Growing up, my brother and I were always wanting pets. Living in an apartment for the first few years of childhood -- 8 for me, and and three for him -- we were forced to be happy with carnival goldfish, eventually convincing the parents to buy an actual bowl and store-bought goldfish. None of which ever lived past 30 days or so.
Then one day, we graduated to a parakeet. We had Duchess for quite a few years until one day, she literally fell off her perch, dead, during dinner.
Of course, we used getting Duchess as a springboard for a dog. Mom had no more excuses -- we were old enough to help take care of it and we had moved into a house. And a bird just didn't cut it -- you couldn't play catch with, or walk, a parakeet. So my brother and I whined and begged and graduated to actual hard-core negotiations. "I'll walk the new dog." "He'll make sure to feed it and keep the water bowl filled."
Eventually we won out and wore mom down. Her sister's sister-in-law's dog had just had puppies and we were more than welcome to them.
Cuddles entered the house like a little lamb, but left a little over a year later like the Tasmanian Devil.
Her path of destruction included chewing the entire cord off of my father's brand new power saw; countless shoes and socks that were unwearable or never to be found; digging up a hornet's nest under the porch; chewing through at least half a dozen spokes on the back porch banister; greeting us every morning with a little "present" at the foot of the front stairs, no matter how late we had walked her; tearing up a corner of the carpeting on the back porch, and lots more that I've since forgotten.
All I know, is she was unbelievably cute, and friendly and we all loved her, but....my parents could no longer handle the destruction. No matter how closely we watched her, the minute she had any length of time without us being right there to watch her every move, she destroyed something else.
I remember holding her and crying the night before we gave her away, but I also knew my parents could not be talked out of it.
A year or so later, we got another dog, Brandy, who we then had for over 10 years. He was obviously calmer and way less destructive than Cuddles had been. When Brandy was about 3 or 4, Rebel entered our lives. My brother and his friends, walking home from softball practice had stopped at the edge of someone's backyard to play with these kittens they had seen. The owner came out and offered them one, if they wanted. No one did.
"Gee, that's too bad," she said. "I can't keep them all. I guess I"ll have to drown them in the river." Or, at least that's the story my brother and his friends told.
Every kid took a kitten home that day, relieving the woman of the entire litter. Every kid also got in trouble for bringing said kittens home, but no one returned any of them. Rebel, who had been the runt of the litter, irritated our dog, introduced fleas into the house that summer, which were only eliminated after a professional flea bath and several "flea bombs" being used in the house, and a prescription salve for my mom who got so many flea bites on her shins her legs looked like a war zone; ate like a pig, and was one of the most affectionate cats I'd ever encountered. She died just a few short years ago, at the ripe old age of 21.
I had long been gone from my parents home by then, living in an apartment with a no pets lease. After she died, I felt the longing for a pet of my own, now that I could no longer get my pet fix at Mom and Dad's.
Last year, I bought my own house and adopted a cat. Cleo has been with me over a year, and it is truly a love-hate relationship. The first few months I had her, she cost me hundreds of dollars in vet bills as we tried to determine why she was losing weight. X-rays, blood tests, thyroid tests, you name it, she had it done. The vet eventually found a slight heart murmur, and decided her finicky eating habits were more to blame for her skinniness, than anything else. BTW -- she also has excellent cholesterol and lipid levels, high energy, great lungs, and all her other organs are in tip-top shape.
With that scare behind me, I spent two months trying out different cat foods and people foods on her until I finally found the few flavors of the one brand of food, she'll eat and supplement that with the one treat she likes, and a daily slice of turkey breast. Problem semi-solved. She's gained a pound or two, and cleans her plates so I"m happy. Although, every few weeks, she mysteriously just stops eating one of the above mentioned foods for maybe a week or so, gets a bit skinny, then voila, one day I come home from work, and she eats whatever selection I then give her and she's back to normal. I just don't get it. I think she might be an anorexic supermodel.
I've now moved onto furniture repair -- she's a scratcher, but only when I"m not there. Oh, and she's a jumper, which means I sometimes come home to knocked over items on a good day, broken ones on a bad day.
Thing is, I couldn't imagine life without her and I think that's why pet people put up with so much. We whine and complain about our animals' negative behavior, but in the end, wouldn't give them up. They add something to our lives that at times, is intangible, but definitely worth more than we put out for them in return.
Each nite, as Cleo jumps onto the bed and snuggles in behind my knees to sleep, or curls up on my lap as I type away on PC, I don't even care about the vet bills, the scratched furniture or any of the other things I often find myself complaining about.
She's as much a part of my life as my family and friends.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Saturday, September 17, 2005
The Final Goodbye
This time last week, I was getting ready to travel 350 miles to attend funeral services for one of my longest and closest friends.
I made the trip, and although not one I was at all looking forward to, was actually glad in a very weird sort of way that I had. It provided closure and it also allowed me to truly grieve.
The week following her death, while her family was recuperating in the hospital and some other college friends of mine emailed back and forth about the tragic accident, I didn't shed a tear. Each time I thought of S, it was as though a part of me just didn't quite comprehend that this had actually happened.
But on Sunday, when I got in my car and started heading to her hometown, I knew there was no denying it. In fact, when I got within 30 miles of her home, I subconciously started to slow down instead of going faster. Obviously now, in no hurry to get there.
The viewing was surreal. But it got through to me. She really was gone for good.
While I got a little teary, I didn't actually cry. Instead, I had trouble forming normal sentences. "I'll cell you on my call when I get" I told one friend, instead of I'll call you on my cell when I leave.
When J arrived, we talked for about an hour, reminiscing about parties we had all gone to, visits I had made, etc. and she said something that rocked me to my core. She said that she too, had not really accepted S was gone until she saw her that night in the casket. And all week long, she could hear S in the back of her head, cracking her jokes, saying her trademark phrases, etc.
The same thing happened to me. I would be thinking, "My God, S is dead." And then I 'd hear a phone conversation we'd had or remember a party in college we went to.
I thought it so strange we had both had the same experience.
That night, I spent some time with S's family, talking, eating, reminiscing. And it was actually a happy time. Well, not happy. Perhaps bittersweet is a better word.
The next day was the funeral. That is when it all hit me. As I walked out of the funeral home to the car, the tears that had been intermittently seeping out over the past 2 days, streamed. More tears at the cemetery and the last thing I wanted to do was attend the luncheon. But I also wasn't ready to make the 6-hour drive home just then either.
I went to the luncheon.
It was a needed release. Suddenly, thoughts were again taken up with more mundane details -- finding a seat, getting a drink, using the restroom. We ate and talked and laughed and a couple hours later I was ready to hit the road.
I said my goodbyes and left, wondering if this would be the last time I visited the area and S's family. And before getting back on the interstate, I took a detour back to S's neighborhood and drove past her house one more time. It was empty in more ways than one.
Since then I've been so cognizant in simple things that she will no longer experience -- a cool morning, a brilliantly sunny afternoon, hearing a favorite song on the radio, grilling and eating a juicy steak for dinner, sleeping in on Sunday and making pancakes at noon.
Its made me more aware of, and appreciative of, all aspects of life. Its also made me more aware of how fragile our balance really is in this world, and how there are no guarantees.
I made the trip, and although not one I was at all looking forward to, was actually glad in a very weird sort of way that I had. It provided closure and it also allowed me to truly grieve.
The week following her death, while her family was recuperating in the hospital and some other college friends of mine emailed back and forth about the tragic accident, I didn't shed a tear. Each time I thought of S, it was as though a part of me just didn't quite comprehend that this had actually happened.
But on Sunday, when I got in my car and started heading to her hometown, I knew there was no denying it. In fact, when I got within 30 miles of her home, I subconciously started to slow down instead of going faster. Obviously now, in no hurry to get there.
The viewing was surreal. But it got through to me. She really was gone for good.
While I got a little teary, I didn't actually cry. Instead, I had trouble forming normal sentences. "I'll cell you on my call when I get" I told one friend, instead of I'll call you on my cell when I leave.
When J arrived, we talked for about an hour, reminiscing about parties we had all gone to, visits I had made, etc. and she said something that rocked me to my core. She said that she too, had not really accepted S was gone until she saw her that night in the casket. And all week long, she could hear S in the back of her head, cracking her jokes, saying her trademark phrases, etc.
The same thing happened to me. I would be thinking, "My God, S is dead." And then I 'd hear a phone conversation we'd had or remember a party in college we went to.
I thought it so strange we had both had the same experience.
That night, I spent some time with S's family, talking, eating, reminiscing. And it was actually a happy time. Well, not happy. Perhaps bittersweet is a better word.
The next day was the funeral. That is when it all hit me. As I walked out of the funeral home to the car, the tears that had been intermittently seeping out over the past 2 days, streamed. More tears at the cemetery and the last thing I wanted to do was attend the luncheon. But I also wasn't ready to make the 6-hour drive home just then either.
I went to the luncheon.
It was a needed release. Suddenly, thoughts were again taken up with more mundane details -- finding a seat, getting a drink, using the restroom. We ate and talked and laughed and a couple hours later I was ready to hit the road.
I said my goodbyes and left, wondering if this would be the last time I visited the area and S's family. And before getting back on the interstate, I took a detour back to S's neighborhood and drove past her house one more time. It was empty in more ways than one.
Since then I've been so cognizant in simple things that she will no longer experience -- a cool morning, a brilliantly sunny afternoon, hearing a favorite song on the radio, grilling and eating a juicy steak for dinner, sleeping in on Sunday and making pancakes at noon.
Its made me more aware of, and appreciative of, all aspects of life. Its also made me more aware of how fragile our balance really is in this world, and how there are no guarantees.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Closure
This past week has been surreal. It started out pretty good. I made a normally long weekend, an extra long one taking off both Friday and Tuesday.
Had a get-together with my old college roommate who was in town for the week, a clandestine happy hour with the neighbors in my backyard, some shopping, had plenty of time to get the lawn mowed, house cleaned and clothes laundered, a first date with a new guy I met, and on Tuesday, I slept in and prepared to just enjoy a day around the house doing whatever the mood struck me to do.
And then the phone call came.
My college friend S, (not my roommate) had been killed in a car crash. The rest of the day was simply numbed by the shock and the realization that something that horrible had happened.
But as I've already blogged, I've continued to go through the motions of daily life, pretty much not grieving. Just perhaps a deep breath here or a melancholy sigh there when I think about S, memories of visits and college and late-nite chats -- all happy thoughts, now suddenly oh so bittersweet.
Tomorrow, I leave for the 6-hour drive to attend her viewing and funeral. A sad trip and one that I'm not really looking forward to, but one I couldn't not make.
Originally, I had intended to stay at a hotel. Her husband has insisted I stay with them. I feel weird doing that, but he was firm in his conversation -- "you're staying here. There are no hotels."
He and I both know S would have wanted it that way too. And truth be told, part of me is glad. Staying at a hotel would make logistics hard. I know where her home is, but don't really know my way around her town very well, and its rural so one wrong turn and you could go miles out of your way. Also, I wasn't looking forward to going back to a hotel after the evening viewing, sitting alone in a hotel room and thinking about the funeral the next day. Lastly, I've been having to budget very strictly lately, and quite honestly, its a blessing not to have to cough up the bucks for a hotel room in addition to the gas to get out there, flowers for the funeral, etc.
And as I was thinking that, it struck me how life trudges on no matter what happens in our lives. I still had to worry about the minute details. Carry through on work deadlines and meet up with friends with whom I had made plans.
When I talked to S's husband and sister today, while I know they are still grieving, they still talked about other things -- a favorite store that had closed in town, the family's recent vacation. I heard the kids talking, and at one point laughing in the background. And I knew that that is how S would have wanted it. Life does go on whether we want it to or whether we're ready for it.
And even while still reminiscing about my friend, I am also thinking about other things. Analyzing the date I had on Monday nite and trying to determine how much interest I have in this new guy. Sending out an application for a job I recently saw advertised that I think will be better than the one I have now. Planning out my next home improvement project.
It still bothers me that I haven't really cried over S's death. But it doesn't surprise me. We were two tough broads, as we used to joke with one another. We put up with no one's bullshit, had a practical and common sense apporach to life, and our friendship was one built on shared good times and humor; where sentiment was conveyed in joke emails, or eye rolls if one of us ever got close to crossing the line of getting emotional.
When S and I discussed problems or issues or personal dilemmas, there was no crying on the other's shoulders or sniffling on the other end of the phone. We bolstered each other up by listening to, but ignoring the emotion, and instead cutting down or advising how to eliminate the thing that was causing the problem in the first place.
My boyfriend wasn't spending enough time with me or was being a prick? "Tell him you want/need him to do x,y or z, and if he refuses or doesn't follow through, then walk" S would tell me, laughing. "Or better yet, give me his number, I'll do it."
Mom driving me crazy, "Awwww, just ignore her. It'll pass"
There were no Oprah or Dr. Phil moments with S. No long, drawn-out soul searching discussions. Identify the problem, think of hte most practical and least time-consuming solution and take care of it. Then compartmentalize. Then afterwards, we could both laugh about it.
I think that's why there's been no wellspring of tears or crying jag. Each time I think of her being gone, I remember something fun we did, or something funny she had said, and I can't help but chuckle.
However, tomorrow and Monday will be very different. It will be a true, final farewell, and no denying that she truly is gone; and all that's left are those fun and funny memories. But that's how she would have wanted it. No use crying over something you can't do anything about, she'd say. Just move on.
I know we all will. I'm just glad for all the memories, and in a way, glad that they are all so funny and happy, that in thinking about her, I'm chuckling instead of crying.
