letting go

After hanging up on yet another particularly volatile argument with my sister I sit in reflection writing and wondering where it all went so wrong. For as long as I can remember my sister and I have been at odds. I don't understand why. I have wracked my brain trying to put it into perspective. Out of respect for her feelings, I have an idea yet cannot share these innermost musings. This situation saddens me to my soul. I watch other sisters share a relationship born of love, understanding, and most of all communication. I believe this is the core of the issue, the lack of communication. Ironically that is my sister's profession yet when it comes to personal life, falls short. Through the years I have worked many jobs, but the one constant was waitressing. Working as a server for so long one learns to communicate with many walks of life on all levels. There is no more direct line of communication than in restaurant work. One must be able to relay orders to a kitchen, a bartender, a bus person, other servers, a manager, and most importantly their own tables. One little blip in the chain and there went my tip. Supporting myself this way I could not afford to allow any ripple in the lines of communication. Needless to say I made it my job to learn how to communicate. With so many years of relationships under my belt including my own marriage, communication has never been an issue. When it comes to my own sister it is an issue. To be fair, there are two sides to every story in every relationship. There wouldn't be discourse if there wasn't another with which to argue. I am bossy, sarcastic, opinionated, a tease, and extremely independent. I don't like unrealistic demands placed on my lifestyle nor do I like feeling as if I have to explain my every action. I can be selfish and mean. I am also loyal and loving to those I feel warrant my affection. My friends are like my family and I love them fiercely and deeply sometimes holding back my words out of respect for our relationships and the love I feel for them. We all do this when it comes to loved ones. Family is also extremely if not more important to me. Marrying a man who is half Lebanese I was introduced to a culture I knew nothing about. The unconditional almost clannish love these people have for their own blood brings tears to my eyes. No one is more welcoming then my husband's family even if all is not harmonious on the home front. My mother-in-law and I have our problems, but there is never any judgement and we always talk out our issues and I love her as much as my own mother. Plain and simple we are there for each other not unlike my own family yet my own family feels I've been swallowed up by all this and have forgotten my own blood. This couldn't be farther from the truth. Of course I am immersed in my husband's clan because we all live in the same city. Crossing state lines to visit my own parents or sister can be costly and sometimes inconvenient. The past six years have done a number on my emotional state what with trying to raise a child, keep a business afloat, and wait for my husband's career to take off. Due to my work constraints, there hasn't always been time or money to drive or fly just for a visit. This does not mean I love them any less, it just makes it difficult to see them and I always end up having to over-explain my reasons while feeling guilty and frustrated. Here is where the situation gets sticky. My sister feels somewhere through the years I have wronged her. The time and distance have taken their toll. When trying to explain and explain myself, her old resentments continue to surface and I am always mud in her eyes. I have tried continually to skirt around her extreme sensitivity and firecracker temperament. For the past 20 years I have beat my head against a wall trying to find a common ground on which to communicate. If I offer advice I'm against her. If I ask questions about her career I'm not supportive and don't know what I'm talking about. If I disagree with any one thing she says I am met with the stinkeye and cold shoulder. I can't tease or joke like I do with in-laws or friends because again, I'm against her. The tantrums over the years have made me feel cold and distant and hesitant to be in her company. I try to live life simply and enjoy the small things without the drama that takes over one's younger years. There is nothing simple or small about my sister. She is intense, hard working, complicated, quick to explode yet extremely loyal and loving to friends and family. Somewhere in there one would think we could work this out. I long for her to be a part of my life, of her nephew's life. I am tired, oh so tired of being the only one liable for the strife in our relationship. Today I asked her why I am always to blame. She didn't think her behavior warranted any reflection. Here lies the big problem. As stated above, it takes 2 to tango. I have prayed that someday my sister would wake up and realize I am not the blue-eyed monster she makes me out to be. I have prayed her insecurities would not play such a big role in our relationship. Unanswered, my prayers fall on deaf ears and nothing changes. Because of this I am letting go. I cannot continue this relationship this way anymore. I love her, will always love her, but the constant drama and tears is exhausting. I'm numb. My words in this post will only anger her more yet I too feel wronged, jipped out of a bond that I've never known. Maybe someday....Good afternoon world.

haircut

Well, it is that time of year again or as one mom put it, "the most wonderful time of the year!" This is the time of year when our dear little charges dressed in their brand new clothes with their brand new giant backpacks reminiscent of turtle shells wave good-bye to their parents and head into those hallowed halls otherwise known as freedom, er, I mean school. This is the time of year when I can barely contain my tears as we near the red brick building. This year will be no different. This year we finally enter kindergarten! We are moovin' on up to the second floor. After an extra year of pre-k, my son is graduating to real school. He is ready. We are ready. This time of year is always bittersweet for me. I dread the end of summer. I nearly cry when the pool closes only to be drained and remain a bleak empty concrete hole for nine months. The light changes. Days shorten and leaves fall. Winds pick up and my beloved lake will turn gray and frosty. I hold on to summer until I'm too cold and chicken to venture out on my frosty lake with board in tow. But we are not there yet. It is still warm with plenty of sun and paddleboard time left. With my son joined to my hip at every waking moment this summer, I am looking forward to a little me time. Those few glorious hours I don't have to worry about child care and can race off to run or paddle or treasure hunt for the shop. Whatever I want! My personal freedom. Don't get me wrong, I love my child more then life, but this summer has been challenging. Age 5 was tough. The constant arguments over getting dressed, getting a bath, getting in the car, getting his hair brushed, etc. etc. Fiercely independent and taking no prisoners. No being the operative word. The main word of his vocabulary. He wields that word like a finely sharpened saber aiming at me every chance he gets. Even now as I write I am interrupted by a thud and a "don't come down here", yeah right, like that's going to happen. As I trudge down the steps I find him climbing out the window seeking his independence. Lord, all mighty this little big man is going to put me in my grave. Boys. Never take your eye off them. As you can see, I'm ready. Ready for someone else to take over for a little while. Time for Catholic school. Time for conformity at it's finest. My husband and I have our reasons why our son will spend his school career dressed in uniform and playing by different rules. Rules that even at our age would have trouble abiding, being fiercely independent and strong willed ourselves. This was my husband's path and so it will be our son's. Free spirits don't like rules yet such is life, play the game. The hardest part of this whole business is not the uniform or the religion, but the haircut. This I hate. Who cares how long your hair is? The Catholics care so therefore we cut. After almost 6 years of long blond surfer tresses the hair had to go. I was dreading this moment. His hair was his personality. Wild and defiant yet beautiful. I was fearful if the hair went so would that spark that defines him. I likened it to Sampson. At that my mother-in-law scoffed at me and said if I made it a big deal so would he. Well, I have to give credit where it's due because she was right. As my girlfriend prepared to cut and my son peered at me from under his locks with those steely blue eyes, I held it together. If he saw me upset it would only go to Hell in a hand basket from there. For an hour my brave child held still while my friend razored and snipped and snipped and snipped. When at last his face emerged and I saw the brilliant smile as he flipped back what was left of the front, I saw a boy. My baby was gone and I was left with this tiny version of my husband. At that moment the tears came. He flung the smock to the floor, stood taller and flashed me my husband's grin as he went about his six year old business. Hugging my friend, my anxiety gone, I realized he was ready to fly and I was the one holding him back. Growing up is hard, especially for this mom. So freedom, I mean kindergarten, here we come! Good evening world.

