Wondering...

Ever since I went out with my mom for lunch at a local restaurant and saw my ex, I've been wondering what in the world was going on.

It was Labor Day, and anyone else would have stayed the heck home instead of driving all the way up here. As far as I know, he isn't in contact with his old buddy who lives a few towns away from mine (good thing, too - but that's another story), so that's off of my mental list of possibilities. Yes, it's possible that he wants me back, but this would only be because his little "girlfriend" in the Philippines probably dumped him after she figured out that she doesn't need to be abused and generally disrespected, much less by someone she's never even met.

I hadn't cleaned up the house in a few weeks from writing and other projects, and the downstairs plumbing had done it's best to mess up my floor downstairs, so if he came to my house before he went to the restaurant, he would have seen a totally abandoned yard (not mowed, bushes not trimmed) and if he looked inside, it would have looked like a disaster area. Not exactly what he would want to see (remember, he's the guy to whom I'd accurately said, "You don't want a wife. You want a maid, a cook and a dog."). So, the funny part about this (if he did stop by) is that for once me taking a break from trying to keep the house clean has been to my advantage!

The third option is that his mother is ill/dying and asking for me. I hope she's not in either of these conditions, but it's possible. She asked for me when she had her stroke about 5 or 6 years back. I would like to see her again before she departs, but I doubt that will happen. When she asked for me, the whole family rushed in, as if she couldn't possibly be asking to see just me for a change.

My ex didn't seem like he'd seen me or my mom. He walked casually out of the restaurant and sat on a bench. He sat there for almost five minutes, then left. I don't know why he sat there, except perhaps he was deciding what to do next. Chances are, he'd talked himself out of doing the right thing (whatever that would have been at the moment). He was so good at choosing the wrong path at just about every intersection. It was a case of, "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I, well I just did what I thought was best for me." I haven't seen him since.

But it's just as well, I was very nervous and kind of scared at seeing him again. I went home, locked the doors and felt much better. Fortunately we're not talking plastic doors like the one he ripped off the hinges at the townhouse. That was the last time he saw me, and good riddance. I was not about to put up with that nonsense. It was bad enough I'd tried to make the marriage work for almost a decade.

So since then, as my mind likes things to be settled, I have been trying to settle the issue. Trying to figure out what in the world was going on that day. There's hardly any use in trying to figure out what was going on in his mind. I've come to the conclusion that Ms. Philippine got tired of his crap and moved on, so he needed someone else to abuse in order to make himself feel better. That's what he does, after all. It's sick and sad and no longer my problem. Whew!

That Day

That morning I woke up having had the best sleep I'd had in years! My office didn't require us to dress up, but I felt so good that I put on a matching skirt, short-sleeved sweater, and necklace.

Driving to work, I looked up through the trees to see a blue patch of sky, and was amazed at how blue it was. It was a beautiful morning. My first hint at what was going on that day was a photo of the first crash sent to my inbox by my boss.

In the center of the office, someone propped a large radio up on one of the cubicles. We listened intently, not knowing what was going to happen next. When the second attack occurred, some left the office visibly upset, knowing that relatives in New York City were likely in danger.

At lunchtime I visited my parents as usual. Parked outside of their home, I turned on the radio for a moment. I will never forget how it sounded. As announcer after announcer broke in to report on the situation, the result was continuous jumbled chaos.

Inside, my father and I stood in amazement as we watched the events unfold on TV. We talked about it and about the fact that we were now at war. I didn't know a lot about this kind of attack and the kind of war which takes place as result, but he did. Doubtless his memory flashed back to the attack upon Pearl Harbor and his service in the Navy and that of his brothers in the Army and Marines, respectively.

After work, my ex-husband and I stood equally amazed as we watched TV. Shaken by the events of the day, it was good to finally slip back into sleep that night.

Today I wish I could speak with my father to get his impression of what has happened in this country since his death, and if our nation is again attacked, I will want to know what he would say to that, as well. Of course, I hope that never happens, but who can tell?

9/11 is etched on our minds and on our hearts, so while I might not remember where I put my car keys, I can remember in memory and emotion, details of that day like none other. Where were you that day?

Brookie

How I love that dog! Her name is Brook, but her owners and I affectionately call her "Brookie". You can tell right away that she is sweet - her eyes say it for her. She's a Lab/Something Else mix. I got to see her today because her owners were out of town. We had a nice afternoon in and out of the house, even going for a long walk around the neighborhood.

"We" watched a show on how to choose the dog that is right for you. Yup, I still want a pup. One of these days, when I can better afford one, of course. I still want a Pug or a Pomeranian. If I had enough room and it wouldn't terrify my cats, I'd have a Lab. I'll stick to smaller dogs. For some reason they live longer, for one thing. I don't know what the other thing is.

Lately I have been turning in around 2am for some unknown reason, but tonight I am pretty much worn out. I really don't like being in my 40s, as I get tired from stupid things, like running around the coffee table chasing Brook while she plays her own version of keep-away with a her toy. Just a few laps, and I'm ready to sit down and breathe a lot. Whew! It's pitiful.

