Two Kinds of People

There’s two kinds of people.  That’s what we always say, right?  So let’s have an experiment.  Let’s boil this whole mask debate down to, instead of an argument between two large groups, let’s pretend it was a conversation between two people.  And let’s pretend those two people are intelligent and reasonable, and they respect and care for each other, and wish each other well.  Because how great would the world be if we all felt that way? Let’s call them Dick and Jane.  Bear with me for a bit.

Jane: Hey Dick, can we talk a minute?

Dick: Sure Jane, what’s up?

Jane: Well, here’s the thing.  You know how every time I go out anywhere, you’re there?

Dick: Yeah, crazy right?

Jane: Right.  Well, see, the experts are saying that, even if you have no symptoms, you could have COVID-19.  And even though I wear a mask whenever I’m around you, if you have it you could still give it to me.  But those chances are drastically reduced if you're also wearing a mask.  So it would really mean a lot to me if you’d wear a mask when you’re around me. 

Dick: Well, Jane, here’s the thing….

Karen: Excuse me…

Dick: Wait what?

Jane: Who the hell was that?

Karen: Excuse me, I have something to say…..see I CAN’T wear masks.

Dick: Where’d she come from?

Jane: Fuck if I know.

Dick: Ok hi, What’s your name?

Karen: Karen.

Jane: Ok Karen, I get that some people can’t wear masks for medical or emotional reasons.  And I respect your right not to wear one, because you can’t.

Karen:  Thanks.  I’d also like to point out that I don’t ALWAYS ask to speak to the manager.

Jane: Ok, duly noted. Now Dick, you were saying?

Dick: Yes, thanks…so I was about to say…

Steve: IT’S A CONSPIRACY

Dick: Sigh….

Steve: THEY’RE TRYING TO CONTROL US.

Jane: Um….what?

Steve: IF THEY TOLD YOU TO GET IN LINE AND GET IN A TRAIN CAR YOU WOULD JUST DO IT.

Dick: What the actual fu….

Steve: YOU’RE SHEEP. 

Jane: Ok…could you lower your….

Steve: BUT THE BAKERSFIELD DOCTORS. 

Jane: Ok, we’re trying to have a respectful conver…

Steve: PLANDEMIC! PLANDEMIC!  PLANDEMIC!!

Dick: Can you please leave if you’re not going to discuss this reas….

Steve: PLANDEMIC! PLANDEMIC!!

Jane: Oh!  Look!!  The government found UFOs and didn’t tell us.

Steve: WHAT?  WHERE?

Dick: Slams door.

Jane: Ok…..so can we just assume Steve's in the “no mask” group and move on.

Dick: Do I really have to claim him as one of mine?

Jane: ‘fraid so.

Dick: Shit.

Jane: Ok….so you were saying.

Dick: Right….so you’re saying if I wear a mask it’s not to protect me, it’s to protect you in case I’m sick and don't know it.

Jane: Yeah.  Except it's not really what I'M saying.  It's what the experts are saying.

Dick: Yeah, I don’t believe that. 

Jane: You….you what?

Dick: Yeah I don’t believe it.

Jane: Ok.  Are you a doctor?

Dick: No, but I read an article.

Jane: Oh…ok.  Well see these people who went to medical school for years and years say that if you have the virus, and you wear a mask, it drastically reduces the chance that you will infect someone else, especially if that someone is also wearing a mask.

Dick: Well you understand that it’s my right not to wear a mask in public.

Jane: Yep, I absolutely get that. I'm just asking you to do me a favor. 

Dick: But....wait how about this!  Since you’re afraid of the virus and I’m not, you just stay home and that way you don’t have to be worried about catching it if I have it.

Jane: Well, sure, I’m trying to do that as much as I can, but my dog can’t see past the fur in his face anymore and he’s old and sliding all over the floor from the overgrown fur on his paws and the groomers are finally open so I got him an appointment for tomorrow.  So, maybe you can come pick him up and take him for me?

Dick: Nah.  I mean I’m sure I’ll be there, because I always am, but I’m not going to pick your dog up and take him for you.  That’s your responsibility.

Jane: You’re absolutely right. It is.  And, you know, I need to go get groceries anyway while I’m out.

Dick: Well you should get curbside pickup, because you know I’ll be in the grocery store, breathing and stuff.

Jane: Yeah I’d love to do that.  That would be awesome.  But the stores here aren’t cooperating with that idea.  They list necessities like toilet paper and laundry soap as out of stock for online shoppers as a ploy to get you into the store. 

Dick: Oh, wow, that sucks.  Ok, what about delivery?

Jane: Yeah, I do that when I can, but between delivery fee and tip that costs an extra $8-$10 per delivery plus the stores that participate in that service are either out of everything (or so they say) or they’re the more expensive stores.  So Instacart costs me about 30% more than, say, Marc's.

Karen: Cough cough…sorry, my asthma.

Jane: Oh yeah!  I forgot about Karen..So Dick, Karen CAN’T wear a mask.  So if you have it, and you’re not wearing a mask, and you even walk past Karen in the store, she’s even more likely to get it. So can you just be a pal and wear this piece of fabric over your nose and mouth when you’re in the stores?

Dick: But it makes my glasses fog up.

Jane: Sigh….ok.  Yeah, me too.  It sucks.  So what you’re saying is that Karen and I should have to pay 30% more for groceries, and confine ourselves to our homes so that you and Steve don’t have to wear a piece of cloth on your faces while you’re around me.

Dick: Steve again?  I don’t want him in my group.

Jane: Sorry bud.

Dick: Ok so yeah, if you could just do that…that 30% thing and just stay home.  That’d be great.  Because my rights….

So yeah, sorry, I tried.  But I can’t seem to make this about two people who care about each other.  Because if they actually did care about each other, there would be no need for this conversation. 

Also, and it goes without saying, don't be a Dick.  Wear a mask.  

My Trip to Buzzville - A Message to My People

Last weekend I buzzed off all of my hair.  In a matter of minutes I went from 12" locks to 1/4" buzz.  Why?  Because I wanted to.  But the trip to buzzville took me through some very dark corners of my mind.  Some super deeply rooted beliefs were visited repeatedly.  There were detours and roundabouts and u-turns.  But I got here.  This post is a sort of road map of the route I took.  Just in case you're lost on the same journey.

I had a friend a while back who buzzed her hair.  She was thin, with big eyes and good bone structure, and a zero fucks given attitude.  And I remember being jealous of her nerve, and the fact that she could "pull off" the look.  The idea of not having to wash, condition, leave-in condition, dry and flat iron my hair to look presentable was so appealing.  But that kind of convenience seemed about as attainable to me as the ability to fly.  Because I'm not thin, or young.  I don't have great bone structure, and I tend to give way too many fucks about what people think of me.  So I gave it very little thought beyond "I wish I could do that".