gay

No, I'm not coming out. I'm quite happy in my heterosexual lifestyle. Homosexuality is not normally a subject I would even try to conquer. I mean really, I'm a straight white girl. What could I possibly know on the subject or even hope to offer? I do know that with all the beautiful things happening in my city by the lake, maybe a straight white girl perspective can be heard. As a child of the eighties it was a traditional, conventional, Republican world in which I lived. My neighborhood, white middle class. I had not a clue about love between same sexes. I remember the movie Making Love coming out and my father snorting and walking away from the television. I had no idea why he was discontent and all I could think about was how cute Michael Ontkean and Harry Hamlin were. I was not allowed to see the movie, it was quite forward for that time. In fact, to this day, I don't think I've ever seen it. I remember the commercial previews and seeing the men kiss on my small screen. What I do remember most vividly is seeing the kiss and thinking hey, this is new, so raging were my hormones. The lack of any other reaction to TWO MEN KISSING was apparently foretelling. All I could muster was a hmm. A few years later or maybe the same year, I was infatuated with vampires. At the time The Hunger was the big thing. Watching the love/sex/blood exchange scene between Catherine Deneuve and Susan Sarandon, I was again left with that hmm what is this feeling. To me it was sex, but different. It didn't strike me as weird that it was TWO GIRLS KISSING. At that age hormones weren't picky, they just liked sex scenes, much in the same way I would sneak the teen sex movies when my dad wasn't looking or seek out the sex scenes in my grandmother's hidden Harlequin Romance stash. Okay so now I've painted this picture of a sex crazed teen girl, but hey we've all been there. That innocent, not really innocent lusting after sex or whatever came close without going all the way. Through my years at Kent State I had brushes with gay people, but still pretty clueless and naive on the whole matter. I hate using the words "gay people" because I feel it places the men and women in a category that sounds distasteful or calls more attention to the situation. I suppose it's the same with "straight people" making us sound all high and mighty or something other than just what it is, a label for a grouping. It is hard to know just what is a politically correct way of addressing this group, so quickly we offend these days. I tend to just call them my friends. No differentiating there, I could be talking about anyone. It wasn't until I entered the restaurant business where I became fully schooled on all matters gay. So many different personalities and walks of life came through those doors and I don't mean the customers. Working so close, side by side, in a fast paced environment, there was no time to give any thought to sexuality. Nobody cared. The only thing that mattered was getting through the shift, counting your money, and running for your cocktail. Restaurant people tend to hang with each other every night after work. There is that we just went through Hell camaraderie that bonds you together and goes hand in hand with flowing drinks. So gay or straight we were all one, all in the same boat, enjoying our late night libations after hours of hard work. In short, it didn't matter to me. If you were cool I liked you. I never cared with what sex you coupled. Sooo many years later I am out of the restaurant business. I have a child now and married the cook in the kitchen. He is now a teacher and we live a normal nuclear life. Having just returned from vacation, the first one without any of my boys around us, I reflect upon past years and the company we've kept. One year my husband was surrounded by three men, our child, and myself. He just shrugged his shoulders and loved that the living room got vacuumed. I opened another bottle of wine and Sully loved having all these men to play with. So many "uncles". I can't describe the joy I feel knowing in my house, whether home or on vacation, this child will know no lines, no bias. This is a new world in which we're living. It will be fought with hatred. At the risk of sounding preachy, I do believe that love is love and this is what will keep us moving forward. The display of love Cleveland has provided recently has me near tears. Such a big step so long in the making. So cheers to you friends because gay or straight there is no difference. Good afternoon world.

re-entry

There is something to be said for a vacation that renews your senses and erases all your daily anxieties. Every year at this time, we throw suitcases in the car and race like bats out of Hell to make the trek to "our" beach house down south. We don't really own it, though I wish we did. For one glorious week every summer we pay the steep rent to live on the beach and escape reality. If you've been paying attention to past posts you will notice I've written a few times on this subject. In fact, four years ago yesterday, this little writing adventure of mine was launched. It is never easy leaving the sun, sand, and surf. This year was no exception. The car was packed to near bursting as we stuffed luggage, toys, towels, my son, my friend, her dog, and my husband and I into our vehicle. Leaving just a little porthole out the back window we pushed off at 9:00 p.m. and drove overnight to reach our serenity. The week was filled with the usual sun bathing, wave riding, vodka lemonades, piles and piles of fresh shrimp, and most important good friends. As a new widow, my friend used the time to heal, read, and get a good tan. We talked, we cried, we ate and drank. The next day we would do it all over again. Nightly trips to the grocery and shrimp shop were the only interaction with other humans with the exception of a marsh exploring 4 hour paddle board trip. Actually, there wasn't much human interaction there either, just the three of us, the water and a few sting rays. What lurked under the surface was best not thought of, let's just say it was motivation to not fall. As we departed in the pouring rain on Saturday, I took one last look at my beach and the usual sappy tears fell from my baby blues. If only... Well, we are back and so is reality. No human interaction for a week makes one all freaky feeling when faced with daily human activity. Coming home to the problems with my trashy neighbors had my anxiety right back staring me in the face. The wafting smell of eau de dog shit has me unable to sit on my front porch. Yesterday I found the idiots walking around MY backyard searching for their errant feline. I'm sorry, but you are trespassing on my fenced- in property and I'm sure your parole officer wouldn't like to hear that. Home is a place of respite. It's where our heart is and all those cliches. I am tired of feeling nervous when I return to my respite. Here's where I insert the big sigh. Like I said, leaving the beach is hard, but so is re-entry, a term my mother-in-law coined to describe that helpless wandering just back from the best vacation ever feeling. Re-entry is the reason I started this blog and am still writing to you lovelies. On a more positive note, yes the neighbors are awful. Is it forever? I highly doubt it. Bad neighbors are like gypsies and soon enough they will find another sucker landlord and destroy that rental and so on and so on. All the appropriate authorities have been notified so I am no longer alone in my quest to move them on out. It is also still summer which means more pool/lake-filled days until school starts. Birthdays, kindergarten(finally!) and a new career for my favorite man take us right into autumn. It has been a long hard road to get to this point and now that we are here, life is too good to let it be spoiled by a situation that is temporary. I will view it as balance and then run for my paddle board or my computer where I can release all my worries. A new phase of our life is about to begin and I am excited for the next ride because life is always an adventure and there is always the beach to go home to. Good evening world.

