Master's degree in Life

From marriage counseling, to couples therapy, to separation counseling to....divorce mediation! It's almost like we started the Master's Degree or something. So today was step one, and the lawyer/mediator said "So I would usually spend some time making certain that you both want this, that you understand you can slow the process down at any point....., shall I go into that?" s2bx and I look at eachother, big smiles creep over our faces and we both say "No, we are really clear that this is what we want." and then he reached over and squeezed my hand and I laughed. I do believe that we confused the hell out of the lawyer lady.

So in my home state we have to fill out a lot of forms, talk to a CPA (that part is a bit of a joke because half of nothing won't help the other half of nothing find something to split. We both know it's a matter of having enough money to pay for braces and after that there isn't anything left.) So...I'm tired. There is something about taking these steps that seems so cavalier - but can still knock me on my ass. I have the house to myself and I think I'm going to just get some sleep - stop all the thinking or few hours.

Responsibilty

Dreams:

Children everywhere. The realization of the burrow concept. My girls, and someone else's kids too. My oldest found a stash of candy - she was doling it out to everyone. All the kids in my charge and I were studying The Three Musketeers, tables were sent in a Louis XIV style, some kids wanted to invite friends, all in period dress.

SO...as I think about this in the light of day, and recall the feelings and emotions that it evoked, I understand that I am collecting responsibilities as distraction from my own needs. I am looking to fill my time with needy beings (children - and kittens) so that I won't have the time or focus to attend to myself. I think that I am afraid to look at myself closely, for fear that I will see a failure. My work is hectic, high pressure, and I've been struggling with my priorities on that front. Asking myself do I want MORE responsibility, do I want to escape the responsibility? In essence; run away? My motives are unclear, even to me, but absolutely to my coworkers.

I have a boss who is passionate. She is also emotionally crippled. She withholds approval and infantalizes her top employees in order to "motivate" us. I know this. I can look at it analytically. So, doesn't knowing it preclude me from being affected by it? Apparently not. I am afraid to fail, I shy away from the potential retribution, and as a result am rendered useless. This is where the children in the dream come in. They provide excuses, not even to any one else, just to me. Look, my motives are pure, my actions come from a place of love. but......I'm circling back to a need to love myself.

a whole lot to ponder on a Saturday filled with trips to the dump, the dojo, the market.....and a pile of kids in the car.

time for blogging

The good news is, I haven't watched TV in a very long time. The issue is that I am supposed to write a lot of reports for my work, and I keep drifting around on the blogs; barstools, theological/emotional meanderings, reports of life during divorce, then I get yelled at because I don't comment, then I get pissed because no one comments on mine - wow, Blogging really is like a high school click. There's the international blogspot crowd, the sensitive Xanga crowd, and then the frighteneing, no-way can I try that facebook addicts.

So this IS A POST. I will not (as some friends have tried) put torrid, mildly nausiating stories about foreskins here, nope, non of that.

I could resort to inviting lurid tales of erotic encounters in hopes of building readership.....but then I might have to start, and I'm a little too shy for that, even in the blogesphere!

airplane poetry

number 1

Bumpy tiny plane
Thrill of acceleration
Crying baby, right behind me
Close seats
Cramps, headache, popping ears
And yet,
And yet,
Excited to return
Comfortable with being loved
Ready to work,
ready to notice everything, absolutely everything
Bumpy tiny plane
Crossing the Atlantic
Taking the shortcut to reach the sunrise

#2

Taking destiny by the balls
Writing the script for myself, my whole self
Writing with a knowing that this is right, correct, better than OK
Breathing deeply and not running away
Messy, sloppy, never tidy
Life


third

Chocolate

darkness
warmth
nerves shimmer
eyelids are thick, heavy
gentle roar in the back of my throat, the top of my chest, my soul
wrapped in arms
dry grass
headlights revealing
time sliding
breathe on my neck
hands on my arms
a smile won’t leave my lips
tasting comfort
knowing
warmth

crazy shit

ok, so I saw quite a few people today who have known me since I was 11 years old. Some I haven't seen in 20 years but that doesn't seem to matter. Most people were speechless when they heard about my imminent divorce, but now the cat is out of the bag and a whole new segment of the people of my life know that my marriage is ending. There was actually a bizzare bit of time spent catching up/hanging out/talking with the man who was quite possibly my first head over heels crush. It seems that his wife left him a few years ago, he has 4 kids, and is an actor in LA. The bizarre part was realizing the simple fact that 25 years after a child hood crush, it's conceivable I could go on a date with him. He gave no indication of such a thing, it just gave me pause to recognize that it was within the realm of possibility. crazy shit.

rain in edinburgh

Walking in the rain. the rain. the rain. I've always been told about the UK rain, never understood what it meant to have a constant stream of drizzle until today. At home we have storms, the come crashing down and they move on, more may follow, but always in deluge/refuge cycles.

Melancholy everywhere. My goal? Be silly, be happy, be awake. Notice things again. Perhaps the rain, perhaps the bright colored umbrellas, perhaps only the way my eyes are drawn to certain people and not others.

Music informs so much of what I feel. This morning (at the outragously early hour of 8:30) I walked to a meeting, in the grey, listening to Audioslave on my ipod. It changes everything to have a soundtrack. Now, just now, as I sit in the pub, there is a song - I don't need or want to name it, but it evokes heart break and unfulfilled aching to be with someone from the past. A poem I recently read, something about an oaisis from a desolate dryness...It evokes this same feeling of craving something that you will not allow yourself to believe in.

Being away from my beautiful, vibrant, silly, and proud girls has added to my lack of grasp on the light and lyrical aspects of life.

I'm afraid that I've adopted an akward lilt to the cadence of my voice. Too much time absorbing the voices of the locals. I know in my soul that it sounds quite absurd, if I weren't so embarassed to be American, it might be easier to relax into my own speech pattern.

I'll be flying home tomorrow, a long day of travel, via London Heathrow, never been there. Home with my girls for 6 days, and then back to Scotland for another week.

to talk

I'm not sure weather it is being in the UK, being away from my kids, or being newly liberated, but conversation has been a delightful past time. In fact, I have discovered that simply sitting and talking about science, the theory of relativity, the nature of genetics (yes that WAS a pun) or even reminiscing about the 80's hardcore scene in NYC, this has been a banner week for stimulating conversation. I had forgotten, I mean genuinely forgotten what a blessing it is to simply talk. Why so significant? I suspect it is because there is such a part of conversation that has been calculated for me over the past few years. What was OK, what was too "smart" what was not smart enough. Somehow, this week, I have indulged in speaking my mind without a fear of appearing "less than" some ideal I had of myself.

It has meant asking questions as they pop into my head, foolish questions that help me get to know a person a little bit. It has also meant debating e=mc2 with a significant scientist, over a pint in a pub of course, because this is Edinburgh, and every good conversation I have will need to be over a pint, in a pub.

There have been stimulating conversations about my work as well, and the work of others. Perhaps it is the nature of the fringe festival. We are all here to experience and experiment - so conversation is required to make sure we can touch base with reality every once in awhile.

It is friday night, and I had the distinct pleasure of sharing sabbat with an old friend and his family in his flat here in Scotland. It led to conversations about the value of slowing down, setting aside time to simply converse, without goals, obligations and duties. I can't begin to claim an understanding of the Jewish faith, but I can tell you that the idea of choosing not to be productive in the material sense for 24 hours each week, it is mind bending in it's simplicity and it's value.

