I've been twiddling my thumbs with anxiety, chomping at the bit, and ignoring all the calls from friends because I don't want to spill the beans. There is so much news to report, but I just can't do it right now. There's that whole superstious side of me that that doesn't want to jinx it. Hopefully, i'll be able to say something soon. Very soon. Just not tonight.
I've been reading a book titled Love is a Mix Tape written by a contributing writer of Rolling Stone. I thought it would be a simple book about the 80's and 90's when everyone put there hearts out on the line with a cassette tape. From a time when we spent hours in front of the radio waiting for that one, perfect song that would somehow transform the mix tape from worldly to heavenly. The frosting on the cake. Unfortunately, the songs often were jaded by dejay-type introductions or the start of commercial break at the very end. Or worse yet, dedications to someone that wasn't the recipient of the said mix tape.
And the book is all of those things. It talks of a simpler time for a while; back yard barbecues, drinking beers on the curb in the company of friends, staying up all night listening to albums. But the book is also so much more than that (and what I didn't expect) which is his wife dying of an embolism in her late 20's. What kind of mix tape do you create after that? What music can soothe that kind of pain? Can music really bring us back from the brink? Is it really that powerful?
I'm not one to speculate that kind of heartbreak. Or pain. Ironically (since the book is actually about mix taples), the one thing this book has made me realize is that I am too quick to take advantage of my digital culture. I have come to believe that an album is a life story put forth by the artist. Written and arranged just so to convey their deepest thoughts, desires and message. In a show of disrespect, I am so quick to log on to itunes, grab the one song that appeals to me off an album, and disregard all the rest. But the pieces make the whole and I am missing so much more that could be there. I equate it to someone picking just a few stories out of my life biography. Those few stories don't make up the whole understanding of me. The same is true with an album. And the fact that I have done that makes me sad. In an inexplicable kind of way.
So i've turned the ipod off shuffle for a while, even pulled a few cd's out of retirment and just listened to the whole thing. One song after another. And I feel like maybe I finally understand.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
And The Angels Sang Hallejulah!
Things that deserve the almighty Hallejulah, amen:
My dansko's have arrived. And although they make my feet feel like they are in a straight jacket, I hear that I will adjust, and they will stretch out. I just hope they are as good as everyone swears.
Working 7-3.30pm. Yes, I have to drag my butt out of bed before the sun even finds it acceptable to wake up but it also means I have 2 blissful hours of no customers. I also have the satisfaction of walking out when half the staff walks in.
Non sugar, non fat Carmel Machiato from Starbucks. Delicious and body conscious. Add in my employee discount and I can ride on the wings of angels for a blissful 30 minute lunch break.
Thanks to my DVR, I FINALLY got to see the season finally of Project Runway, and the fierce Christian did take the title. I bow to the greatness that is his 21 year old mind.
My mad google skills that allowed me to find John Mayer's secondary blog after he had shut down his official one. I don't know how I would get through my week without his clever (and HILARIOUS) commentary on his life & the whole aura surrounding celebrity. Unfortunately, Mr. Perez Hilton has also found it and has been linking it on to his own website. Is nothing sacred?
Verizon Wireless' New-Every-Two. Yes, my phone works and is decent shape but it was never something I really wanted. It's ugly and I took it only because it was the only Motorola and at that senseless point in my life I for some reason thought that Motorola was the be all and end all of cell phones. I've upgraded and it's great.
A GREAT sushi restaurant that is about 5 miles away. We had found a decent restaurant on the east side of the city but it took about 45 minutes to get there and the food was edible, but not great. Bayridge is great. Their spicy tuna actually surpasses Mikado's in GR.
And lastly, finding out, that it really is just all about positive thinking.
My dansko's have arrived. And although they make my feet feel like they are in a straight jacket, I hear that I will adjust, and they will stretch out. I just hope they are as good as everyone swears.
Working 7-3.30pm. Yes, I have to drag my butt out of bed before the sun even finds it acceptable to wake up but it also means I have 2 blissful hours of no customers. I also have the satisfaction of walking out when half the staff walks in.
Non sugar, non fat Carmel Machiato from Starbucks. Delicious and body conscious. Add in my employee discount and I can ride on the wings of angels for a blissful 30 minute lunch break.
