Furnishings

 Chuck is making chairs this winter.  He hasn't tried it before, but he wants his daughter to have some, to match the table he made for her a few years ago.

 I am documenting the process, not only for fun and this blog, but also because he is using West Systems Epoxy for the gluing.  I think West Systems Epoxy is hilarious.  They have a magazine!  Epoxy World!  When we get an issue of Epoxy World, I pore over the stories of amazing projects done with West Systems Epoxy.  Boats!  Kitchen remodels!  The wonders of really good glue.  When this project is finished, I plan to submit it to Epoxy World, and I will be published for the first time ever!

 In other news, everything old is new again.  When Marianne lived here with Chuck, she had a blackboard screwed to the laundry room door, and she wrote her shopping list on it.  When she moved out (to the cabin next door), the blackboard went with her.  When she tore her cabin down, with plans to build a new one, she discarded the blackboard in the dumpster.  I saw it there and pulled it out.  The things people throw away!  Still has her shopping list on it:

Notice the last item:  new cabin.  I certainly hope that works out for her, since she has destroyed the old one.  You can't see it well anymore, because I smudged it when I put it back in its place on the door; but under the "New Cabin", she added "Septic" (hers had failed) and "Cloaking Device for Neighbors".  I guess that is a Star Trek reference.  Unfortunately for Marianne, that is a problem with her decision to continue her life as Chuck's next-door neighbor.  Chuck will be there, and so will I:  enjoying life; having parties; playing the stereo and laughing on the porch swing.  All that baggage, piled up only a few feet away.

This is what I prefer.  A clean slate.

Sick

I have a bad cold.  I had a fever last night, and had to leave work.  I don't have time for this!  I have to work late tonight, start early tomorrow, work an evening shift tomorrow night, then Chuck and I leave for California on Friday morning.

I have managed to get myself tied up on knots, emotionally, over a simple cold.  I thought I should tell Chuck to stay away from me, so I don't make him sick.  I didn't want him to have to wait on me.  On the other hand, I felt lousy; and although I was pretty sure that I could get home and nose-dive into bed, I wasn't sure that I could haul myself around to make tea or feed myself anything.

So, of course, I bull-headedly texted Chuck and told him NOT to come to my place tonight.  I'm sick!  He'll catch it!  I'll snore!  And I also thought that maybe he needed to work on the car he's fixing up for our trip and shouldn't take the time out to look after me. 

Well, OK... If I insist...

Then I was sad.  See?  Just goes to show!  He doesn't love me anymore.

[Cue the laugh-track]

Yes, yes.  I realized I was being dumb.  Hey, at least I KNEW, right?  Uuuugggh.  After feeling miserable for a bit, I thought, "Oh for Pete's sake!  You are doing this to YOURSELF!"  I texted him back and said that I was just being proud; and that it wasn't true that I didn't need him.  I did need him.

At that point, he wisely ignored further texts; but he was waiting for me when I got home.  He literally tucked me up into bed; made chicken soup, and Lem-Sip with whiskey; scolded me every time I got out of bed to do anything for myself; carried the TV into the bedroom and rigged it so I could watch a movie without getting up; he read aloud to me from my book for an hour or so. 

I know! He's an angel.  I'm very lucky.  I told him so.

He's gone now; off to a morning meeting.  He blew me a kiss and was out the door.  I'm getting a slow start this morning because I still don't feel great; and because I can't run today.  I am feeling vaguely depressed, despite the fact that I have a cup of tea and some Girl Scout cookies beside me.  I think it is the same old shit.

I tend to see relationships on a continuum:  at one end is romance and eroticism.  At the other end is intimacy.  In other words, as you get closer and closer to a person, you slowly see their hidden corners; but they become less intriguing to you.  They are no longer objects of wonderment and discovery.  There is a beauty in the depths of this knowledge, it's true.  Lots of people slide down this continuum with ease. They leave behind all the... surprise!  The WOW!  The inability to keep their hands off each other.  The long, sweet conversations.  It's inevitable: you realize that your adored one snores; farts; bleeds.  He wipes out on his motorcycle and she picks his bandages off.  She gets her period unexpectedly and he washes the sheets. He gets a sinus infection.  She catches cold.  His car breaks down and she picks him up.  She crashes her car and he comes to get her.

I can't stand it.  It kills me.  I want him to think I'm magic.  I want to beat the shit out of the ordinary.

But only in one direction. I love it when he needs me.  I can see him ill and miserable today, and still adore and desire him tomorrow.  I know that the double standard is ridiculous.  Sometimes I say to myself:  imagine that he feels exactly the same about you that you feel about him.  That is a great feeling.  But I struggle to hold onto it.