Then came COVID-19, insidious fucker that it is  And, like many companies, mine sent us home to work.  One of my coworkers, a single mom on lockdown with a toddler, working full time and pursuing her degree, buzzed her hair.  And the craziest thing happened as she debuted her new 'do on our weekly Zoom meeting.  My boss' head did not explode!  Nor did his boss' head!  And right about then my thoughts very slowly started to turn from "I wish I could" to "What if I did?"

And when I say slowly, I mean really, REALLY slowly.  Because what right did I have to do that? (Seriously, brain, WTF?).  Sure, my coworker could do it because she's young, so on her it's "edgy".  Plus she has the kid and the school work and if anyone deserves simplicity in her life, it's her.  I'm 54.  I can't be edgy.  I live alone.  I have no excuse.

But....what if I did?

I could blame it on the lockdown!  Yeah, that's the ticket!!  I could say I went Corona Crazy.  I could do something I had always wanted to do, and blame it on the Rona!!!  What an opportunity!!

Ahh...who am I kidding?  I could never pull it off.

But the weeks went by.  And while I don't believe the lockdown clouded my judgement in any way, I do think it gave me a lot more time to think about it.  And think about it.  And think about it.

And the weeks went by.

Bruiser needed a haircut.  Bad.  And the groomers were all shut down.  So I borrowed a set of clippers from a friend.  And they sat there, on the kitchen counter, taunting me.  Whispering "What if you did?"

Ok maybe the lockdown got to me a little bit.

I started talking to friends about it, trying to get honest opinions.  And, almost unanimously, the opinion was one version or another of "Don't do it".  It was stated in well-meaning ways ranging from "You're crazy" to "Girl, leave your hair alone" to "You'll look like a cancer patient or an inmate".  And for a while I convinced myself that if that many people, people who I care about and whose opinions I generally value, think I shouldn't do it, maybe I shouldn't do it.

But, dammit, I really wanted to.

You know how you can be in the grocery store and there's music playing but you don't really hear it until a song you actually like comes on?  That's how that thought slowly wormed its way into my consciousness.  It was there in the background and then suddenly I was tapping my foot and humming along.  I really wanted to.

But still....should I?

I Googled "Women's buzzed haircut", looking for validation that I might actually NOT end up looking like Uncle Fester.  And I don't mean 90's Christopher Lloyd Uncle Fester.  I mean fat, hollow-eyed, 1960's Jackie Coogan uncle fester.  But what I found were images of beautiful women, not a one of them over 25.  Not a saggy jowl or crooked jawline or wrinkle or double chin in the bunch.  My people were nowhere to be found.  And I wondered why.  Do my people not buzz their hair?  Do they not post pictures of it?  Or are we just not pretty enough to show up in the Google searches?

And I thought, "What if I was my people, for my people?"  Maybe, if I actually had the balls to do this, someday a 50-something woman would be trying to screw up the courage to do what she really wanted to do to her own damn head, and she'd see my picture.  Maybe just the right search string or hashtag would bring her to Blog Over Lunch and here I would be, saying "Here I am, Sister.  I did it, and the world didn't end.  So if you want to, go for it!  Because I'm here for you.  Just do me a favor and drop a pic in the comments."

So here we are.  I'm six days in to having buzzed hair.  I've learned a few things along the way, but that's for another post.  For now I'm just here to say it's your hair and it's your head and you deserve as much or as little simplicity as you want.  If you want to spend an hour a day perfecting your tresses, girl, go for it.  But if you want to take it all off, please don't let anyone talk you out of it.  I can almost guarantee you won't regret it.  And if you do, it'll grow back.  Feel free to blame me.  Either way, the world keeps spinning and the people who love you will still love you and the ones who don't, well they'll find some reason to talk shit about you anyway, so you just be you.

#buzzcut #shorthair #shorthairdontcare #buzzcutgirl #buzzedhair #girlswithshorthair #girlswithbuzzcuts #coronacut #coronabuzz #quarantinecut #lockdowncut

A Six Year Old Pretending to Rob a Bank

Today I went grocery shopping.  Like legit, in the store, grocery shopping.  This isn't something I do under even normal circumstances.  I got way too spoiled by the convenience of Walmart grocery pickup back when I had shoulder surgery and if I was tempted to go back, a broken bone in my foot would have put that idea to an end real quick.

But times, they are a-changin'.  And even though the powers that be recommend shopping online and arranging curbside puck for whatever you can, the stores themselves are not cooperating.  Walmart, specifically, is limiting pick-up orders to a fraction of the norm.  The two times in the last month that I've been lucky enough to get a slot, the pickup lot, normally full of 15-20 cars at a time, held only two.  And instead of having 3 or 4 people filling orders, there was only one.  I'm not sure of the logic behind this.  I thought it was to keep workers a safe distance from each other, but my trip into the store today made it clear that employee distancing is not a priority, at least at Walmart.  People are in there stocking shelves practically on top of each other. Without masks.

So yeah, spots are hard to come by.  But not impossible.  If you're persistent, willing to check and refresh often, and willing to take any spot any time, you can get the job done.

But what I noticed was that in spite of certain items being consistently unavailable on the app and website, people were posting on Facebook that they were finding the same items in the store.  So today I went shopping.  And I found MANY items that have been "sold out" online for a month, in full stock in store.  There was no shortage of toilet paper, laundry sanitizer, butter, cold medicine or Tylenol.  Even silly things like the specific flavor of iced coffee I prefer, out of stock for a month online, is fully stocked in the store.  Why?  Surely it's not that Walmart wants to get people into the store at any cost.  Because if I come in for laundry sanitizer I'm going to impulse-buy something else, but if I shop online I'm only going to get what I need.  This can't just be "smart marketing" at the expense of public safety.  Can it?  Surely not.  Because that would just be wrong, and make me want to shove my now-throbbing foot up some CEO's ass. 

But...I'm not here to just rant about evil big business.  As angry as my shopping trip made me, it also made me grateful.

Because y'all, if you haven't figured it out yet, wearing a mask sucks ass!  Seriously.

First of all, I look like a six year old pretending to rob a bank.

This was my first real shopping in a mask experience.  I wore it for all of about an hour and was MISERABLE.  I can't imagine wearing one all day.  Or, for those who are lucky enough to have an N95 mask which literally can leave bruises on your face, how they deal with that for a 12+ hour shift is beyond me.  Not that I was ever lacking respect for medical professionals but that respect is now multiplied by a thousand.  Because I couldn't do it.

So THANK YOU to everyone on the front lines of this situation, helping the sick and keeping the most vulnerable healthy.  I can't tell you how humbled I am after experiencing just the tiniest fraction of what you deal with all day every day.  I'm in awe.

#healthcareheroes #walmart #covid19 #maskssavelives #inthistogetherohio

Legos

I’ve started this so many times.

I’ve written that sentence so many times.  Then hit file>close>don’t save.   Then I go back to work.  Doesn’t matter if it’s 10:29 on a Saturday morning, or 8:30 on a Thursday night.  