Thursday in Edinburgh

I haven't been here in awhile (the blog, not Edinburgh).

This morning I saw the sunrise over architecture that is older than my home country. This morning I walked from pub to pub in the old town looking for a place to have "just one more". I will insist that this was a date. A good old fashioned, buy a girl a pint and take her to a show date. We, in fact, went to two shows, and had far more than one pint. My companion is delightful and thoroughly smitten with a very lucky single mother back at his home, which is not his home but only where he lives. I get the distinct impression that he hasn't found his home just yet.

Surprises found in music, honesty and humor.

Walking briskly home in the bright morning sun of 6:00am, down the city streets of a foriegn land - this has been an evening for the soul. Nothing about it that I would change. I was even treated to s Scottish brawl at the Mexican bar requiring the bartender to leap over the bar (using my shoulder as a catapult).

There is far more that I muse about, and much work to be done. So coffee is the priority; not blogging and smiling about a sweet night captured in the shadow of a castle.

Father’s Day meditation on the bike.

Ten miles, straight up the Connecticut river (excuse me, let me correct that, five miles up, five miles back) haze of sunrise created by filters of steam, pollen, and dust, ripples on the river reflecting glimmers as I stare for dangerously long moments – the road girl, look at the road!

My thinking started thusly; permission. From the fathers in my life I have sought permission “Look Dad, is this Ok?”. Sometimes it feels like approval. “Hey Dad, can I?” and sometimes it was this “Hey Dad, look at this, cool huh?” That last one, “Cool huh?” That’s me seeking to impress. These are three things I have been seeking, permission, approval and to impress. Granting those things is something I have always turned to a father for.

What happens if I can find those things in me? Maybe I can say, “What happens WHEN I can find these things in me?” Permission to laugh. Permission to talk like a trucker or drink like a sailor. If I give myself permission, then perhaps I will do those things for fun, and NOT to shock or impress. When the moment comes that I make creative choices because they impress ME, maybe I will be able to grow past those choices.

I asked myself, is Father’s Day for father’s? or is Father’s day for children to take a long look at their fathers? Who is it that stands to gain the most from this moment? And…for that matter…does looking at our fathers lead us to look inside ourselves?

I assigned my father the job of approval or disapproval, and I took risks to impress him. What I am learning, very slowly, is to see what is reflected of me in him. To change the idea “I am like my father” to “this is what I am, and my Dad sees me”.

I speak to more than my Father, although he has occupied most of my mind this morning. My s2bx will always be the father of my daughters. In the same way that my actions can’t be solely to impress a father, I can not create an image of father for him to inhabit for our girls. He will be their father, they will see him, and I can hope and pray patiently that he will see them. I can’t show him.

I think of my brother, my neighbor, my friend, the father of my Goddess-daughter. For them, today, let me say thank you. Thank you for embracing the idea that fatherhood is god-like. When I look beyond my Dad, and I look inside myself, I hope that my smile can reflect to you….that your love of your children is observed, it is catalogued, and it is marveled upon.

Lastly; the boys. The nephews, the loved ones, the young men, who look to all the fathers to model the god for them and with them. Take joy in the rebellious, obstinate, complex, boys who will become fathers. When they do, they may reflect joy and understanding for their daughters, if they can receive it now.

Boys, men, gods all.

Thanks. And Dad…..I love you.

And so I write. I took a ten mile bike ride to get to the sunset. I watched it, I loved it, I simply stood and appreciated it. I wouldn’t have done that if someone hadn’t reminded me of how important it is to watch sunsets.

I broke the hearts of my daughters tonight, but in so doing, I freed my own. As we sat at the table, a family of four, shared food prepared together, laughed and joked together, it must have seemed strange to the young souls that we should say we wanted to be married no longer. We smiled, we told stories of our courtship, we listened to each other and to them. It was, in fact, an ideal family dinner, save one thing; the message that it was over. My oldest said, “I don’t want you to divorce, it would be better if we all lived here.” The youngest said, “We’re not going to be one of those families were you guys can’t stand to be in a room together and you hate each other, right?” I tried, in vain, to express the fact that we were now, in this time of our lives, much happier being friends than being husband and wife. To children, marriage should be about two people being best friends. It can’t make sense to them that we were ever anything but friends. This is what can’t be explained until a person has loved another, cared for another, and sacrificed for another. The roles of husband and wife are very different from Mother and Father or friend and friend. To be a spouse is to be symbiotic, to be capable of existing as one and then in an instant be individual again. To pass seamlessly from partner to individual, and be supported in those hairpin turns, and be accepting when you see them I your partner. We had lost interest in the individuals who made the pair, and the pair was chaffing. That can’t be explained to a child. What my girls see now is two people who are kind to each other, know each other and trust each other, but don’t have any need for the symbiosis anymore. We must look, to them, like friends and parents, what more could they want?

What more could I want? This joy, the respect, this desire to get up in the morning and learn something, see something, feel something, and not worry how the seeing, feeling, doing affects my spouse. I want exactly what I have, and that feels really really good.

I like.....

I like Ben and Jerry's "everything but the..." twisted ice cream.

I like Magic Hat Circus Boy beer, and I like all Magic Hat beer because there is such wisdom to be found uder the cap, (ex. tonight's - "When your in a trance, don't take off your pants.", good stuff)

I like Mowing the lawn (see photo to the right).

I like getting mail that is NOT bills. Postcards and letters are rare inthe digital age, but a small package, even if t's something that I left at my brother's in NJ, it's great to open the mailbox and find something just for me. Even better when it's not something I left in NJ, and better yet when its a big box from my Dad that get's left on the front porch so I see it as I drive up to the big pine trees.

Life is good. Work is fun, need to ride the new bike more, kittens still pee where they shouldn't, but really? Life is Good.

WHAT A F*ing DAY I HAVE HAD!

Just crazy busy and loads of things thrown at me unexpectadly.

Like, my girls wanting me to PLAY big time after dinner. It was great, but the wanted to play "office" in my newly cleaned up office, now - trashed with pillows books, and boxes. They each needed a "desk" and fake computer etc. then....the oldest looks out the door to the laundry room and just says "flood!"

Yes. The rain water (from tropical depression Barney, or Barry or whatever) had instantly saturated the ground and was coming in around the spaces were pipes enter the house and through the frame of the basement window. We enter crisis mode. The girls help, we pull out soggy boxes of fabric (YUCK), big boxes filled with art that immediatly had to get unpacked. Where? in my office. Then every towel in the house goes flying down the stairs into the middle of the growing pond, basically because the mop broke after one swipe across the floor. I McGyver the pipe gaps with plastic bags and gaff tape, The eleven year old drags things into the garage, successfully moving dirt, cat litter and soggy cardboard trough the center of the room/pond, but she was proud to be contributing. The littlest daughter sat on the steps watching and fretting about the kitties. Oh, hey, did I mention taking four cats to the vet at the same time? Yes, that was my afternoon... and did I mention surprises? Well Frankie and Vinny should be Francie and Violet. This is funny; until you realize that females are twice the cost to fix AND this now means there are 6 females and one "altered" male in this house - yikes!

