This Moment

I have no idea what I am going to write about today, but I feel as though whatever it is, it's going to keep my heart in the same place it is in right now.

Grateful and comfortable.

I took a long walk along the James River today in Richmond, VA. 

It's 70 degrees with no humidity.   I walked with the river on my right and smiled as people jogged past me, or as dogs slowed to sniff my knees.  I laughed out loud when one of the dogs ran up to me and sat down.  When I put my hand out to pet him, he jumped up and spun around then ran away.  His parents laughed too, as did two girls sitting on a bench nearby.  

I stopped to touch a humongous river birch tree.  

I walked about a mile and then turned around so I could take the river in from the left.  Magnificent and beautiful.

After my walk, I texted my siblings and shared the first picture with them - telling them that I felt joy and gratitude today and I wanted to share it with only them.  My brother texted back that it was snowing in Buffalo. 

I probably could've found some joy and gratitude if I were there too.

I don't know if they know just how much I love and adore them.  I assume they do, but I try to tell them as much as I can.

There are days when I get so consumed with insecurities, so consumed with work, so consumed with keeping the house clean that I forget about things like a long walk along the river.  I forget about how easy it is to turn all of that off.  I forget how wasteful it is to concern myself with trivial matters, things that just don't matter.  I forget that love and gratitude is actually the answer to everything.  Don't believe me?

Go back to a memory of complete embarrassment --- did you fly off a treadmill?  Run into a screen door and watch it fall to the ground in front of you? Have a coughing fit in front of someone that was about to ask you on a date? Trip and spill wine on a stranger on your first date with a man you now adore?

I've done all of these things.  I was mortified for some of them - - completely inside my head for hours after they happened.  Then I shifted my thoughts.  I sat inside each memory and saw them objectively.  Then I giggled.  I giggled until I belly laughed.

I still recall the coughing fit scenario and I cannot do anything but laugh now.  I was 27 years old, working at a law firm in Baltimore, on the 23rd floor of a high rise building.  Across the street was a coffee shop.  I hustled over there at lunch time, started chatting with a handsome man who was about the same age.  He got his coffee, but waited for me to get mine so we could walk out together.  He held the door for me to get into our building, pushed the buttons on the elevator for me and let me go in first.  We smiled at each other. It was inevitable that he was going to ask me out on a date.  I took a sip of coffee, swallowed wrong, and then proceeded to cough for the entire ride up to the 23rd floor.  The coughing fit was so bad that I had tears streaming and I burped at one point.  He just stood there and watched me.  When we got to my floor, I just walked out, waving good-bye as I coughed and coughed.  I saw him a couple weeks later, and he averted his eyes.

Ah well.

But my point is that when I embrace the memory from a place of love for myself and my awkwardness, I cannot help but laugh. 

I think about how the guy running next to me felt when I face-planted and flew off the back of the treadmill.   He stopped running and tried to help me up, but you could see the laughter in his eyes.  Of course, I giggled too, but I thought about it for days, so embarrassed until one day it struck me as completely hilarious, and I cannot bring back the feeling of shame anymore.

Life is good most of the time.  I try to remember that whenever I can, and I try to breathe in the gratitude as much as I can, knowing that hard times will come --- they are inevitable --- but remembering that I cannot control them.  I can only control what I know, what is in front of me now, what matters now, today, in this moment.

Gratefulness and comfort.

Apophasis

My 16 year old daughter, Paige, and I are in love with the same man.

He's Scottish-Italian and talks to us like we are number one in his life.  He's sad and confused, he's hip and sexy.  His voice is like water in the desert, like a good cleanse before vacation, like soothing balm on a sunburn. . .

His name is Paolo Nutini.  He is 16 years older than Paige, 15 years younger than me.  I am fond of his voice.  Paige, at 16, is fond of his voice and everything else. She thinks he's hot.

I would never say that I thought of him that way, shirtless and singing breathlessly into the microphone, directly at me.  I could never say that the video of him sitting on a stool, smoking a cigarette and singing soulfully into the microphone - directly at me! - had any impact on my feelings for him. 