I want to write, I have so much in my head, but it’s so hard to sort.  It’s like dumping a giant bucket of Legos out on the floor, really WANTING to build something, but the steps between dumping the bucket and having anything resembling…well anything…it's just too much. 

But it IS 10:29 on a Saturday morning.  And instead of file>close>don’t save, I’m closing Outlook instead.  Because maybe building something, instead of putting out fires for a change, will help.  And if nothing else it will leave me a snapshot of 10:29 Saturday morning.  

It’s been a month since I’ve seen the inside of my office.  I see my coworkers via Zoom every Monday morning, and next week I’ll start going to the office for a couple of hours every Monday.  Alone.  We’re all taking turns.  That will be kind of weird.

But it'll be two hours during which I don't have to say "Rue, shut up".  So that's something to look forward to.

I love working from home.  I thought I might get cabin fever, but I’m not.  At all.  I might be one of those people who is cut out for working from home full time.  Going back to the office will not be, for me, the cause for celebration that it will be for many others.  I know that's what so many people are looking forward to.  It’s the light at the end of their  tunnel.  I'm not really dreading it but I'm definitely not looking forward to it.  

The lights at the end of my tunnel are hugs from my son, dinner and drinks (lots of drinks) with my friends, the ability to by fucking Clorox wipes online.

It’s the little things.

Yesterday I ordered a gallon of hand sanitizer. It won’t be available for two months.  And I’ll have to drive about 40 minutes to get it. 

I’ve discovered that Xanax can reduce the urge to sanitize the entire house for the tenth time in a day. 

This is the world now.

But here’s what I want to say today, if nothing else:  Please.  For fuck sake.  Be nice to each other.  Not everyone is going to do life the same way you will right now. 

Some of us are anxious as fuck, don’t make fun of us.  Some of us still think this isn’t that big of a deal, don’t burst our bubbles. 

Some of us are getting takeout, don’t criticize us.  Some of us are cooking at home, maybe leave us some goddamned ingredients at the store instead of buying them all. 

Some of us are sleeping all day to pass the time, don’t look down on us.  Some of us can’t sleep, so cut our tired asses some slack. 

Some of us won't get dressed today, don't laugh at our Stewey pajamas while we're getting the mail. Some of us will do our nails.  Complement us when we post pictures.  

This virus is not being nice to human beings.  So human beings should maybe be extra nice to each other for a change.  Can we please just fucking do that?  For a little while? 

Am I perfect at following my own advice here? No.  But I’m trying.  The number of times a day I remind myself I’m not the idiot whisperer, the number of times I backspace over a snarky comment, those numbers multiply faster than confirmed cases.  I keep reminding myself it’s not my job to tell people how to live. It’s just my job to get myself through this.  And I feel like if we could all just try to be a little kinder to each other, this might not suck so much.  

There are still so many Legos left, but that'll have to do for now.    

Rue, shut the fuck up.

It'll be Better in the Spring

I have clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder.  It’s typically well managed with medication.  Except when it’s not.

When it flares up, I never stop questioning my feelings.  Never.  Every feeling comes with a disclaimer.  A little tag in my head that says “…but this may not be real”. 

Do I really care that I was left out, or is it just the depression?  Do they really not like me or is that just the anxiety?  Was the look on her face really annoyance? Am I sleeping too much? Are they busy or just annoyed with me? Is it just because it’s winter?  It. Never. Ends. 

When freedom turns to loneliness, and blessed quiet turns to deafening silence, and confidence turns into self-doubt, how do I know if it’s real or just the illness? Because I really want it to be just the illness.  

And because this may not be real, I don’t say anything.  I mean how do I say “I’m sad” without worrying anyone?   Because I’m safe.  I really am.  I’m just sad. 

How do I say “What you did hurt my feelings” when even I’m not sure if I’m not just being too sensitive? 

How do I step over the giant block of anxiety that is always right in front of me, to say “You hurt me”, when I don’t believe you meant to?  But how do I not say it?  How do I get past it? How do I not be hurt?  And don’t I deserve to not be hurt?

I’m asking….because I’m not sure.

When it's like this, feelings hurt more than they should. It’s like living in Ohio in the winter.  Sometimes the air hurts my face.  Except that it only seems to hurt MY FACE.  And I can’t just avoid air. So I try hard not to lock myself in the house.  I try to pretend the air doesn’t hurt.  And I try to remember that someday it won’t hurt.  It’s just winter.  It’s just February in Ohio.  And sometimes there’s sunshine and I think “Oh…..this will help”…but it doesn’t.  It’s still fucking cold.

It'll be better in the spring.  Right?  Right!  My depressed and anxious friends, say it with me......it'll be better in the spring.

Old Porn and Eyebrows

Cable TV came to my neighborhood when I was in my early teens.  The cool little black box with the twisty knob that had, like, maybe 20 channels instead of the six we had since the dawn of time.  Thus began the brief era when MTV played music and movie channels played movies.

No, seriously.

The movies they showed weren't like anything I had seen.  Not that my life was all that sheltered but at that point I was still a bit young to be going to R-rated movies.  But my parents didn't care what I watched on TV so, there in my living room in the late 70's, I clearly remember thinking "Wait....is that what boobs are supposed to look like?"

Up until that point the only breasts I had seen were my own and my mom's.  I attributed the difference between hers and mine to the fact that she was "old".  Later, I don't remember if I asked or if this was one of the many, MANY pieces of unsolicited, personal information she insisted on giving me, but I learned that it was my fault they were that way.  They were long and low because she had me.

My bad.

But back to cable TV.  After that first questioning "is that what they're supposed to look like?" thought, I got my answer.  Over and over and over again.  Yes.  Yes that is what they're supposed to look like.  And yours are weird.

Years went by.  And I went along my merry, weird-breasted way.  .

Then one day, and I don't even remember how, I saw an old porn movie from the 60's.  As soon as it came up on the screen everything changed.  This lady on the screen, with her unshaved you-kjnow-what and her ever-so-slight hint of a human being's stomach, slightly disheveled hair and super long eye lashes....her boobs were like mine!  Because, guess what!  Her boobs were real!

Now for those of you wondering how I could go for YEARS not know movie boobs were fake, please understand that this was long, LONG before the internet.  And the terms 'boob job' and 'plastic surgery' were not part Midwestern '70's or even '80's vernacular.

So I guess that's something kids today have going for them.   But still I worry.

I mean fast forward to today.  I look at the eyebrows of almost every 'pretty girl' on TV.  They're all the same.  Dark, identically shaped, meticulously filled in and dense, with razor sharp edges.  Is it really possible that every girl born after 1995 has Kardashian eyebrows?  Is it something in the water?  No.  It's just how you're "supposed to look" now.

This is obviously just a new expectation in a line of expectations as old as time.  But does that make it ok?  As society is finally starting (ever so slowly) to embrace the idea that all bodies don't have to look the same, can't we maybe start to make it OK to face the world with the hair and facial features you were born with and evolved into?