So what's my problem?  Why do I continue to obsess about this?  And how do I make it stop?

Maybe I'm scared because of my past.  Oooops.  I hit on something - my eyes are welling.  I tried so hard to find affection, romance and adventure within my 19-year marriage; and I sucked at it.  I have no confidence that I can build or sustain any of that; because I tried and failed.  Intimacy?  Hell, yeah.  Si saw me naked and pregnant; watched my squeeze two babies into the world; I gave him shots in his belly; he saw me when I only had one boob.  I've seen him hallucinating so badly that he called himself the king of fucking Ireland.  The part where the couple takes care of each other?  I can do all that.
 
This is why I'm so insecure with the idea that I am capable of being pretty, or sexy, or a stimulating person to talk to, or the kind of person who deserves flowers for no reason.  I think, "There's no way I can keep a man's interest.  I didn't keep Si's."  Worse?  I don't think I ever really HAD Si's interest.

Major fail.

 I have tried to talk to Chuck about this, but he dismisses it, saying simply that he's happy and that there is nothing to worry about. That I will realize that, myself, after a while.  He has no anxieties or unhappiness about our relationship.  Other things in his life?  Yes.  Me? No.  I sigh in exasperation.  With myself.  Something is broken and needs to heal.  I've always been impatient with healing of any kind.

So I popped right up out of bed this morning, declared myself cured.

Fever down. Self-reproach up.

Tired

It's snowing out there, and I should be in bed. It's late! I'm here with a cup of tea, running my tongue across my teeth to dislodge the tea leaves.  The bag must have split. I was all set to write, but I'm just too pooped out.  My Fiat is the Girl Scout Cookie Mobile, and for the first time since I made the switch, I miss the Tacoma.

Slept

That is about all I did this weekend.  I hope there's nothing wrong with me!  Chuck says he's not surprised, given the way I was burning the candle at both ends all week.

We did very little this weekend.  We had a little get-together for people who want to go on river trips this summer.  We looked at different rivers in terms of when they have the best water flow and when the odds are best that we might be able to bag a permit. Then we set dates and went online to put in for permits for the Selway R., the Salmon R.,(both Middle Fork and Main) and the Hell's Canyon section of the Snake R..  We filled out mail-in permits for the Yampa R. as well, and found out what the call-in rules are for Desolation Canyon.  I was going to make chili and cheesecake brownies for the permit party, but remembered when it was too late that I had left all the ingredients neatly packed in shopping bags in my fridge.  My big culinary plans quickly changed to packaged cookies and chicken soup we concocted from some stock Chuck had made the week before. 

We walked down to P & G's house last night to give them the river trip dates, and hung out to watch the Red Green Show with P.  G went out dancing with a girlfriend and invited me to come along.  Oooh, I really wanted to; but on the walk down I had slipped on some ice and fallen hard on my shoulder.  Just at that moment, I could barely move it.  I begged for a rain check, an Ibuprofen and an ice pack, which Chuck and P secured in place with strapping tape. 

Otherwise I read, dozing off frequently.  Not exactly the dynamic and exciting woman I want to be, huh?  Yet, I feel my eyelids growing heavy AGAIN! 

I am at the house on Aloha Rd.  Chuck is at work.  He has only one more week to make last minute changes to the emergency shelter he and his partner Roi are building from a shipping container, before Roi has it shipped to New Orleans for a disaster preparedness trade show.  Today, they are fitting the solar panels onto the roof - a two-man job. I am sprawled on the antique opium bed in the living room, listening to the Bluegrass show on KRCL.  The only other sounds are the small peeping noises Scarlett the rose-breasted cockatoo makes to herself.  Chuck's friend Cliff is downstairs in his part of the house.  The intermittent yelling must mean "football game".

I must stir myself before I get drowsy again:  straighten things up a bit; bake brownies from  mix to surprise the guys; sew on my quilt for a little bit?

2011

One of our students was working on this exercise the other night and passed a copy of the question sheets to me.  Yeah, OK.  I'll bite.

What as the happiest moment for you in 2011?
June 14.  The evening after I got home from the Girl Scout trip to California.  Chuck came over and rode my yellow beach cruiser to the grocery store with me perched on the handle bars.  I squeaked, "Have you ever done this before?!?"  "Yeah!  When I was eight!"

What was the saddest moment for you in 2011?
February 22.  Sitting with my two hysterical, sobbing children, telling them that Simon and I were splitting up.

