I smile and laugh all the time. I had all but forgotten how to do both before my marriage fell apart. I was numb then, and now I'm fully alive. It may not be perfect, it may be messy, but I'm living and smiling about it.

While Elizabeth Gilbert had the privilege of traveling the world to put the pieces of her life back together, I had the privilege of moving to Ohio. I fell in love with a great guy, who ultimately wasn't "the" guy, but helped me to see that I could love again. With him I got out of my dreary home and found the joys of living the way I'd always wanted to. I let go of that relationship and for a little while things seemed bleak, but I learned to let people love me and help me pull myself together. I had to fully collapse before I could find my joy again. My joy is a life quite ordinary in a place far from exceptional, yet spent with someone quite extrodinary. So my story is Live, Collapse, Smile, and I'm all the better for it, even if I didn't get to travel the world while I sorted it all out.

Why I (sort of) love Anarchists

2008-10-21T23:36:00.003-04:00

Sometimes a catchy title is worth a great deal............ But seriously, I have a point here. History and common sense will tell us that anarchy is a fool's errand and communism has proven to be a failed experiment in social engineering. The common Achilles heel for both of these belief systems is the assumption that at their core people are basically good. Systems such as government and capitalism are corrupting powers and somehow in the absence of these people will do right by each other. It all sounds good on paper, but somehow it just doesn't add up. Anthropologists will be the first to tell you that societies that lack formal government and organized economic structures are still far from Utopian. People still do wrong by each other, there is still crime and there is still unhappiness.

So why do I (sort of) love anarchists when clearly they "don't get it"? Well, maybe I have a perpetual fascination with the underdog (which I do), but there really is more to it. I really admire anyone who is capable of believing in the basic goodness of people. As a point of fact I disagree. I'm much more aligned with the Buddhists contrary to my Judeo-Christian upbringing. I just don't think people are at their core good or bad, they just ARE. The good and bad are in the choosing, the living, the doing, their BEING. Still, I have to give points to anyone who really believes in the basic goodness of people. I can't do it.

At heart I value a positive outlook and over time it is more and more clear to me that people who see possibilities where others see problems are the ones that change the world for the better. I suppose that is also where the anarchists and communists get it wrong; for all their belief in the goodness of people they seem to get bogged down in negativity that they attribute to systems without fully comprehending the connectedness of those "good" people to their systems.

As we look at the election we have to remember that to whatever extent our government has benefited or failed us, we play a part. I love the positive concept at the core of these fringe ideas, but we all know they got it all wrong. In the United States we don't exist outside our economy or government, we ARE our economy and government. It is a living and breathing reflection of us. These systems are made of people, and these people always have choices. We have the ability to BE the change we wish to see in the world. So please, whatever you do, just do something to make this world a slightly better place than you found it and who knows, maybe I'll change my mind and decide that after all people are basically good. I wouldn't mind being proven wrong.

Better Off?

2008-09-19T21:46:00.002-04:00

I have never bothered with politics on here, and I doubt I'll do or say much more than this little reflection, but this election is too critical. I can't help myself. Over the years politicians and pundits like to point back to Ronald Regan's persuasive question, "Are you better off now than you were four years ago?" So today I ask myself, am I better off than I was eight years ago? Well, that probably depends on how you look at it. I'm older and wiser and on the whole happy, but none of those qualities keep me fed, healthy or free. So here it is:

1. Eight years ago I taught in the lowest-paid inner city school in the county where I lived and I made twice as much annual salary as I do today.
2. I owned my own home and drove a new car; today I rent my home and drive a 10 yr. old used car.
3. My employer paid the majority of my health insurance premium and when I paid a copay the insurance paid the rest; today I pay 50% of the premium for health insurance that seldom pays for any of the services at my doctor and I have thousands of dollars in unpaid medical bills.
4. I was spending more on groceries than gasoline; now I spend more on gas than food.
5. Eight years ago I was living my American dream; now it seems life is more about survival and certainly less about living any sort of dream.

I never could have dreamed that my life could become what it now is. I never would have thought I would actually consider that I might be better off to marry a Canadian so I could be insured. (I actually checked out http://www.hookacanuck.com/ after watching Sicko.) Or that I would have ever had to apply for food stamps. I never thought I'd see my brother sent off to war (thank God he was sent home safely.) Or that I would live on unemployment. Or that I would be homeless. Yet, in the last 8 years I lived all of those things and more. Am I better off? In the ways that I expect governmental impact ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Surprise Date

2008-09-18T13:27:00.007-04:00

I love surprises, in fact I find people who don't quite suspect. Too much of our everyday lives are mundane and predictable, but a good pleasant surprise can be a real joy. So imagine my excitement a few weeks ago when on Friday morning my boyfriend informed me that we would be going out after work. When I inquired where, so that I would know how to dress etc., he said, "It's a surprise."

A known surprise has a flavor all its own. One can't help but speculate what it might be. The only information he provided was that we would be outside and to dress accordingly. So, in true girly fashion, I packed 2 outfits so I could get input from the girls at work regarding my fashion choices. When I arrived at work the speculation began. One theory was that we would be attending something called "Fire Water" which would be taking place downtown. Apparently there would be floating fires on the river and dancers on the riverfront. Another theory was the possibility of a marriage proposal. I actually was hedging my bets on Shakespeare in the Park.

At the end of my shift the consensus regarding my attire was to wear the white cotton pants and sage green knit top. I changed clothes in the stock room and came out to my department to wait for prince charming to pick me up. I was ready within minutes and waiting. My coworkers kept passing by and commenting that I looked nice and inquiring about my plans. Like a silly teenager I kept replying that my boyfriend was picking me up for a "surprise date." After a while I started to feel foolish, fifteen minutes had passed and still no white knight. I called. "Where are you?" He replied that he was with my dog (who should have been at his house.) Why on earth would he bring the dog? "At home?" Yes, he was still at home, an hour away. So my first surprise of the evening was that my date was not on time to pick me up.

There was an apparent mix-up about my schedule and he thought he had another hour before picking me up. I told him to meet me at a nearby bar, which he did in a little over an hour. There we had a snack of lettuce wraps and the surprise date was finally underway. We hopped in his car and appeared to be heading in the direction of downtown, which is a likely direction for any of the three surprise date hypotheses, however as we passed over the river floating camp fires of some sort came into view and it became apparent that "Fire Water" was at least a part of the plan.

We had to park several blocks away and as we walked out of the parking garage it began to get a little misty. Optimistically, we continued toward the river assuming the best, but the closer we were to the destination the more people seemed to walk in our direction. Eventually we learned that the event had been cancelled due to rain and we turned back. We were still 3 or 4 blocks from the parking garage when the sky opened up and an ocean's worth of water were dumped upon us and soaked us to the bone. Now, how people react to this sort of adventure can tell you a lot about them. If you ever want to really know someone just get caught in the rain, or stranded in an airport, or broken down in a car by the side of the road. At this juncture, surprise number 2 for the night, my boyfriend did not disappoint. We laughed, we hugged, we kissed and we walked back to the car smiling.

We although happy, were now wet and hungry and so we decide to head to the Short North, which is an area, filled with bars, restaurants, galleries and other fun nightlife. Upon arrival at our new and alternate destination my now translucent white pants have turned brown and muddy on the backside due to apparent poor interior car maintenance on the part of said boyfriend. Ah, but this third (or is it the 4th) surprise cannot ruin our night, I packed 2 outfits! So I changed clothes in the parking garage and we were once again on our way.

We decided to head toward a sports bar where boyfriend had remembered eating good food at some time in the past and commenced in the spirit of adventure to order a dish called a gator ball. Now in retrospect the gator ball concept is probably as ill-advised as the southern "delicacy" known as the turduckin, but we were weary, wet and hungry and clearly not thinking at full capacity. A gator ball as described on the menu is a cheese stuffed hot pepper surrounded by chicken and then bacon, which is then fried. It is a well known and often noted characteristic of bars that these establishments are intentionally lit poorly. One could argue that it is for ambience or excitement, but often I've assumed that the reason is to hide an otherwise shabby and poorly cleaned space. I now have an alternate theory. This also disguises flaws in food preparation.

By the time the gator balls arrived I was ready to gnaw my own arm off and I took a hearty bite of this big ball of greasy wonder. Mmm...crunchy bacon and..........what is that? Fat? Chicken isn't that fatty. What could explain the texture in my mouth? I took a second bite before holding the gator ball up to a sliver of light to realize I wasn't chewing on fat at all. RAW CHICKEN! Now that is a surprise you don't get every day. I've always believed that in times of crisis it is wise to call upon experts and so I called the only public health official I know to ask the burning questions on my mind. 1. Should I make myself throw up as a preventative measure? 2. Is there any amount of alcohol that if consumed would counter the effects of salmonella poisoning? According to my well respected expert the answer to both questions was a resounding, "No." Meanwhile boyfriend was conferring with the management of our new favorite restaurant and of course they would be happy to make us something else and of course we didn't owe them a dime, and of course we got the hell out of that festering cesspool of raw meat as fast as our legs would carry us.

With a mixture of horror and humor we left in search of food because, although nauseated we were also hungry. The bouncer at our next stop raved about the food and so we paid our cover, worked through the crowd to get a booth and sat down a little relieved to notice better lighting for starters. Then our waitress approached the table and we learned that the kitchen was closed. Groan........... The surprises just keep on coming. And so we leave requesting a refund from the bouncer and head to what would finally be our last stop.

This place was packed and the kitchen was actually open. We ordered a pizza for $12.95, which upon arrival would have been a disappointment since it was only about 7 inches in diameter, but instead it was like manna from heaven for our weary little tummies. We took a picture with the ole' camera phone to commemorate our adventure and then headed home because we had all the surprises two people can ingest in one evening.

Lifetime for Men

2008-08-26T08:56:00.001-04:00

If you've ever had the misfortune of viewing a movie on the Lifetime channel or reading a book from Oprah's book club you already know that men are jerks who ruin the lives of women and drive them to drinking and all matter of horrible destructive behavior. Now, before I say much more let the record show that I concur that 98% of men are jerks. I've had my fair share of jerk men in my life, I could easily make a dozen Lifetime movies from my own life. Furthermore, I know of much worse from the lives of others. Only problem is that women can be pretty awful too, which left me wondering, why isn't there a lifetime channel for men?