As a woman of "a certain age" (ugh) I am faced every day in the mirror with a woman who I know will never again be considered pretty or cute or sexy and trust me, I've made my peace with that.  And while I admit to silently judging women my age who fight the aging process with every fiber of their being, at the expense of their dignity, I try to remind myself "you do you".  If grasping at any last threat of youthful sexuality makes you feel good, then honey go for it.  We should all do what makes us feel good FOR OURSELVES.

But what bothers me is society's (or is it the media's?) insistence that ANYTHING NATURAL is not normal or acceptable.  Most recently, this article came across my news feed.  The headline reading "35 Incredible Transformations That Show How Ordinary People Can Dramatically Improve their Looks".

Oh dear God no.  How dare they be ORDINARY?

The "before" pictures all show people who had the audacity to wake up, presumably shower, put on clean clothes, a minimal amount of make-up and then inflict their faces and bodies on the rest of the world. The horror.

The after pictures erase any trace of gray hair, about 90% of wrinkles, any sign of natural brow or skin-tone.  Natural hairstyles are replaced with dyed or highlighted, razor cut, flat ironed or curled masterpieces which I'm sure would add at least a half hour to their morning routine.  In almost every case flat, comfortable-looking shoes are replaced with high heels.  Glasses are replaced with contacts.

In one instance a 36 year old woman's shoulder-length, wavy hair is cut in a short pixie, with the color deepened from a natural-looking brown to a deep chocolate.  Her already beautiful skin-tone is replaced with that of a department store mannequin.  Tasteful eyeliner has been added, along with blush, mascara and a glossy lip.  And someone commented "I love how natural she looks after the change".  Really?  This woman was naturally GORGEOUS.  But she looked like a human being.  And we can't have that, can we?

What is the purpose of an article like this?  Is it to show that you, too, can throw off the burden of looking like a living, breathing person?  Are women rushing out to salons everywhere with anguished, tandem cries of "Help!  I look ALIVE!"?  Because I feel like too many are either doing that or feeling bad because they don't have the money, time or bone structure to permanently masquerade as America's Next Top Model.

And really, it may be the unattainable nature of that new "standard" that has me throwing up my hands in surrender.  I'm never going to look like a Kardashian.  I have wrinkles and jowls and more than the factory standard number of chins.  So why try?

What I find especially disturbing, maybe because I have a son, is that this trend seems to be spreading to men.  Videos are cropping up now where men are having their cheeks (along with the INSIDES of their nostrils...OMG no thank you!) waxed to provide a perfectly defined, curved line between cheek and beard.  Their eyebrows are being plucked and shaped and trimmed (but, thankfully, not Kardashianized yet) and their HAIRLINES are even being sharply defined with straight razors.  Now, I'll admit that when I first saw this I thought it was about time they felt a small measure of the pressure women have endured for centuries.  But then I started to feel bad for them.  When does it stop?  When can we just...BE?

I have friends who like to wear makeup.  They consider it fun and creative and I'm happy for them that they've found something they enjoy.  I see that choice as no different than my choice of having tattoos or sparkly nails.  That's not what this is about.  This is about the fact that I don't feel worthy of going out to a restaurant or a bar unless I put on at least foundation, powder and mascara.  It's about the fact that I spend $100 and two hours twice a year applying a keratin treatment to my hair because otherwise I'd have to spend a half hour a day blow drying and straightening it in order to appear even remotely professionally acceptable.  These are things that men have never had to worry about.

Well not yet.

I know style is a constantly changing thing, and I thank my lucky stars that I don't live in the time of corsets or crinoline.  But I really do feel like we're going in the wrong direction the last five years or so.  I worry about the little girls that will be teenagers soon.  The ones who would rather play in the dirt than with dolls, or play softball instead of cheer.  Because no matter how much natural beauty they have, inside or out, NOBODY is born with the features that are popular right now.  I'm afraid it will take more and more work and money just to look "normal".  Because normal is getting farther and farther away from what's natural.

Avert your eyes......

Unfiltered photo of an actual human being.  

Ahead may lie shit.

It's been over a year since I've written more than an email or Facebook post.  I'm a slacker.  I'm uninspired and I'm blocked and I'm all of those excuses that writers pull out when they're not writing.  And it's bullshit.  Well I mean it's all true, for sure.  But it's still bullshit.  I need to be writing.  Writing makes me happy and I have the time.  Dear God do I ever have the time.

They say there are two things writers do consistently.  They read and they write.  I've been doing neither.  So today I will start reading in the hopes that I can write some non-shit.  Because I've tried to write a few times over the past year and before clicking that scary "Publish" button up there I've decided it wasn't fit for public viewing.  I'm stuck in this weird loop where what I'm writing isn't good enough so I just...don't.  As if that solves the problem.  If the end goal is to write then how is not writing getting me any closer to that goal? 

I'm a real dumbass sometimes.

So I'm telling you now.  Ahead may lie shit.  Don't say I didn't warn you. 

I'm not going to sit here and say I'm going to write every day, because.....well let's get real.  This is not a New Years resolution.  It is honestly pure coincidence that it's January 1 at all.  I'm just saying it's time for me to start banging on the keyboard again for me.  And if something worthwhile comes out of it, great.  If not, well then what have I lost? 

So even though the timing of this semi-declaration has more to do with the fact that I'm not working today than it does with the date on the calendar, I'm going to talk a little bit about 2018, bitch that it was.  It definitely wasn't my favorite year.  It was pretty painful to tell you the truth.  But some great things have come out of it too.

For most of my life I've had only one or two close friends at a time, and I've been happy with that. I've never been one of these people who intentionally didn't let people in, but I also never really put myself out there.  Well in 2018 I discovered what it's like to have a group of friends.  And while it has been an overwhelmingly positive experience, I also found out what it's like to discover that I let someone in who I shouldn't have.  Now I understand why people put up walls.  It's a hard thing not to do when someone you trusted turns out to be batshit crazy.  But I'm choosing to value the new friends I gained in 2018 rather than focus on the ones who turned out to be toxic.  I love my new-found tribe and I wouldn't trade them for the world. 

Cutting the crazy out started a domino effect that led to one of the most important parts of my life being taken away from me.  And I've been sitting around stewing in my anger about that for a couple of months now.  Don't get me wrong...the anger is very much still there, and I don't see it going anywhere soon.  But the upside is that I now find myself with about 20 free hours a week that I used to devote to dog rescue.  I need to fill that time with something that doesn't involve alcohol, cigarettes or Netflix.  And while I've resisted the urge to wall myself off from people, I will never again pour my heart and soul into something that can be taken away from me by someone who would, dogs be damned, just because she can.

Nobody can take this from me.  So here I am.  Looking at that damn Publish button.  To push or not to push?  Here we go.....

Whole 30 Day 3 - Sometimes it IS hard.

The most often quoted statement in The Whole 30 plan is.... 

“It is not hard. Don’t you dare tell us this is hard. Quitting heroin is hard. Beating cancer is hard. Drinking your coffee black. Is. Not. Hard.”