What was the toughest thing for you in 2011?
Dealing with my fears and insecurities regarding my  new relationship:  confessing them; asking for help with them; trying to overcome them; failing sometimes and realizing that I needed to try again.  Love sucks when you feel like damaged goods.

What was the best movie you saw?
January 30.  The King's Speech

What was the best music for you?
Buena Vista Social Club

Best place you visited?
Well... I didn't get out much this year, but... I loved Santa Barbara. 

Best food you had?
Again, I could probably count the number of times I went out for a meal on one hand, but...  probably naan from Himalayan Kitchen.

The most useful thing you bought in 2011?  Hmmm... A toss-up:  my new Fiat?  Or a shower curtain?

The most expensive thing I bought?  Oh.  Well, the Fiat, hands down.

The best item of clothing (wow, there are a lot of shopping questions in this quiz)?  My fun green skirt that I bought in Morrow Bay.

What was the biggest waste of money in 2011?  Rent.  $864 every month, paid to a stranger and nothing to show for it.

Something I lost?  My reputation for personal integrity.  What did you think I was going to say?  An earring?

Do you have any regrets about 2011?  Oh, boy.  No.  I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but I have no regrets. 

Upstairs, Downstairs

First, I have to say that my words-of-the-week theme is "archaic words now seldom used".  Let's breathe life into these old dogs - I couldn't agree more.  So, today's word is "mickle".  "Mickle" means, "an abundance of something".  A commenter on the word site observed that, as a "thwaite" is a clearing in the trees, the town of Micklethwaite in England means "big-ish clearing in the trees".

Aw.  I googled Micklethwaite in the hope that I could provide a little visual irony, with photos depicting urban sprawl and council housing.  Sadly, Micklethwaite is darn cute.

I swept a mickle of leaves off my balcony tonight.  I was sorely tempted to just sweep them out into the world, disregarding the patio of the apartment directly below me.  Given that they are more than happy to share their mickle of f-bombs: "FUCK that, bitch!  You fuckin' dump me on Facebook?!?  FUUUUUCK!" and their cigarette smoke, I would love to... give back...

(Sigh)...I said, reaching for the dust pan.

My Ideal Woman

Howdy, World.

I have my cup of tea and my Radio Paradise.  Christmas thank-you notes are ready for the mail; antique blouse I wore over the holidays is hand-washed and hung up to dry.

I made a verbal agreement to sell my truck today.  One more step in downsizing my life. I feel pretty good about the amount this change is going to save me; and the lump sum it will put in my home down payment account.  I will miss the Tacoma for its carrying capacity and its general Toyota-ness.  Let's hope I am about to embark upon a love affair with the Fiat. 

I'm achy today.  Partly because I lifted weights a couple days ago; partly because I played hard at EVE last night.  The BallRoom, the giant slide, racing Chuck and Sara in the obstacle course...  I'm not getting any younger, ya' know!  Oh well:  my most serious injury seems to be my elbow, which I rubber-burned to the bone!  (Or that's how it feels!).  I'm also achy because Chuck's mattress has formed a divot on his side, but not on mine.  I woke up at 4:00 AM feeling like I was being dragged inexorably into the "Chuckhole".  After thrashing in futile resistance for a while, I realized that my pillow could be used in the same way that we chock a tire to keep the car from rolling away.

Any of you who have ever slept in a tent on a slope will agree with me:  snuggling up with a cute guy?  Super fun and cozy.  Smooshing the cute guy like you are a log in an avalanche?  Not so much.

Speaking of Chuck, we had a good time last night.  We were going to blow up the Christmas Tree, but it was too fresh; and we did not have the right explosives.  Next time.  At midnight, we sat in the living room at Aloha Road, watching the fireworks going off all over the valley.  He popped a cork on a bottle of Labyrinth (tastier than Champagne - at least the stuff in our price range) and told me, "2012 is going to be great.  This will be our year."

I don't make New Years Resolutions.  What a load of hooey.  Besides, where would I even start?  I am 44 and still not my Ideal Woman.  Wouldn't that be cool?  To feel like I am everything I want to be? Does anyone get to be her own ideal woman?  There are many, many women out there that I hold up as exemplary.  How do I get that awesome? And still sleep, I mean?

My Ideal Woman?

1.  She has SKILLS.  Expertise.  I am such a jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none.  I'd really like to be good at the stuff I am just sort of...let's say...enthusiastic... about right now.

2.  She makes things that are pretty.  I look at the artistic endeavors of others and think, "Given the time and mental space, could I take beautiful photos / create art with found objects / sew something that turns out?"  Possibly...