He's a great singer. Truly.

This morning Tony said he wanted Swordfish for dinner.  I've never made Swordfish, but I figured that butter and garlic and basil makes anything taste great, so I said yes.

I won't say that Swordfish sucks.  Tony loved the Swordfish and Paige liked it but was feeling sick (hack, hack, cough), so I disregard her opinion.  I'm not going to say that dousing the Swordfish in garlic and butter and basil didn't work.  I won't say I hated it and that I ate the steamed broccoli and rice instead.  I won't even say that I fed my portion to the cats. 

I like fish. Truly.

I adopted two kittens a couple months ago --- a male and a female.  The male's name is Goose and the female's name is Megaladon (Tony named her).  They loved the Swordfish too.

I would never say that kittens/cats are dirty, filthy animals.  I won't say that their sounds are different or irritating or even annoying.  It wouldn't be right if I said that when they run up my leg and hop on my shoulder to look into the same mirror I am looking into as I put on make-up is painful and annoying.

They're really cute and lovely, and I love them.  Truly.

*************

I love dogs.  I miss Gracie.

Gracie would look me in the eyes and with just a look she would let me know that Paolo is way too young for me and way too old for Paige. She would let me know that a Ribeye works better for my tastes and that Swordfish is better left for the filthy animals.

I would never say I am a dog person. 

But I am.

I miss my girl.

 

Keep Walking

For the past couple of years I've grown to love walking.  I put in my earbuds, strap on my fanny pack (yes, they're cool because I make them so), and walk.  I've discovered various paths around my neighborhood and walk for hours sometimes.  It helps my brain reconfigure after a long day of work, before a long day of work, or to calm a hangover or a heavy meal on the weekends.  Zero negativity associated with it.

There are times when I begin a walk full of anxiety over work or the craziness of my schedule, but by the time I'm on the second song, I find joy in it. I often get hit by a memory or two of my younger days and I allow my mind to drift with the thoughts. I often don't have anything specific to remember about these walks, just a feeling of something greater than me.  

I remember walking on a cold November day, bundled up with my phone on shuffle - - sometimes it was Bruce playing, sometimes it was J. Roddy Walston & the Business, sometimes something else. . . but on this particular day I heard one Sinatra song, then another, and close to the end of the second I thought, "Hm, Dad must be here.  Wonder if I'll hear another."  Indeed another played, and I said (in my head) "Hi Dad," feeling elated that he was in step with me.  I allowed my mind to drift with some memories of him & I, but of course they were interrupted by other thoughts, and so I tried to focus again on having my dad beside me.  I didn't hear Sinatra for a while, so I thought about something really unlikely - seeing a flower in the grass on a cold November day - and thought that if I saw that, I'd know he was still with me.  So I walked, and I scanned the grass all around me for about 30 minutes - meandering through thoughts about the kids, my life, my face, my siblings. . . but didn't see a flower.

I continued to walk, and was a bit bummed as I made my way down the path toward my house.  I started to think about what I would make for dinner, and how I would fold and put away laundry.  As I stepped onto the sidewalk near my house, I looked down and saw a yellow dandelion standing straight up in the grass.  I smiled.  The song on my phone ended and Sinatra's My Way began.

Yes, of course I cried.  

That's stuff's magical. 

I set out for walks daily, never knowing what gem I might discover ---- even if it's a smile or a friendly greeting from a golden retriever.  

The nuggets of joy that are available to us daily astounds me.  Unfortunately, sometimes they elude me too.  But I know for certain that they are there --- ready to be plucked and dried in a heavy book, like a dandelion found on a cold November day.

Carrie Balboa

What am I going to do if I don't do this? That's the question I just asked myself.

I'm sitting in front of the blank screen and I'm like, "I can't do it."  But I can and I must, if I'm honest.