Now the really good part, the girls and I are finally satisfied that the water has stopped pouring in through the walls. They head to bed (real angels during the crisis) and I sit down in the middle of piles and piles of all the stuff you might find stored under the basement stairs. We all know those boxes, you pack them, yu growl at the spouse who said "Oh keep that" and you pretend that you'll never have to see the box again? Well, now I'm sitting in and amongst all the musty dusty detritus that has been part of the last 15 years of marriage - timing is everything. Despite this environment, my plan is to respond to e-mail and maybe look at the three heavy duty projects that I said I would do tonight. Hello? No internet. I have neglected to complain about the 5.5 hours I have spent on the phone with Verizon and Linksys this week. Now we're in for it all over again. I decide "well the basement has been ripped apart - completely, perhaps this wuld be a good time to re-locate the router and modem (out of the range of the kittens who think that all the cords make great toys). I bite the bullet, but only after pouring myself a glass of wine, relocate everything, put on my new headset phone anicipating a few hours of chatting with my firends in Dubai, when I look at the computer and my little duckie is dancing. That means I'm connected to my email. That means I have the wine, I plugged everything in, and it had healed itself. Lovely. the question is, do I DO the union evaluation, the review of the juvenile novel, or the marketing piece for a new work? Me thinks I claim flood, and put it all off until tomorrow!

the eight ball

OK - so I think that the cubical job is stability, but it's also a way to sabotage the chance to get back to a career that stalled out a few years back. I've got to buck up and walk away from the cubical - even though I actually love it there; good people, data analysis, computers. No real risk of making anyone angry or disappointed....hmm. It really is time to get back in front of the eight-ball. Art, collaboration, risk, travel, and I can even go for bike rides in the morning because most people in this business don't get themselves started until 10:00am. ....and so it begins, tomorrow.

The Bike - Part Three

If "the bike" doesn't make you role your eyes and groan, then you should refer to my blog entries of April 27 "I'm OK with that" and May 4th "Remember the bike?"

On Friday last I loaded the "soon-to-be-X husband's girlfriend's hand-me-down not fancy bike" onto the rack on the back of my car. Then I went one better, I loaded my" soon-be-ex-husband's hand-me-down bike" onto the car as well. So with these two bikes strapped precariously onto my station wagon I raced down to the helpful bike shop in Claremont NH. The highway was fine, but just as I left the highway and slowed down, one side of the rack collapsed and I looked in the rear view mirror to see the bikes dangling by the skinny little stretchy cord as I continued across the "narrow bridge". IN that split second I really hoped that they both fell into the river. If I had a picture it would be better, but oh how I would have loved to share that story. They didn't. I made it across, got out, reset the rack, and carried on.

The bike shop was having a swap. I didn't intend to return to my garage with either of those bikes, ever. I unloaded them, I asked the guy (Bob) what he thought I could expect for them ($50 each) and said, "Great, let's find me a bike Bob." He took me downstairs, we spent a terrific 15 minutes educating me on hybrids, comfort bikes, road bikes, and wimp bikes, also known as "old lady bikes". He brought a blue and silver Trek Hybrid up and set the seat to the right height, and off I went (yes I was wearing a helmet). Let me take a moment to explain the depth of my epiphany as I toddled out of the parking lot. I have NEVER, never ever, ever ridden a bike that was the right size. I have never ridden a bike with shocks, I have never ridden a new bike. I have never been so happy. After only five minutes I returned to Bob and said "That will do just fine." He convinced me try at least one other bike, but confided that he was pretty sure that Blue and Silver was the right bike for me.

As part of the chit-chat that happens nervously when a stranger is trying to check the height of your bike seat, I might have told Bob about the origin of the other two bikes. He got very serious, he looked right at me and said "Oh, you need this bike, and you need to trick it out with whatever you want." That sounded good. I limited myself to a rack, new peddles, and a water bottle holder, but Bob was sweet, and I think he was moved by my story, so he gave me a great break on the cost.

Now gas is up to 3.00/gallon, Blue and Silver is coming home tomorrow, and I intend to ride like the wind.

As they say in the movies "Drive Louise, just drive!"

add weed whacking to the list

And so my 60 hours of solitude have come to an end. I'm back home with daughters shouting for glasses of water, or ice cubes, and kittens climbing painfully up my legs, and laundry screaming to be folded. It's been wonderful to escape; and it's wonderful to return.

The drive up 89 though NH and into Vermont with the rolling green hills, the silhouetted grey blue mountains, the red tail hawks and "moose crossing" signs, make the end of any vacation a little easier to handle.

The s2bx is off to France tomorrow, (pronounced Fraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaance). He admonished me for telling people that he was going to France. I must admit that it never occurred to me that this should be a secret. It was not out of any ill intent that I told every single solitary mutual friend that we have that he was going to France with his girlfriend. I mean - it's no secret, right? However, I will also admit, it buys me a whole lot of "understanding" from our friends and neighbors.

It is a nice prospect, these next 8 days with him out of the country. He tries to be helpful. It's just that it inevitably makes me a little stressed. Tonight I asked him where the oil was for the weed-whacker. I got a 20 minute "explanation" of how complex and special the weed-whacker was. It was followed by advice on what parts of the yard would be better mowed, or whacked. I smiled and nodded, and thought "international flight leaving tomorrow, then I can weed whack all I want!"

"Adriane!!"

It's cold. It's nice. I like it. The breeze is chilly and cleansing. I thought that I had figured out the coffee maker. Apparently not. The joyful taste of yesterday's coffee, has been left behind. I actually dumped the first pot , it was that bad. Now I'm struggling through the revised version. Nothing like the magical brew my hosts usually make. Same machine, same beans, hmmm....what is it about getting to the know the quirks of one's own machine?

The dog that I am spending the weekend with? She is such a pleasure. She is snugly, all 75 pounds of Pit/Lab mix. She thinks that she should be a lap dog, but she has very bony elbows! This morning, the dog and I were still sleeping at 9:45 am when I was woken up by the sounds of Rocky Balboa out my window. It was full on "Adriane !" accent and attitude. He was not pleased that his friend was still asleep and hadn't left the door unlocked. He carried on an entire conversation, playing both parts, arguing with his sleeping friend about just how many bars they had or hadn't gone to the night before. I do know that the Philly accent and the Gloucester accent are not the same. I suspect that is was that special, strained, guttural execution that marked the similarity between the neighbor and Stallone. The joy of it all was that I didn't have to get up. I could lay there and listen, drift back to sleep for a little longer myself, and then get up when I was good and ready for coffee..unfortunately, note above, not a good reason to get up today.

free and easy

A person can't live on Honey Bunches of Oats alone. Well, that is unless she's house/dog sitting near the beach and still hasn't gotten dressed and is on her fourth large ice coffee. Yes, this means life is VERY good! The house for which I am sitting is the home of excellent home brewers with great taste in music. (The dog is pretty amazing too.) So, good beer, good coffee, good music, no appointments, nobody asking me to drive them anywhere, and a full box of Honey Bunches of Oats!

The only objective for the next three days is to conquer three rather intimidating writing projects, so you may have guessed that blog writing is a distraction from the assigned task. I bet I'll be back quite a few times this Memorial day weekend.

May all your grills be hot, your beer cold, and your smiles free and easy.

friends say the darndest things

This is what Rose says about the s2bx:

"Just because you read a Cookbook, doesn't mean you know how to cook." Rose

Inspired by:

"Apes read Nitche, they just don't understand it." Fish Called Wanda

cheeseburgers will follow

I played guitar in the dark, looking at the moon. I made cheeseburgers for dinner and they didn't suck. You see, for 15 years I've not been allowed to make the cheeseburgers. I willingly bought into the theory that I was incapable of cooking a meal. It was presented in such a way that it seemed moot to endure the learning curve. So I accept the assessment of failure and stand back. That's changed now. I've learned that I have to learn. I've learned that it's OK to NOT actually be perfect the first time. As a result, in the 5 months since my separation, I have actually learned to make cheeseburgers. They didn't suck. My kids ate them, I even enjoyed mine. This may seem small, but it's not.