Imagine a plot something like this: A hardworking all-American guy from Detroit meets a sweet young girl from a trailer park and is swept up in a romance of sorts only to discover that early in the relationship she has become pregnant. Having been raised with good "family values" he does the honorable thing and marries her only to discover shortly after the nuptials that she is in fact NOT pregnant at all. Still an honorable guy who believes in love, he sticks with her with the understanding that they'd wait a while to have any children. Yet within a short time she is pregnant, this time in reality, not fantasy. During the pregnancy he cares for her and prepares their home for the baby. At some point she asks to put her name on the deed to the house and of course he agrees. Shortly after the birth of the child and nearly moments after the ink is dry on the deed she leaves, files for divorce, and commences to take the man for all he is worth while denying him access to his only child. The child living in squalor back in the trailer park and developing a hearty smokers cough by the age of 2. All the while the unjust legal system giving the less-than-equipt mother preferential treatment and all of his money.

This little narrative is based largely on events in the life of someone I know and the truth is I could tell stories all day about men who have been largely screwed over by women and a system that doesn't seem to value fathers very much. In fact I think most people could think of stories like these involving people in their own lives. So the question for me is why isn't there a whole industry centered around the poor beaten down guy story? Women's lives as ruined by men is arguably a billion dollar industry, so why not men?

At the end of the day I believe society as a whole is more comfortable with the man as victimizer, woman as victim paradigm. Men certainly don't want to see themselves as victims, and honestly I don't think women want to see them that way either. Conversely we are somehow very comfortable with women as victims, although we always love the happy ending where they stick it to "the man" and get a "liberating" job as a secretary somewhere and pay the rent on their crappy two bedroom apartment all by themselves.

Right or wrong women have managed to get disproportionate rights as a result of this paradigm. On the whole we as women are peripherally aware of it, but since we get so few advantages its always nice to have that ace up our sleeve. Men are reticent to draw attention to the vicimhood for a variety of reasons, largely because in the end the scenario still gets turned back on them. They still end up the jerk.

Imagine this scenario: Parent A & B divorce. At the time of the divorce parent A is staying at home with the only child. The custody arrangement gives parent A 55% of the time with the child and parent B 45% of the time. Parent B is required to pay one third of his/her income to Parent A and to pay for the child's health care expenses. This arrangement doesn't change even if the stay-at-home parent secures employment. Which parent is the mother? Of course the answer is A. The real clincher here is that if the father in this scenario were to fight to pay any less given that mom is now working and not paying for rent he would be a jerk for trying to reduce his child support even though he pays all the child's expenses during the 45% of the time that he has the child.

I suppose the answer is that in a perfect world we would all feel empowered enough that we don't view ourselves or others as victims. Or even better, we learn to value one another and chose to treat each other with love and respect so that fairness might reign supreme. Until then we're stuck with the lifetime channel and some men silently squashed by an unfair system...............

Someone Else's Path

2008-08-19T22:53:00.000-04:00

“If you see your path laid out in front of you -- Step one, Step two, Step three -- you only know one thing... it is not your path. Your path is created in the moment of action. If you can see it laid out in front of you, you can be sure it is someone else's path. That is why you see it so clearly.”
-- Joseph Campbell

I spend a certain amount of time and emotional energy feeling somewhat lost these days. I've re-formatted my entire life around a new set of principals. I've let myself imagine the life I never dared to dream of and am trying to trust that this life will materialize. I'm making all of my decisions within the context of my true passions, but I don't have a rigid structured path to follow. On the one hand this is difficult, yet on the other I'm growing to see the wisdom in it.

In what now seems nearly foreign to me, my former life had a clear and recognizable path. I graduated from high school and went to a nice college. I graduated college and got a good job. I married a good man, we got a good little dog. (I did fail to have the good kids..........) My career progressed to another good job. ...........and yet the whole time I was terribly unhappy. Worst of all I couldn't understand why. I had all the stuff in place that I was supposed to have. I had a nice house, a new car, I was even on the society pages a few times. And it was completely empty. I was never going to find joy along someone else's imaginary path.

At the end of the day I want more. I want to wake up with a lightness of spirit and anticipation of the day ahead. I want dread to become a distant memory. I want to live a joyful life and bring joy into other people's lives. I can't do that unless I'm living the life I truly want to live. The truth is that there is no way that I could possibly plan the next steps conclusively without closing the door inadvertently to the infinite possibilities that exist. There is no clear path because there is but one of me and if I'm ever to sort it all out I'm beginning to realize that when I arrive wherever it is that I am going, I could have never anticipated the path that took me there. As my grandmother Clara used to say, "I've never been lost forever."

Purlygrl and Cy-Boar's Summer of Fun 07

2008-07-30T13:51:00.000-04:00

Last summer I had so much fun and was so busy, that I never managed to post my photos and commentary from summer so here goes:

I didn't have the money or where-with-all to travel much last summer so I spent my free time enjoying the fun that Ohio has to offer.

The particular area where Cy-Boar and I reside is about an hour from city life, but what we do have is plenty of gorgeous nature. This comical sign was in front of a gas station near a park where we hike. What could one love more than the freedom of Sunday beer sales and value-priced firewood in one convenient location? Certainly makes me proud to be an American.

One of the popular activities/attractions in smalltown Ohio during the summer is always the county fair. Of course you can enjoy fried foods, livestock auctions, and yes you can also purchase your headstone and visit a wax sculpture of a blue-eyed Jesus. On a more personal note, my peach pie got 2nd place at the Marion County Fair and went for a quite respectable sum at the pie auction.

Since my birthday is in July, birthday celebration is always a part of my summer's activities. And since my 29th birthday was in 2007 it also happened to be the last birthday I plan to ever have. Here Cy-Boar and I enjoyed a lovely Italian dinner and I received a comfy hammock to laze away the days of summer.

If I had my way I'd visit a white sandy beach with crystal clear blue water every summer, but this was not the year for that. Still, believe it or not Ohio does have some sub-par beaches, and where better to spend the afternoon of the day you were fired from a less than inspiring job?

I can't leave out the other men in my life, so here I am at a family wedding with my baby brother, my grandpa and my dad. Of course the best picture from this wedding though is of a group of bikers doing the hokey poky...............

Of course all good things come to an end so the official closure to our summer was Labor Day weekend in Detroit where Cy-Boar and his little one and I spent time with friends and had a nice trip to the zoo.

On Miracles

2008-07-08T00:16:00.000-04:00

"There are only two ways to live your life: One is as though nothing is a miracle, The other is as though everything is a miracle. I believe in the latter."

-- Albert Einstein

In my family I have the privilage/dubious distinction of being the eldest of 10 cousins on my father's side of the family. Thus, I have changed countless diapers as the family babysitter and have fond memories of watching my cousins grow up.

On Friday, which was July 4th, I was reminded of one of my favorite memories of one of my cousins. When a particular little one was just a tot we took him to a baseball game that was followed by fireworks. I'm not sure if he had ever seen fireworks before that evening or not since he had spent the first couple of years of his life in Uganda, Africa, but regardless of the question of novelty, his reaction was priceless. After the first one burst in the air he said, "It's a miricle!" in a wistful and awestruck tone like I have never heard before or since. It was of course adorable at the time, but I suspect it has stuck with me all these years (said child is now in college) because it was so much more poignant than cute.

He really believed it was a miracle. Any of us could have told him what he surely knows now, which is that there is a clear and understandable scientific explanation for what he saw. And I suppose that is the reason that so few of us truly believe in miracles as adults. At some point we learn that the magician isn't magical, its all a clever trick. And of course Santa AND the Easter Bunny turn out to be Mom and Dad. Yet sometimes it saddens me when I remember believing in magic and fairies.

What is interesting is that no one teaches us how to see the miracles that are all around us. The marriages that last, the single parents that raise amazing kids, the people who make the world a better place. The rare people who love each other unconditionally. Those crazy people who belive in peace.............

Our lives are a miracle, I guess sometimes we miss that when our wisdom and experience get in the way.

The Secret

2008-06-16T12:43:00.000-04:00

Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past couple of years, at some point you have at least heard of The Secret. This is a new age/ metaphysical/ spiritual/ philosophical phenomenon that has swept the country through books, film and various other media outlets. The concept is simple, and isn’t anything new (nor does it claim to be) it simply packages an existing idea in a well structured way. The “secret” to success in life is entirely rooted in positive thinking. I of course have over simplified it here, but The Secret is well worth looking into and even more worthwhile if you can practice it.

That said, I would like to suggest that there is a second “secret” that is much more challenging, but also equally rooted in a concept we also already know, although often struggle to implement. The secret to happiness in life is self-love. Now, on some level we all know that in order to fully love others and be loved we have to love ourselves, but in reality this is something that we mostly give lip service to when counseling a brokenhearted friend. How many of us truly love ourselves? If someone asked you point blank, “Do you love yourself?” Is the answer yes?

In my own case I’d be lying if I were to say so. There are aspects of myself that I dearly love and am quite proud of, but do I simply love myself unconditionally, wholeheartedly and without judgment? That is what I seem to want from those who love me, but do I really even feel that way about myself? Not really. Better yet, do I know anyone else who does? That is tricky, because it isn’t arrogance or conceit, those are fakes; real self-love is total acceptance and affirmation of who you are, whereas arrogance and conceit are overcompensations for perceived deficits. I can only think of a few people who are really at peace with themselves and simply, confidently love who they are. I want to be one of those people. So if the “secret” is self-love, what is the secret to the secret?

New Strategy

2008-05-14T22:39:00.000-04:00

Counting my blessings:

-Sounds lame, but I do have a "roof over my head", and it is pretty amazing since I was rendored homeless a little over a year ago.
-Loving and supportive family (they can be crazy, but I can't imagine life without them.)
-A job where I'm successful and appreciated for my efforts (despite the crappy pay, I could work any number of similar jobs and be quite miserable by comparison.)
-The sun is out on a semi-regular basis these days.
-I have an amazing love in my life and he really loves me too.

I'll try to revisit this concept more frequently..............

Kicked in the Teeth

2008-05-14T00:27:00.000-04:00

Something inside of me wants to find some grand meaning, some overarching purpose for the random string of events that make up my life. It would be easier to stomach the speeding ticket I got on Monday if I felt there were anything to be learned other than to invest in a radar detector if driving through the minefield of speed traps otherwise known as Delaware County, OH. It would be less shameful to owe various members of my family countless sums of money if there were an end in site. If I knew when and how I would ever pay it all back.

