Halfway Checkpoint

So here I sit, mid-way through summer 2013. It is the tail-end of our Civic Long Weekend (for my readers outside of Canada, I have to tell you there are few things we Canadians love more than a long weekend) and I am contemplating what has transpired so far in this fast-moving summer.

I read a study which said essentially that weekends, vacations, summers feel longer if you fill them with new experiences. The study found that the mind needs unique impressions to create a distinct memory so if you go to the same places with the same people you are likely to blend all of those individual memories into one imprint in your recollection. Interesting theory, I thought. And a challenge.

I adore my girlfriends and I love doing the things we have always done together but now I'm thinking what new adventures can we find? It's an easier task with my boys because they are all enjoying new experiences as they continue their own journeys so as I follow along, it's natural to capture new memories with each of them. And of course, as I spend my time alone I am asking myself what can I do that remains undone? Small things, big things. Doesn't really matter.

So far this summer I've picnic-ed at new beaches, walked on new trails, danced in new venues; I've had drinks in a hot tub while rain poured down and rummaged through new antique markets searching for the perfect find. Do I have a companion for the big road trip ahead? Remember? Six months ago I cavalierly announced that finding a "date" for this adventure I was planning would be "no big deal"... Hubris, thy name is Sally... No. No I don't. But that's ok too. I've been on many an adventure solo and there is a special challenge found there. I'm ok with that.

We're half way there... Don't blink; the rest is going to fly by.

Summer Love

If you haven’t already guessed by my sudden reappearance, I am on vacation. Another 10 consecutive blissful days without the consistent presence of work pressure and worry inconspicuously furrowing my brow.

I, like most people I know, have certain preparations I make to ensure an enjoyable vacation. I am not travelling far afield choosing instead to stay close to home, recharging by seeing my world through my relaxed vacation eyes. My fridge is stocked with fresh food ready to whip up a snack for one, my beer fridge is equally well-stocked. I have a complete listing of local events and festivals but most importantly, I have my book for the week.

I have found a new love, new only to me. I am very embarrassed to say that prior to the release of the remake of The Great Gatsby this spring, I had never read anything by F. Scott Fitzgerald. But before the release of the movie I thought I should read the book (because as we all know, the book is always better). And now I have fallen deeply, irrevocably in love.

I don’t know what the writing process was like for Francis Scott Key but I’m pretty sure he must have found great comfort and inspiration and happiness in it. How could he produce such beauty if not purely happy while doing it?

I share few things in common with my new love other than we do both seem to like to overindulge in beverages upon occasion (ok, for him I realize that is a tragic understatement) and that he had a love of France, Paris and the French Riviera in particular, equal to mine (but of course with the means to partake regularly which I am, sadly lacking).

This week, rather than cruising the Riviera I will be found at road side farm stands and beaches, restaurant patios and drive-in movies. But no matter where I am, my new love will be with me just in case I need some impromptu inspiration.

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as all things grow fast in movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.”

The Rest

There are few things as purely pleasurable as a simple, restful sleep. 

I am not, generally, a peaceful sleeper.  I lay awake at night, sometimes for hours, thinking (brooding, really) about mistakes made, tasks left undone, unsolved problems.  I have tried countless remedies to relieve this anguish.  Meditation; clear your mind, Sally... but the thoughts creep back in.  Mind games; count backwards by 3"s from 5,00 and the preoccupation of your mind will allow you to fall back asleep.  Ummm. No.  It won't.  Herbs; passion flower... Nothing.  Lavender... Smells pretty; still nothing.  Valerian... Really?  Nothing...  Tea; chamomile... nice but nothing. 

But tonight I feel sure that a full, restful night awaits me.  Why? 

Blissful exhaustion.  Exhaustion from spending a packed 24 hours with a dear friend.  Dancing, laughing. sharing, talking, shopping, eating and yes, drinking.  A day full of sharing our worries and cares; sharing what frightens us and what excites us.  We are both now single although she is newer to her single-dom than I, it provides us even more common ground that we previously had.  And we already had a lot.

Sharing the weight of our worries and fears makes them easier to carry, that is for sure.  Today, my load is light and my heart is filled with contentment.  I am reassured that whatever mistakes I have made or will make in life, whatever oversights or errors I make at work, there are people who understand and recognize the anxiety.  That even if I spend the rest of my days as a single gal, I will not be alone.

And with that peace comes the rest.

Alone together

Crowded solitude is an interesting thing.

I have been travelling for work for about six months now.  Not regularly but in sporadic fits of exhausting, short-lived trips across my country I love.  I have visited cities that I had not previously seen and so for this and so many more reasons, I am luck to be in the position I am.

