Let's See....

Should I:

Drop off the joint-custody vacuum at Simon's house;
Buy milk;
Clean out the gunky cupboard where I keep the vinegars, oils, etc...;
Iron my blouse;
Sew the botton back on my coat;
Pack for my weekend at Chuck's place;
Put together ingredients to make chili and cheesecake brownies.

Or, should I go to Squatters and drink beer with my friend Shirley?

Dear Lillian

Putting my name in your title line certainly got my attention, so I will get yours the same way!

I would LEAP at the chance to have lunch with you!  We have been friends for YEARS and have never met!  It would be fun. 

Please find a different hero.  Crimeny!  One who has such awesome superpowers such as the ability to:
go to bed;
exercise properly;
stay off the rim of her bathtub;
not pull her hair;
make decent money;
buy a house;
get her kids where they need to go;
mend her heart.
That's the hero I'm looking for.  Oh, and she needs to laugh.  And be able to loosen her own lug nuts.

But camping? No big deal.  We should exchange e-mail addresses.  Wanna be an Eleanor?  When camping, men are very handy for lifting the cooler out of the truck.  They are also absolutely lovely to sit with by a fire and drink and maybe make out.  Otherwise?  Camping is gender neutral.  What does it involve, really?  Select the site, pitch the tent.  Goof off.  Build a fire.  Cook food, clean up.  Goof off.  Smoke a cigar (optional!). Depending on the group, you might do some star gazing, fire staring, deep conversation, story telling, bad dance moves, marshmallow roasting, tequila shooters, sing-alongs,  watermelon seed spitting, dirty jokes or fart lighting.  Well, OK, I've never been with a group where anyone lit their farts.  They just talked a big game.  Then you crawl into your sleeping bag and go to sleep. It is stinkin' fun, and if you haven't gone, we will fix that.  I will help you plan it, I promise; and I have gear.  Be in touch!  kate@guadalupe.k12.ut.us

Weekend Ups and Downs

 It has been an ordinary weekend, but fraught with a little extra emotional intensity, I guess. That's how my life seems to be these days. I remember when I wasn't wandering around all tied up in knots.  Here I am, reaching out for a different life and wondering if it is going to bite my hand off.  Must. Focus. On. Best. Case. Scenario.  And no matter how it turns out, what do I need to hang onto?  I CAN manage on my own.  I will continue to laugh at life; I will cherish my friends; I will try new things; I will work hard in the service of others; I will take care of my health; I will love my kids.  Maybe we will get a cat. 

I have used this blog up to this point to say mean things about CB.  When I viewed it as a break-up blog, that seemed OK.  But it is time to go public with the truth about CB:  he is a good person 96.4% of the time.  And I didn't realize it until he pointed it out to me, but he has his own TV show in Canada.  He was very modest not to tell me sooner. 

http://www.evtv1.com/player.aspx?itemnum=1554

I will try to portray him in a manner that is balanced and fair after this.   

We spent a few hours talking on Friday; catching up on our thoughts a little, and slowly combing the tangles out of our misunderstandings.  He brought me Ursa, an ultra-tough super-anti-hero in full possession of all her powers.  According to CB, she looks a little like me.  Hmmm...  I have better tits.  But her hair is perfect, not chronically higgledy-piggledy, like mine is.  She also has shades, which I have not, at the moment.  I read the packaging and laughed.  Ursa hates all men!  Except General Zod. 

She is probably going to have a very busy week at work, but in the meantime, she directed her super-powers at the laundry.  She's not great at folding ("Fools!  Have you no minions stupid enough to crease clothing into squares for the benefit of children?!")  She likes using the dryer though, because she can use her kick-ass martial arts moves to flip the "on" switch.

 I have heard very little from CB over the last few days.  He has a friend who makes emergency shelters out of shipping containers.  They are getting one ready to ship to California on Monday, and there is a lot to do. 

Friday night was poker night. Those of us who need to practice to get the game settled in our heads convened; along with Mel, who actually knows what she's doing.  I've got it down, now!  We just need to work on our poker faces.  Let me explain:  we enjoy being dweebs on occasion. We are actually getting pretty good at Texas Hold 'Em, and could maintain excellent poker faces if the stakes were even a LITTLE higher than M&Ms.  The LDS ladies won't play for money, or they would have to tell their bishops.  As it was, Moira discovered too late that she was absent-mindedly eating her assets.