We went to couples therapy today. It was amusing. I've been veiled and obtuse about details of my daily life. So I will try not to seem like a soap opera weekly update. The fact is, I've accepted a pretty spectacular, and risky job. It allows my career to pick up where it left off 12 years ago. Today my s2bx said "I'm happy for you because now I don't have to feel guilty about having a job I like." I thought maybe he just didn't see how that sounded, but he reiterated the sentiment three or four times, finally summarizing his thoughts with "I couldn't allow myself to be really happy when I thought you were just muddling through." Hmm. It's possible that all those years of "It's OK that you can't cook cheeseburgers, because I'll just take care of it." should have clued me in.

My friends; new ones, old ones, from bizarre corners of the world and right next door, have allowed me to recognize that I am, quite simply, perfectly capable of being happy. I don't need permission to feel good or make mistakes (because I have made some, and I plan to make more). There are some things I could use some work on: taking the time to put moisturizer on my feet so they don't feel like sand paper, acknowledging when the "check engine" light goes on in the car, and cleaning the litter boxes everyday. If I can work on those, then the cheeseburgers will follow.

hold on tight

It’s funny about the joy and meditation of mowing. The grass grows when your done. I look out the window and appreciate the glorious shades of green and think about a description of verdant rain that I read a few days ago. It’s soothing and wonderful, but then I realize that the grass is no longer neat and tidy. It has lengthened and stretched toward the sky in many new shades of green, some with a touch of yellow, some a touch of blue. I long for that sense of joy and accomplishment, and yes, I believe I said freedom, that was achieved through the act of mowing. I am denied this pleasure. I am made to wait, held at bay by the verdant rain, the passage of time, the growing grass, and my own list of commitments. Alas, no mowing today, or tomorrow, or the next day. At the point when I return to the grass, it will be dotted pervasively with juicy dandelions. Perhaps I will gain a new and different thrill in the act of beheading the yellow pests.

Knowing that I would not be mowing the grass, I decided to focus on the floors inside my lovely house. Sweeping when there are kittens in the house brings a whole emotional response all it’s own. I have somehow made it to the age of 38 without knowing that 6 week old cats could jump vertically, that’s straight up, almost eighteen inches. Frankie and Vinny squeaked with joy (or perhaps fear) as the red plastic broom danced in the dust and dried peas. They took turns leaping over the bristles. Frankie decided that it would be a good idea to cling to the broom to try and stop it’s progress, He “rode” the broom while looking feverishly to the right and left, hoping for some explanation of the invasion of his new home. Vinny was an acute observer. He surmised that I, the human in flannel, was the motivator. He used both tiny sets of claws to grasp my foot, and then, much to my surprise, he used those same tiny claws to climb up my leg. Not, mind you, the leg of my pajamas, but my actual leg, inside the pajamas. I had the red plastic broom in my left hand, held in the air with Frankie clinging, and squeaking, for dear life. With the other hand I tried to grab Vinny, but he was in my pants so the contact of my hand on his back caused him to panic, and what do we do when we panic, we “hold on tight”. I am proud to say that I was laughing. There have been times in my life when I would have been cursing, times when I would have been crying, but life being what it is today, on this rainy Saturday, I was laughing. Unfortunately there are no witnesses to this event. I suspect that my daughters will ask about the Harry Potter band aids on my foot and my right leg, but I think I’ll just explain that cleaning floors causes strange, life altering emotional catharsis, and sometimes that hurts.

What I see

It's raining, really raining. When I look out the front window I see the Apple tree, in full bloom. When I look out the back window I see the pond and the meadow beyond. So much green, so rich in color, so much insulation. I feel well protected in my nest today. Things will be changing soon. The rain will stop, the blossoms will fall from the tree and all my plans will change,....again. It is worth contemplating, the surge of energy that comes with unexpected change, even when it's change for the better. To say that I couldn't imagine this life, this day, a year ago, that is hardly worth mentioning. To know in my soul that I couldn't have imagined this life, this day, a month ago, gives me great comfort in the ability of the human spirit to make it through treacherous times. But now I find myself knowing that I couldn't have imagined this life, this day, one week ago. That fact, I regard with awe.

There is a career on the horizon, in stark contrast to a "job". There is beauty in the daily discoveries. Old friends are back in my routine, new friends offer judgement-free support, and when I look in the mirror, I see a woman that I am proud to be, even when I look very very closely.

dance?

The World is kicking stagnation in the ass. It seems that the act of taking my wedding band off on May first as a "new beginning" has opened me up to living a life that is not just out loud, it's swinging from the rafters. Just when I've relaxed into an outlook of simplicity and introspection, someone or someoneS begin to invite me to look outside myself and recognize that it might be fun to join the chaos. I wrote a poem about five weeks ago. One line was: "See the chaos for the dance that it is". I thought it was a beautiful sentiment, but I wasn't invested in it at the time. I was doing everything possible to avoid chaos. This morning, very early this morning, I am recognizing that the chaos is there, and if I really want to dance, I've got to jump in at some point.

Super Mom!

Super Mom! I mowed the lawn*, I whacked the weeds, I fed the kids, I even called the step-mom and the soon-to-be-X-Mother-in-law. I made a card for my own Mom; she cried. Over all, a damn good mother's day.

In addition to the supermom list, I had a beer with the neighbors at the bottom of the hill and adopted two kittens from the neighbors at the top of the hill. This brings the feline count in the house to four, humans three. There are seven fish , but I've decided that they will be going with the s2bx, he doesn't know yet.

My goal for tomorrow - stand back - I'm going to ride the bike to work, and when I get home I will sort out the books piled all over the floor. This is a side effect of the split. We had to divide up bookshelves, leaving many many books shelfless.

*a note about the mowing. A good friend suggested that I mow in random, inefficient patterns, leaving artful little tufts of unmown grass. This is in hopes of watching the s2bx head spin off and smoke come out the ears. As I was meandering around the yard with the mower, I felt a little light in my step, a joy, a kind of freedom I hadn't known mowing could engender. I realized that this was, in fact, the first time I had mowed when I wasn't dreading the post mowing dressing down. In the past, if I mowed, there was a conversation that went something like "I don't understand what you were thinking when you mowed under the pine tree. I like to mow that area after I do the level spots. When you mow, you really should adjust the height of the mower when you begin the part by the crab apple. I never use the whole swath of the mower, you need to just cut at the mid point of the previous pass" My response was always - "could you just say thanks for mowing?" To which the response was "I thought if you were going to do it, you'd want to do it right." These exchanges led to me NOT EVER mowing, because I obviously couldn't do it right. Today, I just cut the grass. It wasn't art, it wasn't engineering, and I really really enjoyed it.

Take the Risk

I had a conversation with my closest friend yesterday. It was not pleasant, I was a shit. It was awkward some how. I had little sharp burrs of thought in my mind but I talked about nothing. It wasn't right. All this therapy, all this writing, all these weeks to just think and play the guitar, and finally this morning, in bed, with my coffee and the cats, and the owls and birds outside, it hit me. I have spent the past few years with an internal monologue, voices and burrs in my head, and on the outside I’ve said and done what I thought I was supposed to say or do. It’s taken a complete nervous breakdown, divorce, career change, therapy, journaling, and long talks with my closest friend, but I got it; so simple. Living out loud means trusting yourself and the world enough to actually say what’s going on in the internal monologue. Take the risk. It ain’t easy, but when you find someone who lets you live out loud, don’t let go.

the answer is: Live out Loud

My pubescent daughter number 1 is feeling blue. Last night, after the Jon Stewart re-run, she cuddled up to me and said "I wonder if anyone, anywhere, is ever going to want to flirt with me. Sometimes I lay in bed and get afraid that no one will ever want to be my boyfriend." I held her, and said "When you like yourself, and live life out loud, someone will want to be your boyfriend."