Personally I really liked it.  It's true.  Comparably speaking on the continuum that shows napping on one end and quitting heroin on the other end, The Whole 30 is definitely napping adjacent.

But apparently that pissed a lot of people off.  And three days ago when I first read that, I was pretty annoyed at those pissed off people.  Because it prompted the people who originally stated "It is not hard" to later write:

So today, for you, we re-write the tough-love portion of the Whole30, in the hopes that this language will resonate, and encourage at least one of you to give our program a try.

This will be hard. You will not be perfect. Don’t even try to be perfect. No one is judging, no one is keeping score, and there are no penalties for acknowledging that you are struggling. Be kind to yourself, be patient with yourself, and remember that it’s not 30 days – it’s just one day. One meal. One bite. Do this one bite at a time, if you have to, because it’s for the most important and worthwhile cause on earth –  you.

I'll admit I rolled my eyes a little at the idea that anyone took exception to the statement that a 30 day meal plan is not hard in a big picture kind of way.

Then today I opened my big ol' container of pre-washed salad greens and they were slimy and wilted.  

Determined to not let this one little setback get me down, I dumped it into the sink and pulled out the container of NOT pre-washed mini-heads of designer lettuce that I bought on a whim (thank goodness) and prepared, chin up, to move on.

I dug out and dusted off the salad spinner, tore up my designer lettuce and put it in the strainer, an decided to run the garbage disposal to get rid of the old, slimy lettuce before washing the new stuff.

Except....my garbage disposal immediately clogged up.  This happened yesterday too, and I'm not sure why.  But I dug out the tiny little hand-sized plunger and set to work...with no luck. 

I opened the cupboard under the sink in search of the big plunger and found....water.  Fortunately not a lot.  But enough that I had to empty the cupboard out, wipe it out and put a bowl under it.  

And as I was pulling wet, slimy lettuce out of my sink I found myself muttering under my breath "Screw you...this is hard"

Cancer hard?  No, of course not. But tonight I'm cooking enough chicken to feed a small army (some to use this week and some to freeze), making three salads (one for dinner and two for lunches), packing up and freezing what's left of Friday's chili and getting tomorrow's dinner into the crock pot.  And what I REALLY want to do is call Pizza Hut.  

So yeah, I'm having a little bit of a pity party for myself right now and I'm completely aware of how ridiculous it is.  So don't judge.

I made the Whole 30 Green Goddess salad dressing and I'm not really impressed. Not sure what it's missing but it's missing something.  I'll have to do some Pinterest surfing to come up with something better for next week.

Once tonight's prep-and-freeze-fest is complete I'll be set with leftovers for lunch and dinner 'till Wednesday.  I actually feel pretty good.  My shoulder feels AMAZING.  Seriously the best it's felt since LONG before the surgery I had seven months ago.  My knees and feet feel good too, though I haven't been especially hard on them yesterday or today.  I had some sort of odd fluid release yesterday.  Seriously peeing every 2 hours all day and night.  But good riddance excess fluid.

Breakfast was an apple with almond butter.  Lunch was chili.  Dinner was a big ol' salad made with stupid fancy lettuce, tomato, cucumber, yellow bell pepper, pine nuts, hard boiled egg, olives, grilled chicken and green goddess dressing.  It was good.  The only change I would have made if I wasn't on this plan is that I would have used ranch dressing and added a little bit of feta cheese.  Oh and cranberries, which I can totally have if I can find them without added sugar. Snacks were mixed nuts, a banana, and some apple juice.

Back to the kitchen I go.

Whole 30 - Day 1.5 & 2.

I'm winding down day two and here are the Cliffs notes.

1 - Oh my God I miss gum SO BAD.  Worse than iced coffee.
2 - I miss iced coffee pretty bad too. 
3 - Cut corners and you end up with a gross lunch.
4 - Pack food for longer than you think you'll need.

After I last posted I went grocery shopping.  It wasn't bad AT ALL.  The RealPlans app kept me SUPER organized and the food I needed was all pretty easy to find.  I know I keep comparing this to The Ultimate Reset but that's the closest experience to this I've had and I can tell you that shopping for The Whole 30 is MILES easier than shopping for the Reset.  I think that's mostly because Whole 30 lets you decide what you're going to eat.  Downside is I'm not likely to discover new foods like I did on the Reset.  Good news is I'm not driving 45 minutes to find jicama and liquid aminos. 

Also, without being told what to have when, I'm able to just quadruple a recipe and get two lunches and two dinners out of it. 

I hate cooking WAY more than I hate monotony.

I spent $96.91 at Aldi and $47.83 at Giant Eagle.  And some of it was things like olive oil and almond butter (holy $12 jar of almond butter) that will last me far more than the one week.

As I was waiting to check out I was eyeballing the candy shelves and the little cooler with all of the pop and bottled iced cappuccino, and reminded myself of the little bottle of apple juice I picked up from the dairy isle.  I LOVE APPLE JUICE.  I don't like apples much, but I LOVE apple juice.  So I had that in the car on my way home and thoroughly enjoyed it.  It truly was almost better than candy.

....almost.

When I got home and went to put all that away I realized my cupboards and fridge were in desperate need of clean out.  To be fair my freezer is too but I only bought one tiny little bag of frozen asparagus so that was no problem. Clearly Whole 30 is very geared to ward fresh and simple ingredients.

So an hour after getting rid of an embarrassing amount of expired canned and boxed food, I realized I had 45 minutes 'till I needed to leave and I had yet to have lunch. 

My planned lunch was chicken avocado salad.  First, I cut the corner of using canned chicken.  Technically compliant but not ideal.  Combine that with an under-ripe avocado and my lunch was, in a word, gross. 

The olives made it edible.

So lesson learned...never use canned chicken in anything that doesn't include a sauce to camouflage the odd taste of the tuna.  

But I made it out the door only 10 minutes late for a doggie play date, at which time it was discovered that my dog was peeing blood.  So from the parking lot of the dog park I made a vet appointment for 7:30 the same day.

Normally when I leave the dog park I hit Starbucks drive-thru before I get on the highway to head home.  And the urge was STRONG y'all.  Seriously.  But I made it home without a stress-induced snack.

Fortunately I had a few hours to kill between dog park and vet appointment so I was able to make my dinner recipe, which was chili.  

I think my house is going to smell like chili for a week but it was pretty good.  I'll use the recipe again when I'm done with the Whole 30, but I'll add tomato paste and beans....and cornbread...and cheddar cheese.

But it was good.  I can't share the recipe because it's part of the Real Plans Whole 30 subscription, but next week I'm going to use only Pinterest recipes so I can share them with you guys if they're good.

Of course about the time the chili was ready to eat, and I was good and hungry, it was time to go to the vet.  The appointment went well and Rue is on the mend thanks to antibiotics.  But I found myself driving home at 8:30 at night....right past McDonald's.  But I did not submit.  I came home and had my chili.  I try really hard not to eat after 8pm but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I ended day 1 feeling very positive.  Like "I can do this" kind of a feeling, which is nice.