Had a get-together with my old college roommate who was in town for the week, a clandestine happy hour with the neighbors in my backyard, some shopping, had plenty of time to get the lawn mowed, house cleaned and clothes laundered, a first date with a new guy I met, and on Tuesday, I slept in and prepared to just enjoy a day around the house doing whatever the mood struck me to do.
And then the phone call came.
My college friend S, (not my roommate) had been killed in a car crash. The rest of the day was simply numbed by the shock and the realization that something that horrible had happened.
But as I've already blogged, I've continued to go through the motions of daily life, pretty much not grieving. Just perhaps a deep breath here or a melancholy sigh there when I think about S, memories of visits and college and late-nite chats -- all happy thoughts, now suddenly oh so bittersweet.
Tomorrow, I leave for the 6-hour drive to attend her viewing and funeral. A sad trip and one that I'm not really looking forward to, but one I couldn't not make.
Originally, I had intended to stay at a hotel. Her husband has insisted I stay with them. I feel weird doing that, but he was firm in his conversation -- "you're staying here. There are no hotels."
He and I both know S would have wanted it that way too. And truth be told, part of me is glad. Staying at a hotel would make logistics hard. I know where her home is, but don't really know my way around her town very well, and its rural so one wrong turn and you could go miles out of your way. Also, I wasn't looking forward to going back to a hotel after the evening viewing, sitting alone in a hotel room and thinking about the funeral the next day. Lastly, I've been having to budget very strictly lately, and quite honestly, its a blessing not to have to cough up the bucks for a hotel room in addition to the gas to get out there, flowers for the funeral, etc.
And as I was thinking that, it struck me how life trudges on no matter what happens in our lives. I still had to worry about the minute details. Carry through on work deadlines and meet up with friends with whom I had made plans.
When I talked to S's husband and sister today, while I know they are still grieving, they still talked about other things -- a favorite store that had closed in town, the family's recent vacation. I heard the kids talking, and at one point laughing in the background. And I knew that that is how S would have wanted it. Life does go on whether we want it to or whether we're ready for it.
And even while still reminiscing about my friend, I am also thinking about other things. Analyzing the date I had on Monday nite and trying to determine how much interest I have in this new guy. Sending out an application for a job I recently saw advertised that I think will be better than the one I have now. Planning out my next home improvement project.
It still bothers me that I haven't really cried over S's death. But it doesn't surprise me. We were two tough broads, as we used to joke with one another. We put up with no one's bullshit, had a practical and common sense apporach to life, and our friendship was one built on shared good times and humor; where sentiment was conveyed in joke emails, or eye rolls if one of us ever got close to crossing the line of getting emotional.
When S and I discussed problems or issues or personal dilemmas, there was no crying on the other's shoulders or sniffling on the other end of the phone. We bolstered each other up by listening to, but ignoring the emotion, and instead cutting down or advising how to eliminate the thing that was causing the problem in the first place.
My boyfriend wasn't spending enough time with me or was being a prick? "Tell him you want/need him to do x,y or z, and if he refuses or doesn't follow through, then walk" S would tell me, laughing. "Or better yet, give me his number, I'll do it."
Mom driving me crazy, "Awwww, just ignore her. It'll pass"
There were no Oprah or Dr. Phil moments with S. No long, drawn-out soul searching discussions. Identify the problem, think of hte most practical and least time-consuming solution and take care of it. Then compartmentalize. Then afterwards, we could both laugh about it.
I think that's why there's been no wellspring of tears or crying jag. Each time I think of her being gone, I remember something fun we did, or something funny she had said, and I can't help but chuckle.
However, tomorrow and Monday will be very different. It will be a true, final farewell, and no denying that she truly is gone; and all that's left are those fun and funny memories. But that's how she would have wanted it. No use crying over something you can't do anything about, she'd say. Just move on.
I know we all will. I'm just glad for all the memories, and in a way, glad that they are all so funny and happy, that in thinking about her, I'm chuckling instead of crying.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Life Does, Surprisingly, Go On
There's a part of me that still can't believe my friend S is gone. And the thought hits at various points throughout my day, regardless of what I'm doing. And in really thinking about it, I realize that thoughts and memories of her, of our friendship, of her family, have been hovering in the back of my mind pretty much constantly since I heard the news. Its just that every so often, I become fully conscious of a particular thought or memory.
Studying budget figures at work and BAM! I hear her husband telling me she died on Sunday. Driving to the grocery store, going over my list in my mind, and something makes me think of her. We both loved Doritos.
Its not hard for me to get through my daily routines, because we did only see each other maybe once a year, sometimes less, and relied on phone calls and emails in-between. So its not like everything I do or see has memories. Which I guess might be a good thing. I'm grieving, but in a very removed and distant sort of way. Like I wrote the other day, I'm sure the deeper emotions and the tears, will come later; at the funeral services and after seeing her family again.
But what is also strange, is how, it seems for brief moments I can forget the sadness and the memories, while my time and thoughts get taken up with other things.
I had a date over the weekend, before I learned of S's death. He is sweet, nice, a good listener, does things like hold doors and calls when he says he will. I think I like him, but not completely sure yet. The only way I can think to describe it, is that there's no fireworks or real sparks, at this point, (more like embers), and I want to see him a few more times to see if anything will develop.
However, I have to admit that I do find myself waiting for his emails and hoping he'll call again. I was actually upset to find out he's busy this weekend so our next date will have to wait until next weekend.
I was thinking of him this morning on my way to work, wondering if he'd be calling for a weekend date and then trying to analyze the one 3-hour date I had with him. Trying to figure out if I'm interested or not.
I do this to myself all the time, and there are times when I think I am too hard on guys I meet -- expecting them to be completely perfect and writing them off if they fail to meet just one of my standards.
And as I was driving, I could hear S snickering, telling me to just go with it. To stop being so damn hard on these poor guys and give him a chance. "He could be a diamond in the rough" I heard her say, and you'd never know it because he wore sneakers on the first date and you didn't like that.
She had said that once before, when I had gone out with a guy and altho he was nice, I wrote him off for lack of sparks, and a few other things -- like wearing very casual clothes on the first date -- that had, for some reason, really bugged me at the time.
I could also hear her lecturing me: "He's cute, educated, employed, polite, mannerly, he likes you, you kissed him goodnight, you think you might like him -- just go with it for awhile. Its not like there's a half dozen other guys knocking down your door."
And for once, I had to listen and realize she was right. Maybe in the past I have sabotaged myself for fear of being tied down, or losing my freedom. Perhaps my quest for perfection is really my way of ensuring my freedom? Or my safety net? You can't get hurt by other people if you don't let them in, right?
Even in death, S is still a sounding board and still giving great advice. Before, I had almost always listened, agreed that in theory she was right, but then shrugged off her advice as being not right for me at the time. Or, simply giving the advice, because as a married woman, she also wanted to see me married off as well.
This time, S, I'm listening. I'm giving the new guy a chance, despite the fact that he wore shorts and sneakers on our first date, and despite the fact that my stomach didn't do somersaults when we first met face to face.
I'm remembering a conversation we had some time ago, about guys and marriage and dating and my singleness. And you kept saying I expected too much, and I kept saying that I wouldn't settle. And you told me it wasn't settling to accept a guy with faults, or to decide to choose someone based on their potential rather than how perfect they were at the time.
I remember you laughing about a co-worker who joked with her girlfriends, who were so smitten with her fiance, saying, "hey, hands off. I put alot of work into him. You don't think he came out of the box like this, do you?" And you told me that that is what I needed to realize. No man would ever be perfect, I just needed to find one with the right raw materials that I could work with.
And now, reliving that conversation, I'm following your advice. Despite the sneakers and lack of stomach lurching, I have to admit that I do like him, and he's worth spending the time to get to know a little better. And although I almost never would admit this to you before, you're right.
But you already know that. Because I think, even though it sounds ridiculous, that somehow you have a hand in this.
Studying budget figures at work and BAM! I hear her husband telling me she died on Sunday. Driving to the grocery store, going over my list in my mind, and something makes me think of her. We both loved Doritos.
Its not hard for me to get through my daily routines, because we did only see each other maybe once a year, sometimes less, and relied on phone calls and emails in-between. So its not like everything I do or see has memories. Which I guess might be a good thing. I'm grieving, but in a very removed and distant sort of way. Like I wrote the other day, I'm sure the deeper emotions and the tears, will come later; at the funeral services and after seeing her family again.
But what is also strange, is how, it seems for brief moments I can forget the sadness and the memories, while my time and thoughts get taken up with other things.
I had a date over the weekend, before I learned of S's death. He is sweet, nice, a good listener, does things like hold doors and calls when he says he will. I think I like him, but not completely sure yet. The only way I can think to describe it, is that there's no fireworks or real sparks, at this point, (more like embers), and I want to see him a few more times to see if anything will develop.
However, I have to admit that I do find myself waiting for his emails and hoping he'll call again. I was actually upset to find out he's busy this weekend so our next date will have to wait until next weekend.
I was thinking of him this morning on my way to work, wondering if he'd be calling for a weekend date and then trying to analyze the one 3-hour date I had with him. Trying to figure out if I'm interested or not.
I do this to myself all the time, and there are times when I think I am too hard on guys I meet -- expecting them to be completely perfect and writing them off if they fail to meet just one of my standards.
And as I was driving, I could hear S snickering, telling me to just go with it. To stop being so damn hard on these poor guys and give him a chance. "He could be a diamond in the rough" I heard her say, and you'd never know it because he wore sneakers on the first date and you didn't like that.
She had said that once before, when I had gone out with a guy and altho he was nice, I wrote him off for lack of sparks, and a few other things -- like wearing very casual clothes on the first date -- that had, for some reason, really bugged me at the time.
I could also hear her lecturing me: "He's cute, educated, employed, polite, mannerly, he likes you, you kissed him goodnight, you think you might like him -- just go with it for awhile. Its not like there's a half dozen other guys knocking down your door."
And for once, I had to listen and realize she was right. Maybe in the past I have sabotaged myself for fear of being tied down, or losing my freedom. Perhaps my quest for perfection is really my way of ensuring my freedom? Or my safety net? You can't get hurt by other people if you don't let them in, right?
Even in death, S is still a sounding board and still giving great advice. Before, I had almost always listened, agreed that in theory she was right, but then shrugged off her advice as being not right for me at the time. Or, simply giving the advice, because as a married woman, she also wanted to see me married off as well.
This time, S, I'm listening. I'm giving the new guy a chance, despite the fact that he wore shorts and sneakers on our first date, and despite the fact that my stomach didn't do somersaults when we first met face to face.
I'm remembering a conversation we had some time ago, about guys and marriage and dating and my singleness. And you kept saying I expected too much, and I kept saying that I wouldn't settle. And you told me it wasn't settling to accept a guy with faults, or to decide to choose someone based on their potential rather than how perfect they were at the time.
I remember you laughing about a co-worker who joked with her girlfriends, who were so smitten with her fiance, saying, "hey, hands off. I put alot of work into him. You don't think he came out of the box like this, do you?" And you told me that that is what I needed to realize. No man would ever be perfect, I just needed to find one with the right raw materials that I could work with.
And now, reliving that conversation, I'm following your advice. Despite the sneakers and lack of stomach lurching, I have to admit that I do like him, and he's worth spending the time to get to know a little better. And although I almost never would admit this to you before, you're right.
But you already know that. Because I think, even though it sounds ridiculous, that somehow you have a hand in this.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
A Very Bad Day
When I woke up this morning, I had plans. Things to do, errands to run, a beautiful late summer day with perfect weather to enjoy.
Of course, as usual, my best laid plans got a bit sidelined early on. I slept in -- longer than I had planned, then got caught up in the morning news and talk shows, and savoring my coffee a bit longer than necessary and before I knew it, it was going for noon and I was still in my PJs.
Before getting dressed, and finally starting my day, I sat down at the computer to check email and read my favorite blogs. As I was getting ready to answer an email from a friend, the phone rang.
It was A., the husband of S. one of my college friends with whom I still keep in close touch with.
Although I thought it odd to hear him on the other end of the phone, I at first thought nothing of it.
I asked how he was doing. He said "not so good." And my heart skipped a beat. I knew this wasn't going to be good.
He took a deep breath and said he was in the hospital, that he and S. had been out with their kids over the weekend and they were involved in a car accident. I asked how everyone was doing, even though I was starting to feel numb.
While I tried to convince myself that he was calling with an update just to let me know, and that they were all going to be fine and he was calling because S was with the kids, a part of me knew better.
I couldn't deny it when he started going into detail about first his son's injuries, then his daughter's than his. "What about S, " I asked. "How is she?" He paused, and I could hear a choked sob.
"She passed," he said, and I took a deep breath. He gave me the details of the accident, how it happened, and all the while I just kept hoping that this was some grand joke S was playing; that in a few seconds, I'd hear her on another line snickering or telling me I didn't sound shocked enough. Laughing that I could certainly do upset, shocked and devastated better than I was.
But it was no joke, and all too real. The reality really set in when I went online to read the accident story in S's hometown paper. No denying it. She was gone. Just like that.
I spent the rest of the day going through the motions. I raked my yard, did my laundry, went to the recycling center and the grocery store. But all the while, S was in the back of my mind. S, and a very disturbing question. "Why aren't I crying? Why haven't I cried? Is there something wrong with me?"
I still haven't cried, but the gravity has set in a bit more now. Now that there's nothing physical around the house left for me to do. And I find myself losing focus fast for things that I've started. I thought about dinner, took the iingredients out of the refrigerator, and then put them back. I watched TV and flicked through channels. And now, I've come back to the computer and answered my emails and now, blogging.
S's family lives 6 hours away, otherwise I probably would have gone to see them. And right now, A, said both his and her families are there doing what needs to be done and that there wasn't anything I could really do anyway.