Six am, cats are batting me in the face, daughter number 2 is climbing up on the counter to get her own breakfast and...it's one of THOSE mornings. When you wake up feeling like you already failed something. Nothing in the house to put in the lunch boxes. There is no piece of clothing that will make you feel good. Ripped jeans aren't an option because you actually have meetings with "people" today. A skirt would be comfortable, but you haven't shaved your legs, and there isn't a shirt in your house that is going to hide the things that you want to hide. It's generally a day when you (and by you, I mean me) feel like there is no way anyone is ever going to want to flirt with you.

Adolescence and middle age sound very much the same today. I need to try and remember how to live life out loud.

Tonight there is no Queen of denial, just the king of "Procrastinate the difficult conversations until they are more convenient for me"? So tired....must sleep, perchance to dream a little adventure all my own.

who was Cleopatra?

It seems like it's time to talk finances and future and dividing up more than just the cook books. However, I did wise up in one capacity. He kept offering to "talk" on the nights when he had the girls, therefore leading to me giving up my solo time. Well...I figured that one out (finally) and just said no for the last two nights, and then invited him to talk tonight, when I have the girls. This also means that we will be talking in my kitchen, not his :).....sneaky eh?

Topics? Mortgages, 401ks, child support, ....how fast can we file the papers? I'm going to need to stop and get beer before this whole thing starts.

Just thinking about it makes me want to shut my brain down and just play my guitar. Not an option today though. Just keep plugging along. I am lookimg forward to my newly downloaded foo fighters tonight.

So, it's real, it's time, divorce talk...tune in tomorrow for the general sense of who was reasonable and who was Cleopatra.

....at least it's the kind of weather where I know I can sit outside AFTEr the talking and just play guitar (badly), drink beer, and look at the stars. That is the plan for the end of this over-long Wednesday.

I Can See Clearly Now (Jimmy Cliff)

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,

I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind

It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)Sun-Shiny day.

I think I can make it now, the pain is gone

All of the bad feelings have disappeared

Here is the rainbow I’ve been prayin?for

It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)Sun-Shiny day.

Look all around, there’s nothin but blue skies

Look straight ahead, nothin but blue skies

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,

I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind

It’s gonna be a bright (bright), bright (bright)Sun-Shiny day.

Hormones are amazing. The greatest reward for enduring PMS.....

is the euphoria that comes with it's passing!

Remeber the bike?

My Mom gave me an unpleasant reality check last night. Very maternal of her. She said, on the phone, "It sounds like your too busy helping out everyone else. Are you remembering to do anything for just you and the girls? or even just You?" I confess, I have had people over for dinner twice this week. I've gone to an evening board meeting, and tonight I'm cohosting an indian food and beer party with a friend. Then, of course, I'm driving 2 hours with my kids this weekend to help a friend with a monolgue. So I woke up thinking, "holy shit, Mom was actually right" - (It is difficult for me to admit this). That being thought, I decide to go in to work a little late, and ride my bike. This I do for me. This is nice thinking time, or it would be, unless it's the not-so-cool, hand-me-down, girlfriend of the soon-to-be-X-husband bike, and the tire begins wobbling uncontrollably 800 yards from home. This does not fulfil the need to do something for me. Not one bit.

Now I'll just have to leave work early and buy extra beer to go with the Indian food. That will be for me.

something's coming

Mayday. Beltane. Blessings. Today I celebrated this glorious day by removing my wedding ring. My soon-to-X-husband and I stood together this morning, in the warmth of the sun, and each took the rings off and put them away. We said "I love you" hugged, smiled, and carried on with this little adventure.

It was an intoxicating start to the day. I felt a bit gloomy as the sun set, and my daughter splashed ice water on my internal celebration when she looked up at me and said "Where's your wedding ring?" I replied "Dad and I decided not to wear them." She stomped her foot, leaned her head into me, and said nothing.

Now, she's sleeping, he's on a date, I'm in my flannels at the computer, and I can hear the peepers outside. Things are changing, something's coming, who knows what tomorrow may bring. Blessed Beltane.

I'm OK with that.

"When the rain comes, they run and hide thier heads, they may as well be dead, when the rain comes."

I just found the vinyl 45 of my favorite cover of that song. It makes me happy. However, the rain that will be here for the next three days seems to scream..."update your computers while you can't go outside." I've been postponing this task for weeks. My desktop fan is on constantly and very loud. My laptop is still running Windows ME. It's also missing the "M" key, but I've begun to find that a charming quirk. So, now the rain is here, I'll run and hide my head, and try to do a little digital Spring Cleaning.

My plan was to get out on the bike this weekend and try and loosen up my winter knees. I will not be riding in the rain. My bike. I had this scheme to trade-in my bike, which is too small, and treat myself to a new hybrid that actually fit me. I shared this intention with my soon-to-be-X husband. He was very supportive of the idea. I actually believe that he is still trying to justify spending a few hundred dollars on his own biking interests last year. These interests, incidentally, included his extremely fit friend. I made all my arangements to bring the bike to the hip, local, bike shop and he (the soon-to-be-X) calls me and says that he just happened to be talking about my trade-in plans and someone has a hybrid that would fit me, and would I be interested, therefore avoiding the expense and the hassle (fun) of shopping for something for myself.

Considering my finances, this seems like a good idea. He leaves it in the garage for me to check out in the afternoon. It does fit perfectly. It is not hip, it is not new, but it's free. Next week I'll be riding around on my soon-to-be-X husband's girlfriend's hand-me-down not fancy bike. ...but I'm OK with that. Now I can spend the money I planned for the bike?..... on a tatoo.

It's time for a new chiropractor

Traveling for thirteen hours with a suitcase and a backpack on planes, rental cars and running through the airport in my clogs caused some twisting and turning of the vertebrea in my back and neck. This is not new. I am grateful that the hiking and vacationing were painfree, but it means that I was off to the uber-Republican chiropractor today. The assistant rubbed the stinky vapor cream on my back while she told me all about rebuilding her four wheeler. Then the doc came in and told me two of the EXACT SAME stories that he told me last time I was there. I was simply trying to stay relaxed as he suddenly used all his force to twist my neck into unatural positions, making frigntening (but gratifying) cracks and pops. Then, for some reason, he went off on Paris Hilton. This surprised me, both in it's random introduction to his monolgue and the general content. You see, he was explaining that Americans are not as mature as Europeans. He was saying how unfortunate it is that our young people aspire to the likes of celebrities for hire. The interesting part was the number of details he had commited to memory about her daily life. He could tell me which clubs paid her the most to show up and get photographed dancing at thier place. He even knew where she parked her private jet when she was in Miami. Then the kicker....he says "I read People magazine every Monday, and I can't believe all the things she does. I don't understand how she became a celebrity."


It's time for a new chiropractor.

home from UK

Pubs and Mountains, pubs and mountains. Coffee transitions to Tea which transitions to beer. This is a good way to regulate a life. The was beautiful. Audioslave and Foofighters were my constant soundtrack while I hiked and drank, hiked and drank.