3.  Her life is full of music.  My ideal woman listens to a diversity of music; she finds cheap / free concerts; she practices her guitar; she plays her piano.  She sings along with gusto.  In tune.

4. She can build the Adult Education program that she has been visualizing.  I can see it all:  the community partners; the professional development plan; the collaborative team of teachers; the students who come, stay and learn; the community learning model I have been pursuing for twenty years would finally take its shape in an orderly fashion.  Someday my time there will be done - I want to see that I actually did something worthwhile.

5.  She weighs between 110 and 112 pounds.  She is an accomplished distance runner.   I'm still trying to decide if I want to run a marathon enough to spend the hours and hours needed to train for it.  Still, my ideal woman is athletic. 

6.  She reads incessantly.  Books, absolutely; but she is up-to-date on the issues, too.  She understands the Palestinian question.  She is an immigration law policy analyst.  As a hobby.

7. She has a good balance of social time and alone time.  My ideal woman always has people stopping by for dinner or for a cuppa.  This never disconcerts her - and she always has the right amount of perfectly rendered meals ready on the stove.  Her house is where everyone wants to hang out.

8.  Oh, yeah.  She has a house, even if it's just a little one.  My ideal woman doesn't have any notions about design and nothing matches; but her home is cozy and clean.

So, let's check in at the end of the year, and see if I managed to approximate even one of these ideals.  Pfffft.

And, just to prove that I'm not too rough on myself, I DID do some stuff this past year. 

1.  I made one functional wind-chime.  Well, it's sort of a creative endeavor...
2.  I have learned the basics of running my sewing machine.  Thanks, Chuck!
3.  I have danced more in this year than I did in the last ten years combined.
4.  I ran a half-marathon with a pretty reasonable time.
5.  I got down to 112 ponds, although I was way stressed out and it was an accident.
6.  I lost some friends.  But I made a few...
7.  I learned how to budget and manage my money, at least at a superficial level.
8.  I managed to end a relationship that was making me feel like a loser; and I have managed to stay in a relationship that makes me happy.  Dos that sound contradictory?  Not in my world.  Letting oneself love wholeheartedly despite fears of hurting and being hurt is actually tricky for some of us. 

Not my ideal woman.  She's fearless.  And maybe there's something to be said for a life lived without many talents if I get to laugh about it a lot.

Never Home

I arrived at my apartment door today to find a pile of newspapers and a notice from the management, warning me that someone in our building has been making disruptive noise after quiet hours, and risked eviction.  "Well, it's not me," I thought, pulling the notice down.  "I'm never home."

This week has been particularly challenging in this regard.  Chuck and I usually stay at my place on Tuesday and Thursday nights; but this week, Chuck needed to pick up his friend from the airport late at night on Tuesday; and then he became ill.  I haven't wanted to disrupt him.  So, I have been staying at Aloha Road all week, only visiting my apartment to pick stuff up and drop stuff off.  This morning, Chuck wanted to know if we would stay at my place, but I declined.  We usually spend weekends at Aloha when we I don't have custody of my kids.  And he is still pretty stick.  I heard myself telling him that I far preferred staying at Aloha, and that I didn't like being at my apartment. 

I don't know why I said that. I actually DO like being at my apartment.  It's tiny, but it's clean and neat.  All my favorite pictures are on the wall.  I am surrounded by books I want to read, music I want to listen to.  I know what food I have and it's all food I like.  I never have to search in vain for the lid that goes with a particular pot. However, it is quiet and dull.  I never entertain there, because it is too damn small.  And it's far from my job and from Chuck.  Aloha, on the other hand,  is dirty and I feel like I am always cleaning the kitchen.  There is not a single place where I can read at night without having to turn on a whole ceiling full of indirect light.  BUT, it always has people.  At the moment, it appears that four to six  people may live there.  Someone is always around and I enjoy that.  It has little luxuries:  a fireplace; a sauna.  Cliff's dog and Chuck's cockatoo.  So, which place is better?  For a sociable person like me, Aloha is more pleasant, but super-inconvenient.  If someone has to be inconvenienced, I would always prefer that it be me rather than Chuck.   However, I have to haul clothes and books and whatnot back and forth.  If I want to cook something, I have to pack up all the ingredients and haul  this stuff up to Aloha.  Sometimes, I arrive with bags and bags of food.  It's ridiculous.  At my own place, I never wonder whether there will be cinnamon. 