I've applied for countless jobs that I could easily work with a high likelihood of success and over and over again door after door gets slammed in my face. And like a battered wife I keep turning to life with wide eyed and ill advised optimism expecting that this time it's going to be different. But with each new opportunity comes another crushing blow.

One could argue this isn't true, after all, I've been employed all this time. Of course I'm grossly under employed. At each sales job my employers, coworkers and customers ask in amazement what a smart girl like me is doing in a place like this, and honestly I have no idea. I'm selling makeup is the best answer I have.

The year that I thought I was spending getting my life on track after my divorce and all the upheaval that coincided with that experience has turned into a year and a half, with no end in sight. And as I stare down my 30th birthday I feel a great sense of dread and panic.

I never dreamed I'd give 30 a second thought, it isn't old at all to me. But then, I never dreamed my life would be so far off track at 30. When I was 25 my life was much more what I expected of 30, but facing 30 with no discernible career or family is disheartening at the very least. I'd rather crawl in a hole and hide than face the embarrassment that is my unfulfilling life.

I'm not looking to be rescued, I'm not even asking for a miracle or anything. I just want fulfilling work with adequate compensation and time to spend with family and friends. You'd think a person with a couple of degrees and a fairly respectable resume could find that.............

Spring Has Sprung

2008-04-06T19:18:00.000-04:00

In nature we all know that Spring comes in its own time with little regard for the Roman calendar. And each year there is a first day of Spring as we personally experience it. In Ohio that day usually has a few more Winter-like ones that follow it, but that first day is still the first. It's the day when things get a little less grey, the sun shines a little longer and brighter, and evidence of new life begins to peek up from the soil and out from dull pointy branches. Children and teenagers pull out their shorts and flip flops as if 62 degrees were 82, and middle-aged couples start cultivating their gardens. Neighbors come out of their front doors and linger on the porch as I can only imagine bears moseying out of their caves after a long hibernation.

Personally I have so many memories of this particular holiday. I remember this day the way I remember Christmases and birthdays. As a child I always skipped home from school on this day and maybe cut lilacs for my teacher. In college I remember every hipster with a guitar descended upon the quad and as an adult I remember ditching work early with my best girlfriend to sip gin and tonics at a pub with sidewalk cafe seating. Last year there was a brief warm spell in March, but the first day of Spring as I remember it was April 20th. Now, usually I don't remember the date when this glorious holiday occurs, but last year was special.

April 20th is the day that my divorce was final. The finality was slow in coming since my ex-husband and I had been apart for nearly a year and a half at that point, but still it’s a date you can't forget. The day began grey, cold and windy. I remember sitting in the hall outside the courtroom talking to a woman who was the closest thing to and angel I had ever known. She was waiting for court that day to change her name. After her divorce she had kept her ex-husband's name for the sake of her children, who were now grown, thus the impetus for her appearance. I don't remember much about what she said, but it brought great comfort to have her there. My own mother, and countless friends had offered to join me that day, but I didn't want to face the humiliation of divorce with an audience of those I loved. Strangers seemed the best audience. A part of me wished my ex were there, he was there at the beginning, he should be there at the end, but I suppose it happened as it needed to. What was funny to me was that part of the delay in completing my divorce was that I'd filled out the paperwork improperly to begin with and I'd had to start the process over in order to insure that my name was restored.

All of the cases on the docket ahead of me were family court in nature. Divorce asset disputes, custody issues, my new friend with the name change and me. It only takes a matter of moments to get divorced, and no matter how prepared you are, you don't know what to expect. People had told me how cold the experience had felt, but I guess the judge in my case was unusually warm. He asked if the husband were present, I sheepishly said, "No, he lives out of state." The judge said, "That's okay, he doesn't have to be here." He asked if I were pregnant, which I was not, and then verified that I did want to restore my maiden name, and it was done. The judge half smiled and looked me in the eye, somehow acknowledging my hurt and sent me on my way. As soon as I stepped outside the courthouse I called the ex and told him it was done. We briefly chatted as if this were normal. He told me about his date he'd planned that night and I shared that I was joining my ex-boyfriend and some friends for a wine tasting. It was weird at best, but as we were talking the clouds parted, the sun came out and warmed my face and it became a beautiful day.

Following my morning in court I went to a favorite suburb to sit at a sidewalk cafe and have some lunch. My friends were all working and I really felt like peace and quiet were in order. I ordered a salad and a split of champagne. I called my best friend and we talked for a minute or two. Mostly I just enjoyed the sunshine and fresh air. Breathing was easier, life was new, I felt as light as the bubbles in my champagne. There was even a handsome guy at the adjacent table who struck up a conversation and asked for my number. I was free to give it without even a tinge of guilt, so I did. I never intended to see him again, but on principal I gave the number because I could. And he did call, several times, but I never called him back. I didn't need or want to.

That night was the next to the last time I saw the ex-boyfriend, whom I had loved dearly, and at some point he had loved me, but the relationship at it's best was the epitome of bad timing. I had met him right at the time when my marriage fully disintegrated and as much as we were attracted to each other everything got off to the wrong start and we never figured out how to normalize the relationship. At the wine tasting that night he was distant and detached, what I used to see in his eyes was completely gone. I remember telling a friend of his that this was the last time she was likely to see me and I was right. Some things don't grow back in the Spring, some Winters are too harsh.

What is more interesting is that April 20th is the birthday of a little girl I hadn't even met yet, but I had already befriended her father. And this morning it was her voice that woke me from my slumber. And much to my surprise, I've grown to love her as much as I love her father. And this morning as I drove from her house to mine I passed the fields I've grown to know so well and I saw the first little green sprouts indicating Spring. I thought about my earliest trips past these fields, how I had watched this process before, and I realized that this time we'd weathered the winter. This guy is still here and everything between us is still growing and healthy and vibrant. What a joy it is to grow with someone. Yes, this truly is a holiday like no other.

Pretty Girls

2008-03-20T12:06:00.000-04:00

I was a goofy looking kid. My mother is the only one who would argue to the contrary, and let’s face it, that’s her job. I was scrawny and pale. All of my facial features and body parts were on their own separate growth and development plans and as a result didn’t hold together aesthetically as a whole. There were points in my growing up years where my school picture showcases disproportionate facial features not unlike those on Mrs. Potato Head. One family vacation photo reveals knees that seem larger than the thighs above them, arms not unlike toothpicks and yet a perfectly round little belly. It’s almost as if my tummy stole all the body fat that should have been dispersed throughout the remainder of my body. Of course the crowning glory of this particular photo is the bad perm that topped off my “eye catching” appearance. The good news is that we all grow up, but sometimes not as quickly as we would prefer.

I knew I was goofy looking; some of the other kids didn’t look like mutants. In fact my own brother was ALWAYS cute. He never had an “awkward phase.” He always looked adorable. Around 6th grade I was introduced to fashion magazines. Those girls were pretty and the magazine told you how to look just like them. Of course the adults in my life were quick to point out that even those girls didn’t really look like that on their own, they had makeup artists and stylists and talented photographers who made them look that way. Perfect! The solution to my problem was to be a model. Then I would be pretty.

Enter Barbizon modeling school. I discovered this wonderful institution in my Teen magazine among ads for breast growing cream and fat camps in the back of the issue. My mother humored me and made the call, conveniently they have offices everywhere and one was just an hour away. She made the appointment and we headed for Columbus. Unlike typical modeling agencies who take a cut from the fees a model is paid, this place “trains” you to be a model (for a hefty fee) and then help you find work. It was fairly apparent that they would take just about any warm body, including a goofy kid like me. My parents could neither afford, nor did they trust such an organization so my modeling career never took off.

Sixth grade was pivotal for another reason—cheerleading. I was reasonably popular in sixth grade. I got along well with most of the girls in my grade and aside from some academic issues, things were going along swimmingly. At the end of the school year were try outs for 7th grade cheerleading. Every one of us was excited, especially me. I grew up attending high school football games and some of my first “role models” were high school cheerleaders. I had always wanted to cheer. My pals and I were a flurry of activity practicing cheers in all of our free time during the weeks leading up to try outs. Then, the unthinkable happened, I didn’t make the squad. It hurt, but it wasn’t until the following year that the full impact sunk in. I was no longer popular. I was lost. In time those girls became the pretty girls and in time I accepted my fate, I was not a pretty girl.

As I grew older and wiser I developed very sophisticated feminist opinions about all of that. I would much prefer to be recognized for my intelligence and talent. Pretty was for girls who had nothing else going for them. I wore little or no makeup, my clothes were tasteful and professional, well tailored, but never drew attention to me or my body. On a date I went to great pains to give the impression that I hadn’t put any special energy into my appearance beforehand. I wanted to be liked for who I was, not what I looked like. I had a very sophisticated system in place to NOT be pretty. In fact, I probably put as much time, thought and energy into not being pretty as most people invest in being pretty.

Life has a funny way of bringing it all full circle though. My career took off on a tangent that I never expected. After investing time, energy and education in establishing a meaningful career in the nonprofit world, the economy and my life took a huge hit. I found myself floundering and unemployed. I sold furniture for a while, then lingerie and now cosmetics. Cosmetics!? It’s almost comical to those who know me. I pursued the job because there was more money in makeup than bras. It was a pragmatic choice, and I was going to sell fragrance anyway, which clearly is different……..

The job requires that I wear makeup to work every day. At first that seemed like a time consuming extra step to add to my day, but eventually I got used to it. In fact I’ve learned a great deal about makeup, how to wear it, and what products are great and so on. Secretly I started liking makeup a bit. Then one day my fellow “beauty advisors” and I were standing around talking about an open position in our department and one lady commented about an elderly woman who works in another department and had applied for the job. It was comical to everyone that she would even apply; she didn’t fit the image at all. It was at that moment that I realized I had become one of them. I was a pretty girl.