swim lessons

Shimmery turquoise water beckons. Red-suited young adults with teen swagger gather in a group for tonight's instructions. The pool manager with the tiny voice attempts to yell directions at clusters of confused parents and wiggly children. So begins each evening of my five year old's swim lessons. Finding his group, my little man proceeds to cannonball off the side, ready to begin. As he resurfaces, his long hair slicked back from his face, he joins the other bobbing heads clinging to the wall. From my perch on the sun-warmed concrete I can only see said heads as they dip under the water's surface only to reappear sputtering water and wiping their noses. Their arms, not quite coordinated yet, flail in circles as they practice over arm techniques. Clinging to half-sunk kick boards they attempt to push their way across the pool. Lifeguards continue to call out directions while corralling stray children back to their group, not unlike herding a bunch of loose cats. As the lesson progresses I continue to hear my child's name over and over. Looking up from my book I see the look of surprise on my child's face as he realizes(again) he is at swim lessons and needs to listen to his instructors. Welcome to my world I want to say to these exasperated, water-logged, been in the sun all day teenagers. Enjoying my freedom on the pool deck I am able to have one solid hour of uninterrupted reading time. Peering over my pages every so often to view my child's progress I am filled with a burst of pride for this free-spirited, independent child who has fallen head over heels in love with the water. Now for some parents this may cause a bit of apprehension, but for this water baby I am thrilled! When summer arrives I spend every possible moment in or around water. It calls to me. I feel hot and dry and cranky until I get to water. Nothing quenches my soul like the cool blue. It erases all my anxieties and as I slip under the surface or jump into the lake, I am free. This I am happy to pass along to my little one. He is my summer buddy, my partner in crime when it comes to all things aquatic. Trying to coerce my husband to join us at the pool is like dragging an anvil yet this child of ours yells with glee and runs for his bathing suit. In a few short weeks we will be at the ocean. Together we will run and jump into the salty spray. Dodging waves I will grab his hand, never to let go as we are knocked over by their force and spit back out again. I will look at my little man and be happy in my heart that no matter what lies ahead or how many disagreements we have about getting dressed or picking up toys, this water thing, our thing, is just between me and my summer love. Goodnight world.

road trip

Well, here we are almost July. Winter finally freed it's stranglehold and everywhere is green, green, and more green. The sun is warm and the air smells like the Linden trees that line my hometown streets, sweet and intoxicating. Hello summer. Life has settled into it's summer groove. Lazy mornings with my coffee in bed, afternoons at the pool or work, and any opportunity taken to jump on my paddle board and hit the lake. June started in a wave of sadness as a few of my friends suffered some of life's challenges. Happy to not be crying or sad I figured some light reading was on the agenda for you faithful followers. As it so often happens, opportunity knocked during one of those times and my best friend and I found ourselves spontaneously en route to Florida to see our friend. Funny thing about spontaneity, when you're younger it's easy to drop everything and just go. As you get older and kids, spouses, and jobs come into play, it's more difficult to fly like the wind. Well, fly we did, er drive I mean. After an anxiety driven week, we dropped our children with their grammies, left the men to their work and hit the road Thelma and Louise style, you know minus the guns and cliff dive. It had been a very long time since my friend and I traveled together and two very big personalities on an 18 hour drive could be difficult. Could be, but it wasn't. We were champs! Driving and singing and car dancing and a very impromptu stop in Savannah, Georgia did our souls the world of good. Stops for junk food, coffee, smokes and one very off the beaten path gas station saw roads less traveled. After the final few harrowing hours on Florida's fine I75 which left my knuckles in a white death grip, we arrived at our destination and were welcomed with ice cold slushy margaritas and many hugs and kisses. Passing out by 11 we were up early the next morning chasing nature. Determined to get one Florida paddle board excursion in while we were there, we drove an hour and a half north to partake in a paddle ecotour which had us paddling with manatees(well, one), dolphins(one again), and one large know-it-all jackass who promptly ran his kayak into the mangroves leaving his large mass flailing in the water. Sometimes karma is so beautiful. After paddling, lunch,and a long swim in the Gulf, we met new friends for drinks at the marina then home to our friend. Pina coladas and sunburn on the beach the next day. Rainy Tuesday spent reading, talking, and watching the ibis parade across the yards searching for snails. Drunken, rainy boat ride complete with many dolphins on Wednesday and more beach, shopping, and sightseeing on Thursday. Ending our week with a sushi feast, we were relaxed and ready to come home. After dispensing of the critters camped in my open suitcase, we were packed to go. Trying not to cry, we said goodbye to our sleepy friend, waved at our little mango house and hit the road. After a little adjustment time it was right back to work, jumping in with both feet. Now as I sit on my porch writing I am dreaming of our trip all over again. Florida sits in my soul like a gift waiting to be unwrapped. I dream of the palm trees, the dock on the canal where I drank my coffee every morning, the beach. I miss the Florida smells, the food, the wildlife, but most of all I miss my friend. I hope to make it down again next year, showing my little man all the Sunshine State has to offer. For now, I am happy in the Cle because it is summer and we don't grow our bugs that big. Good morning world.