Its just so damned ironic. Usually, in the summer, I would visit for an extended weekend; we'd go out for seafood, go rafting, sit on her front porch drinking wine and reminiscing about our college days, and she'd bust me about still not having found a man.
This year, I didn't make the trip. She was supposed to come out and visit me this Fall. She wanted to see my new house and visit with me for a change. We talked about it when she called on my birthday a few weeks ago.
The best laid plans......
Within the next few weeks, I'll be the one going out to visit her after all. But there won't be any seafood or wine or boating. It will be to say goodbye. That is most likely when the tears will come.
Of course, as usual, my best laid plans got a bit sidelined early on. I slept in -- longer than I had planned, then got caught up in the morning news and talk shows, and savoring my coffee a bit longer than necessary and before I knew it, it was going for noon and I was still in my PJs.
Before getting dressed, and finally starting my day, I sat down at the computer to check email and read my favorite blogs. As I was getting ready to answer an email from a friend, the phone rang.
It was A., the husband of S. one of my college friends with whom I still keep in close touch with.
Although I thought it odd to hear him on the other end of the phone, I at first thought nothing of it.
I asked how he was doing. He said "not so good." And my heart skipped a beat. I knew this wasn't going to be good.
He took a deep breath and said he was in the hospital, that he and S. had been out with their kids over the weekend and they were involved in a car accident. I asked how everyone was doing, even though I was starting to feel numb.
While I tried to convince myself that he was calling with an update just to let me know, and that they were all going to be fine and he was calling because S was with the kids, a part of me knew better.
I couldn't deny it when he started going into detail about first his son's injuries, then his daughter's than his. "What about S, " I asked. "How is she?" He paused, and I could hear a choked sob.
"She passed," he said, and I took a deep breath. He gave me the details of the accident, how it happened, and all the while I just kept hoping that this was some grand joke S was playing; that in a few seconds, I'd hear her on another line snickering or telling me I didn't sound shocked enough. Laughing that I could certainly do upset, shocked and devastated better than I was.
But it was no joke, and all too real. The reality really set in when I went online to read the accident story in S's hometown paper. No denying it. She was gone. Just like that.
I spent the rest of the day going through the motions. I raked my yard, did my laundry, went to the recycling center and the grocery store. But all the while, S was in the back of my mind. S, and a very disturbing question. "Why aren't I crying? Why haven't I cried? Is there something wrong with me?"
I still haven't cried, but the gravity has set in a bit more now. Now that there's nothing physical around the house left for me to do. And I find myself losing focus fast for things that I've started. I thought about dinner, took the iingredients out of the refrigerator, and then put them back. I watched TV and flicked through channels. And now, I've come back to the computer and answered my emails and now, blogging.
S's family lives 6 hours away, otherwise I probably would have gone to see them. And right now, A, said both his and her families are there doing what needs to be done and that there wasn't anything I could really do anyway.
Its just so damned ironic. Usually, in the summer, I would visit for an extended weekend; we'd go out for seafood, go rafting, sit on her front porch drinking wine and reminiscing about our college days, and she'd bust me about still not having found a man.
This year, I didn't make the trip. She was supposed to come out and visit me this Fall. She wanted to see my new house and visit with me for a change. We talked about it when she called on my birthday a few weeks ago.
The best laid plans......
Within the next few weeks, I'll be the one going out to visit her after all. But there won't be any seafood or wine or boating. It will be to say goodbye. That is most likely when the tears will come.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Grateful and Helpless
The past week or so, I have loved waking up each morning. Fall is definitely on the way because where I live, we've been blessed with cool nighttime temperatures, and brisk, crisp, cool mornings.
I fall asleep wrapped in blankets, snug as a caterpillar inside a cocoon, and awake to birds chirping, and cool morning breezes blowing through the curtains.
And while I can't help but feel a certain joy in just being alive to experience the simple pleasures like that, and of enjoying a steaming mug of coffee in a cool kitchen, reading the morning paper, the spell is broken each day by the front page of the news.
Pictures of the devastation in New Orleans and Mississippi -- a week after the fact -- and thousands of people are still awaiting rescue and help and having to have gone another day without it. It is heartbreaking and horrifying, and if it makes me angry sitting in my kitchen reading and watching it, while enjoying a freshly brewed cup of Columbian Supreme, I can't imagine having to live through it each day.
And what's worse, is the sense of helplessness an ordinary person can't help but feel. I wish I had the financial means to do something. However, having recently bought a house, and with gas prices spiraling out of control, and winter on the way, bringing with it, higher heating bills than last year (estimates are 20 to 30% higher), the need for new tires on the car, and tax bills and insurance premiums, I honestly can't spare a dime.
Likewise, I don't work for an employer who would look kindly on my taking a sabbatical to physically do something.
For now, my thoughts and prayers are all I can offer, and I'm trying not to feel guilty when I get to enjoy the simple things these people have had ripped from their grasp for who knows how long.
Things like mowing the lawn and weeding, which I spent most of my Saturday doing, and then getting to enjoy the fruits of that labor on Sunday when I spent a couple hours on my porch, overlooking my freshly manicured lawn, while reading and sipping iced tea.
Or, taking a long hot shower after a hard day at work or after coming home from the gym from a long workout.
Hell, even doing laundry seems like a privilege when one considers these people have been wearing the same clothes for a week.
Yes, while my life is far from perfect, and not without its challenges and struggles and stresses (and believe me, I have quite a few!) something like Hurricane Katrina puts it all in perspective and has made me count and appreciate my blessings even more.
Even my friend L, whose husband recently lost his job and is now working at a lesser job making probably a third of what he did before, has said the same. While she too, worries about being able to pay their bills in the shadow of exorbitant gas prices and the approaching winter and heating bills and such, she said she realizes how it truly can, always get worse.
I'm just glad that relief is finally reaching these people and in a way, grateful for how it has made me, and several of my friends, realize that no matter how bad we may have things on occasion, or think we have things, we still have plenty to be thankful for.
I fall asleep wrapped in blankets, snug as a caterpillar inside a cocoon, and awake to birds chirping, and cool morning breezes blowing through the curtains.
And while I can't help but feel a certain joy in just being alive to experience the simple pleasures like that, and of enjoying a steaming mug of coffee in a cool kitchen, reading the morning paper, the spell is broken each day by the front page of the news.
Pictures of the devastation in New Orleans and Mississippi -- a week after the fact -- and thousands of people are still awaiting rescue and help and having to have gone another day without it. It is heartbreaking and horrifying, and if it makes me angry sitting in my kitchen reading and watching it, while enjoying a freshly brewed cup of Columbian Supreme, I can't imagine having to live through it each day.
And what's worse, is the sense of helplessness an ordinary person can't help but feel. I wish I had the financial means to do something. However, having recently bought a house, and with gas prices spiraling out of control, and winter on the way, bringing with it, higher heating bills than last year (estimates are 20 to 30% higher), the need for new tires on the car, and tax bills and insurance premiums, I honestly can't spare a dime.
Likewise, I don't work for an employer who would look kindly on my taking a sabbatical to physically do something.
For now, my thoughts and prayers are all I can offer, and I'm trying not to feel guilty when I get to enjoy the simple things these people have had ripped from their grasp for who knows how long.
Things like mowing the lawn and weeding, which I spent most of my Saturday doing, and then getting to enjoy the fruits of that labor on Sunday when I spent a couple hours on my porch, overlooking my freshly manicured lawn, while reading and sipping iced tea.
Or, taking a long hot shower after a hard day at work or after coming home from the gym from a long workout.
Hell, even doing laundry seems like a privilege when one considers these people have been wearing the same clothes for a week.
Yes, while my life is far from perfect, and not without its challenges and struggles and stresses (and believe me, I have quite a few!) something like Hurricane Katrina puts it all in perspective and has made me count and appreciate my blessings even more.
Even my friend L, whose husband recently lost his job and is now working at a lesser job making probably a third of what he did before, has said the same. While she too, worries about being able to pay their bills in the shadow of exorbitant gas prices and the approaching winter and heating bills and such, she said she realizes how it truly can, always get worse.
I'm just glad that relief is finally reaching these people and in a way, grateful for how it has made me, and several of my friends, realize that no matter how bad we may have things on occasion, or think we have things, we still have plenty to be thankful for.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Is Being Good Worth It?
I have a bit of a crush. And I'm not so sure its a good thing.
See, its on someone I shouldn't even think of in a crush sort of way. Its someone who technically, is one of my bosses, but in a very distant sort of way.
Where I work, I'm the head honcho of my department. BUT, I answer to another set of managers who oversee the whole show. C is one of them.
And here's the other thing. While I thought him attractive and very, very nice when we first met, I totally wrote him off as a dating prospect. We're very different, and, well, like I said, he's technically a higher-up.
There have been times where I thought I caught him looking at me in that "sizing up" sort of way; and there have been times where he's popped into my office just to say a quick hello or drop off some files, and ended up staying WAY longer than he needed to -- like, an hour longer.
And other managers have noticed. In fact, 2 of them recently encouraged me to pursue something, and this was without me ever revealing my small, semi-crush.
They say, "Hey, he's single and cute and nice; why don't you go after him?"
And me, being the ever politically correct and anal, "have to abide by the rules" type, I've always blown off their suggestions and denied any interest.
But this week, I had to stop by his office -- and found myself lingering longer than necessary. And today, out of the blue, one of the above mentioned managers brought his name up and said -- I think you should go after him. He's cute, very nice, good job, Jesus, what the hell are you waiting for?
So I did my cynical laugh and denied any interest, and added, "besides, I don't even know that we'd be allowed to date. He's technically one of my bosses"
She smirked, clicked her tongue and said, "Oh for crying out loud -- he's not. He doesn't even have that much to do with your department. If I were you, I'd go for it."
And now, I can't stop thinking about him, or the possibility. And being the anal, over analytical type, I also have to wonder if my recently realized crush is simply due to the fact that I have not had a real date in months? And those I've had in the past year have been total disasters?
Am I really interested in HIM? Or do I just want to date someone?
I have mentioned this crush to just a couple trusted friends. One of them said I always worry too much about this type of "politically correct crap" and end up screwing myself in the long run. And she played dirty, bringing up J.
J. was a frat boy I knew in college. When I just so happened to be working for the student newspaper and was assigned to cover stories about the campus frats and sororities.
He was gorgeous, and sweet, and had the sparkliest blue eyes I'd ever seen then or since.
He was always so nice to me, and every now and again he'd say or do something flirty -- which I conciously ignored, because hey, I was a serious student journalist and no way I was going to jeopardize my journalistic integrity just for the sake of a date with a cute boy.
Then it happened. A week before the semester was to end, I ran into J on campus. We both had time between classes and chatted on a lawn on a mild, breezy late fall day. We were talking and he mentioned his frat's upcoming formal. And then he got all serious and said, "but at this point, I don't even think I'm gonna go. I can't even find a date."
Now believe me -- this guy had it all and my guess is, if he had stood up right there and then and shouted out that he needed a date for Saturday's formal, he would've had to beat a horde of girls off with a stick.
Me, being my anal and self-righteous, Woodward-Bernstein self, said nothing.
So he tried again. "You don't happen to know anyone I could go with, do you?"
At that point, a very big part of me wanted to say, "yeah, I could go with you if you wanted me to." After all, I would only be compromising my inner Lois Lane for one day of a remaining 7 in the semester.
But instead, I shifted from one foot to the other, glanced at my watch, and focused my gaze on the stream of other students walking by, then bowed my head and uttered a quiet, but firm, "No, sorry J., I don't."
Even as I type this now, more than 15 years later, I am filled with regret and kicking myself for having been so FREAKIN' STUPID!!! If I had one moment in my life to relive, that would be one of my top three picks to do over. I would've said yes, bought a very hot dress (because I was a size 4 in college), and had a fabulous nite with J.
Instead, I comforted myself with the fact that I did the right thing, career-wise; That maybe that was a test and obviously, I had what it took to always remain an objective, professional reporter. HA!
Besides, I said on that Saturday nite that was J's formal, as I relayed the story to my roommate over Michelob Lite's, there's gonna be lots of boys in the future. And its the end of the semester anyway -- it would have been one date and then that woulda been it. We'd go home for the holidays, I wouldn't be working the frat beat the following semester and we'd probably not see each other again, since it was such a big campus.
The next semester, I ran into J on campus after the first month or so of school and slyly mentioned that I wasn't writing for the campus newspaper that semester. I was doing layout instead.
He said that was interesting and asked if I liked it. We chatted for a few minutes and did the "see ya around" goodbye. Two weeks later, I saw him again and decided to finally go for it. I flirted. Asked what he was doing that weekend. But instead of telling me where he'd be hanging, he said he hated to rush off, but he was meeting his girlfriend in 10 minutes and was running late.
I kicked myself again. And even shed a few angry tears as I walked away.
Which brings me full circle now. If this crush on C is real, and I do have a genuine interest, but bury it again, like I did when I detected his interest in me a while back but ignored it, and like I did, regrettably with J, both in the name of professionalism, will I live to regret it?
Since he's not a direct boss, would it be okay to pursue more than a professional relationship as some have suggested?
Besides, I'm already looking for another job as I've become frustrated and fed up with things at my current place of employment and hope to be gone in the near future anyway. So why not "seize the day"?
And truth be told, I'm getting tired of always denying myself and my desires simply for the sake of propriety and political correctness and professional reasons.
Having written this, I still don't know what I'll do -- if anything; but this post has made me realize one thing -- the crush is real. And being good is not only not easy, but very frustrating and tiring as well.