I missed her, and I think she missed me. It was a good day. I look forward to seeing her again! :)

Today

Today I received my first check for my very first articles in a magazine. I am so excited! Yes, I was a professional writer the moment I started writing for a media information company several years ago (before the layoff), but this is different. This is in print in a very nice magazine. This is writing that is genuinely appreciated by the magazine owner/editor, and I am not merely another employee in a large corporation that no one listens to. She listens, she takes my ideas into consideration, she is happy to have my dedication and creativity.

Today I also saw a writing contest held by a different publication, and whereas several years ago I might not have given it a second thought, now I am seriously considering giving it my best shot and seeing what happens. I believe I could actually win. The prize is a good one, but that would really be secondary. The prize for me would be winning - knowing that not only do I now believe I can do it, but that I actually CAN.

I know where this uncertainty came from. It came from years and years of classmates, teachers and others daily instilling by one method or another, the thought that I should not be who I am and cannot do what I dream. Reasonable dreams, perhaps...nothing too big or too outside of the box. That I was not good enough in some way or another. That I was not who I "should" be. I can even recall someone in a position of authority at the media company telling me that I could not do something on the computer that I knew beyond all doubt that I could. I felt as though I had a sign on my forehead that read: "Please disregard my intelligence and underestimate my ability." It has been as if to believe in myself was somehow wrong. As if almost everyone around me was saying. "Oh no, not you, you can't do that. Maybe someone else, but not you."

And so, ever since my divorce I have been in the process of un-brainwashing myself. Of cleaning out the garbage that others have tried to pile into my heart...I often wonder how long this process will take. All my life? No matter how long, the process is obviously so worth it. Today is proof, and I hope it's just the beginning.

My Love Affair...

I have a grand love affair with food. It started as a teen and then became fanned into flame by the rejection of my ex-husband, which began the first half of the first year of our marriage (when I was a beautiful size 6, but that wasn't good enough for him). Food became my lover, a source of comfort and joy.

That's not to say I eat junk or I'm constantly eating, but when I eat, it's pretty darn close to a religious experience. As I write this, I'm debating if I should get some pizza - or a whole pizza for a late dinner tonight. I typically either forget or get so busy during the day that I don't eat until I am tear-your-hair-out hungry, and of course by then I am too cranky to cook. Such is the case tonight, when I am once again hungry. NOW.

I am not a professional cook, but when I throw something together, I eat well. That doesn't mean that I eat large, calorie-laden casseroles draped in cheese (though that sounds pretty good, now that I mention it), or gourmet dishes. It means I eat very healthy and mostly I guess you could say I enjoy Mediterranean-style food. It's inexpensive, doesn't require 500 ingredients and usually hits the spot without becoming a permanent part of my physique.

If I get pizza tonight, I can pay for it by the pet care I sometimes do. If I don't, I will be down in the kitchen grumbling as I look for something quick and filling to eat. I know, while the world is inundated in tragedies such as the economy, the weather, and earthquakes, I'm ruminating about what to eat next. But it's hard when your culinary paramour calls your name, and your stomach is in hearty agreement.

Just a moment, my love...while I find my phone to place an order.

Maybe my next post should be about how my phone seems to have a mind of its own.

The Job

I love my job. One of them. All of them. (I have several, but still am not making what I need to pay all of my bills + my mortgage.) My most recent addition is that of Social Media Manager for a magazine. I love getting paid for that which I would be doing anyway on my own! Right now the magazine is published twice a year (warm and cold seasons, respectively). I hope it will grow with the work I am doing with regard to social media. So far so good!

Meanwhile, I am hoping to get a second job or full-time work with another place where I currently work per diem. People who work there I've never met peek at my LinkedIn page from time to time. I wonder if anything will come of it?

No, I'm not sitting on my hands, waiting for things to happen, but on the other hand I've learned enough to know that although I am responsible for doing what I can, the rest is best left up to God. He can see the unusual panorama that is my life from beginning to end, so with that perspective and given the fact that His son has died in my place (and yours, by the way), who am I to not trust Him to do right by me? In the past I have done things on my own with no regard to His plans for my life. When you do that, life really smacks you. Hard. It's all good though, you can't help but learn the lesson that God can be trusted.

So whose job is it to get me The Job or Jobs that will not only keep me from drowning in the murky waters that are this ridiculous economy but enable me to thrive? It's both my job and God's job. As the saying goes, I do my best, and leave the rest to Him. It doesn't sound very profound, and it's actually very simple, but sometimes the simple lessons in life are the most important.

Fast Forward to Now (Sort Of)

I can't believe it's taken me this long to get back here to my blog. So much has happened, and yet - as is typical for my life so far - not nearly enough. A sleepy turtle's life moves faster than mine. I think I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, though.

Speaking of sleepy, that's what I am at the moment (it's almost 1 am) so this post will be short. It'll be good to get back to writing for the heck of it more often. I have even fewer excuses than before for not doing the things in my life that distinguish it as my own.