sorrow

Yesterday my husband and I attended the saddest, most heart wrenching yet beautiful memorial service. A service that left even my one and only sobbing next to me. Death is never easy and lately there has been a lot of it. I, personally, am sick to death of death. I am sick of crying. I am sick for my friend who is a widow at 43. I am sick that my friends next door are gone. I am sick of the sadness that has surrounded me lately. The sorrow that is too overwhelming and left me in bed with a migraine that took 24 hours to subside. I hate that my heart feels too much for these friends that, though not blood, are my family. When I moved to Cleveland in 1994 all I had was a truck of old stuff and a boyfriend that refused to work. When I arrived, my beautiful east side apartment was infested with roaches. Probably would have been good to know before I trucked all my crap to a strange city. None of this held any strong promise for a burgeoning new life. Still I kept at it. I wasn't giving up because I was not going back to the Steel City, no way, no how. After finding a new clean place on the west side I was able to focus on my new job. Now mind you, this was not a career. I didn't move to start any big plans, just see how things went. I transferred restaurant jobs and by the end of my  first day, this wild haired, freckly faced girl and I were fast friends. Realizing that my mess of a relationship was on the down slide, she and I were joined at the hip. Racing from one side of Cleveland to the other. Sleepovers like teenagers. Sunday dinners at her big old house where one could hear the ice clinking in the other room during cocktail hour and her mom made the best beef stroganoff. St. Patty's Day parades with pints and pints of Guinness and her brother yelling "Mr. Sweeney" every 5 minutes because, you know, someone is going to wave back. Ironically, it was probably my future father-in-law. So many memories, so many years. Twenty years I just realized today. Through those years we weren't so joined at the hip because life always intervenes and time gets away from you. But through those years we have stayed the closest of friends knowing one merely has to pick up the phone to reconnect. Now this man whom she loved more than life is gone. My heart breaks for my friend and if I could whisk her back in time to start again, I know she'd do the same all over. They talked yesterday about how adventurous he was, biking all over the world, doing this, doing that yet my friend claimed she was less so. Here's where I have to disagree. Through the years I have known her to take numerous trips abroad, climb mountains in Peru or Chile, one of those mountain places, live in China for 3 months, go back to school, change careers, run races, sail, the list goes on. Adventurous she is, along with brave and strong. She's never run from challenges even when they were too hard for most to handle. Because of this I know she will be okay. When her heart frees itself of the sorrow, she can go on because there are always new challenges and new adventures and she knows I'm only a phone call away. Good night world.

end of an era

Funny how life changes in an instant. This is always the thought when someone dies suddenly. Long illness or cancer you expect death and I suppose as one gets up in years you expect it more, but we're never ready. Going about my day with my five year old in tow, it was a pleasant hump day. Good sales, happy customers, happy child make a good day. Then the news comes. That hangdog look upon my neighbor's face that told me instantly what I already knew. How can this be? Two within two months. You hear of this happening with old married couples, but a couple of barbers? To me these were not just any old barbers. They had worked side by side for almost fifty years. They were family to each other. They took family trips to Cedar Point. Their kids grew up side by side in the barbershop. They had been together through love, marriage, kids, divorce, death. These men were old school Italian tough guys with hearts of gold and mouths like sailors. They couldn't have been more different yet were so much alike. Years together will do that. Today Paul left us. A sudden collapse this morning and by afternoon he was gone. Paul started the barbershop and recently celebrated fifty years. It was a surprise party complete with pasta, meatballs, and our local mayor. The vino flowed and in a flashbulb moment my barber and I were captured in a photograph. A photograph that sits beside my desk. Happier times caught on film. After Joe's death I found it hard to enter the barbershop. I couldn't walk by his chair. Paul knew this. Recently he walked in leaving a trail of tiny hairs in his wake. He said I had been on his mind. This was hard for Paul. He wasn't one to let emotion define his persona. He was cool as a cucumber. Classy like an old film star. Paul was who I turned to when life was too much. He listened without saying a word, without judgement. He would give me no bullshit advice that soothed my worried soul. He was peaceful. He made me feel peaceful. Where Joe was loud, Paul was quiet. Even as my child raced through the shop wreaking holy havoc all over the place, Paul remained quiet as he slipped wild child dollar bills. Unflappable. He had been there done that. He traded a wild youth for the love of his life, family, and his barbershop. Devout Catholic. Florida in January. Simple life, what we all strive to achieve. Ten years I had the honor of being their neighbor. I knew this day would come, feared this day would come. Now that they're gone I feel empty, my heart too heavy for words. There will be no more conversations. No more appreciative looks at my backside. No more stories of younger days. No more Saturday pizza or bad coffee. My guardians are gone. The barbershop is dark. I don't know the fate of this iconic local institution, but I'm sure the young barber will take good care of the place. Either way it is the end of an era. Paul, just like Joe, you hold a special place in my heart. I love you and will miss you. Good night world.

parents: part two

Honest to God, there needs to be a manual on how to deal with one's parents once you hit middle age. Nothing I hate more than that moniker, middle age, yuck. Life is so tricky and complicated at this age. There are so many concerns, children, jobs, parents. I realize these are concerns at any age but at 43 you realize there is an urgency to life that wasn't there before. Before, your whole life stretched out in front of you. Now you hear the clock ticking. With that said, I try to keep the life drama to a minimum. This is hard for an emotional person. It is even harder with an emotional mother. Today was a tough one. Today ended with me feeling beat up, stepped on and just plain low. The kicker is, I didn't start the day feeling this way hence why I'm so angry. Today started with a lovely lazy morning watching my favorite bickering ladies of New York City. I've stated before how much better life looks after watching these crazy housewives. Who can blame them though? A bunch of women thrown together and expected to play nice with one another. Ha! Like that always happens? Anyways, I digress. This is what happens when I'm too emotional, my thoughts wander like a toddler in a department store. I mentioned before my mother is like a hurricane and when that wind whips up, watch out because you are in the eye of the storm my friend. Today I was in the eye. My mother particularly hates when she thinks I'm defending my father. So silly. I love them both equally yet am always having to prove my love to my mother. This makes me beyond crazy. I don't understand this weird jealousy or competition that exists only in her head. They say divorce does strange things to people and I believe that, Amen! No good ever comes out of arguing on the phone, but when one is two hours away this happens. After trying to break through the assault on my ear drums I was left with only dead air. Really?!!! She hung up, again. Come on, aren't we adults here? Ahhh, there lies the rub. This is where the tides turn. Role reversal. One hears of it happening yet it's not until you are smack dab in the middle of it when you realize it's happening now. I suppose part of the problem relating to one's parents at this age is exactly that. The relating. After years of being the child, you grow up and become an adult. This is what every parent wants for their child, to pave the way so they can grow up and live separate from the warm safe womb. I believe this is where the switch begins, when there is nothing left to parent. I imagine a feeling of desperation takes hold. A need to be wanted. A fear of being left behind now that their job is over. This is when a parent needs to understand that their job is never over, it has just changed. A natural course of action for a natural progression of life. For some this is difficult and they hold too tight to old habits. Scolding their adult child for talking back or smoking a cigarette or saying fuck. Yes, I believe in respecting my elders, but if I want to say the F word it is my right as an adult. Same goes for smoking or decisions I make concerning my child. They may not always be the right choices, but they are my choices as a mother and should be respected. I also have opinions. Fierce strong liberal opinions that don't always fly with my conservative father. This too is okay because I was raised to have my own mind and be an independent thinker. All this gets forgotten when the parent is facing their adult child. Supposed unconditional love that suddenly has all these conditions. This is where that manual would come in handy. I could flip to a chapter, see the magical answer and everything would be right in the world. Unfortunately it doesn't happen this way and here I sit frustrated and crying. Crying like the child I've been reduced to when faced with my mother's wrath. 43 freakin' years old and upset because mommy got mad. For the love of God, could this be more ridiculous? Well I haven't found any magical answers and this too shall pass, but in the meantime it sure was nice dear readers, borrowing your ears for a little while. Someone to listen is really all we ever need. Good night world.

