Unexpected. But Welcomed.

A while ago, I found myself alone, downtown. That so very rarely happens. It was a lovely spring day and after I ran my few errands, I stopped before heading back to the car. I turned around and looked east toward the first apartment I shared with my ex-husband. Being all alone, I decided to take a little walk.

In the two years we've been back, I've had many an occasion to drive past the old apartment on a near weekly basis. It's all very old hat by now. I still peak, trying to catch a glimpse of life inside, but mostly it's just another point on our journey. But this day I really wanted a closer look. I pushed the walk button before I could talk myself out of it and just started walking. I cut across the parking lot of the mortuary and stood in the alley way. Waiting. For...something.

My first thought was not of my ex, but of my former best friend. That parking lot, that alley way was where I told him that my marriage was falling apart. That parking lot, that alley way was where he told me I would be ok; that he would be here for me. That parking lot, that alley way was where he broke my heart the final time. Where he left, never to return, leaving me without a word. Again. I was surprised that was the first memory to replay.

I moved back behind the parking stalls and looked up to the balcony. I remembered installing our satellite there. I remembered there being room for only one person there. I remembered our low ceiling-ed kitchen and our actual bread box that I didn't know what to do with. I remembered playing in the rain. And then, a funny thing happened. I felt...nothing. Not even a tinge of anything. In the two years we've been back, it's moved from this mystical place I used to live with my first husband; the place where there were actual good times to be remembered (instead of our second apartment where the good times don't come as readily) to...nothing. An old apartment where I once lived, a million years ago in a different life.

Before turning back to get my car and drive home to my family, I stood my ground and turned to the south. I saw the old porch in the back of our friends old house next door and that was when my tears betrayed me. I saw the four of us, sitting out on that porch until who knows when, talking and laughing about what life had in store for us all. That porch. That house. I suddenly, desperately missed my friend. Not my old life. Not that apartment. Not what I had before. But my friend. Her, I miss. I tried to remember how many years ago she passed away and I couldn't come up with a definitive answer. Far too many. I thought about how our lives turned out and realized nothing could have prepared any of us for what we all went through in the last fifteen years. I looked upward, told her that I missed her and that I wish she could see me now. Back here. Happy. Good. That the occasional pictures I see of her daughters gut me because they are the spitting image of their mom.

I turned, then, and hurried back through the mortuary parking lot. While saddened, I decided I was ultimately glad I took the detour. It reminded me that journeying to the past is ok. It reminded me that I'm ok with where I am. After two years, I've reclaimed this little town and replaced the sad memories with nothing but good. But most of all, it reminded me of my friend. And while I miss her, sometimes fiercely, a little part of her will always be here with me. And I like to think that she was there, feeling what I was feeling. Seeing what I was seeing. And proud of the way I've handled the ghosts.


(bic runga, suddenly strange)

Because Books Are On My MInd

I had an...interesting? conversation with a few local moms this week. The subject was what types of books we read. While I won't delve into the REALLY nutty part of the conversation (which I would LOVE to, but I know how things can get back to people...), I have been thinking about one specific topic that came up: what do you let kids read.

I made the comment (which I didn't think was spectacularly crazy) that I pretty much read whatever I wanted growing up. Everyone seemed a little incredulous. But I still really think that was true. I don't know why that was the case, but I read WAY too fast and furious for my mom to ever 'pre-read' (and, actually, she usually had her own book or two going!). I know I was a pretty responsible kid and didn't do a lot to make my parents worry. I know that reading was a lifeline to me and was always made available to us. Books were ALWAYS available. So, I guess, I never wondered if this was weird. It just was what it was.

However, some of the women expressed COMPLETE shock and mentioned that that would NOT be the way they would be parenting. After feeling completely shut down and a little judged (Hey! I turned out ok!), I stopped talking and then tried to steer the conversation away. And then I started wondering what I'll do with Sammy. I don't think I'll censor. I hope I teach him right and wrong and a strong moral compass that he'll smartly choose for himself. And heavens knows, he'll have plenty of access to books as he grows, so there's that. But I think it's important that the world is open to him. I don't know. Do you have a plan? Pre-reading? Censoring? I just never knew this was something else I needed to think about!