See, its on someone I shouldn't even think of in a crush sort of way. Its someone who technically, is one of my bosses, but in a very distant sort of way.
Where I work, I'm the head honcho of my department. BUT, I answer to another set of managers who oversee the whole show. C is one of them.
And here's the other thing. While I thought him attractive and very, very nice when we first met, I totally wrote him off as a dating prospect. We're very different, and, well, like I said, he's technically a higher-up.
There have been times where I thought I caught him looking at me in that "sizing up" sort of way; and there have been times where he's popped into my office just to say a quick hello or drop off some files, and ended up staying WAY longer than he needed to -- like, an hour longer.
And other managers have noticed. In fact, 2 of them recently encouraged me to pursue something, and this was without me ever revealing my small, semi-crush.
They say, "Hey, he's single and cute and nice; why don't you go after him?"
And me, being the ever politically correct and anal, "have to abide by the rules" type, I've always blown off their suggestions and denied any interest.
But this week, I had to stop by his office -- and found myself lingering longer than necessary. And today, out of the blue, one of the above mentioned managers brought his name up and said -- I think you should go after him. He's cute, very nice, good job, Jesus, what the hell are you waiting for?
So I did my cynical laugh and denied any interest, and added, "besides, I don't even know that we'd be allowed to date. He's technically one of my bosses"
She smirked, clicked her tongue and said, "Oh for crying out loud -- he's not. He doesn't even have that much to do with your department. If I were you, I'd go for it."
And now, I can't stop thinking about him, or the possibility. And being the anal, over analytical type, I also have to wonder if my recently realized crush is simply due to the fact that I have not had a real date in months? And those I've had in the past year have been total disasters?
Am I really interested in HIM? Or do I just want to date someone?
I have mentioned this crush to just a couple trusted friends. One of them said I always worry too much about this type of "politically correct crap" and end up screwing myself in the long run. And she played dirty, bringing up J.
J. was a frat boy I knew in college. When I just so happened to be working for the student newspaper and was assigned to cover stories about the campus frats and sororities.
He was gorgeous, and sweet, and had the sparkliest blue eyes I'd ever seen then or since.
He was always so nice to me, and every now and again he'd say or do something flirty -- which I conciously ignored, because hey, I was a serious student journalist and no way I was going to jeopardize my journalistic integrity just for the sake of a date with a cute boy.
Then it happened. A week before the semester was to end, I ran into J on campus. We both had time between classes and chatted on a lawn on a mild, breezy late fall day. We were talking and he mentioned his frat's upcoming formal. And then he got all serious and said, "but at this point, I don't even think I'm gonna go. I can't even find a date."
Now believe me -- this guy had it all and my guess is, if he had stood up right there and then and shouted out that he needed a date for Saturday's formal, he would've had to beat a horde of girls off with a stick.
Me, being my anal and self-righteous, Woodward-Bernstein self, said nothing.
So he tried again. "You don't happen to know anyone I could go with, do you?"
At that point, a very big part of me wanted to say, "yeah, I could go with you if you wanted me to." After all, I would only be compromising my inner Lois Lane for one day of a remaining 7 in the semester.
But instead, I shifted from one foot to the other, glanced at my watch, and focused my gaze on the stream of other students walking by, then bowed my head and uttered a quiet, but firm, "No, sorry J., I don't."
Even as I type this now, more than 15 years later, I am filled with regret and kicking myself for having been so FREAKIN' STUPID!!! If I had one moment in my life to relive, that would be one of my top three picks to do over. I would've said yes, bought a very hot dress (because I was a size 4 in college), and had a fabulous nite with J.
Instead, I comforted myself with the fact that I did the right thing, career-wise; That maybe that was a test and obviously, I had what it took to always remain an objective, professional reporter. HA!
Besides, I said on that Saturday nite that was J's formal, as I relayed the story to my roommate over Michelob Lite's, there's gonna be lots of boys in the future. And its the end of the semester anyway -- it would have been one date and then that woulda been it. We'd go home for the holidays, I wouldn't be working the frat beat the following semester and we'd probably not see each other again, since it was such a big campus.
The next semester, I ran into J on campus after the first month or so of school and slyly mentioned that I wasn't writing for the campus newspaper that semester. I was doing layout instead.
He said that was interesting and asked if I liked it. We chatted for a few minutes and did the "see ya around" goodbye. Two weeks later, I saw him again and decided to finally go for it. I flirted. Asked what he was doing that weekend. But instead of telling me where he'd be hanging, he said he hated to rush off, but he was meeting his girlfriend in 10 minutes and was running late.
I kicked myself again. And even shed a few angry tears as I walked away.
Which brings me full circle now. If this crush on C is real, and I do have a genuine interest, but bury it again, like I did when I detected his interest in me a while back but ignored it, and like I did, regrettably with J, both in the name of professionalism, will I live to regret it?
Since he's not a direct boss, would it be okay to pursue more than a professional relationship as some have suggested?
Besides, I'm already looking for another job as I've become frustrated and fed up with things at my current place of employment and hope to be gone in the near future anyway. So why not "seize the day"?
And truth be told, I'm getting tired of always denying myself and my desires simply for the sake of propriety and political correctness and professional reasons.
Having written this, I still don't know what I'll do -- if anything; but this post has made me realize one thing -- the crush is real. And being good is not only not easy, but very frustrating and tiring as well.
Monday, August 22, 2005
I Have to be Able to Live Here
Okay, I caved.
MSNBC is my home page, and when I saw a story about fans flocking to a virtual tour of Clay Aiken's home, now up for sale, curiosity got the best of me and seconds later, there I was, checking out the American Idol runner up's digs.
While impressive, the thing that struck me the most was how impersonal it all was.
Obviously decorated and furnished by a high-end LA interior decorator, the place was beautiful and very tastefully furnished.
But the only thing that suggested Clay lived there was the masculine color palette.
And, I honestly can't see a 25-year-old singer being comfortable amongst all the fancy furniture, luxurious drapes and rich color schemes. I couldn't imagine him coming home after a day of recording or performing and actually being able to relax in any of those rooms.
Where are the personal photos, and souvenier chatchkes that adore the living spaces of most 20-somethings? Heck, even 30-somethings? Does Clay even live there, or does he just crash there when he happens to be in LA? For chrissakes, hang a poster or something!
Having recently bought a home, I often yearn for an anal, obnoxious, dressed-in-black-from head-to-toe designer to sweep into my space and tell me what needs to be done.
"Buy these curtains, paint these walls this shade, install new hardwood floors, and here are some great accessories from this great designer warehouse I just love!"
"And puh-leeze get rid of that tacky picture and these ridiculous chatchkes. We want clean lines. Harrummph!"
Within a couple of weeks the whole place would shine, and have very elegant, well put-together rooms that blend in with a unified theme. Everything would match and none of the styles would clash with each other. It would look like something straight off the pages of Architectural Digest or Beautiful Homes.
But ..... it wouldn't look like me and it wouldn't feel like home.
Excuse me Mr. Designer, but I happen to love that picture in the wooden mauve colored frame that is cracked! I remember the day I bought it at a Starving Artists sale and the fact that it is painted on a black background, completely opposite of 99% of the paintings out there remind me of the india ink pictures I learned how to make in 5th grade AND it makes a statement that I'm accepting of things that don't fit with the standard way of doing things.
Get rid of that little ceramic pony? You say its juvenile? Well, you're right. It is. My late grandmother plucked it from her curio shelves when she saw my 6-year-old self admiring it one day and told me I could have it. To keep. Forever. And so far, I have. No way your sneering distaste of it is ever gonna convince me to toss it.
Those senseless, non-thematic chatchkes on my book shelves that you say compete with the understated elegance you're trying to create? They're stayin' too. I remember how I came to own each and every one of them. That's why they're out on display in my parlor, for everyone to see, dipshit!
In fact, forget my wish. As beautiful and well-put together designers can make things look, I prefer the do-it-yourself approach. The one that says, yeah, let's pretty up the place, but not lose sight of the fact that someone lives here.
I want a space that when I come home after a hard day, as I look around the room, I see things that remind me of places I've been and people I've known, and states of mind I've been in when I bought them or received them, or simply found them. I want to be calmed. Not worried that the shoes I just kicked off and into the corner are ruining the whole balance of the design.
Maybe if Clay had done that, he wouldn't be selling after only owning the house for just under a year.
And notice how my design rant totally made you forget how nerdy I must be because I happen to be a 37-year-old who not only likes Clay Aiken's music, but cares about his house;)
MSNBC is my home page, and when I saw a story about fans flocking to a virtual tour of Clay Aiken's home, now up for sale, curiosity got the best of me and seconds later, there I was, checking out the American Idol runner up's digs.
While impressive, the thing that struck me the most was how impersonal it all was.
Obviously decorated and furnished by a high-end LA interior decorator, the place was beautiful and very tastefully furnished.
But the only thing that suggested Clay lived there was the masculine color palette.
And, I honestly can't see a 25-year-old singer being comfortable amongst all the fancy furniture, luxurious drapes and rich color schemes. I couldn't imagine him coming home after a day of recording or performing and actually being able to relax in any of those rooms.
Where are the personal photos, and souvenier chatchkes that adore the living spaces of most 20-somethings? Heck, even 30-somethings? Does Clay even live there, or does he just crash there when he happens to be in LA? For chrissakes, hang a poster or something!
Having recently bought a home, I often yearn for an anal, obnoxious, dressed-in-black-from head-to-toe designer to sweep into my space and tell me what needs to be done.
"Buy these curtains, paint these walls this shade, install new hardwood floors, and here are some great accessories from this great designer warehouse I just love!"
"And puh-leeze get rid of that tacky picture and these ridiculous chatchkes. We want clean lines. Harrummph!"
Within a couple of weeks the whole place would shine, and have very elegant, well put-together rooms that blend in with a unified theme. Everything would match and none of the styles would clash with each other. It would look like something straight off the pages of Architectural Digest or Beautiful Homes.
But ..... it wouldn't look like me and it wouldn't feel like home.
Excuse me Mr. Designer, but I happen to love that picture in the wooden mauve colored frame that is cracked! I remember the day I bought it at a Starving Artists sale and the fact that it is painted on a black background, completely opposite of 99% of the paintings out there remind me of the india ink pictures I learned how to make in 5th grade AND it makes a statement that I'm accepting of things that don't fit with the standard way of doing things.
Get rid of that little ceramic pony? You say its juvenile? Well, you're right. It is. My late grandmother plucked it from her curio shelves when she saw my 6-year-old self admiring it one day and told me I could have it. To keep. Forever. And so far, I have. No way your sneering distaste of it is ever gonna convince me to toss it.
Those senseless, non-thematic chatchkes on my book shelves that you say compete with the understated elegance you're trying to create? They're stayin' too. I remember how I came to own each and every one of them. That's why they're out on display in my parlor, for everyone to see, dipshit!
In fact, forget my wish. As beautiful and well-put together designers can make things look, I prefer the do-it-yourself approach. The one that says, yeah, let's pretty up the place, but not lose sight of the fact that someone lives here.
I want a space that when I come home after a hard day, as I look around the room, I see things that remind me of places I've been and people I've known, and states of mind I've been in when I bought them or received them, or simply found them. I want to be calmed. Not worried that the shoes I just kicked off and into the corner are ruining the whole balance of the design.
Maybe if Clay had done that, he wouldn't be selling after only owning the house for just under a year.
And notice how my design rant totally made you forget how nerdy I must be because I happen to be a 37-year-old who not only likes Clay Aiken's music, but cares about his house;)
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Not A Settler
"So, what is the one thing you absolutely won't put up with?" one of my co-workers asked, in regards to relationships.
It was a hard question to answer just off the cuff like that.
Friends and family have often remarked how I'm either unexplicably unlucky in love, or, that things might not be working out because I'm so tough. Meaning, I have standards and requirements I want met, and I'm not settling for less.
There were a couple of men I almost "settled" for and thought about compromising my wants and desires for the sake of having a lasting relationship with them. In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't .
There was one man I would've taken a bullet for, if necessary. Looking back, although the breakup was devastating to me, I'm glad it happened because I don't think I'd be the person I am today, had we stayed together. My life also would be drastically different, and, I think, by now, I'd be bored out of my mind. And most likely frustrated at being a mostly traditional housewife and mother, which is what he truly wanted in a marriage partner. Not that there's anything wrong with that; its just not me.
I won't lie, there's a part of me that craves a man in my life and the security of a committed relationship/marriage; I won't deny there are times when I feel lonely and alone and crave the intimacy and comfort of a stable, loving, romantic relationship. There are days when I truly ache for someone to come home to or to cook for or to snuggle up next to in bed before falling asleep.
But there's another part of me that loves being single and free and takes great pride in accomplishing things on my own. Its hard sometimes, and confusing and terrifying, but the sense of accomplishment, when it happens after ME doing what needs to be done and taking care of what needs to be taken care of, sometimes alone, sometimes with the help of family and friends, that brings me so much satisfaction that I couldn't imagine having attained it any other way. Or having to do it according to someone else's standards or wants.
Its a fine line I walk, between wanting to be with someone and liking things just as they are, thank you very much.
Some don't understand that.
I have relatives and friends who say they couldn't stand to live alone; that they would be afraid to be on their own; others who think its abnormal. That I should be trying harder to find a man, any man. Who cares about standards or what I want. Just find someone so I'm not alone anymore. After all, I'm not getting any younger, right?
Its impossible to explain or defend my lifestyle to THEM.
The bottom line: I don't want to be single forever. I do want to get married one day and have someone to come home to, to cook for, to give me backrubs and bring me flowers for no reason. But I can't give up who I am or what I want either; so if that means waiting a little longer, or maybe even not finding that, then I'm okay with that.