Having said that, there's an interesting contrast when a single person travels.  Maybe it's just me but I can be very acutely aware of my single-dom, depending on the occasion.  Valentine's Day (stupid day, really).  New Year's Eve.  Dinner parties with only couples and my notible exception.  Eating alone in restaurants.  I've gotten used to it (for the most part.  No, really.  I have) but travelling provides a curious perspective on my relationship status.

In my travels I usually at some point grab a cocktail at the hotel bar.  Hotel bars come in all varieties.  Shwanky places with crisp white linens and servers who are the picture of proper manners and etiquette that my parents could have only dreamt I would become.  There are dives where the distance between the arcade games and game hanging on the wall (antlers and all) is one easy dart throw away.  Now don't get me wrong, I love a dive as much as the next girl and I'm pretty sure my first high school crush took shape over a pinball game so, it's all good to me.  And of course there's every bar in between.

But there is a unique magic that happens at hotel bars... People from diverse backgrounds and equally diverse places come together as strange companions.  Perhaps with nothing in common beyond a shared outsider's perspective of your current location but more often than not, that's enough for some pretty interesting conversations. 

I've learned about fishing, hunting, physics, hair dressing, finance, stocks (nothing worth investing on so far as I can tell, sadly) and had remarkably calm but riveting conversations about politics and religion.  I've been at bars where the end of the evening came way too soon and only because an early day awaited me.  And I've been at bars where I couldn't drink my single cocktail fast enough to high tail my way out.

But I always come away with a story to tell and another great memory to add to the bank.  And that's a great investment.

Top Ten Rules for Dating at Almost-50 (or shopping end of season sales...)

I have noticed that dating at this stage of life is remarkably similar to shopping sales at the end of any season... Allow me to illustrate:

1)     Only go to your favourite spots.  Picked-over at the places that you only sort-of like will leave you with way less than you would consider any other time but picked over at your favourite place could leave you a diamond in the rough you'd be proud to take home.
2)     Don't skip the "gently used" or "returns".... Great stuff can be found here!  Having said that, broken is broken.
3)     Packaging and marketing can be deceptive.  You really need to completely check things out to make sure everything is as promised
4)     You really need to look around.  A lot.
5)     Be honest with yourself first... Know what you'll accept and what you won't.
6)     At the same time, go in with an open mind... Maybe you would never consider a button-down shirt with pinstripes but sometimes you have to try things on to see how great they are.
7)     Remember, this has to fit with your lifestyle and who you are... You're not about to change that now, are you?
8)     Carefully consider the whole package.  If there are "also comes with" included, only go for it if you're sure the "also comes with" work for you just as much what you had your eye on in the first place.
9)     Window shopping doesn't get you anything at this stage of the game... You have to just jump on in!
10)     Caveat to all of the above... Don't settle.  Ever.  If you're not sure when it's new and shiny (even if it's just new and shiny to you) you'll never be sure.

And, so I will carry on.

Six Months and Counting

I love music.  Most kinds of music really except that crazy kind of jazz that sounds like everyone in the band is playing a different song.  Now before you start hating on me for hating on jazz, I know it's incredibly complex and takes remarkable talent to play that kind of jazz.  I get it.  But it hurts my ears.

Anyway, I have always had music around in one way or another.  I used to lay awake at night growing up listening to the local radio station CKDK hoping that maybe the next song would be a good one.  Maybe.  And that's why I spent my youth falling asleep in a state of frustration.

I played music loudly in my room and sang unabashedly as if performing before the most grateful stadium audience, cheering wildly.  And I attempted to learn the guitar.  Less successfully as a teen (but that was the instructor's fault... What 15 year old in 1978 wanted to play Bobby Vinton songs???) and slightly more so now as an adult.  I know that musical talent is not a gift I possess but I don't enjoy it any less because of it.

So it was with a great sense of glee that I found out (via text from my Youngest) that my latest favourite band was coming to a very nearby, small venue to play in the summer.  Yes, Mumford & Sons is playing Simcoe, Ontario.

I'll wait here while you Google Simcoe, Ontario.




Small, huh?  Wouldn't that be a great show?  Fantastic band and true grassroots venue; I was thrilled.  Until I logged in to purchase my tickets and found it was sold out within 30 minutes. 

And disappointment ensues.

But wait... This is a tour... There has to be other stops nearby, right?  So off I go a searching and lo and behold, Troy.  Ohio. 

I'll wait here while you Google Troy, Ohio like I did.  Small, grassroots venue.  SOLD!  I can picture myself now, regardless of weather, dancing and singing with the rest of the crowd to songs that have brought strangers together and made them instant friends.  It is an amazing thing to stand in the midst of former strangers sharing something you all know and love so completely.  I can't imagine ever getting tired of that.