parents: part one

Our parents always said, "Just wait until you have kids!" Well now I have a child and finally I am able to  understand what they were talking about all these years. Child rearing is not easy, not one little bit. If you have been keeping up with this little blog of mine then you have read my trials and tribulations with our wild child. Raising him in my shop was not easy and there were times I was not proud of my behavior. I was not always patient and kind and soft-spoken. Our lives were hectic and unstable and the economy had crashed. My husband and I were working two jobs, raising our first child, and dealing with disappointment after disappointment when job interviews fell through. Working in a restaurant was not ideal either for it was a late night lifestyle with an early morning riser. We were shell-shocked and bleary-eyed and thought WTF did we do?! Through the past five years we have quit the restaurant job, accepted, very begrudgingly, the economic state of our country, and realized that just having a job is good enough for now. We are happy, healthy, and oh, this child. This child, my 5 year old going on 15 is the best thing to happen to us. He makes us want to be better, nicer, and more patient. I now know what it feels like to unselfishly give to another. Please, don't get me wrong, there are still times when I want the last cookie or I want to buy myself something new instead of another new Lego kit, but watching the little man's joy over his Legos warms my heart. His joy is so bountiful, so honest. As I raise my son I reflect on my childhood and my parents. Family vacations in the car with the fat basset hound and car sick mother. My father especially loved the puking pit stops he'd have to make. To this day that white church at the beach is forever known as "where mom puked". Fighting with my sister over everything. Listening to my parents bicker, my mother all hurricane fury and my father retreating to his office to escape. Christmas Eve traditions with Nat King Cole and finger food. My mother loves finger food. Friday night pizza. Baseball games with my father. Woody Allen movies where my father would giggle and my mother declaring the actor an ass. Listening to her roar with laughter over Peter Seller's Pink Panther movies. My sister and I every Christmas declaring a truce to sleep in her bed and wait for Santa. Now, my parents are divorced. Two people who loved each other madly yet were oil and water when mixed. All that bickering couldn't keep them together. As I think about their marriage and my marriage I can't help but see similarities. My husband and I are complete opposites. I am the hurricane fury like my mother and he is the calm one like my father. I have often wondered if our fate will be like theirs. I have often wondered if all my manic energy will deplete our love for each other. What I have realized, what makes ours different is that we keep trying. My parents would say they kept trying yet one gave up and the other had no choice. Life works like that sometimes. I love my husband implicitly and have learned through thick and thin, don't give up, for he is the only one for me. Yes, my child's memories will hold flashes of bickering and yelling yet he will also remember dada grabbing mama's butt in the kitchen or us holding hands or kissing in the ocean. There will be road trips to the beach with mama's recently acquired motion sickness and that almost incident on the tea cups at the carnival. There will be dogs and old Christmas carols and fancy finger food. Sports and movies and pizza, there's always pizza. As a parent you want to give your child everything and then some. There are good memories and there will also be bad memories, but they will be his memories. His memories to draw upon as he becomes an adult and starts his life separate from us. So to my son I give him my past, my present, and my future. May he always do the right thing with what he's given and may he never give up or forget to love. Good night world.

spring forward

Today I am writing from the shop. My trusty lap top perched on a mound of clutter lovingly referred to as my crap. Daily detritus like old coffee cups, receipts, cleaning supplies, and old junk that has yet to find a home surrounds my technology. My view south as I stare out my open front door is green-brown lawns almost devoid of snow, birds in the trees by the hospital, and everywhere people bustling about. The temperature today has soared to a balmy 57 degrees hence the open front door. Oh, but don't be fooled. It is not spring, nor is it even warm. The thermostat is still stuck on 70 blasting hot air throughout my 1000 square feet. The afghan with the price tag poking my neck is wrapped around my freezing shoulders. What this is, is hope. Hope that whatever chokehold winter has on this city by the lake, she will eventually release her evil grasp. Now as I stated in my most recent posts, I have enjoyed this winter. I did not even mind the polar vortex/snowpocalypse, whatever we were calling that little bit of nastiness. I refused to complain, not only because plenty of others were already doing it for me but if I gave in, then winter would get the best of me. Coming off a tenuous few months of financial fuckdom, my nerves were a bit raw. After Christmas worked it's merry magic and life returned to normal I couldn't allow myself to sink into any kind of despair such as the winter blues. For once in my life positive thinking worked to my advantage. I took one day at a time, didn't complain, and just made the best of it. Nature will always have her way so it's best just to succumb or move. But we survived. We made it through the worst of the worst. All those temperate winters were just teases. Stored up big snowy loads. Then this winter all Hell broke loose and now it's over, well, almost. Weather reports screaming of more. WTF? More snow, ice, and rain. Yay! That's a fun mix. Well, I guess I say "bring it". Let's get it all out of the way. Let's get this winter business done and over with once and for all. My lilac buds will persevere. As for my little frozen fish, I have my doubts, but soon, yes soon we will peel back the cover and be able to find out. It is always hardest to remain patient when one is so close to achievement and my patience is about run out! So let us dream of thawed lakes and front porch drinks. Fired-up grills and summer vacations. Flip flops and sandy toes. Let us fling open our front doors and stop and smell the hyacinths because believe it or not winter does not last forever and Cleveland, together we are about to spring forward. Good afternoon world.