Day two started with apples and almond butter, and stepping on the scale.

I didn't want to record my day-after-thanksgiving weight as starting weight for this, so I waited 'till day 2 to weigh in.  Good news is I've only gained 0.2 lbs in the last two weeks, Thanksgiving inclusive.  Bad news is my weight is just not acceptable.  

But I knew that.  Weight recorded and moving on.

Anyway, I don't think I've ever had almond butter before and this was pretty good.  $12 a jar good?  I'm not sure.  But pretty good.

I added a hard boiled egg that I didn't even really want but I knew lunch was going to be very late so I had it.

I knew I was going to be gone 'till at least 3:00 so I packed a 100 calorie pack of almonds and a banana, and thought I'd just have a very late lunch and dinner.

Well around 1:30 I realized I had made a huge mistake.  I was starving, starting to have blood sugar shakes and a good 3 hours away from getting home.  

Oh and I was also within walking distance of McDonald's and nothing else.  No stores that sell food. No gas stations.  Nothing.  

I got a sausage, egg & cheese McMuffin, without cheese, and threw away the muffin.  This breaks the rules because the eggs were cooked in non-clarified butter, and while pork is allowed, it's supposed to be lean.  In retrospect I should have ordered a plain grilled chicken sandwich and thrown away the bun, but I'm not beating myself up over it.

When I got home I had stuff I wanted to get done, like feed animals and blog, so I had about 1/2 cup of mixed nuts (no peanuts) to tide me over 'till dinner, which will be chili.  The plan was to make roasted potatoes with sausage & peppers but since I didn't have chili for lunch I'm going to just heat up a bowl of that and move the potatoes & sausage dish to tomorrow.  Another nice flexibility that The Ultimate Reset doesn't give you.  

And I may pair it with a nice wine......glass full of apple juice.  

Whole 30 - Day 1

You guys. I feel like shit.

I lost something like 35 lbs on Weight Watchers last year, but I've gained it back and then some.  I've been off plan for about a month and don't seem to be able to find any sort of balance between weighing and measuring every bite I put in my mouth (every split second of which I loathe) and shoving everything in sight into my face hole.  My knees hurt. My hands are swollen.  And, worst of all, when I look in the mirror (or down at my hands, feet, knees, stomach), I see my mother. 

Weight Watchers is obviously not working. Well that's not fair.  It works when I do it but I don't seem to be able to motivate myself to do it in spite of paying for a full year up front something like six months ago.  Every Sunday night I tell myself that tomorrow I'm getting back on plan and by Monday dinner I'm so far off plan I can't even see its tail lights.  Something has to change.

I am literally (in the true sense of the word) afraid of what kind of damage I could do to myself between now and Christmas.  If I continue like I have been I'm about a week away from having to buy new pants.  And it would be highly unlikely I'd JUST continue as I have been because, if history is any indication of what I can expect, the break room table will be a foot deep in candy and cookies in about a week. 

So I decided day before yesterday, the day before Thanksgiving, to do The Whole 30 between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I start today (the day after Thanksgiving) and day 30 will be December 23. 

The timing is ideal, and not ideal.  I have a couple of events coming up which will be difficult to navigate without alcohol.  And temptation will be almost constant at work.  But the black and white thinking (which I'm pretty good at) will be an advantage because I'll just have to leave the sweets alone entirely, rather than convincing myself I'll just have one, which results in chocolate covered Oreos for lunch, and leads to KFC for dinner.

Also my complete lack of advance planning is ideal and not.  I don't have time to talk myself out of it, but it's currently 9am and I have NONE of the ingredients I need for lunch.  Breakfast was two hard boiled eggs and an orange, because that's just about all of the non-processed, unsweetened, chemical free, Whole 30 compliant ingredients I have in the house.

There's a cool app/website called Real Plans that looks like it's going to be a big help.  It supports several plans including Whole 30.  Gives you recipes which you can schedule into the plan, lets you import recipes (yay Pinterest), makes your grocery list for you and even tells you today that you need to, for example, thaw chicken for tomorrow. 

And even with all of that help it took me half of yesterday to get my week's plan together. 

I've done The Ultimate Reset twice.  This is similar in that it takes out all of the processed crap and artificial sweeteners.  But it doesn't take out caffeine (thank God) and doesn't force you to be vegetarian or vegan.  I like that I can pick my foods from SO MANY recipes and so many sources, or I can just go simple like a chicken breast and asparagus.  And I LOVE that I can set it up so I get 2 or 3 meals out of each recipe.  If anything, I'm having a problem with too much choice.  The Reset gave you a grocery list each week and told you what to make when.  I am a little bit of a deer in headlights with all of the options here.

Lunch today will be Avocado Chicken Salad and dinner will be Chili.

I'm not sure I'll be able to blog every day, or that you'd even want me to.  But I do miss writing and have found myself at a loss for what to write about lately so where I can find time between shopping, cooking, the holidays and year-end I'll check in here where I can.

For now, off to Aldi I go.

Triage

Triage: The process of sorting people based on their need for immediate medical treatment as compared to their chance of benefiting from such care, when limited medical resources must be allocated to maximize the number of survivors.

I've been feeling lousy and writing it off to stress. Pushing through. Doing what has to be done. That landed me in the ER yesterday.
I've been working too much. It's been nonstop. 14-15 hours a day during the week. "Only" 10-12 on the weekends and holidays.
My job is always high stress and somewhat demanding and I think that's why I like it. I'm rarely bored. But these are extraordinary times. We have a new system, piled on top of year end, piled on top of big changes in my department. I have a team at work, including my boss, who want to help but precious little I can delegate. It's nobody's fault, it's just how it is right now. The bottom line is that 3000 people rely on me to get their money into their bank accounts every two weeks and they don't care that I'm tired, that our system is new and a bit glitchy, that I'm only one person. Their landlords and power company don't have two fucks to rub together about my situation. That's the reality in Payroll.
Long story short-ish I left work yesterday feeling nauseated. On the way home I thought I was having a heart attack. Saw the ER sign and went. Turned out I was having the mother of all panic attacks. I've had a lot of them in my time, but this one was a doozie.
Sitting in the ER listening to a woman with an obviously miserable but not in danger kid bitch because the elderly woman with chest pains (not me) was taken in before they were, I thought "Lady, Triage. Look it up"
And then I realized, that's what I HAVE NOT been doing. I mean I triage my work tasks. I am good at putting the issues that aren't keeping people from getting their next check aside in favor of those that are. But I haven't been looking at my life as a whole and figuring out which issues are life threatening (rest, sleep, exercise, healthy food) and dealing with those first, second or really at all. And let's be honest, if I end up hospitalized or dead, the employees' rent isn't going to get paid. And their landlords are still not going to care.
I'd like to say I'm going to make myself a priority moving forward, but let's be real. None of us has the luxury of doing that all the time. But I'm definitely moving myself up on the list. What did I do with that list?
I'll find it right after this nap.