 It was this face of Corinne's that just about drowned me.  As it was, the back of my nose was seared by tequila and I almost had to go to the ER.

 Here, Tika looks WAY to happy about her hand.

That's better.  This is the face that Sara hates.  She is terrified of Tika.  Three years ago, Sara went to Guadalupe for a summer school program, and was surprised at how much stricter the teachers are there.  Tika is one of the strictest of the strict.  Even Tika's epic Girl Scout Cookie purchase this year did not soften Sara's heart.  I didn't tell Sara that Tika was coming, so the look on her face when she answered the door was priceless. 

How much you wanna bet that I will be enlisted to stuff a Cabbage Patch head in Tika's mailbox or some such thing this coming week?

Mel, as always, is cooler than the rest of us, and pulls off a truly Sphinx-like expression.

Saturday was snowy, and all soccer matches were cancelled.  This was great news for me, as one of the coaches had called me, looking for volunteers to arrive at 8:00 AM to shovel the pitch.  I slept in, which seems to be my way of avoiding emotional turmoil.  Simon and I had spoken on the phone the night before,and he is anxious for me to tell him whether I want a divorce.  He is tired of stewing over it and wants to move forward. I can't say that I blame him, of course.  Per the post I wrote earlier today, we are going to go ahead, but this is not a decision I have made lightly or without considerable guilt and fear.  Sleep is an escape from the emotion.

I ran 12 miles on Saturday afternoon, and had to run all of it on the indoor track, since the snow outside was landing on my lashes and blinding me.  One week until the Salt Lake City Half-Marathon. Will I be running the fucker in the snow?  After Thanksgiving, I deserve to be warm!  My fantasies of beating last year's time are fading:  pfffffft.  I was flakey and undisciplined due to de-tox related issues.  Still, no lasting side effects from the long run, except for a slightly sore right hamstring and a splitting headache.  Must drink more.  Oh, and one of my toes on my right foot refuses to flex today.  Must've pulled something tiny in there.  But I'll be fine as long as it isn't freezing. It's not just the race I have to think of:  if last year is any indicator, I could freeze to death while waiting for them to find my gear-bag at the finish line.

Today, I took the kids to see Rodrick Rules.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJR4xMSGL6s

The books are actually pretty funny and my kids' copies are totally dog-eared.  Here is the illustration of Rodrick's van that he uses to haul shit for his band, Loded Diper. 

The kids and I laughed  our butts off at the movie, but for different reasons.  Grown-ups who (like me) are middle children will find a lot of spot-on commentary.  Rodrick IS my brother Charles.  The part where Rodrick picks up Greg from school in his van and drives home like a maniac?  YES!  The clothes, the hair, the muttered threats, the blackmail.  Charles is nine years older; and I was small for my age, and portable.  He used to love dangling me over the bannisters; or holding me over pots of boiling water while my mother admonished, "Oh, for heaven's sake, Charles."  And like Rodrick, Charles occasionally came through for me. Once he shoved me down into the passenger foot-well in the station wagon and roared through the neighborhood, hunting for a bully who had been giving me a hard time; squealed up to the curb where the kid was standing and made the kid just about wet himself.  The pluses and minuses of having a much-older brother... 

Si got home this evening from Colorado, and we didn't even have to have "the conversation".  We said enough on the phone last night.  As he sometimes does, he brought me a present: a pair of pale green earrings made by his friend Maxine.  I cried because he doesn't need to be nice to me; and it is probably the last present he'll give me.  Tomorrow, we'll get the wheels rolling again. 

Poker

[By the way, is it me, or are there problems uploading photos?]

 OK!  We toasted the inaugural goof-off the Eleanors and learned to play poker, thanks to the patience and perseverance of our teacher Jeff, who also brought the table and real Vegas chips.  Of course, we ate; and Moira stayed afterward to smoke a cigar with me. 

So, can I play, now?  If I can use my cheat-sheet, yes.  Except all the betting stuff:  see, check, call, raise...erk!  We need practice.  I need to have some folks over to just play.