saying goodbye

Today was a tough day and I'm not talking about the migraine that took root in my right temple. No, today I had to say goodbye to an old friend. Saying goodbye to people who have become part of your life is never easy whether they move away or cease to exist. Over the years I have said goodbye to work friends who were like crazy dysfunctional family members and I loved them just the same. I have lost friends to sunnier locations due to heartbreak and a restless need to leave it behind and start over. I have even said goodbye to friends who have just drifted in other directions as so many friendships tend to do. This friend I lost due to his heart's inability to keep on ticking. My friend was 73 years old and over the years he had become my confidante, my protector, "uncle" to my child, neighbor, and simply my friend. He was always there when I unlocked my door at the shop, well except for Wednesdays. On those days he golfed. He had a twinkle in his eye and a big booming voice that sounded like gravel on concrete. Over the 10 years we got to know each other we shared countless conversations over styrofoam cups of bad coffee.We talked cars and politics and women and men and relationships and kids and family. He loved his family fiercely and was so proud of his kids. He brought me bags of homemade pepper cookies pilfered from his 97 year old mother. He brought souvenirs for my wild child from his many pilgrimages to the land of Mickey Mouse. He rode roller coasters like a 10 year old and probably screamed just as loud. Being a barber he was the only one to keep my child calm as he combed out knotted dreadlocks with promises of candy from the jar next to the cash register. He was my favorite dirty old man. I would walk in and sit in his lap and give him big kisses just to hear him laugh and call me sweetheart in that throaty voice of his. Whether I saw him everyday or not, it was a comfort just knowing he was on the other side of my wall. Now he is gone and just like his empty barber chair my heart feels strange and empty as well. I will give it to the Catholics, they certainly know how to send one on his eternal way. The old school Italian church with it's beautiful old statuary, confessionals and candles granted me peace the moment I stepped inside. The ripe musky scent of incense as the sun poured through the peacock bright stained-glass windows during the strains of Ava Maria was just too overwhelming and there I sat sobbing like a child. I am not an overtly religious person preferring instead to keep my faith internal, but in this church there was God and he was there to welcome my friend. Even the priest was powerless against this beauty as his voice broke over and over while he said mass for this special person. Rounding it all out with a military flag folding ceremony and the sound of Taps playing in the background was a fitting ending for such a wonderful man. A man who loved life, too much perhaps, for in the end it all caught up with him and now he's gone. Oh sure, over time my heart will heal but the barbershop is different now. The empty chair a reminder of what was. I love you Joe, rest in peace. Goodnight world.

snow day

Awaking at three a.m. to the sound of soft padding feet descending our stairs had me in a coma-like confused state. Our mixed-up midnight rambler thought it was time to start his day. Oh no. It's time to get back in bed like the rest of us. Claiming he couldn't sleep I retrieved extra blankets and crawled in next to the little man tucking his warm fleecy body against mine while the wind howled outside his window. Cozy in his single bed, my last thought before I drifted off was please no school. The thought of having to get up in the cold, wrestle with winter clothes, fight the snow, avoid the crazy parent drivers was not quite appealing at this hour. At about 5:30 a.m. my husband poked his head in the room to announce no school today. Ahhh, yes, I can go back to sleep. Lazy morning. At seven a.m. my husband got his alert that school was cancelled. Ok, here we go, yet another snow day. This winter has been heavy on not only snow but family time due to the snow. Being spoiled the past few years by extremely temperate winters, we are not used to this. I'll say this much, we're definitely a closer family this winter. Making the most of the situation is really all one can do to get through these long cold days. We have spent a LOT of time sledding, skating, playing games, baking, cooking. I have made countless cups of hot cocoa to go with popcorn and movies. We have traversed frozen ice waves on the lake and where the beach is supposed to be. Braving freezing winds just to get out of the house. Today will be no different. After another fresh 6 to 10 inches of snowfall last night we will be bundling up in snow pants and coats to fly down another snow covered hill. I should go to work, but really, who's going shopping in mounds of snow. Tomorrow I will open. Tomorrow this will all start to melt. Today I will spend the day with these beautiful boys of mine. We will sled and shovel grammy's driveway and make homemade pizza. There will be hot showers and early bedtime because tomorrow there will be school and although the week starts late, the next 3 days are busy ones. Today though, today is a snow day and since it is most likely the last one, we as a family will spend it joined at the hip. Because these cold days are numbered, age 5 doesn't last forever and there is Devil's Hill to conquer today. Good morning world.

forever young

I don't like getting older. Really, what woman does? How many women do you know that actually say "woohoo, I love my gray hair" or " these age lines really DO give me character". The Hell with that. I don't like my age lines especially the well-grooved two between my eyebrows. Oh sure they give them a fun little nickname, "the elevens". Who thought that up? Just dumb. Well my "elevens" just make me look like I'm mad at the world. Don't even get me started on sun damage. My mother always warned me to wear sun block and watch my face. Well mom, it's there and I love the sun and I love the water and I don't see that changing so I guess I move to the spf 50 this summer. I'll be protected like a red head at high noon. I've written about age before and how I refuse to let it affect me, but as you can see, it didn't work. Age affects you. It affects you every time you visit a doctor and hold your breath because you never had to worry about the scary stuff before. Watching your doctor clam up after seeing "something" on a computer screen, well that pretty much terrifies me. I don't like these forties. Sure I'm wiser, that's a given. You just know more as you get older. You know that the world will always need saving and there are bad people who do bad things to others, but somehow you manage to not let every single plight affect how you live your life. You know that trends come and go and everything repeats itself and each generation that repeats these trends thinks they're the first to do so. Life is funny. We all think we are so unique and different from everyone else when actually we're all the same. Yep, we may look different, act different, smell different, but we are all just human and that makes us all the same. We are born, we live, and we die. How we live is what matters. Throw that age number to the wind and just be yourself. I am 43. I don't feel 43. So what if I was probably the oldest person at Friday night skate. I can still race around the rink as well as the tweens, maybe better. So what if I spent an afternoon watching young angsty vampire movies. I like vampires. Always have, since I was in sixth grade. Only my vampire knowledge started with Catherine Deneuve and David Bowie in The Hunger, way before Anne Rice and Stephanie Meyer. Although I do have to say every time Twilight movies are on the world stops and I am rapt with attention and my husband rolls his eyes at me. "Sled boarding" down a homemade snow ramp is not something responsible adults do, but it sure was fun and my child loved seeing mama be an idiot. Signing up for SnapChat so I can make dumb videos with my twenty-something friends is just fun. My husband and I have spent most of our lives working with people half our age and for this I am thankful. It has helped us stay young at heart. It helps when middle-age life starts creeping in and the bills pile up and job concerns keep my eyes glued to the ceiling at night. It helps to know I can tie on my old roller skates from seventh grade and glide across that polished wood floor without a care in the world. As Alphaville proclaimed in the eighties, "Let us die young or let us live forever. We don't have the power but we never say never. Sitting in a sand pit, life is a short trip....forever young, I want to be...Goodnight world.