Thanks to my DVR, I FINALLY got to see the season finally of Project Runway, and the fierce Christian did take the title. I bow to the greatness that is his 21 year old mind.
My mad google skills that allowed me to find John Mayer's secondary blog after he had shut down his official one. I don't know how I would get through my week without his clever (and HILARIOUS) commentary on his life & the whole aura surrounding celebrity. Unfortunately, Mr. Perez Hilton has also found it and has been linking it on to his own website. Is nothing sacred?
Verizon Wireless' New-Every-Two. Yes, my phone works and is decent shape but it was never something I really wanted. It's ugly and I took it only because it was the only Motorola and at that senseless point in my life I for some reason thought that Motorola was the be all and end all of cell phones. I've upgraded and it's great.
A GREAT sushi restaurant that is about 5 miles away. We had found a decent restaurant on the east side of the city but it took about 45 minutes to get there and the food was edible, but not great. Bayridge is great. Their spicy tuna actually surpasses Mikado's in GR.
And lastly, finding out, that it really is just all about positive thinking.
Monday, March 10, 2008
I'm Back. I Swear.
It's 2 o'clock in the afternoon and i've only been up for an hour. And when this new job isn't reaking havoc on my sleep schedule, i've spent my free time massaging my feet and self medicating with ibuprofen (while secretly wishing I could just attach my self to a morphine drip instead).
Yes, it certainly feels like 3 steps back. Or a bad reaccuring dream - wasn't I just here 5 years ago - to which the dreadful answer is indeed, yes I have been here before. But hopefully, it won't be long before I can pick up my lunch sack and head somewhere else. Afterall, I happen to be a glass half full kind of girl and I hope that my sacrifice (3 steps, remember?) ensures that we will progress one step forward in the next year.
We've already had a conversation (or 2 or 2 million, depending on which one of us you ask. I'll admit it, i'm also a girl who doesn't like unresolved scenarios) about moving down here. I could have a full time job (that hopefully would be 7 steps up from the one I have now) while going back to school; We would have our own place, with our own things, with our four-legged friend. And if worst came to worst, which it may or may not, the economy down here is a tad more friendly to those of us who are unemployed.
The inevitable moment where you reach the fork in the road. That's us. And has been for about the last 2 years.
For now we forge on, quietly and efficiently working towards our year end goal: home, pup, school, more stable job (? the last one is always a guessing game). Last year was a year of personal results for me, now I want this to be a year of results for the both of us.
Yes, it certainly feels like 3 steps back. Or a bad reaccuring dream - wasn't I just here 5 years ago - to which the dreadful answer is indeed, yes I have been here before. But hopefully, it won't be long before I can pick up my lunch sack and head somewhere else. Afterall, I happen to be a glass half full kind of girl and I hope that my sacrifice (3 steps, remember?) ensures that we will progress one step forward in the next year.
We've already had a conversation (or 2 or 2 million, depending on which one of us you ask. I'll admit it, i'm also a girl who doesn't like unresolved scenarios) about moving down here. I could have a full time job (that hopefully would be 7 steps up from the one I have now) while going back to school; We would have our own place, with our own things, with our four-legged friend. And if worst came to worst, which it may or may not, the economy down here is a tad more friendly to those of us who are unemployed.
The inevitable moment where you reach the fork in the road. That's us. And has been for about the last 2 years.
For now we forge on, quietly and efficiently working towards our year end goal: home, pup, school, more stable job (? the last one is always a guessing game). Last year was a year of personal results for me, now I want this to be a year of results for the both of us.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Home
I meant to take a lot more pictures. Of friends. Family. Matisse, who always happens to turn his head at the exact moment I press the button, or give me one of those pictures that looks like he hasn't slept in days or that i've been sneaking drugs in with his puppy chow.
I head back to Florida on Thursday with only 2 new pictures on my camera. Both of them of Matisse fast asleep on the bed. So much for exciting. So much for human subjects. So much for having proof of the gazillion memories i've accumulated in the 2 weeks i've been home. It's gone too fast.
I've learned that bad always comes with good. That's why i've spent approximately $800 in 2 weeks fixing the Subaru to drive across town or the 2000 miles to Orlando.
I've slept with Matisse and without him and discovered that I slept better with him. Even if he is a bed hog. There is something about the comfort of a warm body next to you. Even if it does have 4 legs.