Because, even if I were in a relationship with a seemingly great guy, but one who wouldn't let me be who I was or do the things I need/want to do, I'd be less happy than if I were alone.
I know this because I also have many friends and acquaintances who tell me -- "if you don't want to have kids (which I don't), then don't get married. Its not worth it."
That speaks volumes to me; and makes me realize there are plusses and minuses to both lifestyles. Finding which works best for me, I guess, is the challenge.
So I answered my co-workers question by saying I couldn't put up with someone who was controlling or who would expect me to take on the old-fashioned, traditional, wifely roles, because that is just not me. I need my freedom and my independence and I need someone who trusts me enough and the relationship to allow me to be who I am and to do what I want or need to do. Someone who isn't going to expect my career or life to take a backseat to theirs. Someone who won't expect me to give up my identity or life in order to be a part of theirs.
A male co-worker immediately piped up that relationships take compromise. I agreed; its just that I could not be the one expected to do all of the compromising. I would be miserable and in the end, it just wouldn't work.
There are many men out there, who will talk the party line but don't walk the talk. I've dated quite a few of them. They say they're willing to compromise, and maybe in the beginning, they give on a few small things, but in the end, things have to go according to their ideals, and not yours I'm always glad when I'm able to see through the facade.
I do sometimes wonder if I ever will find someone. I question my standards and my pickiness and wonder if perhaps my expectations are too high.
At the end of the day, though, the reality is this: I don't want a fixer-upper or challenge or a high-maintenance type. Likewise, I don't want someone who is looking for someone who will allow him to have total control in the relationship. And no way I could ever be the nurturing, domestic, June Cleaver-type who would clean the house and pick up his socks and bake homemade bread and cookies each week without complaint. I'm way more complex than that.
I want a partner, a teammate. Someone to share my life with; not a sponge that is going to suck up my life blood and absorb me into their life.
He needs to be sensitive and strong; genuine; honest; ambitious and hard working; encouraging, nurturing, but willing and able to stand up to me; I don't want a wimp; he needs to have his own life and ambitions; we should complement each other and maybe sometimes compete with each other, but at the end of the day know that we 110% support each other and will be there for one another if things don't work out according to plan.
And I'd do the same. I'm not asking for anything that I myself can't, or won't, give.
Most importantly, would be love. They say Love Conquers All. And although I honestly have to say I've seen more unhappy relationships than happy ones, when I do see a happy one, it more than makes up for all the unhappy ones and makes me realize its worth the risk. Its what encourages me to keep on trying.
I think it's why we all keep trying and I hope one day, that I'm one of those lucky ones.
It was a hard question to answer just off the cuff like that.
Friends and family have often remarked how I'm either unexplicably unlucky in love, or, that things might not be working out because I'm so tough. Meaning, I have standards and requirements I want met, and I'm not settling for less.
There were a couple of men I almost "settled" for and thought about compromising my wants and desires for the sake of having a lasting relationship with them. In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't .
There was one man I would've taken a bullet for, if necessary. Looking back, although the breakup was devastating to me, I'm glad it happened because I don't think I'd be the person I am today, had we stayed together. My life also would be drastically different, and, I think, by now, I'd be bored out of my mind. And most likely frustrated at being a mostly traditional housewife and mother, which is what he truly wanted in a marriage partner. Not that there's anything wrong with that; its just not me.
I won't lie, there's a part of me that craves a man in my life and the security of a committed relationship/marriage; I won't deny there are times when I feel lonely and alone and crave the intimacy and comfort of a stable, loving, romantic relationship. There are days when I truly ache for someone to come home to or to cook for or to snuggle up next to in bed before falling asleep.
But there's another part of me that loves being single and free and takes great pride in accomplishing things on my own. Its hard sometimes, and confusing and terrifying, but the sense of accomplishment, when it happens after ME doing what needs to be done and taking care of what needs to be taken care of, sometimes alone, sometimes with the help of family and friends, that brings me so much satisfaction that I couldn't imagine having attained it any other way. Or having to do it according to someone else's standards or wants.
Its a fine line I walk, between wanting to be with someone and liking things just as they are, thank you very much.
Some don't understand that.
I have relatives and friends who say they couldn't stand to live alone; that they would be afraid to be on their own; others who think its abnormal. That I should be trying harder to find a man, any man. Who cares about standards or what I want. Just find someone so I'm not alone anymore. After all, I'm not getting any younger, right?
Its impossible to explain or defend my lifestyle to THEM.
The bottom line: I don't want to be single forever. I do want to get married one day and have someone to come home to, to cook for, to give me backrubs and bring me flowers for no reason. But I can't give up who I am or what I want either; so if that means waiting a little longer, or maybe even not finding that, then I'm okay with that.
Because, even if I were in a relationship with a seemingly great guy, but one who wouldn't let me be who I was or do the things I need/want to do, I'd be less happy than if I were alone.
I know this because I also have many friends and acquaintances who tell me -- "if you don't want to have kids (which I don't), then don't get married. Its not worth it."
That speaks volumes to me; and makes me realize there are plusses and minuses to both lifestyles. Finding which works best for me, I guess, is the challenge.
So I answered my co-workers question by saying I couldn't put up with someone who was controlling or who would expect me to take on the old-fashioned, traditional, wifely roles, because that is just not me. I need my freedom and my independence and I need someone who trusts me enough and the relationship to allow me to be who I am and to do what I want or need to do. Someone who isn't going to expect my career or life to take a backseat to theirs. Someone who won't expect me to give up my identity or life in order to be a part of theirs.
A male co-worker immediately piped up that relationships take compromise. I agreed; its just that I could not be the one expected to do all of the compromising. I would be miserable and in the end, it just wouldn't work.
There are many men out there, who will talk the party line but don't walk the talk. I've dated quite a few of them. They say they're willing to compromise, and maybe in the beginning, they give on a few small things, but in the end, things have to go according to their ideals, and not yours I'm always glad when I'm able to see through the facade.
I do sometimes wonder if I ever will find someone. I question my standards and my pickiness and wonder if perhaps my expectations are too high.
At the end of the day, though, the reality is this: I don't want a fixer-upper or challenge or a high-maintenance type. Likewise, I don't want someone who is looking for someone who will allow him to have total control in the relationship. And no way I could ever be the nurturing, domestic, June Cleaver-type who would clean the house and pick up his socks and bake homemade bread and cookies each week without complaint. I'm way more complex than that.
I want a partner, a teammate. Someone to share my life with; not a sponge that is going to suck up my life blood and absorb me into their life.
He needs to be sensitive and strong; genuine; honest; ambitious and hard working; encouraging, nurturing, but willing and able to stand up to me; I don't want a wimp; he needs to have his own life and ambitions; we should complement each other and maybe sometimes compete with each other, but at the end of the day know that we 110% support each other and will be there for one another if things don't work out according to plan.
And I'd do the same. I'm not asking for anything that I myself can't, or won't, give.
Most importantly, would be love. They say Love Conquers All. And although I honestly have to say I've seen more unhappy relationships than happy ones, when I do see a happy one, it more than makes up for all the unhappy ones and makes me realize its worth the risk. Its what encourages me to keep on trying.
I think it's why we all keep trying and I hope one day, that I'm one of those lucky ones.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Subliminal messages
I hadn't turned my cell phone on in a couple of days -- because basically, I'm not the type of person who has to be constantly in touch with people every second of every day. Sometimes, I like the fact that I can't be reached.
But when I finally did turn it on, I got the low battery beep and plugged it in to charge. Then I heard the message beep.
So I dialed my voicemail and had a listen.
It was my friend Lori, wanting to check the date of a concert we're planning on attending next month. And also, calling because she was bored -- not because she needed to know the date right that second.
But I LOVED, LOVED, LOVED what she said next. "Well, I guess you're probably at the gym right now sweating your butt off, which is why you didn't answer, so just give me a call when you can."
This past year, I did join a gym, but haven't exactly been taking full advantage of my membership benefits. I've actually gone weeks without a single visit. But in the past couple of weeks, in addition to my sudden domestic urges, I've also been on the health wagon -- eating better, drinking plenty of water and going to the gym with renewed zeal. Meaning, I'm aiming for 5 visits a week, but will not allow myself any less than 3.
And it shows. I feel better, and I swear, my thighs aren't jiggling quite as much. I know that's impossible -- but hey, whatever it takes to keep the motivation going, right?
So, when I got Lori's message, I had to smile. I liked being the type of person that someone would assume would be at the gym sweating her butt off on a Wednesday after work.
But when I finally did turn it on, I got the low battery beep and plugged it in to charge. Then I heard the message beep.
So I dialed my voicemail and had a listen.
It was my friend Lori, wanting to check the date of a concert we're planning on attending next month. And also, calling because she was bored -- not because she needed to know the date right that second.
But I LOVED, LOVED, LOVED what she said next. "Well, I guess you're probably at the gym right now sweating your butt off, which is why you didn't answer, so just give me a call when you can."
This past year, I did join a gym, but haven't exactly been taking full advantage of my membership benefits. I've actually gone weeks without a single visit. But in the past couple of weeks, in addition to my sudden domestic urges, I've also been on the health wagon -- eating better, drinking plenty of water and going to the gym with renewed zeal. Meaning, I'm aiming for 5 visits a week, but will not allow myself any less than 3.
And it shows. I feel better, and I swear, my thighs aren't jiggling quite as much. I know that's impossible -- but hey, whatever it takes to keep the motivation going, right?
So, when I got Lori's message, I had to smile. I liked being the type of person that someone would assume would be at the gym sweating her butt off on a Wednesday after work.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Wrinkle-free
There is so much I should be doing right now, but I just really NEEDED to blog. Haven't done so in a couple of weeks and for some reason, just can't go any longer.
Funny, when I started a blog, I wasn't sure it was something I should be doing, or wanted to be doing. Sharing my thoughts, daily trials and tribulations, and 'musings' didn't seem like something that should be available on the web for public consumption -- even though I told no one about it, and I doubt very many, if any, are reading it.
That being said, there has been a change in me over the past couple weeks. I've entered a new phase. Nothing drastic, really, but its lasted more than just a day or two, and its made a difference in my daily life.
Lately, I've been feeling very domestic.
I'm checking color palettes in preparation for some Fall painting I plan on doing in my home office, and eventually, my living room.
I've been going home from work and cooking dinner, instead of picking something up on the way home, or settling for a nuked hot dog and bag of microwave pop corn.
I've grocery shopped and bought healthy, raw foods, that require preparation --- things like fresh vegetables, lean meats, whole wheat pasta and whole grain breads and fruit -- instead of processed, semi-prepared, microwaveable, convenience foods.
I've been bringing a healthy lunch to work instead of grabbing a chili dog or Big Mac, and
I'm actually ironing my clothes. This is perhaps, the biggest change and totally inexplicable.
The past couple of years, I have gone to great lengths to avoid ironing -- racing to the dryer to get clothes out before the cool-down cycle and immediatley hanging them on hangers; hanging blouses in the bathroom while I showered; wearing cardigans or blazers over wrinkled tops; or even, (gulp) wearing something that was fairly wrinkled and telling myself I was only going to be sitting at my desk in the office that day and no one important would see me, and maybe, just maybe, some of the wrinkles would fall out as I wore the blouse or skirt or pants.
The funny thing is, as I rediscovered the past couple weeks, is how much I've always liked to iron. Weird, but true.
It started when I was 12; I went to Catholic school and we were required to wear pastel-colored button-down, Oxford-style blouses with our green plaid uniforms. Mom decided it was time I learned how to iron my own clothes.
Initially, it was a pain, but the Sunday ritual soon became something I actually liked to do. Hearing the hiss as drips of water hit the hot metal surface of the iron, watching the wrinkles magically disappear from sleeves and collars; the clean, soothing, warm smell of re-heated fabric softener and steam. Hanging up a week's worth of freshly ironed blouses in the closet.
These days, I don't do my ironing on Sunday nights. Heck, as I just confessed above, its something that up until a couple of weeks ago, I only did when absolutely necessary -- as in, an article of clothing looked like an accordion; or it had sat in the dryer for a few days and no amount of extra drying could make it anywhere near wearable; or I had an interview or important meeting with higher-ups.
But one day last week, I wanted to wear a favorite pair of cotton pants and they were so very wrinkled no amount of laziness or lateness or rationalizing could justify my not ironing them.
So, I dug my iron out of the closet, filled it with water and plugged 'er in.
The initial hiss of the steam only made me dread the process as it was a stifling 76 degrees already, at only 8 a.m. But it had to be done.
As I started in on the job, my focus shifted from the heat and my annoyance at having to iron, to watching as the wrinkled fabric suddenly became smooth and straight. The Spring Rain fabric softener I had used was revived by the steam pumping out of the iron and filled the room, and suddenly, I found myself taking longer than necessary to complete the task.
"Gosh, I forgot how much I love to iron" I remember thinking.
And now, its part of the daily ritual. For the past 6 days in a row, I've ironed each morning. Savoring that self-righteous feeling, and yes, feeling a little bit proud, as I put my wrinkle-free clothes on and unplug my iron.
While I doubt I'll ever go back to the Sunday ironing ritual where I sometimes stood at the ironing board for a good hour or more, ironing a week's worth of clothing, I've found that spending a few minutes ironing the day's clothing is actually kind of a nice way to ease into the morning.
If only all of life's problems couldn't be resolved as quickly and easily as wrinkled clothing.
Funny, when I started a blog, I wasn't sure it was something I should be doing, or wanted to be doing. Sharing my thoughts, daily trials and tribulations, and 'musings' didn't seem like something that should be available on the web for public consumption -- even though I told no one about it, and I doubt very many, if any, are reading it.