The deal is that, with Chuck and me, someone always has to be away from home. 
There is no way to make this any easier.  I got home today and walked into an apartment that reeked of garbage because, when I last left, I didn't realize I would be gone so long. The clothes I had loaded into the drier were still a little damp and smelled of mildew.  I felt weak and ill because I had slept poorly the night before and hadn't eaten.  I poured some cereal.  The milk was whiffy, of course.

I flopped on the bed and covered myself with my afghan.  I slept deeply for a couple of hours. 

What to do about this? Would it really make my life easier to have a couple of changes of clothing at Chuck's? Nah.  I would still have to keep replacing them after I wore them home. Or, what?  Change again before I leave?  What about food and cooking utensils?  I haul stuff like books back and forth.  Yesterday's newspapers.  My plum pudding mould.  Toenail polish.  Stuff I forget to haul back and forth:  underwear, my glasses, Creamies.

Telephobe

I shouldn't really be blogging right how.  I should be getting my stuff together for our trip to California.  I'm excited!  I love trips, large and small; I love being with Chuck and I think his kids are great company;  [sing this part] it will be WARM there!  For the first time in many years, I will not be hosting a dinner party.  I will get to meet Chuck's family.  We will go sailing; maybe hiking; I want to run on the beach.  I want to be near the water.

The first time I went on a long car journey with Chuck, I was  preoccupied by the idea that I might have to provide stimulating conversation the whole way.  Maybe this was it!  Ohmygawd!  The moment when he discovers that I'm boring!  In the end (because I always end up confessing my little eccentricities to him) I asked if long stretches of silence were OK by him, and he said they were.  And they were. 

That may have been the first time he used the adjective "comfy" to describe our relationship.

Since then, we have started developing what many people call a "mature" relationship. That means that we can keep our hands off each other, and we don't have to be talking to each other every minute that we're together.  It is, in fact, very pleasant to just hang out and read.  Or I putz in the kitchen at Aloha while he goes off to run errands.  This is a lovely feeling:  the sense that your special person is with you even when he is not with you. Or the feeling of being happy with what you are doing, and knowing that when your special person comes back, you will simply be happier.

Other times, though, I think, "Mature relationship?  Could that not be a euphamistic way of saying that I am deathly dull?" When we first met, Chuck said he loved my "quick wit".  I told him at the time that I was not always like that.  Sometimes, my tongue feels thick and clumsy.  Sometimes I lack fluency, even regarding things that I care passionately about.

I often voice my thoughts the best when I am lying in the dark, waiting for sleep.  Or after school ends for the evening adn I am sitting with Chuck on the sofa.  Across the table in a restaurant?  Sometimes I have language, other times, not.  And ON THE PHONE!?!?!?!  The pits!  I HATE talking on the phone.  This is why I almost never call my mother; or anyone else in my family, for that matter.  I will text people when a phone call would be more practical.  I will want to hear Chuck's voice, but refuse to pick up the phone and call him.

He is having a little difficulty with his phone at the moment, so he can't call me.  I miss his little calls during the day.  But I am shy about calling him.  The idea of calling without a reason embarrasses me, and I find myself thinking, "What if he is busy and doesn't care to talk?"  I have been making myself call him after the kids are in bed, just to ask about his day.  He seems to like it, but I struggle.  Now that our relationship is in a peaceful, happy place, there are no "US" problems.  So, we talk about our days. As in, "I did this, and then this happened, and I talked to so-and-so, and she said.."  I think, "What a dull tool I am!" 

But something has hit me just now: in thinking this over; I really think it's the medium.  When we are sitting face to face, I never feel this way.

You know what my problem is?  I am NOT boring.  How can a person with  a head so full of dreams and hopes and plans be boring? I embrace every day.  I am not a bore.  What I AM is unbelievably self-conscious. 

I'll tell you what would be "mature": if I didn't care so much about other people's opinion.  I need to remember to just relax into myself and expect that I will be loved for who I am, not for what I do and how well I do it.

Miasma

The Black Lagoon, in my kitchen.  A reeking swamp.  A rotting peat bog.  A sodden burial ground for the newly dead.  A petri dish.  My dishwasher.

I don't like dishwashers very much and don't use them.  I didn't ask for this one - it came in the apartment.  It takes up valuable space.  There could have been a cupboard there. A useful cupboard in which I could have stored my plastic containers and all their... hey! 

An empty dishwasher is the PERFECT place to put containers and lids!  YES!  Nice little pull-out racks and... uuuuuuhhhhhgggggg!  A reek so awful that it makes you think of French kissing a hippo.  Oh, my God:  how did this evil come to be among us?!?