(a book like this, angus and julia stone)

When You Don't Know At All

You know when you first meet a group of people and you immediately peg the ones you KNOW you should be friends with. And then you start getting to know this group and you find out that the one(S) you KNEW you should be friends with aren't so likable and the one(S) you wrote off, for a variety of reasons, are exactly what you needed? Yeah. That happens to me EVERY time I meet a new group. You would think I could figure it out already!

I haven't decided what this means about me, though. Does it mean that I can't read people (nooooo!)? Does it mean that I'm still not cool as I hopelessly flop around searching for the elusive 'right' group (UGH. Don't answer that)? Does it mean I don't know who I am? I just don't know. But I feel like I should get SOME sort of meaningful lesson out of it, because, dude. EVERY TIME I meet a new group of women it happens. EVERY TIME.

How about you? You tend to gravitate toward whom?


(if you don't know me by now, simply red)

I REALLY Wish I Could Remember That Book

I took Sammy to library story time yesterday at the elementary school he'll attend. Man, I forgot how much I love elementary school libraries! Sammy was enthralled with copying his cousin and immediately marched over to pick a book to read. As soon as he was done with that one, he put it away and got a second. He was in book heaven! And then my sister grabbed him and started reading to him. That's when I started really looking around.

I saw a lot of different kids, but one girl stood out: walking tall with a slightly bossy, or confident, edge to her; holding a folder across her chest like a librarian; glasses; braids. She reminded me of me. She looked as if she was born to live in a library and couldn't be bothered to play outside or do anything other than what her drive to succeed dictates. I'm am, of course, postulating. For all I know, she was there trying to be reformed, her parents begging her through summer school. But, whichever is the case, the fact remains that she reminded me of me.

When I was her age, I spent every possible moment in the library. I inhaled books, as quickly as I could. I sneaked peaks of that Judy Blume book, Forever(the closest thing to taboo in our small library; WAY before thoughts to ban it!). I took home book after book after book and spent all my free time reading. I remember one book, about a boy named...Jacob, I think...who lived in a cemetery. I have never been able to find it a second time, nor remember the title, one of the great mysteries of my childhood. I read appropriate, inappropriate, long, short; whatever I could get my hands on.

As I stood there, watching my kid run from book to book, knowing that we had a stack of appropriate, inappropriate, long, short and whatever chapter books at home that he has been loving, I got excited. I can't wait for him to be there, reading everything he can get his hands on, worlds opening, memories made.

I love elementary school libraries.


(alphaville, forever young)

Yesterday...

Yesterday was an interesting day. It was...lovely. Full of contentment. Sammy is sick (summer cold, with fever, just because he's Sammy and can't have a cold WITHOUT a fever...) so we were home all day. I made bread and a pot of beans and a huge fruit salad, with the intent of filling us so full of good stuff I would be too full to eat the bad stuff at my SIL's last night for our nephew's birthday. It totally worked and I lost two pounds in the process (yay for watermelon!).

I also finished the book I was reading, which left me thoughtful for a little bit. Until the boys came downstairs and found my hiding spot. Which, truthfully, wasn't very good considering it was, you know, in the living room out in the open. Note to self: Must hide better when finishing a book. Anyway. Back to the book. I finished Husband and Wife by Leah Stewart. It felt, the entire time, like something I would write. Like what I AM writing. It was a little out of body. Sometimes I feel like a book is something I WISH I had written, but this...this sounded like my tone. Weird. And I'm not certain I would have loved it had it not. Which, well, I'm not sure what that says about my writing.

After a huge lunch and finishing my book, I started looking around. My house was straightened, but lived in. My boys were content and happy. I was content and happy. Life is pretty good. Wait. Life is good, but could always be better (can't let the "life is good / bring it on" trials have an opening!). Even though sickness kept us home yesterday and even though my to do list never quits and even though I'm a crazy, crazy person...in that moment, I was content.

And then the heat and the dreams started. Man. It was WARM last night. And I'm such a "no! no a/c on the first hot day!" kind of person, we dealt. But that is a story for another time...


(i wanna be adored, stone roses)