I've gone from a sunny paradise to an icy tundra. I still prefer the tundra. Good weather gets boring.
I've spent time with friends over coffee and wine. I've been hosted and a hostess. And nothing beats the feeling of coming home to people who will rearrange their day to share a beverage with me.
I've spent more time alone than with others. The best part of being home is spending time in it.
I head back to Florida with a full of car and a hurting heart. It's always hard leaving and I fear that driving away and seeing it diminish in my rearview mirror will somehow make it more difficult. It's easier to fly away from it all. It's gone in minutes.
I don't know when i'll be back. I'm employed now. On someone else's schedule. And that is bitter pill to swallow. But that's reality.
Life.
And life in Florida with N is far better than life here in Michigan without him.
I head back to Florida on Thursday with only 2 new pictures on my camera. Both of them of Matisse fast asleep on the bed. So much for exciting. So much for human subjects. So much for having proof of the gazillion memories i've accumulated in the 2 weeks i've been home. It's gone too fast.
I've learned that bad always comes with good. That's why i've spent approximately $800 in 2 weeks fixing the Subaru to drive across town or the 2000 miles to Orlando.
I've slept with Matisse and without him and discovered that I slept better with him. Even if he is a bed hog. There is something about the comfort of a warm body next to you. Even if it does have 4 legs.
I've gone from a sunny paradise to an icy tundra. I still prefer the tundra. Good weather gets boring.
I've spent time with friends over coffee and wine. I've been hosted and a hostess. And nothing beats the feeling of coming home to people who will rearrange their day to share a beverage with me.
I've spent more time alone than with others. The best part of being home is spending time in it.
I head back to Florida with a full of car and a hurting heart. It's always hard leaving and I fear that driving away and seeing it diminish in my rearview mirror will somehow make it more difficult. It's easier to fly away from it all. It's gone in minutes.
I don't know when i'll be back. I'm employed now. On someone else's schedule. And that is bitter pill to swallow. But that's reality.
Life.
And life in Florida with N is far better than life here in Michigan without him.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Back To The Life I Left Behind
I've been gone awhile now. I haven't died. Or even forgotten my obligation to this.
I'm just home.
Enjoying life in the snow with my four legged friend.
More later.
I'm just home.
Enjoying life in the snow with my four legged friend.
More later.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Places So Far Away & A Long Time Ago
It sort of smelled like warm beer on a hot summer's day and the scent, acting so much like a snapshot, made me stop dead in my tracks. It took me back to the summers of the 80's when shoulder pads and leg warmers were acceptable fashion choices and I was just a tomboy with dirty feet and short hair. My brother and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents (R), it seems. It was probably owed more to the fact that my parents needed a cheap babysitter and we were the only grandchildren in a 3000 mile radius that lent itself to the companionship I found with my grandfather than anything else.
There were summers spent at a small camp ground with a fishing hole and a rusty swingset; nights by the campfire and inside a rather cramped camper where the dining table would magically transform into a bed at just the right moment (aka my bedtime). There were lazy weekends when I would get up early - when everyone else was still warm and asleep in their own beds - and ride over to my grandparent's house on my bike to browse the Sunday comics or have grandpa fix a flat tire. There were Saturday evenings when my grandparents would have dinner parties or maybe it was just neighbors stopping over to say hello, regardless, I would stay quiet and out of the way by looking through dusty picture albums stored underneath living room chairs, brushing my fingers over old pictures of my dad when he was my age.
Then, there were the days I would spend with my grandparents - spaghettios for lunch while we watched Wheel of Fortune; playing dress up in my grandmother's sheer lacy curtains that transformed into an ideal wedding dress even as they hung from the window; an old 50's style hoop skirt discarded from my aunt that became the real treasure I found in the attic; stands for my paper dolls crafted by my grandfather's hands; singing Amazing Grace with my grandfather as he soaked his tired worn feet and as I pretended mine were just as tired, just as worn.
I lost two of my grandparents before I was old enough to form any real memories of them. My grandfather (R) died when I was 7, my grandma when I was 20. I lost all of my grandparents at an age when no child should be confronted with the burden of death or the ache of loosing someone close. I remember their funerals with a vividness that still haunts me; the smell of the flowers, the feel of the plush red carpet underneath my mary janes; the outpouring of quiches and casseroles; the whisperings of pain and loss; the silence that seems to envelope all as they confront their memories and their own mortality.