I ran the dishwasher and left the door ajar so it would dry out in there. Two weeks later?  Orange-ish green slimy goo which smells like the fart of a creature that eats only dead fish.  I'm running it again, with Clorox.  If I don't prevail, something will breed and grow in there.  Something big enough to eat me.

There was Always More to It

Simon is angry at me - I mean, even more than usual. 

One trigger seems to be Fun.  Namely why I'm getting it and he's not.
 
[I think, but don't say, "For fuck's sake, Si:  if you want to go camping, go camping!"] 

He voiced his disagreement with my taking the kids out of school for two days next week and taking them canoeing.  What did I think I was doing, planning a trip in September?  Why couldn't I have planned it for summer, when the kids had vacation? 

[Uh, because they have had a soccer tournament nearly every single weekend?] 

Because southern Utah in the depths of summer is HOT!!  That's why!

He pointed out that, since I have left him, I seem to have plenty of time to bug off and enjoy myself.  Then it was time for the tired assertion that I never wanted to take time off work to do anything when we were still together.  We used to have this fight all the time: "Kate, you won't want to go on this trip because you won't want to take the time off work." 
"Says who!?  Why do you always say that?  It's you who can't find time to do things from October through May because of the ski season  When do you want to go?" 
"Nope.  You won't leave your job."
"Yes, I will!"
"No, you won't." 

I know the origin of this ridiculous argument:  there were busy years during graduate school in the mid-90s when I would go on trips with him, but feel fussed about the work awaiting me when I got home  And there was one year- the 95-96 school year, when it was hard to dislodge me.  It was my last year of graduate school; and I was teaching a writing class at the university; and I was Interim Director of Adult Education at Guadalupe School.  Why is it that I am now labeled ever after as the girl who doesn't want to go anywhere?  The therapist told me that this was an example of one partner growing and changing, while the other partner remains focused on a fixed point in the past.  Whatever.  It's a pain.

And he's mad that I'm not getting my stuff in the basement boxed up fast enough.  He has threatened to put it all in the bulk trash.  Lord knows, I'd like to get it done, but it complicates things when he insists that he has to be home before I can enter the house.

"Look, if you want me to get the job done, why won't you let me work on it regardless if whether you're around? I can come in with the kids."

"No way.  You may not enter my house if I'm not there."

"What do you think I'm going to do?  What are you afraid I'll steal?"

"I don't trust you."

"What do you mean by that?  That you think I'm going to snoop in your stuff?  Rob you?  What?"

"I just don't trust you.  'Cuz you're a liar - it's as simple as that." 

"What did I lie to you about?"

"You told me that you were divorcing me for a variety of reasons that simply aren't true.  Plain and simple.  You left me for Chuck.  You saw what you wanted and just took it, with no consideration for anyone else."

"Si you know there were other problems.  We had had problems for years!"

"They weren't worth divorcing over.  They were the same problems every married couple has.  We were happy enough."

[YOU were happy enough.]

"You are forgetting.   "What about all the times when I asked you if we could PLEASE just get some-"

"No.  Our problems weren't serious.  This is all about your selfishness.  I'm hanging up now - this conversation is no longer productive."

"THERE WAS A LOT MORE TO IT!"

But he was gone.

So I was feeling low in my mind this morning. BUT!  I have half an hour between dropping Sara at her school and dropping Nate at his.  I figured, what a perfect time to work on boxing my stuff!  Si is generally home just then, so I could go to the house for thirty minutes every day.  Packing up my remaining stuff would be a great project for that time frame.  Nate and I saw Simon's truck in the drive, so I knocked.  No answer.  Huh.  I knocked again.  Finally, Si opened up.  He was still in his boxers.  I had no idea he slept so late, now!

I explained my thoughts on the half-hour-to-kill, and after initially refusing to let me in, he eventually agreed to let me work in the basement.

I didn't have much time, but I was able to box some things.  I encountered the cardboard carton in which I keep all of my diaries.  As always, I grabbed one and flipped it open randomly, to see which incarnation of myself would appear.  Today, it was my "college Sophomore" self: reading Dante and sweating over my statistics class.  I snorted with amusement, then started guiltily.  What if Simon came in here and found me reading when I should be boxing?  I was putting the diary back in the box when something caught my eye:  loose sheets of paper in there.  I pulled them out and found myself holding a letter I had written to Simon in April of 1992, three months before we were married, but had never sent.  I was living in Poland at the time - the letter was closely written on cheap, soft paper.  It was very long and very sad, expressing my dismay at his last letter, which had been hurtful to me.  I complained of the mixed messages he was giving me about his love for me and about our future together.  I ever mailed it, which means that the moment passed, and I decided to look away from the things he had said to me. 