for better or for worse

So here I sit, curled up in bed while big fat snow flakes fall outside my window. The furnace hums along, the only sound besides my tapping of computer keys in this otherwise silent house. Ahhh, silence. How easily we take it for granted. This house has not heard such silence in a long time. I'm not going to lie to you, this has been one tough winter. No, I'm not talking about the weather. The past four months have been a never ending struggle of overwhelming responsibility that threatened to suck the life right out of me. This my friends is why my writing has been sparse. I started this blog as a means to vent my frustration with everyday life and the struggles we as a family face. I started this in the hopes that if someone could relate to our situation, even just once, then they would know they weren't alone. The entire country has suffered, is still suffering, and hope tends to fall short. My objective was to restore a little of that hope by writing what I know, my life, our life, kids, careers, and still this crappy economy. I suppose that's a good thing, the still crappy economy, otherwise I'd have to change the blog name. As therapeutic as my writing may be, it is still difficult at times to throw all your feelings and emotions into a media so public. These past four months have been wrought with feelings and emotions. They have been filled with knock-down drag out fights with my husband about our financial situation. Unemployment is downright freaking scary and in today's world we need 2 incomes to make a house, business, and family run properly. My husband is my soul mate, but this my friends, this has definitely been the for better or for worse part. It is extremely hard to look at someone you love more than anything on this earth and at the same time want to punch them in the face for creating the situation. One tiny bit of procrastination and I was living my worst nightmare. I suppose in that respect I'm lucky. Where most women worry about other women, I worry about procrastination and it's consequences. Four months of holding my breath so tight I thought I would choke. Four months of nasty bitterness and resentment directed at this soul mate of mine. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair yet I felt so hopeless, so full of despair, that I couldn't be any other way. My husband took my verbal blows like Muhammad Ali deflecting punches. He was still my rock through all the anger directed his way. He was still solid and kind and beautiful in his heart. He made me wish to be better, nicer, less angry. So much said in such a short time. So many doors slammed. So you see my friends, this kind of emotion is hard to talk about. This is the kind of stuff made for behind closed doors. This is the kind of stuff that also lets you know you are still not alone and we are all in this crazy shit together. Today, my husband went off to work and my child went off to school and life was normal again. Balance has been restored. I can finally see the forest through the trees and I will never give up on this life, this man who completes my sentences. For richer or for poorer this man, my husband, completes me. Good afternoon world, it's great to be back!

thankful

Well, it's that time of year again. That time of year when we are supposed to reflect on all the reasons we have to be thankful. Being thankful is a concept easier said than actually done. I believe we live in a selfish, more is more society. I would like to believe that idea is changing slowly and we are getting back to our roots and what really is important, but for the time being it is what it is. We are still so impressed with what others have and let our petty jealousies get in the way of actually accomplishing our own goals and learning to be grateful for that. One may wonder why they got the short end of the stick while that guy over there makes more money or has a car that never needs fixed or shops at the expensive grocery store instead of standing in line with people in their slippers. So caught up are we in other people's business we often overlook what is staring us smack in the face. I have to admit my material wants do not motivate me to do better. Yes, of course I wish I could shop at Anthropologie every week, but is it really important? When one has a family to support, do I really need $200 pants? As I have stated many a time over the past 2 years, the only thing I long for is good old stability. It is the ONLY goal I have not achieved. I live on this slippery slope of trying to juggle store, house, and family expenses. Groceries or inventory? Gas bills or new clothes for my growing like a weed child? Living like this for so long starts to drag you down. I start to feel like all the grousing I've done over our financial situation and my husband's employment status is becoming my persona. I'm starting to feel like the person at the grocery wearing their pajamas. As mentioned above, it's far easier to say you're thankful than to actually BE thankful. Today during one of our endless discussions my husband mentioned how far he's come in his career. This took me by surprise because in my head career advancement equates financial advancement. As he explained all the experience he's racked up over the few years, making him a better job candidate, I couldn't help but hate myself for my bitter and resentful feelings. This man knows how to be thankful. He understands that it's not always the big picture, but the steps one takes to get to the main event. I have a hard time being patient while he takes all these steps. I'm too focused on how tired I am from the stress of the bills and the weight of it all.  I'm the one that has to stop obsessing about what we DON'T have and start being thankful for all we DO have. So here goes, I am thankful for my life. In a nutshell that's it. I could have millions and not have my family. I could be working in a stuffy cubicle staring at someone's cankles while I daydream of better jobs. I could get model thin by not eating cheese, but how the Hell would I enjoy the pizza I love so much. Trite examples I know, but you get the message. We only get one life (that we know of) and it's up to us to figure out how to make this life that is happening right now the best it can possibly be. So look at your family, your dog, your cat, your house, apartment, car, bike, what have you and just be thankful. Be happy you are here. Goodnight world.