This really sent my little psyche into a tailspin. What had I done? I had become what I reviled. And yet I wasn’t either. I’m smart and capable. What am I doing here? I became increasingly ashamed of what I had become. When people asked me what I did for a living I felt like I was apologizing for myself when I told them that I sold cosmetics. Then I had an unusual interaction with a customer that began to shift my thinking. This woman came in to pick up her usual mascara and I chatted with her and succeeded at getting her to add three more products to her purchase with very little effort on my part. As I was collecting her credit card she commented on my height and asked if I had ever played basketball. I told her that I get asked that all the time, but no I was never coordinated enough. I’ve always preferred running, biking, and hiking over team sports. Her reply was amusing to say the least, “Well, you’re pretty; I guess you don’t have to be good at anything.” She collected her things and walked away. Now I’m sure she meant any sports, not ANYTHING, but even so, she expressed a sentiment I once held. And of course it is untrue; I’m good at all sorts of things, including sales. So good in fact that even though she dismissed me as just another pretty face, I had just sold her $60 worth of things she didn’t plan to buy, and she wasn’t even fully aware of what I had just done. And so I learned a very valuable lesson. There is in fact an amazing power, strength and intelligence in being pretty and maybe that is something worth embracing. Maybe it’s okay to be a pretty girl after all.

Stupid Things People Say

2008-02-29T08:52:00.000-05:00

Okay, so we all have our pet peeves. As a kid my mom never let me end a sentence in a preposition and so later as a teacher I became the one who does this to kids:

Little Johnny says, "Can I go to the bathroom?"
Anal grammar freak teacher says, "I'm sure you CAN.....I wonder if you MAY?"
Little Johnny begrudgingly says, "May I go to the restroom?"
Anal grammar freak teacher says, "Yes you may Johnny."

At the end of the day I'll be the first to admit that I get a little hung up on grammar, but honestly, we have it for a reason.

One thing I seem to have noticed is that common grammar errors are occasionally colloquial. For example, New Yorkers who unnecessarily pluralize things such as somewheres, nowheres, anywheres.

My peeve of the day seems to be Midwestern in origin. I've noticed it both in Ohio and Michigan, but I don't know exactly how pervasive this offence is. You see, for some unexplained reason Midwesterners are under the mistaken impression that the sinuses are an affliction, not a part of the body.

I have had a cold for most of the winter. Persistent post nasal drip ad nauseam. Frequently people say, "Oh you've got sinuses too, huh? I've had them all Winter, they just won't go away." Well, yes OF COURSE YOU HAVE, and NO I certainly hope for your sake they don't go away. Sinuses are standard equipment on ALL human beings! It's sort of like saying, "Oh I see you have and arm too, I've had one all Winter, just can't seem to get rid of it." I really fear that one of these days I'll snap and start a basic human anatomy lesson for some poor soul who is trying to be empathetic.

So this is my peeve of the moment. I'm curious about other people's grammatical and otherwise stupid or confused peeves so feel free to post them here.

On Love

2008-02-14T10:00:00.000-05:00

I started this blog roughly this time last year. In the back of my mind I was hoping it would chronicle the year (singluar) that I spent in my hometown regrouping before resuming my otherwise fabulous life and moving on to bigger and better things. I am still here. My life has no outword signs of fabulosity. Despite the fact that I made the least amount of money I have ever earned, and my finances are a constant challenge for my creativity, my life here is pretty rich. Will I be here forever? Probably not, but as it turns out this is a good place to be.

Although I haven't been on the receiving end of sizeable paychecks, or great accolades for my professional successes, I have received a great deal of love. In fact I've never felt so loved in all my life. From the moment I packed up my life in Detroit the people who love me whether friends or family, rushed in to support and encourage and care for me. Every time I go back to visit everyone is so happy to see me, and I'm thrilled to see them. And down here in Ohio my family is always there when I need them in any sort of way. And I get to spend quality time with them, which is something I was just "too busy" to do before.

While here I've met someone truely special who loves me and appreciates me. When life's dissappointments show up he is there to pick up the pieces without ever being asked. And life's little triumphs are even more joyous because he is there to share them. He can support and listen without judging and it seems like there isn't anything he can't handle. Around this time last year I read True Love by Thich Nhat Hanh. I was inspired and discouraged. The way he described loving another person was exactly the way I thought love should be, and yet I'd never experienced that. Now I have, and it is wonderful.

What I'm learning about love is this: love is infinite and limitless. The degree to which we can be loved is only limited by the amount of love we are willing to allow into our lives. AND the degree to which we can love others is only limited by the amount of love we are willing to share with the people in our lives. Love begets love. The more we are open to giving and receiving love the more love will enter our lives. Its a remarkable phenomenon to say the very least.

Knitting for Peace

2008-02-11T22:03:00.000-05:00

My boyfriend created this little comic as a Christmas card. It’s cute, its funny, and the ending is poignant. When I showed it to my grandmother, she said, “You better get busy with that last part.” With sarcasm in my voice I replied, “Yeah…..”

As impossible as it may seem, the truth is that we all see little snippets of peace on earth every day. I realized this a little over a week ago when visiting my pals in Detroit. When most people, even Detroiters sadly, think of Detroit the image is glum. People think of a city long past its prime. A place filled with poverty, crime and little hope of regaining its former glory. When I think of Detroit I don’t think of urban decay and unemployment, no, thoughts of Detroit fill my heart with the warmth and the loving spirit of the people who live there.

My recent trip was mostly focused on my knitting buddies. We participated in a fundraiser for breast cancer research on Saturday and had an all girls Superbowl party on Sunday. The weekend was inspiring to say the least. On Saturday we experienced the comradery of working together for a cause, but more importantly we met an extraordinary person. This young woman attended the same event the previous year and was inspired to do something big for breast cancer research. She pledged to raise $10,000.00 and if successful she would shave her head. Saturday she arrived with no hair. What was more spectacular was that she exceeded her goal. She raised $20,000.00. In addition to those efforts she also began working with prisoners at a women’s prison teaching them to crochet chemo caps. These prisoners pledged to make 500 chemo caps. According to sources at the prison her efforts have led to a complete turnaround in the women there. Suddenly there were less fights, more cooperation. The women were teaching each other and working together for something meaningful. My friends and I were blown away. For anyone who is under the mistaken impression that the efforts of just one person are inconsequential I would like to introduce them to a young factory worker who has changed the lives of countless people with her efforts.

Sunday was the now annual “Knitting Bowl” all girls Superbowl party. One of my fabulous knitting buddies is the host and we usually have soups and munchies and lots of knitting fun. Another great recurring tradition is the Superbowl brownies lovingly made and decorated by Joe the wonder husband. Last year’s brownie bowl was played by cats, this year we had aliens vs. ninjas. Although the snacks were lovely, what was truly inspiring was the community gathered in that humble living room. In one room we had the most diverse group of people thoroughly enjoying their time together. There were women of varied and even opposing faiths, races and economic backgrounds and sharing love and laughter and fun. One woman, a Muslim convert, another Jewish, and others Catholic, Protestant, Atheist and Agnostic.

Two of the women work for the same company in vastly different capacities, one and hourly union employee while the other is salaried management. Yet another woman is fighting cancer and brought a tote bag with the message: Cancer can kiss my ass. A whole rainbow of skin, hair and eye colors filled the room. Our respective bank account balances likely varied greatly and yet the sum total of all these differences only added up to a greater richness.

What binds us is the shared experience of our humanity, the realization that there is so much that we all share, and even those things which seem different aren’t all that different from up close. Those differences are what make us who we are and are ultimately what we love about one another.

Every week these women get together for the simple and yet profound purpose of knitting and in the end their lives weave together like the fabrics they knit. This is peace on earth. If only the rest of the world could visit this living room……………

House of Four Rooms

2008-01-17T21:05:00.000-05:00

"There is an Indian Belief that everyone is in a house of four rooms: A physical, a mental, an emotional and a spiritual. Most of us tend to live in one room most of the time, but unless we go into every room everyday, even if only to keep it aired, we are not complete."

-- Rumer Godden

Ok, so on principal alone, I don't do New Years resolutions. I can't bring myself to make commitments I can't follow through with. I do like the idea though. Start the year by pausing to reflect and readjust one's living. In truth I think I've spent the better part of a year in a state of constant reflection, but now is a good time to look back and figure out how to look forward.

In the last year nearly every aspect of my life has shifted, moved or been dumped completely on its ear. I've been in and out of relationships, jobs, homes, cars, debt and countless other things. I've seen, done and experienced a whole litany of things I wouldn't have fathomed just a few years ago. And at this moment I'm still upright and breathing and possibly even a little more sane than I was even a year ago.

One of the things that I seem to be learning on this crazy ride through uncharted life is that there is something profound to be understood about a well balanced life. I always knew that peripherally, but figured when I was less busy with work, or when the kitchen renovations were complete, or whenever the preoccupation of the moment subsided I'd slow down and meditate on that one. Interestingly enough, everything came crashing down around me and my choice was to give up, crawl under the rubble and die OR I could choose to start living my life, and maybe this time do it differently.

I chose life and in doing so I knew I had to turn my back on the old life in both literal and metaphoric ways. If this were a movie, that would be the happy ending, but life isn't that neat and orderly. In a myriad of ways this has been an atrocious year, but for now I'll focus on what I've learned.

1. Absolutely anyone can become homeless. I don't care how much money or education you have, life can go horribly wrong in such a short time. Without the help of my friends and family I would be on the street today.

2. People seldom offer help they don't intend to give. Receiving their help isn't weakness, it makes both of you stronger.

3. Hope is the only antidote to depression.

4. I'd rather be homeless than heartbroken (and I don't recommend doing both at the same time.)

5. None of the things that absorbed my time and energy were there to sustain me when life went topsy turvey. My career and home were gone and could bring no comfort to me.

6. The people in my life, whom I had sadly neglected for more "practical" concerns, their love and support was the glue that held me together.

And so the balance, it was all off. There were rooms of my house that I never entered. I was too busy for emotional things, or spiritual things, oftentimes I even neglected physical things. This year I learned that I have to bring balance to my life if I don't want the walls to fall in around me again. No resolutions, just a guiding principal.............live life in balance. One can only hope that a life in balance will be blessed with love, harmony and prosperity.

Why Knitting?

2007-11-25T16:32:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been asked why you loved something or someone and found yourself at a loss for the answer? You just do, you always have, its like air, you can't imagine life before or after this love of yours. Such is the case when I think about knitting, or quilting for that matter.