There was always a lot more to it. My 44 year-old self looks back at my 24 year-old self and thinks, "What would your life be like now, if you had sent this letter?"

I tucked it away and opened the next box, which contained the contents of my night stand and the top of my dresser at the time I moved out.  Some things I packed in a "when I have my own home again" box.  Odd earrings?  A small pile of my children's baby teeth? A seashell whose provenance I don't remember any more?  Out.  One earring with a gorgeous collection of fiery opals, I put in my "sell it" box, along with my wedding ring.  A few things came with me to the apartment.  There is a carved wooden box containing a bunch of loose change.  I used to horde small coins in case the tooth faerie needed to make a sudden appearance.  Also a little, bittie china baby that I think will be a fun addition to my wind chime I am making from junk.  Same with the beads. (I knew they were there somewhere!)  Ones from shell, ones from wood, African ones.  I found an edition of Three Cups of Tea, adjusted for younger readers.  My Running 101 book.  A whale sicker from Depoe Bay, Oregon; a good photo I took of pictographs a couple of years ago and have yet to frame.    My half-marathon training schedule.

There are two index cards on which I listed things that are important to me in considering a new relationship.    One was my master list of what I think everyone should expect from a relationship - a reminder to me not to accept a relationship that does not offer mutual... "Loyalty, Protection, Affection, Division of Labor,  Caregiving, Supportiveness, Companionship, Freedom, Honesty, Respect."

I honestly never expected to have a relationship with Chuck after I moved out.  I think that hovered in the territory of "wishful thinking".  I had spent a lot of time considering the world of dating, as evidenced by my many jottings on the subject.  Another list seems to be about what couples need to be in accord about.
Money, parenting, sex, relationships with family and friends, religion, household responsibilities, leisure time, careers and jobs.

As I went back upstairs after boxing for 30 minutes, I smelled toast and fresh ironing.  I called into the kitchen to thank Si for letting me use this time, and to ask him if I could come at the same time tomorrow.

No.  Did I have any idea how rude I was?  Showing up?  Just knocking at the door like that?  And expecting to be let in?  Get out, and don't try this again.  Go!  Leave!  Get out! 

Si was furious.  I felt scared for a moment.  He made shooing motions with his hands and I left.  The door slammed behind me.  i dunno.  Seemed like a "win-win" to me...

So my communion with my former selves illustrates a few points.  One is that the Kate of 20 years ago was always willing to smooth stuff over, to ignore the red flags in hopes they would go away, to make it work.  To write the letter, but never mail it.

The Kate of five months ago was finally aware of the wrongness of that and decided to move on.  That old letter took a while to be signed, sealed and delivered; but it is clear.  There was always more to it.

The Kate of five months ago was also more than prepared to live alone.  To find a new partner... or not.  I loved Chuck, but he was not the cause of this.  I was the cause of this, because it was about time to reclaim and rebuild the person I want to be.

The Kate of this moment is still a bit screwed up, but I think all the important bits are there and can be reassembled.  And Chuck is still here: with his many gifts; his intriguing and endearing flaws; his big heart.

 Like I told him one evening last week, when I arrived home to find supper and a frosty gin and tonic waiting for me:
"I'm a lucky girl."
"No, I'm the lucky one."
"No, I think it's me."
"Uh-uh.  It's me."
"Sorry, but you're wrong.  I am the lucky one."
"Nope.  Me."
No, me!"
"Me!'
"Me!"
"NO, me!"

It's my blog, so I get the last word.  I'm the lucky one.  Long may it last.

One of My Many Failings

I haven't been doing well with my writing. One of the many things I seem to be struggling to transition into a new life.  The list is long, but it is after midnight.  Tomorrow.

Drawn to Scale

I have chocolate tonight! I don't eat milk chocolate - dark only.  Unless it's an emergency.  This is very dark with cherries and almonds:  a "Thanks" from a tutor that I mentored a little last week.   Love brand chocolate includes a love poem in the wrapper.  I have a closet passion for poetry, and wish I had more time to read poets.  Sometimes the chocolate wrapper poems are so good that I clip them and hang them on my computer at work.  Tonight, it was Jonson's schmaltzy, "Speak to me only with thine eyes."  Never mind!

I spent the day returning phone calls, rating resumes for Mark's job, contacting people to set up interviews and writing my grant applications.  One guy wrote on his resume, "uncanny interpersonal skills".  I imagined his first day at work:

Holy shit, Kate!  Did you see the way that the new floor manager dealt with that disgruntled employee?!? Wow!  That was amazing.  Almost cosmic. UNCANNY!