Now, here's the kicker.  Two tickets.  Bold for a single gal, no?  The way I look at it.  I have six months to find a date.

Hey, it could happen.

I Heart Whatever

It's that infamous week.  I would say infamous day but the mega-marketing, all-consuming, like-it-or-not global "day" that is Valentine's Day has been blown up into at least a good week of advertising enticements that if you truly loved your partner, sibling, child, neighbour, mail carrier, pet, you would show them by buying some sort of Valentine memento.

Do I sound jaded?  I don't mean to.

But what is it about this non-holiday "holiday" that makes singles feel so badly?  I Googled "holiday" and chose the Wikipedia hit.  This is what Wikipedia defines as a holiday:

"... a day designated as having special significance for which individuals, a government, or a religious group have deemed that observance is warranted."

First off, if I had known I could designate my own holidays, my life (and that of the whole entire world) would be so different!

But really, what are we now defining as holidays or days worthy of global (or at least national) recognition?  Again, back to Wikipedia, "Types of Holidays; Religious, Northern Hemisphere, National, Secular, Unofficial."  And included in that list? New Year's Day, Passover, Independence Day, Earth Day (familiar to us all I'm sure).  But also in the list?  Monkey Day (December 14th), Talk Like A Pirate Day (September 19th, this one I know and have personally observed) and get this, Blasphemy Day (September 30th... WTF?!).

So why don't I feel badly about not celebrating any of the other individually, governmental-ly or secular-ly recognized holidays?   No good reason, I'm sure.  But you can bet your life I'll be celebrating Monkey Day this year.

And FYI, February 12th is Buy New Shoes Day.

Enjoy!

Wake up whispers

Life has a funny way of giving you a nudge; the proverbial wake up call... Whether it comes in a soft whisper in your ear as you are still groggy in your realizations of who and where you are in your life or an amplified message, delivered via megaphone to break through your complete obliterated fog of non-reality-based reality.

Today I had a couple of them... I would call them more whispers than megaphone calling cards but wake up calls they were.

The first came unexpectedly from my oldest son.  We were just catching up on the phone this morning, sharing the experiences we had during the week and commenting on the minutia of life when this came through the phone to me...

"So... Big year this year, huh?"

I stopped cold.  What could he be referring to?  And in what was probably a split second, the following passed through my consciousness...

Is he talking about buying his house?   No, realistically that happened last year so that's not really a "this year" big thing.  Me finding love?  No.  Definitely not something my oldest (or any of my sons) would say... What son would ever have that kind of conversation with his mother of all people. Hmmm.... What could it be???

Wait.  A.  Minute. 

50

I turn 50 this year.

And there it was... On a beautiful winter Saturday morning with the sun shining and a fresh pot of coffee brewed and waiting for me.  Smack.  50.  It's like we may as well skip the formality of living this year out, you are already 50.   My dad used to say "If I died now, they would say he died in his [enter year of choice here]th year."  And if I died today, my obituary would say, "In her 50th year."  But it would also say, "she looked fabulous and acted not a day over 35" so I guess you take your victories where you can.  My boy seemed to find great glee in my angst and laughed and laughed at my ranting.  Then he said, "It's ok Mama... I'm old too... Remember I'm turning 30."

Oy.

The other wake up call came from, ridiculously, Facebook.  As I scrolled through my news feed catching up on what my friends and family are up to, there in the middle was a "recommended link" for meeting "mature men in your area."

Really?  First, how does Facebook know I'm now single?  And second, who are they to say I'm interested in a "mature man" or for that matter, a man of any kind (I know I know, that part is a bit obvious but allow me to vent would you?). 

Mean spirited.  That's what that is.

So, there they were.  Two cosmic whispers from the great out there reminding me of where I am.  So what to do?

There are two options, as I see it, when life gives you any kind of wake up call... One is to hit the snooze button and the other is to get on up and get going.

So, up I go.

We to me

As life continues in my newly-dictated singledom, there are bits and pieces of me that require adjustment.

The biggest one I find is the "we" to "me."  Ordinary things, simple questions, habits turn away from Us and are left with just Me.  Not that Me can't handle it, she can handle it just fine.  It's just it's an adjustment of thinking, processing, remembering, talking.

I think even my closest friends will weary of "D and I used to do this" or "D and I used to go there" and I know even if they don't weary of it, my heart does.  I look around my home and everywhere reminds me in some way of him.  And when I think of the years we were together, he is imprinted on each of those memories in some way. 

So I am actively working at making memories that don't have his heart print on them; writing a new story that doesn't include "D".  The story may be essentially the same, but it will be mine alone. 