Spaghetti straps or Snow Boots?

Snow. Snow and Ice. Snow and Ice and School. Snow and Ice and School on the day before the Spring Vacation starts. I have a sore throat. I am getting on my first international air flight ever in two days and I have a sore throat. Happy and Angry. Happy about vacation, angry that there is a nor'easter scheduled to arrive in the same hour that my plane is scheduled to depart. Good Luck, Bad Luck. Fate or just pain-in-the-ass reality. My eleven year old looked like a 14 year old when she showed up at the kitchen table in camflouge pants and a black spaghetti strap tank. I explained calmly that this was not an option for school. She called me names and changed her shirt. Then walked out into the 6 inches of wet snow in her slip on canvas sneakers and no socks. I said nothing about boots. I am a good Mother.

Blog worthy?

Dreams are beginning to annoy me. Problem solving in my subconscious is hard to avoid. I mean, I try to run away in the dream, and it just leads to some other revelation. There are these three locations in my dreams that haunt me. I suspect they have been locations for my dreams for a long time, but today I can recall each of them in a way that I haven’t before.

A bridge that’s a little bit like the Hoover dam, a little bit like the old Mystic River Bridge, and a little bit like the GW. There is no easy way into the flow, you have to cut across lanes, and if you don’t do it just right – you end up facing five lanes of head-on traffic. Somehow this process happens over and over in my dreams. Reminiscent of Blade Runner.

Next location, walking in a city with sky scrapers, in my mind – I know that it’s Las Vegas, but it’s on a hill, which makes no sense at all. There are always two major hotel casinos, one were I’m staying, one were I’m working. There is always elevator confusion, friends I can’t find because they are on the wrong floor and there is someone in danger that I can’t get to. The hotel has a big lobby, and a lounge with a grand piano, but no one playing it. There a fern bar, it’s all so vivid.

The third regular location of these dreams is a multilevel subway station. There are ramps, and a token booth with a scary fat lady. I can never see around the corners. Waves of people pass through in phases. When I’m there I’m usually trying to connect with my brother, and I am never sure which train I’m looking for, so I keep walking around and “just missing” the trains when they leave the platform. The station is the era of the Warriors (1970’s) definitely New York.

In each of these places I am never afraid, always nervous. I meander through them knowing that I just need to focus and I’ll be able to solve the mystery.

Blog-worthy sharing? No, just rambling, but this is what’s on my mind today, so this is what is blogged today.

Bon bons and beer

Easter bunny has come and gone. He didn't re-do my bathroom, or repair the vacuum cleaner, but the kids are happy. I spent two days with the "X-husband" - not "X" yet, but you get the idea. We went to his brother's house and saw a collection of his siblings and thier kids. The most akward part, his MOm gave me a big hug, and she won't speak to him. I guess she has a problem with the whole "other woman" thing, who d'ave thunk? Apparently the whole fam damliy has decided that nobody's gonna tell the Grandmother, who is two years past 100, about our "troubles". It was decided (by a bunch of other people) that she wouldn't be able able to handle it, and we could just fake it for a while. They are probably right, but there is a tiny part of me that wonders how he'd handle the rejection from his own grandmother. He seems to think that everyone is going to just tell him how happy they are for him. Unfortunately, that's not how things have been going.
I'm still waiting for the damn snow to melt. I don't run, I just don't. I don't have the time or the money to join a gym. If I want to go fast it will be on a motorcycle or a fast little sailboat. One person (me) and an aparatus that glides, I skate fast, I ride fast, I do NOT run fast. The only hope I have of any fitness of any kind is riding my bicycle (and I'm not a crazy college student riding in the 28 degree crispy morning air). So the f-ing snow has to melt before I can begin to work off the something fried with cheese meals that are a highlight of mud season around here.
Someone recently told me to "visualize what I want" and pursue it. So I'm visualizing a pub, a walk in the hills, sleeping in, and writing in a little composition notebook, and being alone. If I put all that together, I know what I want. I want to go on vacation so I can walk to a pub, drink beer and write in my little notebook for as long as I please. The good news is; that's exactly what I'll be doing next week - - - so I can manage a few more days with my faulty ipod, carple tunnel, and love handles. It's bon bons and beer in the UK for me soon enough!

The Easter Bunny can take care of it

Money stress sucks. It's that simple. I mean, I've had some spectacular emotional growth and self analysis breakthroughs (as well as professional analysis, don't worry). Just when I get a real sense of self-worth, and take joy in the sunrise, and laugh with my kids....I get the news that daughter number two needs even more orthodonture than daughter number one. shit. Money stress sucks.

Went shopping with the younger today, she needs running shoes (not a sport I have ever understood, but she's starting in a jogging club on Monday, and she's eight!). So running shoes, and of course the goth styled Vans knock-offs that were on sale. Oh, and a quick stop in the fabric store because she is in a pillow making phase. She had to get some new fabrics for the six pillows she has planned for the guest room. OK...then I wander into Newbury Comics and pass up a new Amy W. CD, which is what I want. As we leave she says "What about the Ugly Dolls that you promised us for Easter?" Unfortunately, she's right. I did promise them, and she's no fool, she waited until the sneakers, and the fabric were already purchased to remind me. So a quick forty bucks later we have two new Ugly Dolls for Easter. We cross the parking lot with all our bundles and she says "Since you got the Ugly Dolls, I gues that the Easter Bunny will have to take care of all the stuff in the baskets." I wonder if the Easter Bunny covers braces?

Late Fees

It's a beautiful day in New England. It's sugaring time. That's when all of us, even if we can't tell a maple tree from an ash tree, get to say - "oh it's good sugaring weather" with a sense of pride and self rightous yankiness. The truth is, good sugaring weather is just plain good weather. Clear sky, sunny during the day, so if you are doing any physical activity at all, you are comfortable in shirt sleeves, but if you want to sit on the porch and drink coffee, you need a heavy sweater. Then the nights are clear and cold, like 20's cold, not sub zero. That makes for great sleeping. So when you can wander through the general store with a 50 pound bag of bird seed slung on your shoulder, and catch three diffrent conversations about how the sap is running, it's a really good day. Even if you are poor. Even if you are seperated, even if you have no idea what the next phase of your career might be. ...but then maybe you stop in the video store to grab a movie for your kids. When you check out with your movie which is not a new release because they are too expensive, and the multiply pierced clerk says, "You have 13 dollars in late fees". You raise your eyebrows in a "how is that possible?" kind of way, and he lists a bunch of movies you've never seen. That's when it dawns on you..."oh yeah, I'm seperated. My husband watched all those while he's been baching it at his new pad, and then forgot to return them." So, had an american cross section today; New England maple sugar time, and the mid western divorce surprise bonus at the movie store. Lucky me.

organic cheese curls AREN'T cheetos

OK - I've already kicked myself in the ass and I have an idea why I was so down. I fucked up today. I went to the wrong job this morning and worked for a few hours, then went to the other job and everybody was pretty pissed that I had pulled a no show. With my recent history, they thought that something terrible had happened. Oopps. So started the day feeling like an idiot. Then later I ran into someone in this little small town of ours who, how can I say this?....she basically made it vivadly clear that she didn't aprove of me. Let's just say "the hairy eyeball" is NOT descriptive enough. It was like a brand new kick in the head when I had conviced myself that the kicks in the head were coming to an end.