And according to Sara, I had a cow.
"Mom had a cow!"
"I did not have a cow!"

This apartment is 857 square feet, so I have to think carefully about how to make good use of the space.  Lucky for me I lived so many years in a little cabin - I got really good at this.

Tape measure in hand, we went to check out our miniature abode. We were a little pressed for time, so I got on the chop-chop.  "Sara-boo, can you please take the other end of this?  Pull it over to that wall there."  The unit is on the top floor, so it includes a place for fake-fire.  "Hey, Mom, where's the balcony?"  I was jotting down figures and did not look up, but gestured absently with a flap of my hand.  "Over there." "Where?  No it's not."  "Huh? Sure it is."  I actually hunted for the balcony, like it was hiding or something.  The model had a balcony, after all.  Hmmm... No balcony. No balcony?  [Alarm bells!  Whoop!  Whoop!]  The girl needs a place to be outside!  Now I will be cooped up!  Not only am I a little prairie dog, but I'm a prairie dog that will NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY! 

This was enough to stir the assertiveness of even this okey-doke Wisconsinite.  Normally, I would not have made waves; but this time, I called up to the leasing office. 

"We seem to be having trouble finding the balcony."
"Oh, we don't include balconies in the third story units.  But there is a fireplace..."

Oh, goody. 

I was sweet and polite, but I told her in so many words that I wasn't going to be living in this unit.  They had another one on a second floor, so it had a balcony. "No fireplace, though..."  Fuck the fireplace. (I didn't say that, but I thought it.)  The apartment with the balcony is an extra $30 a month, though, because the appliances are new and the cupboard fronts are upgraded.  (Grooooaaan!  They've got me over a barrel!)  I'll do it, though.  For the balcony.

I have to think about packing.  My little entitlements:  50% of all household Q-tips.  Half the peppercorns! I would have written this off as too trivial to matter, except that I am actually going to need all this shit, and I don't want to have to run to the store on the sudden realization that Si got sole custody of the  olive oil. I have to think about moving.  Our trucks have caps on them, so the bed, the futon...  Awkward!  I need a couple of strong guys and a truck.  I can't decide whether to rent a little cube van?  Hire a student who has a van and a buddy?

There's a lot to be done/considered:

1. There is no coat closet or place for boots, etc...  I'm thinking, board-mounted hooks on the wall by the door.
2. I can have a nice, big bookcase if I take the one from downstairs:  it is not pretty, but it has a low profile - only comes out 10 inches from the wall.
3. Sofas are big.  There is no better way to suck the roominess out of a room than to plop down a sofa.  I could do without, I guess, but then where do I flop when flopping is required? AND, if I want to try http://www.couchsurfers.com/, I need a couch.
4. My dining room area is super-spacious because my table is going to be a 3 x 3 folding card table.  Actually, I may set up two of them, to make it look a little more generous.  Or maybe the sofa would fit in there!  We could sit on it to eat, then rotate it for lounging.  It's not heavy. 
5. I'm not interested in having TV, but I'd like a TV set that the kids can use for playing Wii  and watching movie rentals.  But a TV takes up space, and if it is going to have a Wii, it needs to sit at a thigh level.
6. All dressers will go in the closets.
7. My room will be a little funny, cause I'm going to put my desk in there, as well as the Clavinova. I know - I should leave the Clav behind until later.  But what if the kids are not there and I feel lonely and at loose ends?  I could practice!  I'm taking the guitar, as well.
8. I'm gonna have to get bunk beds for the kids.  Priority one!I can't fit a desk or anything in there until I solve the bed problem.  Maybe one of those that lofts a single bed so a double bed or a desk can go under it. 
9. The kitchen is pretty good; but the bright, fluorescent lighting is soulless and depressing!  I'm going to put a little  lamp in there, to turn on if I'm just making tea or something.  Cozier.
10. Can I bring my antique cedar chest?  It takes space, but the storage would be awesome. I could put art supplies, games, etc... in there.
11. I'm gonna need A LOT of milk crates.  I spent years and years furnishing with milk crates, lumber and cinder blocks.
12. What if there is no light over the dining table!?  The electricity was turned off, and I didn't think to check.
13. How does one recycle in an apartment complex?  Get a newspaper? 
14. What about the other things I may need but not have? Salt and pepper shakers.  Support from my friends, family, employer and acquaintances, some of whom must think I'm crazy.  A hand mixer.  Something to play music on.  Emotional strength.  Clarity in my relationships. A shower curtain.