I don't like Mondays

Doesn't it just tick you off when you are skipping along happily and WHAM!! You are sucker punched by the heartbreak you thought you were climbing out of.

Today was one of those days.  I keep thinking this is part of the process... Grief and all.... Seven stages... 

It's just a moment, this time will pass. 

Grilled cheese

It feels like I've become less of myself than I used to be.  I think it's important in a relationship to jump in with both feet if this is what you want in the long run, if you're willing to go the distance with that person, if you can see yourself with him or her when you're both old and wrinkled and less charming than you are now.  But if jumping in with both feet means losing what makes you you, it's not a good thing.  Life's lessons keep coming.

So I am surrounding myself with what I feel makes me, me.  I am soaking up the love of my sons and girlfriends; I am rediscovering the hobbies I've loved but let go of over time using the excuse I've been too busy to enjoy them.

And I'm going to cook.  I know I've said that I wasn't going to do this because cooking leads to eating and eating leads to getting... well... you know.  But I have a grand plan.

Grilled cheese and friends.

I have few happy memories of when I was growing up but most of them involve food.   Sunday roast beef dinners.   My mother's recipe for macaroni & cheese and the simple grilled cheese sandwich.  Although her macaroni and cheese recipe was not unusual in any way, it was amazingly good and I swear by it to this day.  I am so dedicated to the simple purity of it that the idea of modifying it in any way just doesn't feel right to me so I am left with grilled cheese sandwiches.

My mother's grilled cheese was the most simple kind... Kraft singles, bread, butter.  Ketchup on the side.  That's it.

But the options now for grilled cheese are endless.  I searched on a Canadian cheese producers' website "grilled cheese" and no fewer than 980 recipes came up.  Nine hundred and eighty!!

That's a lot of options and on just one site.  So I am going to start having Grilled Cheese Sundays.  I'll start next week (because it's already almost dinner time here and although I think it's perfectly acceptable to have grilled cheese for dinner, I'm not prepared) with a couple of recipes for comparison. 

I don't think this is going to become more than a weekly or every-other-weekly habit that fills the tummy while it warms the heart but if that's all it is... That's enough.

Plan B

Things I've considered doing to take my mind off him (in no particular order) and what my thoughts are of each one when given more than a couple of seconds of consideration.

1.   Get a dog.  Of course, considering I work 12 hours a day (including commute time) this would qualify as animal cruelty so immediately, this one won't work.

2.   Get another job.  Again, already working 12 hours a day, what's left?  Saturday and Sunday?  When am I going to drink?

3.   Drink more.  Based on #2, this one is looking like a good bet.

4.   See other guys.  At this point, this one just seems dirty.

5.   Redecorate.  But I like my place... And I just finished redoing the whole joint.

6.   Redecorate my friends' places.  This just seems intrusive.

7.   Experiment in the kitchen.  Although this sounds great at first pass, this is where I see that going...  Cook more.  Eat more.  Get fat.  Feel bad about myself and become a recluse.  Never find another man to love.  Cook more.  Eat more.  Get fatter.  Feel worse about myself and become more of a recluse.  Never find another man to love.... You see where I'm going.

8.   Volunteer.  I actually like this one.

9.   Hang out with my friends more.  I like this one too although I am beginning to think of myself as a single-girl-friend; a girlfriend that spends lots of time with her girlfriends but only when she's not with a guy.  Note to self.....  Don't do that again!

10.   Play guitar more.  This makes me think of him and this makes me sad.

So, it looks like I'm going to be volunteering and hanging with my girlfriends more... And drinking.  The first two have no downsides at all and actually put a smile on my face thinking of them so what could be wrong with that?  The other one does too but I shouldn't say that out loud.

Thanks for listening.

Easier?

Easier... Are you coming any time soon?

So today was one week post Last Supper.  After a week of supportive text from my girlfriends, checking my email, voicemail and texts a thousand times in case he wrote (which he didn't... quit checking already) and shedding another bucket of tears, it was time to execute some closure.

Pack his stuff.  He left clothes and "sundries" at my place so tonight I packed it all up.  From the closet.  From the dresser.  From the bathroom cabinet.  It's all cleared out. 

I don't know what is harder to look at; his stuff sitting there untouched or the space it leaves when you take it away.

My mind says, jump into something new...  An activity, a hobby, another. 

Nothing seems interesting.  Tomorrow will be easier than today.

And so it goes.

The Last Supper

So tonight we got together for dinner. 

It's his birthday and I wanted to give him the gift I had bought for him months ago when I felt certain of our future and of us.

I was certain it would be hard and it was.  I was certain I would cry and I did.  Before.  During.  After.

There is nothing ugly in this end.  Only sad.  Deep sorrow. 

I wept.