I believe all art has a transformative quality, to be able to participate in the act of creation is divine and yet my experiences with fiber arts are even more remarkable. Knitters, crocheters and quilters have a long tradition of community. Their art is taught and shared and grown in groups and a part of the shared experience of their lives. When you join a knitting group or a quilt guild you don't just share your problems with purling you share your heartaches and your joys. Your scarves grow as your children and grandchildren grow, you weather death and divorce and plan weddings and bar mitzvahs. Every sweater and quilt is filled with parts of you and the women you love. It has a history before it is even worn.

Knitting is magical. A wad of fiber becomes yarn, which one stitch at a time transforms into an object of beauty (at least in the eye of the knitter) and a unique heirloom is created. There is satisfaction in the making and completion, personal growth within a community and ultimately a product that will give comfort to whomever receives it. Knitting is such a powerful way to invest ourselves in the human experience; to both create and commune. Why do I love knitting? It is the only magic I have ever really known.

All I Really Want............

2007-11-15T08:40:00.000-05:00

Ever remember something that hasn't entered your mind since what seems like forever? I had that experience very recently.

The psychologist in me is always fascinated by the nature/nurture phenomenon. How much of who we are is "hard-wired" in our DNA and how much is the sum total of our experiences? And better yet, how do we know? This is mostly a curiosity for me and not a real research problem I intend to solve, mostly because I suspect there will never be an answer and part of me likes the mystery that such a quandary creates. Anyway..............

Since I've sort of rebooted my life lately and find myself in the process of reinventing my life I've found myself pulling back and really asking, "what do I want?" Recently I was trying to imagine my ideal life without allowing my logical side to interrupt and the most vivid memory washed over me.

When I was in high school one of my teachers, probably an English teacher, although I don't exactly remember, asked us to write an essay about our ideal life. What it would look and feel like, what a "typical day" would be like. I can remember nearly every thought, image and feeling from that essay. What is remarkable is how similar my desires are now. The place I imagined, the life I was living, the way I was spending my time. All are things I still want today (with a few additions and modifications.) Remarkable really.

I suspect that I "forgot" this little dream because I decided at some point that is wasn't realistic or responsible. I'm sure if I had remembered it or stumbled across the actual essay I would have chalked it up to youthful idealism and dismissed it offhand, but I really was on to something. I knew what would make me happy, what would be the truest expression of myself. I knew it better as a kid than I seem to have as an adult. Amazing really. At some point I started trying to live a logical, orderly life that fit someone else's mold. I never even let myself want anything for myself somehow assuming my needs would get met in the end, or maybe disregarding them altogether. Maybe its time to listen to the inner teenager (excluding fashion choices) and pursue a life less ordinary?

On Beauty

2007-11-11T11:47:00.000-05:00

In my now long litany of unimpressive jobs I have transferred to the cosmetics department at the store where I've been working. For those who know me that is a source of amusement because until recently I rarely wore makeup. The primary reason for my lack of makeup has always been that I'd rather sleep ten minutes more in the morning and cosmetics lose out as a priority. That said, I now wear makeup daily. Apparently a large number of women do.

My actual position is selling fragrances, but I help out with the cosmetics as well, and I have plenty of opportunity to watch the other salespeople with their customers. The thing that is interesting to me about the buying behavior of the cosmetics shopper is that they often come in with a problem to solve, rather than a item they want or need. When people buy sweaters they say, "I want a blue sweater to go with these pants." When women walk up to the cosmetics counter they say, "I have these deep wrinkles on my face, do you have something that will fix that?"

I'm not the first to notice this, Eve Ensler's The Body Project is a play all about this very concept. That women somehow view our bodies as a project, a problem to solve. And as much as I know this, to see it every day is heartbreaking. Most of these women are already beautiful as they are. Just yesterday a woman bought $400 worth of wrinkle creams and as she was checking out she told me she was 60. She didn't look a day over 40. Now maybe that is a testament to the effectiveness of the products, but I can't imagine a man fighting nature to the tune of $400 on a regular basis.

Of course as I drove home wondering how women get suckered into this quest for youth and beauty I had to think of myself. I'm pretty fortunate to be in reasonably good health and good shape. Yet I focus on tiny imperfections that I see through a similarly distorted lens. If I had the money would I blow large amounts on things to fix my tiny imperfections? I hate to admit that I might. The sad truth is that the beauty we see in people seldom has anything to do with their appearance. I've known some physically gorgeous women who were so ugly as people that I never even thought of them as pretty. And I've known some odd looking people who were so spectacularly beautiful in their hearts, minds and actions that I didn't even notice their odd physical appearance anymore. I guess at the end of the day a beautiful soul is much harder to package and sell.

It's About Forgiveness

2007-10-03T21:17:00.000-04:00

To understand is to forgive, even oneself.
Alexander Chase

Somehow we all know, whether it be through popular wisdom, religion, or therapy that forgiveness is essential to healing and growth. We know in our heads when we need to forgive, but somehow it’s complicated to get our hearts to comply. I knew the only way to “move on” with my life was to forgive my ex-husband and ex-boyfriend for whatever hurts and wounds they may have caused. I knew I needed to forgive myself for my failings in those relationships, but the problem was in the execution.

I wish I could say there is a magic formula, but I know there isn’t. A great deal of time and contemplation and soul searching may or may not have led to my breakthrough, but it happened. Recently I was reading one of the many books I’ve read in my attempts at understanding the mess and hopefully learning from those failures to prevent future screw-ups. I realized how hard it is for me to receive love, which in turn hurts those who try to love me. It’s an ugly thing to know about yourself and yet to see it for what it really is and where it comes from sheds so much light into all the shadows. Somehow I was finally ready to forgive myself for my part in the demise of my relationships and it all came full circle.

With the simple act of forgiving myself I was finally able to fully forgive them and my heart was filled with a renewed and yet also new love for them. I finally understood, the questions were answered and I found peace. I stumbled across a photograph of my ex-husband and I only felt joy when I saw his face, then, much to my surprise, my ex-boyfriend called and again I felt but one emotion, pure and simple joy. I never dreamed I could feel this way. It was almost magical. Even more inexplicably it all combined in such a way that my love for my current partner grew within me as well.

Forgiveness is the final form of love.
Reinhold Niebuhr

So, at the end of the day understanding my failed relationships came in the form of forgiveness and included the unexpected surprise of peace, love and joy. I guess Don Henley said it best:

I’ve been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thought seem to scatter
But I think it’s about forgiveness.
Even if, even if—you don’t love me anymore.

The Unexpected

2007-09-07T11:45:00.000-04:00

There are all kinds a clichés about looking for something forever only to find it right in front of you. I guess that’s what seems to be happening for me. I moved to Ohio practically kicking and screaming, being here felt like the ultimate defeat: a life sentence to a purgatory of sweatshirts, fried food and corn hole (a game I still fully do not comprehend the joys of,) in Marion, Ohio. I would NEVER find a rewarding job or an interesting partner (at least one with a college education and all of his teeth.) But, as is often the case in my life, I was wrong.

Sure, I'm bankrupt and divorced, been fired from one job and working and equally unrewarding, albeit entertaining, one in the lingerie department of a small department store. BUT, I've been interviewing for the PERFECT job for me, and as disheartening as it would be if I were not to get the job, it restores my hope that I'm not doomed to an unfulfilling existence. And equally surprising, since I lost all faith in my ability to choose a partner, I've met someone pretty amazing. To my credit he isn't actually in Marion, but he lives close by in a slightly larger, but no more impressive town. I'm taken aback almost daily by his thoughtfulness, caring and concern.

I returned to Marion as beaten down by life as I have ever been and I found something truly unexpected--hope.

Fired

2007-08-03T15:32:00.001-04:00

There are all sorts of failure--some people even get labeled as such. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would experience so many failures in my life, let alone in such close proximity to one another. In the last 12 months I have experienced the following failures: divorce, unemployment (due to layoff), foreclosure (which led to of course losing my home), another failed relationship, debilitating depression, living with my parents, bankruptcy, applying for food stamps, and last, but certainly not least, being fired. How, you may wonder, could someone be such a colossal disaster? Well, for one thing there seems to be a snowball effect with failure. My advice is to avoid any failure at all costs at the risk of multiple successive failures creeping in. I also have discovered (okay, it’s nothing new, but still….) another approach. Embrace the failure as a part of your big picture and see it for what it is.

I was fired recently from I job I hated. Or maybe more correctly, a workplace I hated. I rather enjoyed selling furniture, but I didn't enjoy my obnoxious boss and disrespectful co-workers. I kept plugging away at it and trying harder because I was so determined NOT to fail again. I knew I could do that stupid job!! At first I sold tons, I was exceeding my co-workers numbers immensely, and of course they didn't like that. They started "snaking" deals and making fun of me, it turned into some sort of junior high hazing nightmare. In truth, 2 degrees and a love for furniture and design does not a furniture salesperson make. I simply didn't know how to navigate the commissioned sales environment. Once co-worker competition and outright underhandedness factored in I lost my confidence. The result of course was terrible sales. It seems the harder I tried the less I sold. And so I was fired. At first I was devastated. I pride myself in doing things well, in being great at whatever I’m pursuing, and I’m usually rewarded for this. I understood that this was not a case where that was true. I simply wasn’t selling enough and they were in business to make money, they needed someone else to sell their furniture.

My life coach recently pointed out that firing seems to happen when you failed to leave a job when it was time to go and so if you don’t go they’ll arrange an exit for you. Like a mother bird pushing her babies out of the nest sometimes we won’t go unless we’re pushed. There was absolutely no reason for me to stay in that God forsaken job, I kept hanging on hoping to get better, not wanting to admit defeat. The truth is the real defeat would have been to stay there. Being an especially great furniture salesperson would put me no closer to where I want to be in life than I already am. My energy needed to go elsewhere. And now it can.

The afternoon of my firing I was lamenting that all of my friends, family, and even my ex-husband were taking vacations at the beach and I was stuck in Ohio landlocked and unemployed. Then it hit me—there is a beach nearby. Its not the beach, but it sufficed. The day turned into a sort of celebration of freedom. Suddenly I had a weekend off, which I hadn’t had in a long, long time. My boyfriend had come over to comfort me and we ended up having lunch with my grandparents and then spending the afternoon at the beach. In the evening we grilled out at my aunt and uncle’s house and as I drifted off to sleep that night I didn’t feel failure, I felt love.

