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.