So my answer? Use the EASIET recipe for the steak, because failure is not an option, my ego couldn't take it. Then treat myself to some cheese snacks and a beer before dinner - but wait! Those aren't cheetos, those are organic baked cheese curls!!!! Damn, kicked in the head again.

Blu

Sometimes it's not as easy as it looks. Looking around and just feeling a profound lack of motivation. All this "redefining myself" and "new chapter" is hard work. I don't really know what to say beyond that. I want drive fast, run away, hide. I instinctively understand the need to find comfort in my solitude, but I'm pretty sure that solitude is a calm and peaceful place, while loneliness is an empty place. Loneliness doesn't seem quite right. There is anger, a sense of injustice, and a big dose of "how did I let myself get so deep in the well?"

The answer: stand up from the keyboard and try and figure out how to cook a good dinner (steak and potatos) for my kids, then do homework with them, then just get to bed early.

BLog blather.....better than hiding in the back yard and having a cigarette....right?

NASCAR and George W. Bush

In addition to the wide variety of therapist apointments I have, today I went to a chiropractor for the first time in my life. It seems that my new computer research job, combined with trying to teach myself how to play the guitar, have caused a few rotated thoracic vertebrea, which basically means that I am in pain while driving, sleeping, and...oh yeah...breathing. Off to the chiropractor I go.
Upon entering the small brick building, which stands alone by the side of the road, with three parking spaces and a lot of mud (New England in March). I am confronted by two large framed photographs of George W. Bush, each signed with a message of "thanks for the support". The second one even has a note saying "Here's hoping we can keep control of the house!" - We all know how that went. I seriously considered turning around and leaving, but the pain was brutal, and I'd be waiting another few days for a diffrent doctor, so I continued to the registration desk.
That's were a sign on a stand, the black slotted board with little white plastic letters, tells me to "pray for relief from pain - scientists say it works!". The young woman behind the counter smiles and says "You must be Virginia" - Now I can't leave because they will charge me for the visit. So I filled out paper work while W. stared down at me. I waited for the first magical "Adjustment", something I had been told about my whole life.
After the initial intake interview, the chiropractor felt obliged to advise me about my divorce. Just so you know, he feels that lawyers are the biggest obstacle to a healthy divorce and that everything should be worked out ahead of time because as soon as the lawyers see your financials, then they determine your fee based on how much they can take of your assets. I'll look into this theory. He was not instilling great confidence in his expertise with his complete dismissal of all lawyers as quacks.
Fast forward to when I'm on the table, face down, in a spectacularly flattering johnny, and he says "I'll leave you in the hands of my assistant for a while, then I'll be back to do my work." I wait. Then I hear "Wake up before you make me fall asleep honey, (giggle giggle)" As I continue this narrative, please understand that I say nothing. I can't, there are no pauses. She puts a glop of mentholated linement on my back and begins lightly massaging the area on both sides of my spine; this is not unpleasant. And she says......
"What do you think of this weather, I mean rain? What's that about? If it keeps getting warmer I'll have to put my four wheeler back together and get out on the trails. These legs don't like hiking, but put me on my ATV and I could spend all day on the mountain. Everyone says I ride like a guy, that is unless there's barbed wire fence involved. They are crazy, they go 35 or 40 miles an hour with barbed wire fence running just inches from thier leg. That I won't do, but I catch up after a while. I can't wait for Summer. Last year I worked two jobs and had no time for anything. I maybe swam for 5 mionutes and I went camping for a night, but somehow that camping trip ended up with two days at a truck show, and all the money I earned at my two jobs? Poof, gone on who knows what at the Truck Show. This Summer's going to be different. I only have the one job, and I made a lsit of all the things I want to do this year. I am definately going to Six Flags with my girlfirends, it's a great place to meet guys. The most important thing on my list I already took care of though. (Pause...beat...beat) I got tickets to the races. Two days of NASCAR will probably put me back quite a bit more than that truck show did, but I don't care, this is for me!"
Now, I am smiling. The work she's been doing on my back this whole time is wonderful, and she is so excited about her plans that it is infectious. I actually begin to wonder what it would be like to go to Six Flags at the height of the summer. Through this whole experience I made a choice not to look up from the bed. I never saw what the assistant looked like. I envisioned her as lovely, not petite, and a big smile. The stories and the voice, and my imagination where helped by the relief from pain that was seeeping into my back. Then she stopped the massage and said "Don't fall asleep now. The doc will be right in, and stay dry, oh and have a good summer too."
The adjustment was terrifying and thrilling. The pain is gone, the weepiness that seems to come with a constant low-level irritation is gone, and I get to go back on Friday.

"Can't take to the sky until I like it on the Ground"

i don't have to raise my voice

don't have to be underhand

just got to understand that it's gonna be up and down

it's gonna be lost and found and

i can't take to the sky before i like it on the ground and

i need to be patient and i need to be brave

need to discover how i need to behave

and i'll find out the answers when i know what to ask

but i speak a different language and

everybody's speaking too fast

KT Tunstall

Confessions

I played My Chemical Romance VERY loud and opened a beer before 5:00pm today. My husband cleaned out his side of the closet and took the kitchen table and chairs to his house. There is no part of me, that I can find (and I've looked), that is sad about him not living here. There is a sense of feeling blue. So far, I'm pretty sure that it has to do with wishing I could go shopping. It feels like a time to bring new "me" style things into the house. It's the first time I've had a place where I was the only decision making adult. For the last eighteen years I have lived with someone who took great pride in a spartan, uncluttered, no-debt, household. It is important to "live within one's means" and I rarely chaffed in the atmosphere, but now?.,.....today? I want "stuff". Nothing out there really that I NEED. A dvd player would be nice, but then it leaps to things like a kick-ass laptop so I could update this blog while I sat in bed. I supose that I should just look around and celebrate the new found me, the one who doesn't have to hide behind someone else's career.

Tonight? I will go out with a friend. She is also seperated, beautiful, and bored with small town gossip. We will go to the next town over, eat at a bar that has live music, and just enjoy the moment. What moment? The "how the hell did I end up here?" moment. The "what took me so f*ing long to see how lonely I was?" moment.

....and celebrate.

Sometimes You Can't Make it On Your Own

U2-song, and so true. I am the luckiest woman in the world. My friends have said the most beautiful things, thank you. Yes, it's all good. Tomorrow he'll be moving furniture out and I can rearrange, and hang all my jeans in the closet instead of trying to keep them folded in a drawer. I can burn incense whenever I want and I can talk on the phone while lying in bed, all activities that weren't comfortable before now.
I was ranting to myself in my car (it's a wopping 4 minute commute!) about the fact that I wanted a signing bonus for just making it through the week. Between the four therapists, the orthodontist for TWO kids, and getting the oil changed in my car it's a wonder that I can get to my job, much less juggle the two jobs I'm currently working to try and establish my own income. All the same, being on my own is terrific.
My daughter and I were sitting on the bed watching Jon Stewart (the 8pm showing of course) and she turned to me and said "I'm pretty sure that I'm heterosexual, but it's nice to know that I can change my mind if I want to." At that moment, I knew I was doing something right as a parent. In the next moment she tried to disect his sarcastic political humor, it seems I may have modeled some pretty uber-liberal beliefs for her too.
It's another weekend, more movies, more relaxing, and more loud music on the stereo while I clean the house and wait for the snow to melt.

