My favorite fall sweater had several loose threads when I packed it away last spring, but I wasn’t ready to consider throwing it away. A few days ago, it wasn’t even out of the storage box when I started twirling and tucking the loose threads, thinking I could magically reattach them.
Discarding things has never been easy for me. It’s not that I’m a hoarder. I’m a fixer. A serial fixer. There… I said it out loud. Moving on from people hasn’t been easy either.
Recently I heard a young woman say dating is obsolete. “Really?” I asked, to which she replied, “No one has time for that silliness anymore.”
Fourteen years ago I left an abusive relationship with the clothes on my back and no shoes on my feet. I was done with love and my dreams of that knight in shining armor riding in to save me was history. I was too old for fairytales. Continue Reading
It’s every woman’s lament at one point or another. But this time, it’s not about my clothes, and it’s true. I feel a little bit ridiculous. No… a lot ridiculous, ever thinking we were in good shape. Over thinking I had everything under control, over how many trips I took to the thrift store. I’ve decided the thrift store visits were my philanthropy for this year. And even after all of the prep work, I’m shocked at how much stuff we still have that has no place to live. Our coach looks like something from the television show “Hoarders.”
To use one of George W. Bush’s best words, “I think we have sorely misunderestimated how much stuff we could bring!”
Did I tell you I had my first date since James died? I met him at a bus stop. LOL! Weird, right? It was almost midnight, and I was waiting for the airport shuttle to take me to my car. I’d been to New York where I was in a commercial, and he was returning from surfing in Costa Rica. He was about my age, tall and nice looking. We struck up a conversation. He has a house in Costa Rica and goes once a month to surf. I also learned where he went to high school.
Can you believe I gave him my phone number?
April’s baby was not the first giraffe born in captivity, and there was nothing exceptional about the event other than thousands witnessed the birth via social media.
What was it about that giraffe and her baby that drew people in and had them incessantly checking notifications on their phones?
In between the packed and stacked boxes, the work piled on both of our desks, and the boxes yet-to-be-packed–only 3 weeks to the move–things are messy. I pause and survey my kingdom. It’s disorganized, and I am dismayed, but I also have faith in Nietzsche’s saying, “Out of chaos comes order.” Continue Reading
Used throughout Europe as a way to cleanse the palate between courses, intermezzos are usually a light and refreshing treat. Today was my Intermezzo. I took a much needed break from sorting what to keep, what to let go of, what to sell, and doing the work to get it where it will be seen–and bought–by someone who will enjoy it. A break from separating my emotions from my “things,” be it clothing, a stereo cabinet, or a set of martini glasses.
A dear friend invited me to meet him for lunch at a chic little French restaurant. I felt a momentary twinge of guilt for abandoning my post… then, like any sane woman would, I gladly accepted!
One of my favorite words is “beginning” because it conveys strength and hope. In the beginning everything is shiny and new. We’re brimming with good intentions and lots of can do attitude.
Beginning, again, is what our bodies do without our conscious awareness. With each new breath we refresh our brain and our other organs. It’s part of what God thoughtfully set in motion when He created man in His own image, and it’s one of the keys to our survival. Continue Reading
When a sudden storm descends it can unravel our lives in a blink. We’re forced to call upon an inner strength we didn’t know we had. If we’re lucky, we take shelter in the arms of family, friends, church and community. Often we’re forced to become our own strength. When James died unexpectedly that Christmas, his family wasn’t there for me, but then he’d predicted that.
“If I go first,” James once told me, “They [his family] won’t be there for you. I’m sorry, but you know how they are.”
A few years into my second divorce, I’m finding myself at an interesting intersection: My first marriage and divorce is diluted in my mind as I was (A) exceptionally young when I married and divorced, and (B) the process and ensuing contact over the years has been minimal at best. I’ve had non-marital breakups that were worse than what I experienced in my first go-round. Now as a middle-aged woman who shares three children with a man from whom I’m divorced, there’s an intricacy and intimacy to our post marital relationship I didn’t expect, and frankly, don’t know how to handle. Continue Reading