That being said, there has been a change in me over the past couple weeks. I've entered a new phase. Nothing drastic, really, but its lasted more than just a day or two, and its made a difference in my daily life.
Lately, I've been feeling very domestic.
I'm checking color palettes in preparation for some Fall painting I plan on doing in my home office, and eventually, my living room.
I've been going home from work and cooking dinner, instead of picking something up on the way home, or settling for a nuked hot dog and bag of microwave pop corn.
I've grocery shopped and bought healthy, raw foods, that require preparation --- things like fresh vegetables, lean meats, whole wheat pasta and whole grain breads and fruit -- instead of processed, semi-prepared, microwaveable, convenience foods.
I've been bringing a healthy lunch to work instead of grabbing a chili dog or Big Mac, and
I'm actually ironing my clothes. This is perhaps, the biggest change and totally inexplicable.
The past couple of years, I have gone to great lengths to avoid ironing -- racing to the dryer to get clothes out before the cool-down cycle and immediatley hanging them on hangers; hanging blouses in the bathroom while I showered; wearing cardigans or blazers over wrinkled tops; or even, (gulp) wearing something that was fairly wrinkled and telling myself I was only going to be sitting at my desk in the office that day and no one important would see me, and maybe, just maybe, some of the wrinkles would fall out as I wore the blouse or skirt or pants.
The funny thing is, as I rediscovered the past couple weeks, is how much I've always liked to iron. Weird, but true.
It started when I was 12; I went to Catholic school and we were required to wear pastel-colored button-down, Oxford-style blouses with our green plaid uniforms. Mom decided it was time I learned how to iron my own clothes.
Initially, it was a pain, but the Sunday ritual soon became something I actually liked to do. Hearing the hiss as drips of water hit the hot metal surface of the iron, watching the wrinkles magically disappear from sleeves and collars; the clean, soothing, warm smell of re-heated fabric softener and steam. Hanging up a week's worth of freshly ironed blouses in the closet.
These days, I don't do my ironing on Sunday nights. Heck, as I just confessed above, its something that up until a couple of weeks ago, I only did when absolutely necessary -- as in, an article of clothing looked like an accordion; or it had sat in the dryer for a few days and no amount of extra drying could make it anywhere near wearable; or I had an interview or important meeting with higher-ups.
But one day last week, I wanted to wear a favorite pair of cotton pants and they were so very wrinkled no amount of laziness or lateness or rationalizing could justify my not ironing them.
So, I dug my iron out of the closet, filled it with water and plugged 'er in.
The initial hiss of the steam only made me dread the process as it was a stifling 76 degrees already, at only 8 a.m. But it had to be done.
As I started in on the job, my focus shifted from the heat and my annoyance at having to iron, to watching as the wrinkled fabric suddenly became smooth and straight. The Spring Rain fabric softener I had used was revived by the steam pumping out of the iron and filled the room, and suddenly, I found myself taking longer than necessary to complete the task.
"Gosh, I forgot how much I love to iron" I remember thinking.
And now, its part of the daily ritual. For the past 6 days in a row, I've ironed each morning. Savoring that self-righteous feeling, and yes, feeling a little bit proud, as I put my wrinkle-free clothes on and unplug my iron.
While I doubt I'll ever go back to the Sunday ironing ritual where I sometimes stood at the ironing board for a good hour or more, ironing a week's worth of clothing, I've found that spending a few minutes ironing the day's clothing is actually kind of a nice way to ease into the morning.
If only all of life's problems couldn't be resolved as quickly and easily as wrinkled clothing.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
A burden Lifted
One deadline project finished -- 2 days early to boot and another halfway done and at least a couple more days still left to finish it and I finally feel as though I can relax.
I am a total enigma. I totally stress out when things get down to the wire, but also, I work best under pressure. Nothing like a looming deadline to fortify my focus and concentration. I could tune out a heavy metal rock concert taking place in the parking lot, if I really truly need to get something done immediately.
So, more often than not, I put things off until the last possible minute and then roll up my sleeves, curse my procrastination, and dig in.
Until the day I finish, I wake up each morning, worrying about the day ahead and whether or not I'll get all my shit done.
I always do, (get my shit done) and even as I worry, I know I will get it done because I have to, I have no choice, but still. Until the day its completed, fear and anxiety hover over me constantly.
Upon waking each morning, I am momentarily paralyzed with fear, staring at the numbers on my alarm clock and berating myself for being such a procrastinator and considering the possibility of "what if I don't get it done on time this time?"
But then, sensibility and a sense of necessity, spurs me on and out of bed, and I begin my workday with a renewed sense of purpose, diverting the crux of my time and energies that day to getting things done.
And today, I finished. Early. And all is right with the world again. I've even allowed a friend to convince me to take a few hours off this afternoon to go play golf.
As I hung up the phone, the angel on my shoulder is saying I should stay disciplined, call her back and cancel and immediately start in on the other deadline project. Why put myself through all the stress that comes with procrastination and looming deadlines when I can so easily avoid it?
The procrastinating devil on my other shoulder says not to worry, I have plenty of time and can come in early or work late tomorrow if I need to, to get the other project done. And besides, in the end, I always do come through and get things done right and on time, despite the stress and fear and berating.
So, who won?
My tee time is in 35 minutes!!
I am a total enigma. I totally stress out when things get down to the wire, but also, I work best under pressure. Nothing like a looming deadline to fortify my focus and concentration. I could tune out a heavy metal rock concert taking place in the parking lot, if I really truly need to get something done immediately.
So, more often than not, I put things off until the last possible minute and then roll up my sleeves, curse my procrastination, and dig in.
Until the day I finish, I wake up each morning, worrying about the day ahead and whether or not I'll get all my shit done.
I always do, (get my shit done) and even as I worry, I know I will get it done because I have to, I have no choice, but still. Until the day its completed, fear and anxiety hover over me constantly.
Upon waking each morning, I am momentarily paralyzed with fear, staring at the numbers on my alarm clock and berating myself for being such a procrastinator and considering the possibility of "what if I don't get it done on time this time?"
But then, sensibility and a sense of necessity, spurs me on and out of bed, and I begin my workday with a renewed sense of purpose, diverting the crux of my time and energies that day to getting things done.
And today, I finished. Early. And all is right with the world again. I've even allowed a friend to convince me to take a few hours off this afternoon to go play golf.
As I hung up the phone, the angel on my shoulder is saying I should stay disciplined, call her back and cancel and immediately start in on the other deadline project. Why put myself through all the stress that comes with procrastination and looming deadlines when I can so easily avoid it?
The procrastinating devil on my other shoulder says not to worry, I have plenty of time and can come in early or work late tomorrow if I need to, to get the other project done. And besides, in the end, I always do come through and get things done right and on time, despite the stress and fear and berating.
So, who won?
My tee time is in 35 minutes!!
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
A Shorts Story
While I don't consider myself materialistic, I do sometimes become attached to the most mundane physical objects and have a hard time letting go.
Case in point, Teddy, a large stuffed yellow and brown bear that I didn't let out of my sight for the first 7 years of my life. Then, one day, somehow he got relegated to the attic. Forgotten and unmissed. Many years later, when I was in high school, I came across Teddy while helping Mom look for some curtains.
Seeing him there, all alone in the dark attic, and remembering how he had once been such an integral part of my life, I scooped him up, dusted him off and brought him back down to my bedroom. Granted, he stayed pretty much cooped up in the back corner of my room, but every once in awhile I'd catch sight of him and remember all those nights as a kid feeling so much more secure in my bed because Teddy was there. And I felt better knowing he wasn't wasting away in the attic all alone.
As I grew, so did my random physical attachments. At different points I have had attachments to a pair of PJs, shoes (I was totally depressed the day I had to throw my favorite black leather pumps away), a small ceramic pony that for some reason I just love and still have on my nightstand to this day, picture frames, cassette tapes, a blue vase, earrings -- you get the picture.
Well, last nite, I had to say goodbye to another of my favorite things.
My white denim shorts, which I've had for so long I don't even know how old they really are, finally died. Literally died.
As I eased into them one more time, the zipper broke. I actually did consider having a new one put in for a few minutes, but looking at them, how the seams were tattering, the denim was worn thin in places, I realized the time had come to let go.
But it was hard, unbelieveably, ridiculously, absurdly, laughably hard.
Over the years I had worn them year-round -- with tanks and tees in the summer and sweatshirts and henleys in the fall and winter. They were a lightweight denim, broken in, always comfy, and always fit despite my weight gains and monthly bloating.
AND, most importantly, they were always flattering. I wore them out with friends, around the house, washing the car. I wore them ALL THE TIME.
But no more. Last nite, I took them off for the last time, and tossed them into the trash. Just like I did with those beloved black pumps a few years ago.
I miss them already, and know I'll never find a pair exactly like them.
Their demise means one less of my favorite things lying around the house. Not to mention one less pair of flattering shorts in my wardrobe.
But luckily, while some things have to be let go, others do survive.
At least I can take comfort in the fact that Teddy is still alive and kicking. Even after all these years, he still sits in my old bedroom at my parents house, forever smiling from his place in the corner and being entertained occasionally by my two rambunctious nieces who still find joy in the arms of a big yellow and brown teddy bear.
And I threaten my father with a fate worse than death any time he jokingly suggests giving, or throwing, him away.
Case in point, Teddy, a large stuffed yellow and brown bear that I didn't let out of my sight for the first 7 years of my life. Then, one day, somehow he got relegated to the attic. Forgotten and unmissed. Many years later, when I was in high school, I came across Teddy while helping Mom look for some curtains.
Seeing him there, all alone in the dark attic, and remembering how he had once been such an integral part of my life, I scooped him up, dusted him off and brought him back down to my bedroom. Granted, he stayed pretty much cooped up in the back corner of my room, but every once in awhile I'd catch sight of him and remember all those nights as a kid feeling so much more secure in my bed because Teddy was there. And I felt better knowing he wasn't wasting away in the attic all alone.
As I grew, so did my random physical attachments. At different points I have had attachments to a pair of PJs, shoes (I was totally depressed the day I had to throw my favorite black leather pumps away), a small ceramic pony that for some reason I just love and still have on my nightstand to this day, picture frames, cassette tapes, a blue vase, earrings -- you get the picture.
Well, last nite, I had to say goodbye to another of my favorite things.
My white denim shorts, which I've had for so long I don't even know how old they really are, finally died. Literally died.
As I eased into them one more time, the zipper broke. I actually did consider having a new one put in for a few minutes, but looking at them, how the seams were tattering, the denim was worn thin in places, I realized the time had come to let go.
But it was hard, unbelieveably, ridiculously, absurdly, laughably hard.
Over the years I had worn them year-round -- with tanks and tees in the summer and sweatshirts and henleys in the fall and winter. They were a lightweight denim, broken in, always comfy, and always fit despite my weight gains and monthly bloating.
AND, most importantly, they were always flattering. I wore them out with friends, around the house, washing the car. I wore them ALL THE TIME.
But no more. Last nite, I took them off for the last time, and tossed them into the trash. Just like I did with those beloved black pumps a few years ago.
I miss them already, and know I'll never find a pair exactly like them.
Their demise means one less of my favorite things lying around the house. Not to mention one less pair of flattering shorts in my wardrobe.
But luckily, while some things have to be let go, others do survive.
At least I can take comfort in the fact that Teddy is still alive and kicking. Even after all these years, he still sits in my old bedroom at my parents house, forever smiling from his place in the corner and being entertained occasionally by my two rambunctious nieces who still find joy in the arms of a big yellow and brown teddy bear.
And I threaten my father with a fate worse than death any time he jokingly suggests giving, or throwing, him away.
Monday, July 25, 2005
My life has taken a sudden turn for the worse. Well, at least my professional life.
I've not written too much about work because I don't want it to totally overshadow my life, as work can sometimes do. But the past couple of weeks have been very hard indeed.
My job is to oversee a multi-tiered agency, and as anyone who has worked with bureaucrats and governments, and of course, their egos, knows what a political minefield that can be. So it goes with my job.
Lately, things have been heating up and recently, and, without going into too much detail, I've become completely and thoroughly frustrated and disgusted with the political landscape.
Truthfully, I haven't liked working where I work almost since day one. But the weird thing was -- I LOVED the work itself and the industry and my colleagues and the fact that I knew I was accomplishing things; all this despite all the horrible political undertones and landmines. So I was able and willing to overlook the annoyances and challenges that regularly came my way.
But lately, the politics have begun to overshadow the positives, as have personal vendettas and agendas, and I know the only thing I can do to preserve my sanity and my health is to walk away.
Last week, there were a few things that essentially, sealed my fate for me. A run-in with a higher-up that resulted in lines being drawn in the sand, and basically the refusal of other higher-ups, who refuse to provide me the necessary backing to do my job the way it should be done. For some reason, the majority are letting the will of the few rule and I've decided its fruitless to try to stop them or fight them, or continue to keep putting my head on the chopping block in an effort to do things right, when no one will join me or support me.
Now, some would say, "well then, why not just go with the flow, and take the path of least resistance"
My response is: I can't. I'm a helpless underdog who believes in honesty and integrity and in doing things the right way. No matter how hard, or how much of an uphill battle.
So now, I've determined that I'm done. D-O-N-E, DONE! White flag thrown, spirit broken and any hint of fire or spunk completely snuffed out.
I now, officially, thoroughly hate my job. I hate the few conspirators who are behind the incidents that have brought me to this place of hating my job, and I am on the job hunt with a vengeance.
Resume dusted off and posted online and a renewed sense of urgency in checking the classifieds each morning. I'm also getting the word out to trusted friends and professional acquaintances that I'm looking and what I'm looking for.