It seems all of my recent failures are less failures and more of a nudge to hop out of the nest and see if maybe I can fly. Although the nudge isn’t fun I hope I can catch an updraft and soar to the next tree.

Knee High by the 4th of July

2007-07-10T21:52:00.000-04:00

There are millions of metaphors for time. Measuring time, the speed at which it passes, it's infiniteness, it's meaning and so on. In Ohio there is a portion of the year that we measure time with corn. If you've never had the pleasure of driving through Ohio, then you may not be aware of what the rest of the world already knows--in Ohio we grow corn, and lots of it. I may be biased, but I have to say it is probably the best corn you'll ever sink your teeth into as well. That said, whether cognisant of it or not, Ohioans measure their summer with corn. Spring has passed when the first seedling have sprouted and school is starting when the harvest hits. It's just the natural order of things. In order for there to be a good crop it is said that the corn should be knee high by the 4th of July, and I'm happy to report that this year it is even a bit above the knee.

I'm spending a lot of time driving back and forth between this tiny town and another for the purpose of seeing someone who is becoming an increasing part of my life. The other day I was making the now familiar journey when it occurred to me that not only was the corn in good shape, but I just might be growing too. When I started making this trip the corn had barely sprouted and now it's more than halfway to harvest. And there I was measuring time in corn, I actually laughed to myself. The last time corn was my clock I was a child, but somehow the comfort of it's paradoxical slow and steadiness coupled with the surprise of seeming rapidity of it's passage was strange and familiar all at once.

In a few short days I will experience the last birthday I plan to have until 29 is an obvious and overt lie (or I'm happily married and settled into domestic life, whichever comes first) and my life feels like an Ohio summer. Part of me sees Fall right around the corner and is holding on for dear life to the waning days of summer while another part of me is looking forward to the Fall and what it might bring. There are moments when I wonder how I ended up here, literally and figuratively. I imagined facing 30 from a different vantage point. At some moments I yearn to turn back, wish I could start the season over in hopes of yielding a better crop, while at other times I wonder if the perfect crop will be just what I harvest this Fall. I meant to be somewhere else, and now I'm measuring time with corn! That said, I'm going to view it positively because after all, it's about growth and regrowth and that is what I always hope to see in my life wherever I may land.

You Can't Make this Shit Up #3: An Affair to Remember

2007-06-19T12:02:00.000-04:00

This fun little character we shall name Trixie.

My current lackluster occupation is selling furniture, and I can't say that I'm selling tons of it these days, but recently I learned that blackmail is excellent sales technique not mentioned in most sales manuals.

A couple of weeks ago an odd couple came into the store. The woman, Trixie, appeared to be in her late 30s while her "date" appeared to be in his 60s. I spent a certain amount of mental energy trying to determine if in reality the man was her father and they had some sort of HIGHLY inappropriate relationship, or if he was her sugar daddy or whatever. The two of them spent at least 20 minutes looking at sofas and "trying them out" by snuggling, her climbing into his lap and other such nonsense all the while holding hands and grinning like idiots. They arrived at a lovely red paisley number, but I was unsuccessful at closing the deal. (A problem I'll probably need to address in another blog entry.)

A week later Trixie walks through the door with a man close to her age and four children that look remarkably like her and this gentleman. Within a few moments they sit down on the red paisley sofa. I walk up and say, "Did you decide to go ahead and get this one." Thinking to myself that maybe her family is just really screwy and the man from before was her dad or an uncle or something. Well, apparently not. She gave me an odd and uncomfortable look before turning to her husband and saying something about looking at sofas the previous week. Ultimately they decided on an olive green Pottery Barn knockoff and were hemming and hawing about whether or not to buy it. I elected to leverage what little power I held, looked her straight in the eye and said, "We're gonna write this up tonight, right?" This time I closed the deal.

Trixie and hubbie are now the proud owners of a lovely green sofa because you just can't make this shit up.

You Think You've Had a Bad Day

2007-06-06T19:27:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I haven't had anything interesting to report lately, or at least any stories I've wanted to tell on myself. Basically I haven't been selling anything at work and I've been screwing up my personal life by overreacting and being the psycho ex-girlfriend. Fun for everyone. I've also been giving online dating a shot and finding it largly disappointing. A friendship is possibly taking a turn in another direction, but I'm not sure what is to come of all of that just yet. On the whole life is very up in the air. But, things could always be worse. Take for example one of my customers at work today. Her house was knocked off of it's foundation when a semi drove through it. On the upside, she gets to build a new house, but wow, that sucks.

Beautiful Ohio

2007-05-10T21:10:00.001-04:00

My world was relatively small when I was growing up. Although some members of my family had ventured out, moved away and sometimes came back to visit with wares from their travels, for the most part my world was in Marion, Ohio. The trouble with that was my awareness of an outside world. Those reports from far-off lands like Florida, Maryland, and even Africa were just enough to put a restlessness in my spirit that could only be satisfied by leaving this eternally dull little world.

When I went off to college everything that I had always suspected was confirmed. There was nothing special about Ohio. When my classmates would plan their holidays at home there were always special little traditions, restaurants, parks, stores and other distinctive features of home that they longed to return to. I was always at a loss for a contribution to these conversations. I couldn’t think of things that were in my hometown that were not in any of theirs. Sure we had a silly street festival, but every town has that. Our restaurants were all chains, our parks were typical and uncreative, the stores were chains as well, and few of them to boot. The best thing that I could come up with was the Isaly Shoppe, which I couldn’t even return to because it had closed the one summer of my life that I got out of that god-forsaken town.

Now I am at my 10th address in 11 years and find myself on a dimly lit porch on Church street in Marion, Ohio. My neighbor directly across the street apparently celebrates Christmas year round, at least judging from the lit grapevine Christmas tree on the porch and the painted cut-out plywood angels on the lawn this May. My neighbor directly to the West of me actually believes that the parking space on the street directly in front of her home is HERS and no one else is allowed to park in it. In the event that an unauthorized car does find it’s way into her spot she goes door to door until she finds the owner of the vehicle and asks the unknowing offender to remove their vehicle. If one errs on the side of protest a long story about her bad knees is sure to follow.

This evening I finally realized what I never knew I’d always missed these past 11 years. I missed dilapidated barns that lean like the tower of Pisa and yet just as inexplicably never seem to collapse. Measuring time in the summer by the height of the corn, all the while realizing that once that sweet and wonderful treat is harvested school is soon around the corner. June bugs on your screen door and humming around your porch light. The smell of dew on cut grass early in the morning is somehow different here. There is always the sound of a train in the distance and traffic is a constant, yet unfrequent hush of a lone car passing your home at 30 miles an hour. Night isn’t quiet, but the sounds are different here. For one thing, children still play outside after dark. And since no one ever thought to spray for mosquitoes there are ample fireflies to chase and catch and wish upon until mothers drag their children off to bed. The buzzing of a saw indicates that a neighbor is busy making birdhouses or some other wooden handicraft in his garage while another has friends over playing cards in the kitchen and I can hear their laughter through open windows. In yet another house a toddler cries for his mother. They’ve never heard of light pollution here and so the sky is an ocean of stars that anyone can swim in or kiss beneath or ignore altogether never knowing what a privilege it is to actually see stars on a summer night. I never reveled at what was special or missed these beautiful experiences because I forgot about them entirely. I doubt I would have ever seen their beauty if I had never left, but now I can bask in the glory of beautiful Ohio as I never knew I would, or even could.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

2007-04-26T20:49:00.000-04:00

Ok, so the purpose of this blog, the focus of my existence these days is starting over. Beginning a new and better life for myself. As exciting as that may be at times, there are numerous days where I am reminded that I haven't a flippin' clue what I'm doing here. My old life may not have been everything I'd hoped it would be, but at least I knew how to live it.

I'm at an incredible impasse. I know a great deal about where I want to go and I'm very clear on where I am, but the part that falls in between there is VERY unclear to me. I'm on the sidelines saying, "Send me in coach," but I really don't even know what the game is, I just want to win and I'm pretty sure I can. I guess that isn't altogether bad, but I sure hate flying blind here.

I spent a good portion of my afternoon in a real funk feeling trapped in this weird purgatory of confusion. I just couldn't see a way to get to where I want to be, I felt so powerless and weak. I felt what I've always felt, unable to effect change in my life, that everything is somehow outside of my control. If someone else loved me more or supported me more, or if I weren't so alone I'd be fine. How could I possibly move forward if so much in my life is unresolved? Then I realized that I was right back where I started this journey. I was helpless all over again. By letting others create priorities for me I was by default waiting for someone else to fix it. That's not what I want, it never was. Damn it!! This is MY life! I have to do something. I CAN do something. I'm not sure exactly what, but committing to doing so is much more empowering than waiting for a game plan to fall from the sky.

So I don't need someone to dream of me or for me or tell me what to do. I need my own dreams and I must find my own way to get there. Thoreau said it best:

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined."
--Henry David Thoreau

The Dreaded Drunk Dial

2007-04-14T20:17:00.000-04:00

drunk dial
Pronunciation: /'dr&[ng]k /'dI(-&)l
Function: verb
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English drincan; akin to Old High German trinkan to drink; Middle English dyal, from Medieval Latin dialis clock wheel revolving daily, from Latin dies day
Definition: To telephone a member of the opposite sex, with whom the person has a current or past relationship, while inebriated. ex. Jennifer drunk dialed her ex-boyfriend to tell him that she is still in love with him even though he is now married with a baby on the way.

While in college I observed many a girlfriend make the fatal error of drunk dialing, I even successfully prevented a few friends from making that fatal error. I, however, was always careful not to drink and dial. That is until recently.........

What is interesting was that at the time I didn't realize that I was drunk. I haven't been drinking much lately and apparently I have no tolerance anymore. After only 2 drinks I called an ex-boyfriend and dumped a huge emotional load in his lap before drifting off to sleep. The next morning I had a vague recollection of a phone call, but very little memory of the content of the conversation. I could only assume that I had said exactly what I had been feeling that day prior to the call. One sober call later my worst fears were confirmed.

I had said pretty much everything that had been on my heart and mind that day, which of course is something I probably wouldn't have done completely sober. Thanks to the inhibition negating powers of alcohol none of what was said was untrue, but still not the best way to have the discussion. What's odd in a way is that I probably would not have shared much at all with him and I probably should have, so in some ways the alcohol did me a favor, but oh, so painful a way to go about it. I guess at the end of the day I really needed him, I needed to talk to him and I did. Even so, from now on I'll be mindful not to drink and dial.