This is Christmas

I'm sitting here on Christmas morning feeling very much at peace for what is probably the first time in my life.  I've been very VERY guilty of wishing my life away up 'till this point.  When I was a kid, I wanted to be a grownup.  When I grew up I wanted to be married.  When I got married I wanted a baby.  When I had a baby I wanted to be single again.  When I got single I wanted a relationship.  When I got a relationship I wanted my freedom.  About ten years of waffling back and forth between relationships and freedom and now I am free once again.  Except this time I'm enjoying it.

Times before when I've found myself single it was always because one relationship had ended and the next one had yet begun.  I had lost one and was looking for another.  This time I intentionally got rid of one (a big difference from losing one) and I really can't imagine looking for another.  They say when you stop looking for Mr. Right he will find you, but I'm not even sure I want to be found.

I have The Boy, and I'm so proud of the man he's turning into.  It has been a VERY long and hard road but he really seems to have matured five years in the last six months.

I have SO MANY wonderful friends.  And I'm discovering that what I thought was a fear of being alone was actually a fear of having no choice BUT to be alone.  Today I spent my Christmas morning in my jammies, with my dogs, watching A Christmas Story on TV.  And I haven't felt sorry for myself once.  I think it's not only because I saw The Boy last night, and I have somewhere to go in a few hours, but also because I know that there are multiple places I could be and people I could be with rightthisverysecond if I wanted to.

There's a very big difference between alone and lonely.

I have my animals.  My loyal lap dog Boo, always there for a snuggle.  My House Pony Rue, making me laugh every single day.  My lap cat Smudge, who I swear thinks he's one of the dogs.  And my new baby Spot, my shy boy who surprises me with a snuggle every time I think he'll never really be "mine".

As I sit here, rotating between writing this, watching Ralphie nearly shoot his eye out, and scrolling Facebook, I see people sharing many different kinds of Christmas.  I do have a little twinge of missing the past when I see the lit up trees with all of the presents underneath.  As much as I always dreaded Christmas and all of the work that was involved in the process, Christmas morning with kids in the house was a joy.  Then again I was in bed by 10 last night while those friends were up wrapping and assembling 'till long after Santa's rounds were done.  I'll leave my clean-ish house this afternoon, carrying one made dish and one bought one, and come back to the same clean-ish house with a belly full of food I didn't have to cook, and a heart full of love from my family that isn't blood but treats me as if we were.

So far in my life I've experienced many kinds of Christmas morning.  I've been 14 months pregnant on Christmas (I swear it's true).  I've been on the receiving and giving ends of the ridiculously overflowing Christmas of an only child.  I've had the warm, precious and rare "look they're getting along" moments of two kids in the house.  I've had lonely, sad tear-filled Christmas mornings, and now I have peaceful, contentedly alone Christmas mornings.  Some day soon I hope to have Christmas mornings full of grandchildren's laughter.  All in due time.

But for now, this is Christmas, and it's perfect.

Greetings From the Fountain

On this beautiful day in Crocker Park, 90% through an uncharacteristically difficult work week, I opted to have my lunch outside.

As beautiful as my work neighborhood is, I rarely leave my office for lunch.   This is not due to an affinity for lunch at my desk, but more a result of my increasingly busy schedule and the difficulty and frustration that comes from trying to run a growing Jamberry business or process dog adoption applications from an iPhone 5.

So I eat at my desk, with my ergonomic keyboard and my dual monitors, breathing the recycled, too-cold office air, envying the ladies who lunch outside my window, and wonder why I’m burned out.

Duh.

But today, in an effort to circumvent this week's plague of computer issues, I brought my trusty laptop to work.  And, as expected, I didn’t need it.  The morning was blessedly free of technical difficulties but as sure as I sit here enjoying  the fall sun, listening to children giggle as people take group photos in front of the fountain (WHAT is so interesting about that fountain?), I know that had I not brought my laptop I would have had to go home for it and wanted to punch things the whole way.

So when lunch time rolled around I thought to myself, “Self…why not sling the trusty laptop over your shoulder, grab that leftover Subway sandwich and go have lunch in the courtyard?”  To which I replied, “Self, that’s a great idea!”

Alas, none of the available wifi networks are public, and my phone is not being a cooperative hotspot.  So I am disconnected.  Well as disconnected as I get, given that I do have my phone.  While I do have things I should be doing with a full sized keyboard and screen, it’s just too pretty out and days like this in Ohio are numbered.  So I’m not going back yet.  And the WiFi Gods can’t make me.

So I write.  It’s been a while.

As I approach the half-century mark, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned.  They say life is like a roll of toilet paper, the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes.  But I find that as I get older, while the time DOES move faster, I also seem to cram more learning into each quickly passing year.  The last ten years, in particular, I have become infinitely more aware of myself.  Of what I need and what I won’t tolerate, what I’m capable of and what I just don’t want to bother with.  What is important and what is necessary.  What comes easy and what I have to work at.  And what’s worth the work.

Blog Over Lunch is worth the work and, truth be told, it usually comes easy...once I get started.  I just have to get started.  It makes me feel good and I’ve been told it means something to a few people.  So I need to start putting it higher up on my priority list.  And you, one of my four dear readers, are probably sitting there thinking you’ve read this before.  And I’ve meant it before. 

For now I have to get back up to the office wifi so I can post this and finish out the last four hours of this horrendous work week.  But I promise it won’t take a lack of WiFi to get me started again.  Soon.

My name is Rue. And I'm a good girl.

My name is Rue, and I'm a good girl.  That's what they tell me anyway.

I used to live in a house with little people and big people.  I'm also what they call "a big girl", and somehow that means I tend to make little people fall down and cry.  I didn't mean to!  I was just playing.  Little people fall down REAL easy! And even when I kissed their little leaky faces they still were sad and leaky.  So even though I tried to be nice and stop making the little people leak they kept falling down and I got sent away to a scary, cold place.  And that made ME sad.

The people at the scary place were nice, but they weren't MY people.  They didn't play with me much.  They just gave me food and water and talked to me some, but the floor and the walls were cold and hard and it was SO noisy with other dogs crying and crying and crying for their people just like I was.  Maybe lots of dogs knock little people down and make them leak and have to go away.  It didn't make me feel any better though.

The people were nice, but they sucked at taking pictures.

After a long time at the scary place (I heard someone say "two days", which must mean a long time) a man and a lady came to see me.  They took me outside and petted me and walked me around a little bit and talked to me real quiet and sweet.

Me and The Man.  

They didn't have any little people with them so nobody fell down and leaked.  They had a little dog, but we sniffed each other's butts and decided we could be friends.

After they walked me around and I sniffed the little dog's butt we went back inside the cold noisy place and I was so scared my new friends were going away!  But they talked to the nice people and wrote some stuff down and then I got to go for a long ride in the car.