And everyday I wish they were still here. That pain never goes away, it's just dulled by time and the realization that there is a life to live. But sometimes I get a whiff of my past rather through a smell of warm beer on a hot summer's day or through a tattered photograph that brings the past to the forefront and makes me realize how lucky I was for 2 years, 5 years, 7 years and 20 years to be able to hold on to those that I have now lost.
Memories of places so far away and a long time ago.
There were summers spent at a small camp ground with a fishing hole and a rusty swingset; nights by the campfire and inside a rather cramped camper where the dining table would magically transform into a bed at just the right moment (aka my bedtime). There were lazy weekends when I would get up early - when everyone else was still warm and asleep in their own beds - and ride over to my grandparent's house on my bike to browse the Sunday comics or have grandpa fix a flat tire. There were Saturday evenings when my grandparents would have dinner parties or maybe it was just neighbors stopping over to say hello, regardless, I would stay quiet and out of the way by looking through dusty picture albums stored underneath living room chairs, brushing my fingers over old pictures of my dad when he was my age.
Then, there were the days I would spend with my grandparents - spaghettios for lunch while we watched Wheel of Fortune; playing dress up in my grandmother's sheer lacy curtains that transformed into an ideal wedding dress even as they hung from the window; an old 50's style hoop skirt discarded from my aunt that became the real treasure I found in the attic; stands for my paper dolls crafted by my grandfather's hands; singing Amazing Grace with my grandfather as he soaked his tired worn feet and as I pretended mine were just as tired, just as worn.
I lost two of my grandparents before I was old enough to form any real memories of them. My grandfather (R) died when I was 7, my grandma when I was 20. I lost all of my grandparents at an age when no child should be confronted with the burden of death or the ache of loosing someone close. I remember their funerals with a vividness that still haunts me; the smell of the flowers, the feel of the plush red carpet underneath my mary janes; the outpouring of quiches and casseroles; the whisperings of pain and loss; the silence that seems to envelope all as they confront their memories and their own mortality.
And everyday I wish they were still here. That pain never goes away, it's just dulled by time and the realization that there is a life to live. But sometimes I get a whiff of my past rather through a smell of warm beer on a hot summer's day or through a tattered photograph that brings the past to the forefront and makes me realize how lucky I was for 2 years, 5 years, 7 years and 20 years to be able to hold on to those that I have now lost.
Memories of places so far away and a long time ago.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Change Or Lack Of
Aah, the wonderful feeling of beating someone into submission; of playing the bad guy. There's nothing like that high. Or so I hear. It's not really a description I like to fill. In fact, I feel a little piece of me die every time I have to take on the role because it is so out of character for me. I am typically the one to empathize, to sympathize and then to gently nudge forward over shared commaraderie and a stiff martini. That's more my style; how I move in the world.
But i've learned that approach works better with girlfriends than my own husband. He's not one to sit down for a good round of girl talk which includes hypothesizing about the future, belief of what our role is in the world, the nuances of our relationship, and how we've changed in the past and how we'll probably change in the future. That's not his style. He deals better in mathematical formulas and scientific theory than matters of the heart. Especially when it concerns his own.
For a while now I've tried encouraging N to start searching for a new job. Our short stint as two unemployed married adults with the possibility of moving in with the in-laws jerked my chain a little, made me realize that some life goals needed to be in place for us to achieve whatever dreams we want out of life. Or at the very least, to ensure that we can pay our rent payment next month. I'm a realist after all and like to live my life with a back up plan (and then a back-up plan for that one).
While my skills easily carry from state to state, border to border, job to job N's are a little more specialized and well, higher paying, so i had made it my own personal goal to help him realize his dreams. Which, ironically, has also become a very real nightmare for him.
I tried at first with the gentle approach, bringing up the touchy subject only when I felt like his guard was down and tried sparing him any real pain by making the conversation as quick as possible while still feeling satisified that I had made my point. However, no real epiphanies were reached; no heart-to-hearts lasting beyond 5 minutes and involving ben & jerrys.
I'm not saying i'm a master of communication by any means. I can tell whole world my woes and worries but when it comes to sitting one-on-one with the ONE who really matters, i get tongue tied and typically shut down becauase I don't want ot offend, hurt or in any way disappoint.