Tick Tock

2007-04-09T10:21:00.000-04:00

The biological clock may be one of the cruelest jokes in nature. It seems to be able to start it's incessant ticking at will regardless of the circumstances in a person's life. Here I am single, free to do anything I want with my life. There is nothing to hold me back. I could go anywhere and do anything. I could teach in a foreign country; finally pursue an MFA; join the peace corps. What do I want? The one thing I never thought I wanted......a traditional nuclear family. When I was married there were times I felt so trapped, I felt like my life was without choices. I wanted to have the freedom to pursue a more fulfilling career, to live life more adventurously, to do anything but rot in some suburb somewhere.

I guess what the biological clock teaches us is that life is really about timing. When I was married I assumed that some day I'd feel like having kids, but until that day came along I didn't want to be pressured into it. If I had kids I wanted it to be by choice when I felt we were ready. That time just never seemed to come along. Of course that time never came along because our marriage never became what it needed to be in order to have the right kind of home for a family. Thus my biological clock was on snooze.

Much to my surprise that clock kicked in shortly after the relationship ended. The first I realized it was when I spent an evening with a neighbor who was a stay at home mom of a three year old with another one on the way. I was overcome with a feeling I couldn't understand--jealousy. It hadn't been that long ago that the thought of being a stay at home mom seemed like an oppressive sentence and now I was jealous? Before long every time I was around children or babies I would feel this longing to have a family of my own. At times it almost hurts.

And what I want is more than children. It's the whole package. I want the daddy and the mommy with the kids, the cat and the dog. I want a swing set in the backyard and trucks and dolls to trip over on the floor. I want to be tired at night from playing with my children, not staying late at the office dealing with adults who act like children. I'd rather go on a play date with my kids than a blind date with "a really nice guy." I'd rather put a three year old in time out than write up a fifty year old for throwing a tantrum. I'd rather raise good people than hire and fire them. So my saved up wishes keep coming out. I'd rather be a mom than a manager, a wife rather than a boss. It doesn't feel like submitting to the patriarchy at all. It feels like the career I never knew I always wanted. A job where I can really make a difference.

You Can't Make This Shit Up #2

2007-04-06T20:36:00.000-04:00

Interesting character #2, I shall call her Cleveland.

Currently I'm working in commissioned sales, which is a story unto itself, but we'll save that for another day. One of the things that anyone in this environment has to learn how to do is to overcome objections. Nearly every person will say that he or she is "just looking" and it is the responsibility of the successful salesperson to overcome that objection in any number of ways. There are entire books written on the subject and the management of any retail establishment will argue that there isn't an objection that can't be overcome. Well, none of these folks met Cleveland.

So my afternoon began like any other. A customer walked through the door and I waited for her to walk in and get acclimated before I approached her. I said hello and asked how she was doing, she replied in kind. I asked her what brought her into the store today and she mentioned that her sister had ordered some end tables made by our company and she'd like to see what they looked like. Everything seemed to be moving along swimmingly. I asked her questions about the tables, even showed her a few. We found some that weren't exactly what her sister had described, but she really liked them just the same. The set had a square cocktail table with inlaid black marble and matching end tables. Perfect. Exactly what she needs.

"Would you like me to go ahead and write those up for you?"

"Oh, I'm from out of town, I was just looking really."

"Oh, where are you from?"

"Cleveland."

Since the Easter holiday is this weekend I assumed that she might be in town to visit family or something of the sort so I asked what brought her into town.

"I'm visiting a friend who is in the prison here."

I bet no one ever anticipated that objection. Needless to say I didn't close that sale. You just can't make this shit up.

Is Conventional Wisdom All That Wise?

2007-04-06T13:42:00.000-04:00

At this juncture I really am trying to live my life with intention, to remember that at the end of the day this is MY life, and yet I keep falling prey to the pitfalls of my nature. I'm an odd paradox in countless ways, a source of amusement for many who know me. One of these paradoxes is centered around the expectations of others. I seem to approach my life decisions in such a way that I'm either doing what I believe I should do or expressly reacting against what is expected.

Here is a silly example of the way that manifests itself. I tend to be a non-conforming conformist. If a given thing is exceptionally fashionable, and everyone has it, say pea coats for example. I may really want one, not necessarily because everyone has one, but because I like it. If I were to buy the coat I would have to have one in a color that no one else has, then I am conforming, but I feel unique. Yet there are other times when I simply go along with what is expected. In the winter when wearing a dress I wear a long dress coat because fashion and etiquette dictate it and I don't give it a second thought.

Such is the case with my life. There have been countless times that I've dutifully been the "good girl," the good wife or daughter or friend. I've done what was expected because it was expected regardless of my personal thoughts or feelings. Then there are times I've insisted on my own path in opposition to expectations. What is flawed is that the benchmark is always the expectations of others instead of the path I've chosen for my own life. The result is that I have a life of everyone else's collective creation and rather than my own. If I intend to live my own life purposely the benchmark has to shift to something of my own making.

Lately I've fallen prey to the pitfalls of conventional wisdom, which we all know has it's limits. Everyone has heard that puppy love is fleeting and yet also knows couples who have been married for 50 yrs. after being high school sweethearts. We've all heard that you should never go into business with a friend and yet some of the most successful businesses were founded by friends. The truth is that conventional wisdom, like many other things is grounded in part in truth and in part in fiction and most certainly isn't universally applicable.

Expected behavior following a divorce is fraught with conventional wisdom. Most divorcees will tell you that one of the most irritating parts of the process is everyone's advice about how you should "get through it." In my case I ignored it all at first. I was going to do my own thing and disregard it all. Then when life didn't seem to be going quite as well as I'd like for it to I questioned my approach and began to listen to the advice. Before I knew what hit me I was trying to follow some of that conventional wisdom and be a "good divorcee." Surprise of all surprises, that isn't working out for me. I'm not a good divorcee. I just don't fit in that mold so I'm going to have to make my own. Maybe I could try being a good person instead.

So I think there is one piece of conventional wisdom that I will consider for the time being. I think for now I need to "follow my heart" if I'm ever going to live the life I've intended and live it fully. This is after all MY life.

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

2007-03-31T23:51:00.000-04:00

Miracles occur naturally as expressions of love. The real miracle is the love that inspires them. In this sense everything that comes from love is a miracle.
--Marianne Williamson

Everyone has a lowest point in their life, a time when the burdens are more than we can bear. My dark time was just a few months ago. Everything that I knew my life to be was crashing in around me and I could barely tread water enough to breathe. I nearly drowned, and in part I was losing the will to stay afloat. The weight of my problems had been pulling me down for so long I was losing the strength to hang on. And at the moment when I almost gave into the tide my friends and family rescued me.

I normally refuse the help of others, I prefer to be the one offering assistance, but I was so weak I couldn't push them away. My loved ones rushed into action and nursed my heart and soul back to health while helping me restore and renew my life and my will to live. They helped me piece together what was salvageable and build a foundation for my new life to come. They saved my life and I can't imagine a greater miracle than that. Before my rescue it became difficult for me to believe in anything, especially miracles. Now I have experienced the greatest miracle of all--love. And henceforth I will strive to be grateful for every day that I spend on this earth.

You Can't Make this Shit Up

2007-03-24T21:12:00.000-04:00

I've decided to add an ongoing element to my blog. It seems that in life truth is often stranger than fiction, and nothing could be more true in a small town. One of the wonderful and yet bizarre qualities of small towns is that these locals seem to somehow nurture and support the odd characters in our midst. It's a theme in Southern literature, but I have to say that it is universally applicable to all small towns. Therefore I have decided to keep track of these quirky, and sometimes disturbing characters and events as I experience them. Yes, these people and events that are so off the wall that you just can't make this shit up...........

Here is the inaugural oddfellow, I shall call him Slick.

The other day I was running my usual errands, which now include buying pantyhose at Wal-Mart, an entirely frustrating experience to say the least. (And yes, the three dollar pantyhose run like no body's business.) I stood in the express checkout lane with my sugar free truffles, crappy pantyhose and a pack of substandard gum (I can't find Altoids gum ANYWHERE around here.) In a matter of just a few moments it was my turn to be check out and I met Slick. Slick is a chubby teenaged pimply faced kid who probably hadn't washed his hair in a few days and had mustard on his cheek. He dutifully scanned my measly purchase, tossed it in the bag and I swiped my debit card through the card reader. No beep. I swipe again, still no beep. Slick intervenes, "Sometimes the cards get dirty, " he says as he takes the card out of my hand, proceeds to lick the magnetic strip and wipe it on his dirty Wal-Mart vest. Then Slick runs the card through his card reader and PRESTO it beeps, authorizes and he hands me back my contaminated card. In truth, I wanted to say, "It's okay, you keep it," but I was envisioning Slick and his only two friends in the world emptying my bank account buying junk food and internet porn, so I took it back and left in horror. Now one might think that after such an experience I would never return to Wal-Mart in protest, BUT this is a small town and sadly the best place to buy crappy three dollar pantyhose. You just can't make this shit up.

Ms. Phyllis

2007-03-20T10:47:00.000-04:00

Women want men, careers, money, children, friends, luxury, comfort, independence, freedom, respect, love, and a three-dollar pantyhose that won't run.
--Phyllis Diller (1917 - ____) US comedienne

Honestly, is that too much to ask?

Wonderful Town

2007-03-11T16:08:00.000-04:00

Midwesterners, especially those from small towns, have a special fondness for musical theater. I've never exactly understood why, but I definitely took that trait to heart. There really is something magical about a musical, the old-school type especially. There are quirky characters, always at least one that you can identify with, a sitcom-like plot structure, and in the end everyone is in love and happy. Oh and the best part, which I failed to mention, is the spontaneously bursting into song of course. (Who doesn't do that?)

I can't remember a time when musicals weren't a part of my life. My father was a high school teacher for 17 years and then became a principal. Every year we attended the student productions of musicals and plays. Sometimes in the summer my grandma would take me to see the summer musical at the Palace Theater, which was a community production, and of course when I was in high school I both performed in the musicals and helped construct the sets. I don't think I even saw a professional production until my senior year of high school. Oddly the professional ones have always seemed to lack some of the magic, maybe because the actors weren't people I knew.