This weekend was tough. In my head, I kept going over each different scenario where I could get myself to a place where I wanted to stay -- but none of them worked. I thought of just up and quitting, but a review of my finances proved that impossible right now. I tried to envision how maybe I could meet with the enemy and get to some common ground -- but I know that that wouldn't work either.
No, I have to leave. And the sooner the better. But I can't do it until I have something else to fall back on. That much is certain.
A friend of mine suggests just riding it out and trying not to take things personally. Well, its not personal really. In my opionion, its blatant disregard and disrespect for the right way of doing things and, also, I am being treated more like an intern that can be disregarded, ignored, or worked around, rather than the professional in charge -- which is, after all, what I'm paid to be.
I usually handle stress fairly well. Not this weekend. I had headaches, knots in my stomach, trouble falling asleep and high blood pressure. I once had borderline high blood pressure, and so have one of those handy home monitors. At one point, my reading was 160/90. That is just insane.
Thankfully, an hour later, it was back down to a more acceptable level, but still.
As a good friend of mine put it -- "no job is worth your health."
And she's right. I'm just hoping that fate smiles upon me in the very near future and that I find a better, more enjoyable and yes, even better paying job than the one I have now.
I need a change and it can't come soon enough.
I've not written too much about work because I don't want it to totally overshadow my life, as work can sometimes do. But the past couple of weeks have been very hard indeed.
My job is to oversee a multi-tiered agency, and as anyone who has worked with bureaucrats and governments, and of course, their egos, knows what a political minefield that can be. So it goes with my job.
Lately, things have been heating up and recently, and, without going into too much detail, I've become completely and thoroughly frustrated and disgusted with the political landscape.
Truthfully, I haven't liked working where I work almost since day one. But the weird thing was -- I LOVED the work itself and the industry and my colleagues and the fact that I knew I was accomplishing things; all this despite all the horrible political undertones and landmines. So I was able and willing to overlook the annoyances and challenges that regularly came my way.
But lately, the politics have begun to overshadow the positives, as have personal vendettas and agendas, and I know the only thing I can do to preserve my sanity and my health is to walk away.
Last week, there were a few things that essentially, sealed my fate for me. A run-in with a higher-up that resulted in lines being drawn in the sand, and basically the refusal of other higher-ups, who refuse to provide me the necessary backing to do my job the way it should be done. For some reason, the majority are letting the will of the few rule and I've decided its fruitless to try to stop them or fight them, or continue to keep putting my head on the chopping block in an effort to do things right, when no one will join me or support me.
Now, some would say, "well then, why not just go with the flow, and take the path of least resistance"
My response is: I can't. I'm a helpless underdog who believes in honesty and integrity and in doing things the right way. No matter how hard, or how much of an uphill battle.
So now, I've determined that I'm done. D-O-N-E, DONE! White flag thrown, spirit broken and any hint of fire or spunk completely snuffed out.
I now, officially, thoroughly hate my job. I hate the few conspirators who are behind the incidents that have brought me to this place of hating my job, and I am on the job hunt with a vengeance.
Resume dusted off and posted online and a renewed sense of urgency in checking the classifieds each morning. I'm also getting the word out to trusted friends and professional acquaintances that I'm looking and what I'm looking for.
This weekend was tough. In my head, I kept going over each different scenario where I could get myself to a place where I wanted to stay -- but none of them worked. I thought of just up and quitting, but a review of my finances proved that impossible right now. I tried to envision how maybe I could meet with the enemy and get to some common ground -- but I know that that wouldn't work either.
No, I have to leave. And the sooner the better. But I can't do it until I have something else to fall back on. That much is certain.
A friend of mine suggests just riding it out and trying not to take things personally. Well, its not personal really. In my opionion, its blatant disregard and disrespect for the right way of doing things and, also, I am being treated more like an intern that can be disregarded, ignored, or worked around, rather than the professional in charge -- which is, after all, what I'm paid to be.
I usually handle stress fairly well. Not this weekend. I had headaches, knots in my stomach, trouble falling asleep and high blood pressure. I once had borderline high blood pressure, and so have one of those handy home monitors. At one point, my reading was 160/90. That is just insane.
Thankfully, an hour later, it was back down to a more acceptable level, but still.
As a good friend of mine put it -- "no job is worth your health."
And she's right. I'm just hoping that fate smiles upon me in the very near future and that I find a better, more enjoyable and yes, even better paying job than the one I have now.
I need a change and it can't come soon enough.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
I Want, But Can't Have
There are days, where I dream big.
While I am far from being deprived -- I have lots to be thankful for -- I own a house; drive a nice car; good friends; eat out frequently; loving, albeit sometimes annoying, family and some nice toys (new TV, cell phone, great CD and book collection; nice stereo, newer living room furniture) all of that -- there are times where that truly American sense of "hafta have" sinks its claws into me and brings out a longing for all those things that beckon from store shelves, television commercials and just seeing other people having them.
I feel like a kid in a department store being dragged through the aisles by a parent, pointing at things at whining, "But I want one, boo hoo hooo. Pleeeese?!.
Things I want:
an iPod
a new computer with a flat screen, where you can't hear the gears grinding as you log on or download a new program
a new desk for new computer
new carpeting in my downstairs
a set of golf clubs for my newfound joy of golfing (see post below)
piano lessons, and as a result, a piano or at the very least a keyboard. (See, I've wanted to take piano lessons for a very long time now, but either didn't have the time or the money or both.
a good quality mountain bike, as my $70 Sears special died a year ago and hasn't been replaced yet
a week long vacation at a beach resort
a convertible
a gainfully employed, nice looking, man in my age bracket with little to no baggage who doesn't still live with his parents
Okay, there's probably more if I gave it some serious thought, but then I'd just sound selfish and materialistic. hehehehe
Thing is, except for the convertible and beach resort vacation, the other things are not very impractical or unnecessary.
My problem -- lack of funds. (Well except for the man. Can't buy one of them at Macy's. Not sure what the problem is there. Maybe my requirements) Since buying the house, I've had to live on a budget.
Granted I'm more flexible with it at times then I should be, but I'm practical and disciplined enough to know that I need to keep my spending in line, and certain things, like iPods and new computers -- are just going to have to wait, so that I can continue to pay for necessary things -- like the mortgage and taxes and utilities and food.
And in retrospect, I think its better to want things. How boring if we always had whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted it. What would there be to look forward to? And besides, Chrismas is only a few months away! ;-)
But damn, I really do want an iPod now!
While I am far from being deprived -- I have lots to be thankful for -- I own a house; drive a nice car; good friends; eat out frequently; loving, albeit sometimes annoying, family and some nice toys (new TV, cell phone, great CD and book collection; nice stereo, newer living room furniture) all of that -- there are times where that truly American sense of "hafta have" sinks its claws into me and brings out a longing for all those things that beckon from store shelves, television commercials and just seeing other people having them.
I feel like a kid in a department store being dragged through the aisles by a parent, pointing at things at whining, "But I want one, boo hoo hooo. Pleeeese?!.
Things I want:
an iPod
a new computer with a flat screen, where you can't hear the gears grinding as you log on or download a new program
a new desk for new computer
new carpeting in my downstairs
a set of golf clubs for my newfound joy of golfing (see post below)
piano lessons, and as a result, a piano or at the very least a keyboard. (See, I've wanted to take piano lessons for a very long time now, but either didn't have the time or the money or both.
a good quality mountain bike, as my $70 Sears special died a year ago and hasn't been replaced yet
a week long vacation at a beach resort
a convertible
a gainfully employed, nice looking, man in my age bracket with little to no baggage who doesn't still live with his parents
Okay, there's probably more if I gave it some serious thought, but then I'd just sound selfish and materialistic. hehehehe
Thing is, except for the convertible and beach resort vacation, the other things are not very impractical or unnecessary.
My problem -- lack of funds. (Well except for the man. Can't buy one of them at Macy's. Not sure what the problem is there. Maybe my requirements) Since buying the house, I've had to live on a budget.
Granted I'm more flexible with it at times then I should be, but I'm practical and disciplined enough to know that I need to keep my spending in line, and certain things, like iPods and new computers -- are just going to have to wait, so that I can continue to pay for necessary things -- like the mortgage and taxes and utilities and food.
And in retrospect, I think its better to want things. How boring if we always had whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted it. What would there be to look forward to? And besides, Chrismas is only a few months away! ;-)
But damn, I really do want an iPod now!
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Why the Funk?
I'm in a funk today.
Actually, I've been in one since yesterday.
Maybe its the ungodly heat. Maybe its PMS. Maybe its the sheer boredom and frustration I've been feeling lately with my job and my life. Perhaps a combination of all of the above.
I don't know. But I know I don't like it.
One minute, I'll be fine, and then totally lose focus and interest in the task at hand. I've been going home from work, turning on the AC and pretty much just vegging. So maybe it is the heat.
Last week, had been great. I was busy, had energy, got to the gym 3 times and went golfing for the first time ever and loved it.
Funny, I'd always made fun of golfers. "What could anyone possibly find enjoyable about trying to hit a small white ball into a small, faroff hole?" I'd laugh.
I now know the mystique. Its challenging and you're outside in the sunshine and it feels great when you whack that ball and on your first stroke actually get it ONTO the green. I even did a few little up and down jumps after a few good shots. But most importantly, everyone I know who golfs follows it with beers and bar food afterward. Which is, I think, the real reason most stick with the game.
But I digress. After a week of fun, I now find myself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Could be that this is my Hell Week with meetings and reports and all kinds of pressing, yet totally mind-numbing crap due. Not to mention a ton of upper management level politics and power plays and crap that are going on, with me having to play referee and I haven't had a day off in 9 days.
Yep, I worked the weekend -- 10 hour days, thankyouverymuch -- and won't be able to take a day off until at least this Friday. And probably not even then because of all the deadline stuff that I have to get done.
Yet here I sit blogging instead of working and not even caring because today had to be one of the worst days on this job yet. And I"m not gonna rehash because its just not worth it.
Thing is, its now going for 6:30 p.m. and I don't really know what I want to do or where I want to go. I don't feel like staying at work because I know I won't accomplish anything, yet don't feel like going home either. Just have this weird sort of limbo feeling. And can't shake it.
Like last nite -- I coulda, shoulda done a dozen different things -- laundry, cleaning, writing, shopping (need groceries), the gym, but instead, flopped on the couch and watched mindless TV and ate hot dogs for dinner.
Granted, I didn't get home from work until 8 p.m., partly due to a 3-hour drive which wiped me out, but still, I couldn't help feeling like a slug.
I know it will pass. This happens from time to time when the pressure builds and the outside stressors of work, personalities and the weight of all my own responsibilities seem to pound down all at once. And of course, no one to really unload on.
My parents don't get the executive crap because they're not executives. My friends lend a sympathetic ear, but I hate venting to them all the time because I know I'd get sick of listening to the minutiae of a job I know nothing about and aren't affected by. We're considerate of each other like that. We vent occasionally, but not all the time.
So here I sit. Blogging and plotting what I'll do next. While I've been typing away, I've glanced over at a few file folders that need working on. In the back of my mind there are a couple other tasks that I know I could probably bang out in an hour or so. But can't bring myself to start on them.
I think my solution -- a short drive with my favorite CD and the windows all the way down; and then, I"m going to go home and make a nice dinner. An actual main course with a side veggie or something and a glass or two of one of the wines I picked up this weekend on my business travels.
I'll follow it with garbage TV, refuse to allow myself to feel guilty for not doing laundry or chores, and will myself that tomorrow is gonna be better.
Actually, I've been in one since yesterday.
Maybe its the ungodly heat. Maybe its PMS. Maybe its the sheer boredom and frustration I've been feeling lately with my job and my life. Perhaps a combination of all of the above.
I don't know. But I know I don't like it.
One minute, I'll be fine, and then totally lose focus and interest in the task at hand. I've been going home from work, turning on the AC and pretty much just vegging. So maybe it is the heat.
Last week, had been great. I was busy, had energy, got to the gym 3 times and went golfing for the first time ever and loved it.
Funny, I'd always made fun of golfers. "What could anyone possibly find enjoyable about trying to hit a small white ball into a small, faroff hole?" I'd laugh.
I now know the mystique. Its challenging and you're outside in the sunshine and it feels great when you whack that ball and on your first stroke actually get it ONTO the green. I even did a few little up and down jumps after a few good shots. But most importantly, everyone I know who golfs follows it with beers and bar food afterward. Which is, I think, the real reason most stick with the game.
But I digress. After a week of fun, I now find myself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Could be that this is my Hell Week with meetings and reports and all kinds of pressing, yet totally mind-numbing crap due. Not to mention a ton of upper management level politics and power plays and crap that are going on, with me having to play referee and I haven't had a day off in 9 days.
Yep, I worked the weekend -- 10 hour days, thankyouverymuch -- and won't be able to take a day off until at least this Friday. And probably not even then because of all the deadline stuff that I have to get done.
Yet here I sit blogging instead of working and not even caring because today had to be one of the worst days on this job yet. And I"m not gonna rehash because its just not worth it.
Thing is, its now going for 6:30 p.m. and I don't really know what I want to do or where I want to go. I don't feel like staying at work because I know I won't accomplish anything, yet don't feel like going home either. Just have this weird sort of limbo feeling. And can't shake it.
Like last nite -- I coulda, shoulda done a dozen different things -- laundry, cleaning, writing, shopping (need groceries), the gym, but instead, flopped on the couch and watched mindless TV and ate hot dogs for dinner.
Granted, I didn't get home from work until 8 p.m., partly due to a 3-hour drive which wiped me out, but still, I couldn't help feeling like a slug.