But, I also realize when there is a need and usually focus all my energy into fulfilling that need, meaning neccessity has always breed invention. So, I grabbed his hand and hoped that my assistance in the process could yield results: I updated his resumes, helped him write a couple of cover letters, searched on Monster for jobs I thought he would excel at/be qualified for/enjoy and e-mailed them to him.
When I first met N, he was goofy and quirky and the most intelligent person I had ever encountered and oh, so different than I. He had a savings account, I was living off a credit card. My apartment was a design not an afterthough, while he spent his time lounging on a foam couch he had inhertited from a family member. I thought appearance was everything, while he hadn't picked up an iron in several years and believed that black jeans were acceptable.
But I told myself that I wouldn't try to change him, because I had fallen in love with him just as he was. And I haven't changed him intentionally or for altruistic reasons, we have slowly evolved together. I am debt free, he picked out our dishes, I have days where I don't wear makeup, he has retired the black jeans.
But i've learned that approach works better with girlfriends than my own husband. He's not one to sit down for a good round of girl talk which includes hypothesizing about the future, belief of what our role is in the world, the nuances of our relationship, and how we've changed in the past and how we'll probably change in the future. That's not his style. He deals better in mathematical formulas and scientific theory than matters of the heart. Especially when it concerns his own.
For a while now I've tried encouraging N to start searching for a new job. Our short stint as two unemployed married adults with the possibility of moving in with the in-laws jerked my chain a little, made me realize that some life goals needed to be in place for us to achieve whatever dreams we want out of life. Or at the very least, to ensure that we can pay our rent payment next month. I'm a realist after all and like to live my life with a back up plan (and then a back-up plan for that one).
While my skills easily carry from state to state, border to border, job to job N's are a little more specialized and well, higher paying, so i had made it my own personal goal to help him realize his dreams. Which, ironically, has also become a very real nightmare for him.
I tried at first with the gentle approach, bringing up the touchy subject only when I felt like his guard was down and tried sparing him any real pain by making the conversation as quick as possible while still feeling satisified that I had made my point. However, no real epiphanies were reached; no heart-to-hearts lasting beyond 5 minutes and involving ben & jerrys.
I'm not saying i'm a master of communication by any means. I can tell whole world my woes and worries but when it comes to sitting one-on-one with the ONE who really matters, i get tongue tied and typically shut down becauase I don't want ot offend, hurt or in any way disappoint.
But, I also realize when there is a need and usually focus all my energy into fulfilling that need, meaning neccessity has always breed invention. So, I grabbed his hand and hoped that my assistance in the process could yield results: I updated his resumes, helped him write a couple of cover letters, searched on Monster for jobs I thought he would excel at/be qualified for/enjoy and e-mailed them to him.
When I first met N, he was goofy and quirky and the most intelligent person I had ever encountered and oh, so different than I. He had a savings account, I was living off a credit card. My apartment was a design not an afterthough, while he spent his time lounging on a foam couch he had inhertited from a family member. I thought appearance was everything, while he hadn't picked up an iron in several years and believed that black jeans were acceptable.
But I told myself that I wouldn't try to change him, because I had fallen in love with him just as he was. And I haven't changed him intentionally or for altruistic reasons, we have slowly evolved together. I am debt free, he picked out our dishes, I have days where I don't wear makeup, he has retired the black jeans.
So I come to my own realization; the ephiphany I was pushing N towards I have found myself: It's unfair to want someone to take on your hopes, dreams, desires as their own if they don't want them too. I should have taken the cue a long time ago when I realized prodding wasn't working so why would yelling and cussing and general mania? He, at this point, has no desire for change whether because he enjoys his job more than I know or because he loves this crazy, completely unrpedictable lifestyle or because he's afraid of seeking the change he thinks he might need to make.
Either way, it's not me who can facilitate it. I can question him, challenge him and help him realize potential, but I certaintly can't force it.
I'll accept the status quo and try not to worry about tomorrow; we can't fight against the unknown. I'll try to make my own happiness rather than force a change of scenery, a different situation, in hopes that that will finally make me happy.
Necessity breeds invention. Therefore, it's time to create my own happiness.
And give time, patience and a loving heart so N can create his too.
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