As cheesy and unrealistic as musicals are, I've always loved the world they exist in. Things always happen for a reason and even the oddest character gets to fall in love. In part it isn't entirely unreal. I did grow up in a family where people would randomly burst into song, and every once in a while life does feel like a storybook come alive. There is a comfort in believing in happy endings.

Yesterday I was so lonely and heartbroken and not all that thrilled at the thought of spending my Saturday night at a high school musical. I wanted to be with my friends, somewhere where I'm comfortable and at home. Instead I was attending a high school musical with my parents as I had done so many times as a child. It felt pathetic and defeating all at once. I kept thinking, so this is all there is to do on a Saturday night around here.........

When the curtain lifted and the kids broke into song it wasn't long before I was fully engaged in the show. During intermission I overheard parents and friends discussing the performances and going on about how certain members of the cast would surely be famous some day. The second act resolved all conflicts comically, everyone fell in love and of course there was a standing ovation. While standing around afterwords and talking to parents and kids (some of whom I babysat as infants and yet are heading off to college soon) I felt something new. As a child I watched these plays in awe, it all seemed so real, and I wanted to be one of those pretty girls on stage. As a teenager I was on stage and I remember the exhilarating feeling of the audience's reactions to your acting, their laughter and applause. Now I felt something new. The great love and pride pouring out of the parents of these kids. The belief that they could really take the world by storm. Now of course the odds aren't in their favor, hundreds of small town stars end up cocktail waitresses waiting for the big break that never comes, but right now, tonight everyone knows they'll make it big. The warmth of that love is remarkable and in truth, if I could spend every Friday night this way I'd be a happy woman. Love is infinitely portable, a mom can be a mom anywhere on earth, even here. These lyrics from the musical seem quite appropriate:

Why, Oh why, Oh why, Oh--
Why did I ever leave Ohio?
Why did I wander to find what lies yonder
When life was so cozy at home?

Now, I don't regret leaving here even the tiniest bit. I think anyone from a small town benefits from knowing there is a bigger world out there. I doubt I'll even stay here, but I can't imagine a better place to be while I find myself and start my life anew.

A Weekend in Smallville

2007-03-10T17:33:00.000-05:00

This is the first weekend I've spent in Ohio since I've moved here. Every weekend I had matters to attend to or plans with friends in Detroit and so I never went more than 5 days without seeing my friends. My heart has been breaking all day, I want nothing more than to be with the people I love. Even though I know that in time I'll have friends here, right now I just want my old friends. I want the comfort and support and love that only friends who've known you for a long time can give.

Saved-Up Wishes

2007-03-06T00:15:00.000-05:00

When you love someone all your saved-up wishes start
coming out.
--Elizabeth Bowen

When I was in eighth grade I had a yellow pendoflex
folder that I recorded little sayings and quotations
upon in brightly colored pen. I'm not sure why or how
this practice started, but eventually the entire
surface inside and out was covered with tiny bits of
wisdom. I carried that folder through highschool and
even college like some sort of metaphysical security
blanket occasionally finding little spaces to add more
sage advice to the ragged folder. I carried it with me
into my adult life and until recently kept it like a
treasure in a box of other things that were meaningful
to only me. I decided that it was time to part with
the tattered folder in an attempt at purging some of
these "treasures" from my life (reference "Settling
In" to see the urgency of such activities.) Before I
could let it go I had to transfer the wisdom to another
source and so I recorded most of the quotations into
my molskein(my adult replacement for the yellow folder
I fear.) While taking this trip down memory lane it
was striking to see the ways that my perspective
had grown or changed now that I had I few more years
under my belt. Surely these words resonated with me
then, but some of them were so much more meaningful to
me now. As is the case with this particular
quotation.

I can't begin to imagine what attracted me to it all
those years ago, but I suppose it sounds good even
without understanding or experience. Now I've
lived those very words. I've loved and lost a few
times over at this point and recently that has been a
primary theme in my life. One of the wounds of my
divorce was this fear that maybe I wasn't capable of
really loving as I should. Then quite by surprise I
found myself in love. Suddenly my saved-up wishes came
bubbling to the surface and the life that I thought I
wanted was almost instantly negated. Things I hadn't
let myself wish for were now burning desires in my
heart. Was this because of my new found love? Well yes,
but not the man who I was growing to love. I was
finally growing to love myself. Now, I'm sure this
isn't exactly what Elizabeth Bowen had in mind, but can
we truly love someone else without loving ourselves
first? I think not.

So here is to saved-up wishes! Those glorious
desires of the heart that are well worth pursuing.
Henceforth I will purposely live so that wishes may
never go into storage again.

Home is Where the Heart is?

2007-03-02T17:53:00.000-05:00

If home is where the heart is, why isn't my heart here? The obvious answer of course is that this isn't really home anymore and my heart is still in Detroit (sounds like the beginning of a country song already.) I'm really trying to make a life for myself here, but I can't seem to get past the heartache for the people I left behind. When you don't live near family your friends really become your family, and my friends were the best family anyone could hope for. Now I'm surrounded by my actual family, who do love me dearly, and I just don't feel at home. I'm not even sure that I want to.

Settling in..........slowly

2007-03-01T22:17:00.000-05:00

One of the biggest challenges of my "fresh start" is the actual move to a new home. Most of my worldly possessions have been relocated to my little house in the good ole hometown. Now the laborious job of unpacking and organizing becomes my all-consuming task for an indefinite period of time. On the upside the duplex is roomy and has character,on the downside it is much smaller than my last home. So here it is, my house full of boxes.......

"A good home must be made not bought." --Joyce Maynard

So what if I'm wrong?

2007-02-26T13:15:00.000-05:00

The thing that is wonderful about a really good friend is that he or she will call you out when you're being ridiculous. Such is the case with me. A week ago I was with my friends at a dinner party lamenting my lost love and my friends helped me to see something that I was blind to.......... The lost love DID actually care about me. I had become so preoccupied with wanting him to talk about his feelings for me that I completely failed to recognize the ways that he showed his feelings. Maybe he did care.......

So then a friend broke it down for me. He listed the pros and cons of being with Lost Lover. There were strikingly few cons. To which my response was, "It's too late." What followed that was this somewhat comical list of questions and a reasonably wise comment from the friend:
"Did you break any laws?"
"Hurt any members of his family?
"Burn his house down?"
"Murder anyone?"
"Then I think you might have a shot."

So there it was, the ball in MY court. And I was realizing that maybe life doesn't happen to me, maybe I can have some impact. Maybe I needed to take a risk and try to mend fences. Suddenly I was soaring at the idea of having a chance, albeit a crap shoot at best. I was fully willing to go out on a limb and get shot down because at least I'd tried.

My jump into taking a risk for love came in two parts. First I called Lost Love to see when he would be around. I had two purposes in mind. I wanted to send him flowers and a simple apology with hopes that if the peace offering were well received I could talk to him in person. Step one was guardedly well received so I proceeded with step two and we talked.

The conversation was great, I was able to take responsibility for my part in things and we had a real conversation about where we'd been together and apart and where we might be going either together or apart. What's next? I don't know, but what I do know is that I'm growing in positive ways and if he is alongside for the journey that would be wonderful. If he isn't, at least I took a risk well worth taking.

3 Loves

2007-02-16T20:16:00.000-05:00

In the wake of a recent breakup I've been spending a lot of time thinking about what went wrong. Up to this point every relationship has ended and that really isn't my goal, so what can I do to get this right?

Well, I've been in love in one way or another three times in my life. The first love was puppy love. My high school sweetheart was the most fun and romantic of all my loves, but outside of that there wasn't much substance to the relationship. My memories of our time together are so happy and fun. He was the ideal first love, the kind I hope my imaginary daughter will have some day. There is a reason that everyone has a first love and that is because first loves are seldom meant to last. My heart was utterly broken when we broke up, but life sent me someone else. My second love was meant to be the love of my life. I spent ten years with him and he was my spouse for 6 of those years. The attraction to him was so intellectual; he was the first guy I knew with whom I could discuss art, literature, philosophy and theology. I was thrilled and so was he; he fell for me quickly and intensely and it felt so good to be loved. I loved him for how he made me feel and how he felt about me. Sadly, that wasn't enough. I never dreamed things would end this way, but we divorced. Then my third love was a complete surprise. This time I was the one who fell in love without much thought or effort. I finally understood love. I loved him just as he was for a million big and little reasons that all added up to real unconditional love. I didn't love him for what he did for me or how he made me feel; I loved him simply for being himself. Unfortunately he never grew to feel the same way. I believe the relationship lasted as long as it did because of how I made him feel, which sadly is not unlike my experience with lover number two. Thus we parted ways. Even so I haven't stopped loving him and I suppose that sort of love doesn't really go away, rather the heart must evetually grow to love someone else as much or even more intensely.

So what can be learned from this? On one hand it might seem that I have a knack for picking ill-suited partners, but I've arrived at another theory. Maybe I'm meant to look for someone who possesses the wonderful qualities of all three, or maybe there are other wonderful qualities that I haven't even thought of. Some day someone will come along and we will fit, we will both love each other as we are and do so unconditionally. That is the partner I wish to spend the rest of my life with and I should settle for nothing less.

Surviving V-Day

2007-02-15T08:34:00.000-05:00

So I made it through Valentines Day unscathed surprisingly enough. I of course would have preferred to be snowed in with a sweetheart cuddling up by a fire, but being trapped with Mom and Dad wasn't too painful. It's not that Valentines Day makes me feel any more single or lonely, most of my V-Days when I wasn't single weren't all that special, but still a day dedicated to romance is sort of lost on those of us without romantic options. I have to believe that some day I'll be in a relationship filled with love and romance and I'm looking forward to that.

Moving Back Home

2007-02-14T13:59:00.000-05:00

I grew up in a small town in Ohio and never was thrilled with being there. So the first chance I got I left home never intending to come back. Well, life happened and here I am back at the beginning starting my life over after a very tumultuous year. I'm optimistic about what might be before me, but sad and brokenhearted about the old life that slipped away. I miss my friends, who of course can never be replaced, but know that on the upside my circle of friends will just get bigger. So this blog is intended to chronicle my new life and all the ups, downs and adventures that I encounter.