I've been thinking back on the last nine years or so.  I recall going for a week to the top of a mountain in Asheville, NC and working my novel with a bunch of novel geek writers like me.  This was probably the best week of my life - personally, a "for me" kind of week; and I came back so happy and excited.

I was pretty heavy into writing this blog, and I was hearing the voices of my characters all day, every day.

About a month after returning from the mountaintop, my father died unexpectedly.

That was the last time I had any sort of passion for writing.  I lost the muse?

Not likely, but I think it was more of a "Shit, every time I pick myself back up, something shitty happens.  I have to stay down."  Actually, I know that's what it was.

It took me nine years to discover the reason for my failure to stay with the dream, stay in the ring, stay passionate and listen to the voices.

Since then, I've had other characters knocking on my door, and I am fifty-six pages into a novel that I think can be good with time, much more character development, many more words and a lot of editing.  I started it in January of 2018.

Fifty-six pages.  Wow!  Not really - it's been almost a year and a half. It equals less than a quarter of a page per day.

Just writing that sentence sends a pang of regret through my heart, because once you realize the cause of the stopping, you have regret for stopping.  And that, my friends, is yet another hurdle to overcome.  But overcome it, I shall.

Fact is, I'm sick of not writing. I'm sick of feeling sorry for myself for not writing. I'm sick of being afraid to write.

So, I write.  I am happy. I  have joy again.  And something bad happens.  Is it because I'm happy and joyful?  Hell no.  God doesn't work that way.

I am reminded of when Rocky lost to Clubber Lang in Rocky III.  He and Adrian (Yo!) are arguing on the beach and she prods him for a few minutes, yelling into his face as the wind blows through her hair and the waves crash on their ankles.

She asks him, "Why'd you come here?"  And then they talk - "you're not a quitter," "what do you want me to say?," "what's so bad?". . .

Finally, the argument climaxes and it finally comes out!

"What's the truth, dammit?"

"I'm afraid!"  And then he blames himself for Mickey's death.

And Adrian says, "get rid of it.  It's going to bother you the rest of your life.  You do it for you, just you alone."

"And if I lose?"

"Then you lose, but at least you lose with no excuses. . . no fear."

Then he finds the eye of the tiger and beats Clubber Lang.

I want to be Rocky. 

Lonely is the Night

I finally gave into Amazon and got a subscription for Music Unlimited.

I'll tell you why.

I watched a movie and though the movie thoroughly sucked, the opening scene played Emotions in Motion by Billy Squier, and it has been years since I heard the song, or any of his others.

After the movie was over, I searched and found that I couldn't listen to it, or any of his other songs unless I got Music Unlimited, or checked it out on YouTube.  So I am now a member.

I put on his greatest hits and the song Lonely is the Night came on and I actually listened to the words.  "Lonely is the night when you find yourself alone, your demons come to light and your mind is not your own. . ."

I found myself alone quite a bit this week.  The kids were with their dad, and LOML had some work stuff to do so I found myself alone.

I've been lonely, and I've had my demons come to light, and I've had a mind that is not my own.  I didn't have any demons in the light, and my mind was my own, but this week was one where I felt lonely.

It's my own fault, really.  I have friends to call, siblings to text, walks to take and words to write.  I have characters inside my head screaming to say something.

Yet I fell into the loneliness this week and "I was lazin' around the TV."

I've been feeling sorry for myself.  I interviewed for a position at my company that I thought was the perfect role for me, and many others in the company thought the same, but I didn't get the job.

Rejection. Its teeth broke the skin, and I don't like it.

Yet, it just doesn't matter.

It took me some nights of lazin' around the TV and a few words to get here, but I got here.  I pulled rejection's teeth from the skin of my forearm and turned up the music.

No more sleepin', wastin' our time
Midnight creepin's, first on our minds
No more lazin' 'round the TV
You'll go crazy, come out with me

So the lyrics aren't that great, but I heard them so they're awesome.

Billy Squier - a healer.  Who'd a thought that?

And don't get my started on The Stroke.  I'm 47 years old and I just figured out what he's referencing. . .