What day are we on?  Day 12.  Forty-eight more days to get my shit together.  I am actually getting a little worse, rather than better.  This doesn't surprise me, somehow.  The shock is wearing off; and I am facing the fact that I am bummed about several things, not just CB (bastard!).  Now that the acute breakup pain is starting to ease up a little, I have to deal with all the rest of it.  Poker night last night helped temporarily.  Today, I mostly just lay on the sun porch staring or dozing.  Tomorrow I have to do better.  Simon is leaving for Vail and I have responsibilities.  I'll write down what I would like to accomplish tomorrow, then I'll see what I manage.

Go out to breakfast as a family at Lazy Day cafe before Simon hits the road;

Facial;

Finish laundry;

Household chores;

Input testing data for Guadalupe;

Run 9 miles;

Make tilapia with orange salsa;

Contact outfitter for summer canoe trip;

Mend chair cushions.

Let's say that, if I manage to do 5 of those things, I will congratulate myself. 

I Keep Waiting..

...for the other shoe to drop.

And it doesn't.  No confrontation, apology, explanation, attempts to cajole...  It has been a week (De-Tox Day 7).  When the phone rings now, I never think it's him.  I have an all-new Yahoo account; so I check it dutifully, once a day, without trepidation.  He is GONE-gone. So gone that he doesn't check my old blog, nor has he done the simple detective work needed to find my new one.  So gone that my widget never shows a visit from our suburb.  So gone that he hasn't asked our mutual friend to call me with explanations or apologies.  So gone that I'm left to wonder whether he actually went and picked up his pocket watch.

He knows my routine.  If he wanted to, he could find me; find my car.  He used to stop by the gym and leave flowers under my windshield wiper.  He would sometimes pay a visit to Guadalupe and leave small tokens.  Once I found a little single-serve cup of pickles on my truck.  He knows the days and times that I shop.  We always used to text each other:

"I'm at Smith's, looking for the sexiest lady in Cottonwood."
"Poor you.  You missed her by 15 minutes."

"At Smith's!"
"Awww.  I'm at Home Depot."

We only managed it one time.  And we hadn't even tried.  I walked out of the store with a shopping bag over my arm and there he was, almost jumping up and down, he was so tickled. 

"Fancy meeting YOU here!"

People swirled by on both sides of us; but, as always when we were together, we were oblivious.  Looking onto each other's eyes.  My finger reached out to touch one of the snaps on his jacket.

Later, I asked him, "How did you do that?"
"Pure coincidence!  I must've been trying too hard before!"

And so I watch for him. I don't really want to see him.  My knees would knock with terror if I did.  But as I drive around town, I search every intersection for a ratty blue Jetta.  My heart knocks painfully against my chest  when I see an orange North Face jacket in the store.  A man in Carharts walking away from me.  But it's never the bow-legged amble that I'm familiar with. 

I look at my windshield wiper EVERY TIME I walk up to my truck.  I can't wait to stop doing that.  Watch, that will be the last vestige.

BUT!  I only cried once today.

Grandpa Mario came to check on me and I was able to tell him that I was a bit better. ("Mejor, Gracias!  Un poco mejor.")  "That's because I have been praying for you," he said.

And I did get my "Learn to Play Poker" party organized for this Friday.  I still have three places left if any of you local blog-readers want to be dealt in....  But you have to NOT KNOW HOW to play poker.  That's the only rule.  Well, and you have to like to cackle and act obnoxious. Moira and I will smoke cigars.

I also started researching what sorts of permits are needed to do a 5-day canoe-trip down the mighty Green River through Canyonlands National Park.  CB told me about this trip.  He did it years ago, when he was in college, and he wanted take me there this summer.  Normally, he does raft-trips; but he knows I am a canoeist. I will plan and execute this trip without him.  I will invite a bunch of friends; take my kids; and Simon, if we stay together.  And I will have an awesome time.

And I had fun e-mailing with my divorce lawyer today, because we are old friends.  I told him that I was taking a break from divorce proceedings because my heart was in bad shape.  We had to email like this:

***This is Kate-your-friend***
I am reduced to sleeping with my son's sock monkey!  Turns out that my grand passion is a CAD!!  I'll take you out for coffee and regale you. 

***This is Kate-your-client***
I owe you money for the time you have put in so far.  About two hours.  Tell me how much I owe you.

***This is Chad-your-friend***
Love sucks!

***This is Chad-your-attorney***
Don't worry about the money.  I will take the coffee, though.

53 days left.