Equinox - greening up

Equinox celebration with the kids. We ran around the house cleaning cobwebs off the ceiling and dust from all the corners. We banged on tin cans and rang bells, we shouted, sang badly, and said "bye bye" to Winter, and "Hello" to Spring. After sweeping the dust and detritus out the front door, everyone got thier own stick of incense to cleanse the space so it would be ready for the new beginings. The girls insisted that we round the whole ritual off with ice cream; I didn't complain.
I must confess that the idea of new beginings is quite comforting right about now. The greening of the Goddess, the growing of the new self, all resonates quite beautifully for me today. Starting tomorow there is more light than dark. It's as simple as that.

Couples Counseling

OK, so you've probably heard the phrase "Give 'em enough rope and they'll hang themselves"? Need I say more? My spouse thought he had me a teed up for a doosey of a swing on Monday morning with "our" therapist. He launched right in with...."I'm not comfortable with the fact that she's not seeing her therapist more. She was so screwed up six weeks ago, how can she be so functional now?" and he went on. In fact he went off. Having spent the last 20 years with the guy, I had an inkling that this was coming. I just watched and listened. Our therapist was visably disturbed by the diatraub. When he finally wound down he looked right at her and said "I'm right aren't I? She can't be OK?" she adjusted her jacket and was actually speachless. Her response? "I'm not going to answer that question. What I'd like to do is try and understand what has brought about all this anxiety for you?" Hmmmm....this was definately NOT the answer he was expecting.
I won't continue to regurgitate the session. Just know in your heart that it was awesome. He became more irrational, she became more alarmed, and I sipped my coffee and revelled in the fact that I wasn't going to throw him a life vest, I wasn't going to interperate for him, I have done that for long enough.
When I walked out of the office I had to surpress my smile. I had witnessed the car crash and I had stayed on the side lines. It was the new me. I hadn't gotten sucked into the fray. It felt great. The underscoring for the entire morning was KT Tunstall's "Suddenly I See" - and boy did it look good.

Catching up on DVDs

Sunday night. So this is the end of the first weekend when "the kids are with Dad". How was it for me? Well, I caught up on the DVDs that I felt I should have already seen. Little Miss Sunshine, Da Vinci Code, Devil Wears Prada. LMS was as good as everyone said, DaVincci code was better than everyone said it would be (which isn't saying much because everyone told me it was awful), and Devil Wears Prada was fun to watch with my girls. The wierd thing is, I lived parts of that movie. I was the "fat smart" assistant for a Dragon Lady. She was not a fashionista, she was a Broadway Producer, but not too far off the mark from the character Meryl Streep brought to life. Luckily I also chose to see the goodness of a living a genuine, uber-liberal, lower middle (or upper lower) class existance while watching or reading about the people I had been making dinner reservations for.

Day two. What does a Mom (over 35 but under40) do with a St. Patrick's day afternoon to herself? Funny you should ask. Today I left my kids with the husband and went off with no particular plan. I spent almost an hour hanging out at the local record store. Yes, I DID say record store. I have fond memories of record stores when I was a teenager, and Music Matters is as close as we get up here in rural New England. I looked at the new Yo La Tengo CD, I thought about buying some music that I'd never heard (and then realized that money is a huge stress factor in my life) and ended up leaving with exactly what I went in for; Abbey Road on disc. Boring? Yes. However, you can't get the Beatles on I-tunes, so it's a good excuse to actually go in a store and talk to the local owner about music and life, and Rat Dog, and snow storms, and of course, kids and "the transition".
Then it actually got interesting, for me at least, I went to an Irish Pub, sat at the bar, had three pints, ate lunch, and wrote in my handy dandy spiral notebook. I desperately hope that the college students thought I was an interesting troubled poet or something. The truth is, I'm sure that no body even knew that I was there. I had a lovely afternoon. It's been a while since I've had the luxury of hanging out at a bar in the afternoon.
Perhaps I will return to the bar on my way back to the car. If anyone has read this far, they may be wondering where I am. Well I'm in the library of the local university, using a free computer to write my blog while still enjoying the afterglow of the three pints.
I would like to take a moment to say how much I enjoy sitting in the pub during a snow storm. There is nothing like it. Back to the point...that is, the Fall. Last night I stayed home and watched Little Miss Sunshine. That was good. Celebrate life and all that. Made me smile. Now, I suppose it's time to divide up the cookbooks tonight. I am desperately hoping that the husband has cleared all his things out of the closet today. I must confess, and it's probably politically incorrect to say this..but, I've been looking forward to having the whole closet to myself. It will be one of life's small joys to let my clothing spread out and fill the space.
Can we talk about music? I mean, it is the soundtrack of everything, including the fall of civilization. That's the whole quote by the way "After the fall of civilization some people simply slept." I have no idea where it came from, but it's been stuck in my head for years. I do believe that in my childhood I would go to computer stores, please understand, it was an "all DOS all the time" world back then. We precocious kids had to "program" everything line by line. So I would program this phrase "After the fall.." etc, onto the store computer and make it scroll endlessly. I thought I was so cool.
That's not music though. My Father was giving me advice about my divorce (and I would have to write a very long pithy novel to explain the irony of this statement) and he said that the hardest thing about divorce is dividing up the music collection. I decided that it would be prudent to mention this to my husband this morning. Hmmmmm, maybe not. He was offended. something to the effect of, "I've got much bigger things to think about than music." OK, so forgive me for trying to bring the mundane into our reality. A few facts, he is planning for 50% custody of our beautiful children, I applaud this, I have no reservations about it, I think it will be interesting. However, I'm not sure he has any idea what we have to look forward to. I mean frankly, one of them has entered puberty and has the emotional thermometer of a gnat (that is to imply that all things are emotional and mercurial, and instant).
Let's try again on the music. I like what I like, and I know what I like. I like the Alman Brothers, I like the Who, I like Alannis Morisette (even if I can't spell it). I also like Antler, My Chemical Romance, and AC/DC. Listening to music and NOT worrying about what the people around me think about what I like; that's a challenge.
After the Fall of Civilization, some people simply slept. Yup.

Day One. Probably actually something like day eighty-something, but it's the first day I'm blogging. After the Fall refers to "The Big D - and I don't mean Dallas" watch as the great middle American Marriage transforms into the newer, more creative life of a divorce with two kids. Like magic - don't look now but the earth is shifting under your feet! So, perhaps I thought that I knew what to expect of my life. Perhaps I created a nice neat and tidy plan a long time ago that ended in an RV somewhere in Arizona with a short guy, some retirement funds, and a little dog. Well, I was wrong. I was so very very wrong. Not only did I never want the little dog, but that wasn't the guy I wanted to retire with. Some of the finer gems: since moving out he stopped by the other morning to drive the kids to school and handed me his stinky spandex shorts and said "When I have spinning class, I can only really wear these once, are you doing laundry? Could you throw these in?"

And, by the way, how ios it that I went from no therapist to four of them? There is my individual, our couples, the consultant, and now the family. That's right, I now have four professionals looking me in th eye and asking, "how the hell did you end up with him?"

Granted, he wants to do the right thing. He wants to take be present and take care of the kids, and be at the teacher conferences, and pay the bills, and point out what needs to be cleaned, and then go on vacation with his girlfriend. He actually complaine dto me th eother day about how he was struggling with having commitments to two women, and he meant his girlfriend and our daughter. Needless to say, I just smiled and nodded. Let me point out, this blog, this last five minutes of ranting, that's my "boyfriend". This is it folks. It's me, learning to take care of me, and learning that it's OK for someone to be angry at me, and it's OK for me NOT to try and make it up to them.

So I'll have my beer, eat my tortilla chips and watch a movie.