I know it will pass. This happens from time to time when the pressure builds and the outside stressors of work, personalities and the weight of all my own responsibilities seem to pound down all at once. And of course, no one to really unload on.
My parents don't get the executive crap because they're not executives. My friends lend a sympathetic ear, but I hate venting to them all the time because I know I'd get sick of listening to the minutiae of a job I know nothing about and aren't affected by. We're considerate of each other like that. We vent occasionally, but not all the time.
So here I sit. Blogging and plotting what I'll do next. While I've been typing away, I've glanced over at a few file folders that need working on. In the back of my mind there are a couple other tasks that I know I could probably bang out in an hour or so. But can't bring myself to start on them.
I think my solution -- a short drive with my favorite CD and the windows all the way down; and then, I"m going to go home and make a nice dinner. An actual main course with a side veggie or something and a glass or two of one of the wines I picked up this weekend on my business travels.
I'll follow it with garbage TV, refuse to allow myself to feel guilty for not doing laundry or chores, and will myself that tomorrow is gonna be better.
Friday, July 01, 2005
Dinner Revelations
Last nite my friend Michele and I met for dinner. We treated ourselves to a gourmet feast at a local fine dining restaurant and it was just what the doctor ordered -- even if I really couldn't afford it this week.
Ah well, that's what bill payment grace periods are for, right? Besides, it was cheaper than therapy.
"You know, I always used to wonder what was wrong with me that I wasn't married," she said. "I used to think it must be something about me, that's prevented me from finding someone."
"Nooooo," I said. "I don't think that's it at all. I think its just that we're both independent, self-sufficient women and some men are intimidated by that and others can't live up to our standards. And we're picky."
"But maybe, then, that's what's wrong with US," she suggested.
There have been times over the last 15 years when I've longed to be married and settled and out of the single rat race.
There have been other times when I've embraced my singlehood and thought I wouldn't want to live any other way.
Truth is, I do want to find my soul mate; I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone, or taking care of two dozen cats. But I also refuse to settle or compromise my standards. I'd rather be alone, than coupled up with someone just to be coupled up. Or worse, coupled up and miserable.
Michele no longer believes she is single because of some fatal flaw, but rather, because right now, she's on a different path, and when the time is right, and the right person comes along, it will happen.
I agree with that philosophy. I believe certain things in our lives happen for a reason, some of which are out of our control, and that in the end, things will work out for the best.
And maybe I'm still single, because on many levels, I am quite content and happy that way, and when I truly need someone else in my life, I will find someone and become not single.
But what really was surprising about our dinner conversation, was that while it started with a discussion on men, relationships and our current status, it ended with me finding out that we had way more in common than we'd known.
We've known each other about 8 years now. She is loud, raucous, giggly, sweet, totally selfless and literally a ball of energy. I too am loud, raucous, sweet/nice, and while not giggly, usually walking around in a good enough mood and with a smile on my face.
The differences, Michele had always struck me as a person very in touch with her feelings and not afraid to show them; someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, a hugger, someone who was, quite literally an open book.
I on the other hand, am always very conscious of my emotions, not very toouchy-feely, and very reserved when it came to expressing anger, hurt, joy or any other feelings in front of others. I would literally sit in a movie theater with a lump in my throat the size of a tennis ball, rather than let anyone see me cry during a particularly heart-wrenching scene, and while very passionate when alone with an SO, refrained from public displays of affection the way one would avoid a rattlesnake.
While most who know me know I'm a good person and would describe me as very nice, I've also been referred to as tough, cold, hard, unemotional. This is because I refuse to show hurt feelings or let people know when they've gotten to me. I can watch a man walk out the door and drive away with a stiff upper lip, holding off on the tears until his car is no longer in sight. I can hold my own in any argument. I open my own doors and carry my own luggage. When someone says something to try to hurt me, I respond blandly or with an equally hurtful remark and a defiant look on my face -- one that doesn't reveal the pain the remark inflicted. And a part of me is proud of that.
I cried twice in front of my last serious boyfriend, and one of those times was the night we broke up. I had tried so hard not to, but it was a precarious balance and as I stooped down to pick up my purse off the floor, tears spilled out onto the top of my handbag. I couldn't stop them and once they fell, it was like the floodgates had been pulled back.
I'm guessing he probably still remembers that nite too, since I didn't just cry, I outright bawled. Loud, shaking sobs and my uttering my disbelief that the breakup was happening because I thought he had been The One. The first and only time I had admitted that to him.
It happened a long time ago, but the memories of it still open up the wound and make it throb with a pain so hurtful I still wonder how I got through that period. My ability to compartmentalize saved me. I got through my days acting as though everything were fine, and saving the tears and sadness for when I was home alone.
And last nite, in a conversation that started out kvetching about work, then moved onto boys and a philosophical discussion about why we wern't married yet, I learned that in the area of not showing emotion or vulnerability, Michele and I are two peas in a pod. She confessed to being the same way. I was shocked.
She traces it back to childhood, I hypothesize its life experiences. After discussing over a fabulous shrimp dijon appetizer, we came to the conclusion it was both. Both of us got this way because of how we were raised -- if you did something and it didn't turn out right, then it was your fault. You were expected to get good grades and always behave, and when something upset you, you were told not to act like a baby and stop crying and complaining.
She really hit the nail on the head when she said, basically, I think the reason we're like that is that we're afraid to be vulnerable -- because we were taught not to be, or not to let anyone see you cry or act afraid or fail.
She's right. I am afraid to be vulnerable; I'm afraid to show weakness and I'm afraid to fail, because in my past, failure brought on criticism -- personal, professional or romantic.
In hashing this topic, we hypothesized that maybe THAT's why we're still single. Because we always try to be perfect ourselves, we're looking for an SO that can live up to the perfectionist standards we hold ourselves too. And of course, that person (man) doesn't exist.
We also want someone who will be the opposite of us -- who will be loving, not be afraid to express emotion, who can get us to let our hair down sometimes, and who will somehow magically be able to understand why, and not mind, that we don't reciprocate.
"We're our own worst enemies," she said, and again, she was right. I obviously am good at my job. I hold an executive position, have gotten good yearly reviews, and oodles of compliments from my higher ups. And yet, most days, I leave my office, thinking "I should've, could've, have to do .....better."
Even though everyone else around me is thrilled with the results.
I'm hardest on myself. Michele says she is too.
Our conversation made me think -- and I realized that it gave me a better understanding of myself and why I might be the way I am and how my mindset could actually be hindering me. I sometimes have less fun than those around me because I'm afraid to let go, I can be judgemental, by strictly adhering to my standards, I'm not being open to some possibly great experiences.
Over the past few years, I've been working on some things. I now not only voice my appreciation for gifts, but show it too. I've gotten more huggy with friends, tried to be a bit more open and emotional with family members. I let people help me with things even if I don't really need the help because I know it makes them feel good and takes me out of my Super Woman mode. And I let myself cry at sad movies -- right there in the movie theater for anyone to see. That is a HUGE step.
And I've become more open. And that is a very good thing. See, a few years back, I never would have admitted my fear of vulnerability to Michele. Never would have commiserated with her about our shared hard cores and emotional toughness. That means I've grown -- in a good way. It also means, some of the layers are coming off, and I'm letting more people in.
Hopefully, by the time I meet my soul mate, the door will be wide open. And I won't be afraid to cry, hug, laugh, kiss, sing, dance or any multitude of things with abandon. In the meantime, I'll keep working on that hard core -- try to show my human side more often -- and in the process, live life more fully and with more feeling.
Ah well, that's what bill payment grace periods are for, right? Besides, it was cheaper than therapy.
"You know, I always used to wonder what was wrong with me that I wasn't married," she said. "I used to think it must be something about me, that's prevented me from finding someone."
"Nooooo," I said. "I don't think that's it at all. I think its just that we're both independent, self-sufficient women and some men are intimidated by that and others can't live up to our standards. And we're picky."
"But maybe, then, that's what's wrong with US," she suggested.
There have been times over the last 15 years when I've longed to be married and settled and out of the single rat race.
There have been other times when I've embraced my singlehood and thought I wouldn't want to live any other way.
Truth is, I do want to find my soul mate; I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone, or taking care of two dozen cats. But I also refuse to settle or compromise my standards. I'd rather be alone, than coupled up with someone just to be coupled up. Or worse, coupled up and miserable.
Michele no longer believes she is single because of some fatal flaw, but rather, because right now, she's on a different path, and when the time is right, and the right person comes along, it will happen.
I agree with that philosophy. I believe certain things in our lives happen for a reason, some of which are out of our control, and that in the end, things will work out for the best.
And maybe I'm still single, because on many levels, I am quite content and happy that way, and when I truly need someone else in my life, I will find someone and become not single.
But what really was surprising about our dinner conversation, was that while it started with a discussion on men, relationships and our current status, it ended with me finding out that we had way more in common than we'd known.
We've known each other about 8 years now. She is loud, raucous, giggly, sweet, totally selfless and literally a ball of energy. I too am loud, raucous, sweet/nice, and while not giggly, usually walking around in a good enough mood and with a smile on my face.
The differences, Michele had always struck me as a person very in touch with her feelings and not afraid to show them; someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, a hugger, someone who was, quite literally an open book.
I on the other hand, am always very conscious of my emotions, not very toouchy-feely, and very reserved when it came to expressing anger, hurt, joy or any other feelings in front of others. I would literally sit in a movie theater with a lump in my throat the size of a tennis ball, rather than let anyone see me cry during a particularly heart-wrenching scene, and while very passionate when alone with an SO, refrained from public displays of affection the way one would avoid a rattlesnake.
While most who know me know I'm a good person and would describe me as very nice, I've also been referred to as tough, cold, hard, unemotional. This is because I refuse to show hurt feelings or let people know when they've gotten to me. I can watch a man walk out the door and drive away with a stiff upper lip, holding off on the tears until his car is no longer in sight. I can hold my own in any argument. I open my own doors and carry my own luggage. When someone says something to try to hurt me, I respond blandly or with an equally hurtful remark and a defiant look on my face -- one that doesn't reveal the pain the remark inflicted. And a part of me is proud of that.
I cried twice in front of my last serious boyfriend, and one of those times was the night we broke up. I had tried so hard not to, but it was a precarious balance and as I stooped down to pick up my purse off the floor, tears spilled out onto the top of my handbag. I couldn't stop them and once they fell, it was like the floodgates had been pulled back.
I'm guessing he probably still remembers that nite too, since I didn't just cry, I outright bawled. Loud, shaking sobs and my uttering my disbelief that the breakup was happening because I thought he had been The One. The first and only time I had admitted that to him.
It happened a long time ago, but the memories of it still open up the wound and make it throb with a pain so hurtful I still wonder how I got through that period. My ability to compartmentalize saved me. I got through my days acting as though everything were fine, and saving the tears and sadness for when I was home alone.
And last nite, in a conversation that started out kvetching about work, then moved onto boys and a philosophical discussion about why we wern't married yet, I learned that in the area of not showing emotion or vulnerability, Michele and I are two peas in a pod. She confessed to being the same way. I was shocked.
She traces it back to childhood, I hypothesize its life experiences. After discussing over a fabulous shrimp dijon appetizer, we came to the conclusion it was both. Both of us got this way because of how we were raised -- if you did something and it didn't turn out right, then it was your fault. You were expected to get good grades and always behave, and when something upset you, you were told not to act like a baby and stop crying and complaining.
She really hit the nail on the head when she said, basically, I think the reason we're like that is that we're afraid to be vulnerable -- because we were taught not to be, or not to let anyone see you cry or act afraid or fail.
She's right. I am afraid to be vulnerable; I'm afraid to show weakness and I'm afraid to fail, because in my past, failure brought on criticism -- personal, professional or romantic.
In hashing this topic, we hypothesized that maybe THAT's why we're still single. Because we always try to be perfect ourselves, we're looking for an SO that can live up to the perfectionist standards we hold ourselves too. And of course, that person (man) doesn't exist.
We also want someone who will be the opposite of us -- who will be loving, not be afraid to express emotion, who can get us to let our hair down sometimes, and who will somehow magically be able to understand why, and not mind, that we don't reciprocate.
"We're our own worst enemies," she said, and again, she was right. I obviously am good at my job. I hold an executive position, have gotten good yearly reviews, and oodles of compliments from my higher ups. And yet, most days, I leave my office, thinking "I should've, could've, have to do .....better."
Even though everyone else around me is thrilled with the results.
I'm hardest on myself. Michele says she is too.
Our conversation made me think -- and I realized that it gave me a better understanding of myself and why I might be the way I am and how my mindset could actually be hindering me. I sometimes have less fun than those around me because I'm afraid to let go, I can be judgemental, by strictly adhering to my standards, I'm not being open to some possibly great experiences.
Over the past few years, I've been working on some things. I now not only voice my appreciation for gifts, but show it too. I've gotten more huggy with friends, tried to be a bit more open and emotional with family members. I let people help me with things even if I don't really need the help because I know it makes them feel good and takes me out of my Super Woman mode. And I let myself cry at sad movies -- right there in the movie theater for anyone to see. That is a HUGE step.
And I've become more open. And that is a very good thing. See, a few years back, I never would have admitted my fear of vulnerability to Michele. Never would have commiserated with her about our shared hard cores and emotional toughness. That means I've grown -- in a good way. It also means, some of the layers are coming off, and I'm letting more people in.
Hopefully, by the time I meet my soul mate, the door will be wide open. And I won't be afraid to cry, hug, laugh, kiss, sing, dance or any multitude of things with abandon. In the meantime, I'll keep working on that hard core -- try to show my human side more often -- and in the process, live life more fully and with more feeling.
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