Car rides are THE BEST.  They had a big car!  So big I could stand up and even stick my face outside the window and sniff all the smells as they whizzed by.  The Lady kept telling The Man I was going to get a bug in my eye but The Man kept the window down anyway.

I wonder if a bug in my eye would be fun.

After a long time sniffing the smells that flew by the window we visited a nice lady with three little people.  I was so scared the little people would leak but The Man held my leash real tight while the little people hugged and petted me and didn't fall down or leak.  The nice lady gave us a big mattress which rode in the car with me for a while.

We went to the store and got a big fat collar with a handle on the side, and a short leash, and some food and treats that I couldn't have yet but oh my GOSH they smelled so good!  And then MORE ride in the car with more smells flying by.

And just when I thought I'd die of excitement from all of the new smells, we got to a house where I got to go inside with the little dog and sniff in all of the corners.

They said this is my yard.

And the mattress and the food and treats and stuff came in the house too. I slept on the floor for a long time.  It was so nice to be out of the noisy place.

I miss my people.  Why did they send me away?

When I woke up the mattress the nice lady gave us was inside a HUGE crate.  The people gave me treats so I would go inside the crate with the mattress.  I went, because I'm a good girl, but I didn't like it much.  It wasn't like the cage at the scary place.  It was soft and warm and quiet.  But still, Why do I have to be in a cage?  I cried for a while, but I saw that the little dog was in a cage too and he was happy and sleeping, so I tried to be a good girl and go to sleep too.  It's not so bad I guess.

I hope all of the dogs in the cold, scary place get to go for long, wonderful smelling car rides and then get a warm place to stay like me.  Nobody should have to cry and cry for their people like that.

I don't understand why I don't get to see my people, the little ones and the big ones, anymore.  But The Man and The Lady seem nice enough and they keep telling me how good I am.  So I'll try to  keep being good so I get to stay.

Moving Memories

A few days after I was born I was brought by my parents to my first home.  It was a small, 1,000-ish square foot slab ranch adjacent to Cleveland Hopkins Airport.  The only memory I have of this home is of sitting on the living room floor looking in to the kitchen, and seeing my father moving the refrigerator out of its spot and taking it outside.  I had no idea refrigerators could be moved!!  I was three and we were moving to the suburbs.

I lived in the mint green split level on Monica Drive until I was 18, when I moved into my friend's one bedroom apartment.  Each night I opened the fold-out love seat, pulled the mattress off and slept there on the living room floor.  My clothes were kept in the coat closet by the front door.  We both left the apartment on Friday mornings, heading to work with clothes for the weekend in the back seats of our cars.  We spent the weekends with our parents and our boyfriends, then came back "home" on Sunday night.  It was a nice year of freedom, but it wasn't a home.

After that year I moved back in with my parents.  The lease was up and my friend wanted to move back toward where she grew up, which was even farther from work than where I grew up.  And I was facing surgery and six weeks' of recuperation so moving home for mom to take care of me, as unpleasant as the prospect was, made sense. 

A year after that I moved in with The Ex.  Mom and Dad were still there on Monica drive, and I went there to visit every 2nd Sunday. I never intended to move back there, but I also didn't feel like I had to say goodbye to my home.  

We lived in a 14 x 70 tin can for the next six years.  I tried my best to make it homey, but with its wall to wall carpet (even in the kitchen and bathroom), floor to ceiling paneling (colored, patterned paneling in the kitchen and bathroom), leaky plumbing, leaky windows and an electrical system that didn't allow me to make coffee and blow dry my hair at the same time, let's just say that when I finally talked The Ex into buying a house I was more than ready to say good riddance to the old tin can.

We bought our first house.  A respectable starter home, a 1,000-ish square foot slab ranch in a decent blue-collar neighborhood.  It was on a postage-stamp sized lot, onto which the prior owners expanded the 2 car garage to a 4 car garage, leaving a "back yard" so small that I could stand in the middle and touch both the house and the garage.  And the front yard was so small that The Boy, when he reached his toddler years, could easily dart into traffic before I could grab him.  So, six years after buying that house, we built a home back in our little home town.  

I really expected to feel sad when we left "the baby house" as The Boy would grow to call it.  I remember a slight pang of melancholy as I walked out of my baby's nursery, a tiny, bright room with teddy bear and confetti wallpaper.  But that brief sadness was wiped away by the excitement of moving into a brand new home.  Almost double the square footage.  A clean slate.

The Ex wanted land.  Every house we looked at was met with the same criticism..."The yard isn't big enough to shoot my crossbow".  I wanted a house in a neighborhood like the one where I grew up.  A cul-de-sac where kids could play kick ball in the circle, all of the families knew each other, kids came home when the street lights came on.  But The Ex wanted a house like where he grew up.  A big piece of land on a state route.  No sidewalks.  Neighbors, if any, had to be far away.  The more secluded the better.  

This was one of the few battles The Ex won.  We ended up on almost an acre and a half on a country road.  

It's been 17 years since we moved into this house and today, as I cleaned out the kitchen closet, packing up everything I don't think we'll need in the next three weeks, it feels like just last week that I was filling it up for the first time.  I hate this yard, and I hate a lot about this house, but I love my kitchen.  And as much as I am absolutely in love with the little house I'll be moving into in less than three weeks, it makes me a little sad to be disassembling the kitchen here.  Watching the counter become more and more bare.  Seeing the empty cupboards and the bare wall where pictures used to hang.  Especially the bare refrigerator doors that used to hold school pictures of The Boy, The Girl, nieces and friends.

I never understood why people get sad when they move.  I mean unless you're getting kicked out of your home or you're leaving due to divorce, it should be a happy time.  And this is.  I can't wait to get into my new house and begin the next chapter of my life.  I have no delusions about who I am.  I was an empty nester for a few months earlier this year and will be again once I move.  I'm looking forward to having a house and yard that don't completely overwhelm me with their need for attention, maintenance and repairs.  I can't wait to start painting and decorating with nobody's taste in mind but my own.  I always knew I'd leave this house when The Boy was grown so I've sort of felt like a temporary tenant for the last few years. I just kept the place in halfway decent shape in anticipation of selling it when the time came.  I will invest time and money into the next house, not feeling like I'm throwing it into an endless void but feeling like I'm investing in my future.  

But with all that said, today I felt a little sad.  This is where The Boy celebrated 18 of his 19 birthdays.  He skate boarded and played basketball in that driveway.  This is where The Girl spent every weekend from the time she was 7 until she was 12.   My favorite dog ever was a puppy here, and he died here.  This is where I learned how to take care of a yard, change locks, work the grill.  And this is where I was part of a family.  Twice.  I've had great times on that deck, around that pool table, at that kitchen table and in this living room.  And I've had my heart broken here more than once.  Some of the happiest and all of the saddest times of my life happened in this house.  I won't leave those memories behind  I'll take them with me, so I don't know why it makes me so sad. 

But it does.