escape

October is quickly becoming another of my least favorite months, next to February that is. At least February is short unlike October's 31 days. The only saving grace of October is Halloween. Halloween with all its parties, costumes, scary movies, and of course trick or treating. Engulfed in all this escapism and revelry certainly takes my mind off the endless worries. My husband's career situation is enough to put me in the loony bin and with these frostier temperatures I am unable to jump on my board on a whim and let the lake take away my troubles. Oh sure I could head into the icy waters now, but the lake is a moody bitch and sometimes I just don't feel so brave staring into the churning wavy water. I'll leave that for the surfers. For now I have to find my escape elsewhere. As stated, Halloween is wonderful for all things that go bump in the night and I do love a classic scary movie. Give me Mike Myers or Damien any day. Jamie Lee Curtis turning around to find the creepy grown up kid in the hedges or the weird nanny jumping from the gables all for Damien give me a scary thrill. I have also reawakened my undying love for Stephen King plowing through three books in three weeks just to busy my troubled mind. I couldn't help but compare our government furlough situation to life Under the Dome and it's always nice to revisit the Overlook Hotel no matter what ghosties were left behind. Joyland is definitely a new favorite so enamored with the south am I. Who wouldn't love an old amusement park on the beach with a little murder thrown in? Escaping into costume and another persona was also fun for a night. My husband's sexy seventies Sonny Bono mustache had me catching my breath every time he looked my way. The handlebar toughness a surprising contrast to his more mild-mannered ways. Dressing our son as a policeman reminiscent of Reno 911 was also a welcome diversion. Watching him stay in serious character at his school festival had us holding our sides laughing, he is just so quirky. Halloween with the tiny cop and Grammy Diva should definitely be entertaining. It can't be Halloween every day so exercise is also another go-to for clearing my head. I have spent countless hours walking, running, swimming and now I've rediscovered the lovely benefits of spinning. Pounding out "hills" on a stationary bike while bass thumping music blasts into my head, sweat dripping, is quite the rush. This may just become my new obsession until warmer weather is bestowed. With all these lovely distractions, you may wonder how I find time to even worry, well let's just say I'm very familiar with three a.m. Three a.m. and I are going to be very good friends until my husband starts back to work and the holidays arrive with the hustle and bustle of Christmas profits. Until then I will open my new book, pour a margarita, and register for tomorrow night's spin class. Good evening world.

back in the saddle

Wow, a whole month without a post and what a whirlwind of a month it was! Vacation ended and school started along with my workload. Once I got the boss settled in class for the year, I than had two weeks to completely empty my store to prep for the remodel. After living with a dingy, sagging drop ceiling for nine years it finally began to fall and as promised my landlord ripped the whole ugly structure down and replaced with a nice new high plaster ceiling and a LOT of fluorescent lights. So many lights you could see my store from the moon. Emptying a store can be as hard as filling a space. After a few big sales my inventory was thankfully diminished and the last of it loaded on a giant truck to go to my flea market extravaganza. My garage stuffed full of my hoarding was also loaded onto the giant truck. Once my cohort and I arrived in the country it was more hauling of furniture, this time off the truck. Twenty-six feet packed full of vintage wares and than the rain started. Scurrying to get everything under the one assembled tent was challenging along with assembling the other large canopy. Being doused by another dealer's rain run off wasn't very enjoyable either. Five hours later the truck was empty, tents were up, and wine was opened with friends. Off to the motel, cheese and crackers for dinner and than up at the crack of dawn to start the next 3 days. Three days of buying, selling, wind and rain, airlifted tents, broken lamps, tying down hovering tent, and ninety degree heat. Now you wonder if it's such a pain in the ass, why do it? Because we have fun! Meeting new friends, making fun new contacts, afternoon cocktails with visiting friends, carny food, margaritas, lots of laughing and of course there is always dancing on Saturday night. Nothing like girlfriends having a good time. Well, after loading the truck back up with the remnants and new stuff on Sunday and heading back to Cleveland to empty and return truck, this chick was done. Exhausted. Three days of work, fun, and fattening food. I longed for my family and a home cooked meal. Since the store was still under construction I took advantage of the time and braved the waves of Lake Erie on my paddle board. By the fourth day the lake had calmed and I was able to take 2 blessed uninterrupted hours and clear my head. Once we got the go ahead it was back to the grind. My husband thankfully handled the mess left by the workers and I got to work painting furniture and Halloween window displays. More emptying of the garage, one day to set up and I was back open for business! Wow. Bleary eyed, I almost cried when it was all done, so relieved was I. Closing and opening a business all in 3 weeks is a Hell of a load and until you've moved all the merchandise and painted floors and walls and furniture and displays with a flea market 3 hours away thrown in for shits and  giggles and some fierce "surfing" for relaxation, oh and providing refreshments and taking care of a family, well it's just a lot. Fortunately I have a supportive husband and love my job because this little business is how I feed my family and take care of my bills. This 1000 square feet of vintage love that has become part of my soul and part of the community. A community that continues to support my "cause" and keep me in business. Time off is great, but boy is it nice to get back to normal and back in the saddle. Good night world.

freedom

Well here we go again. Another school year off and running. I swear I was just writing about the end of school, so quickly the summer flew. This year instead of moving on to kindergarten my young five year old is getting one more round of pre-k. Smart as a whip, he is like most boys, slow to mature. Spending the summer attached to my side has lead to a bit of separation anxiety when we get to class. He is not used to this new group of younger kids. Big and strong he towers over most. Tough yet sensitive his tears can break your heart in two. This is where I find myself today. As I peeked back in the classroom he was crying in his teacher's arms. Good Lord, did I really have to look back? By sheer force of will I walked myself out of that school with my heart breaking and promptly went to the park and walked off 5 miles of emotion. This is what I waited for all summer. My schedule, my own free time, freedom. Unfortunately my freedom is fraught with feelings of uncertainty. Not used to seeing such an independent child so clingy is disconcerting. I know it should make me feel more loved, more wanted, but it only causes emotional confusion. If you love them, set them free the saying goes and I know at the end of the day he will come back to me a little more secure in his surroundings. Each day will get easier, it IS only the first week of school. This became my mantra as I circled that park, quickly putting each mile behind me. Gazing at the lake I was again reminded that summer has not ended for this mom. Dreaming of my new sport and the next opportunity to get on the water brought a small smile to my face. By the end of my trek, my head was clear and I knew my child was in good hands. I knew the tears had stopped and he was busy helping and leading the smaller ones. So today I go off to my shop, alone, quiet, and somewhat peaceful. Tomorrow I can hunt for furniture or get on my paddle board or have coffee with my husband or get ready for the next big flea market. Whatever I do, I know my time belongs to me until that moment when the bell rings and he comes crashing into my arms and I am all his again. I love my freedom, but I love this sensitive rough and tumble child most of all. Good morning world.

surf's up

There is no traffic. There are no people. There is no noise except a gentle slap,slap,slap as water strikes the underside of my paddle board while I glide over what lies beneath. The sky is turquoise and the sun high and bright, sparkles like diamonds as it hits the water's surface. The water is cool and green and barely a ripple breaks the calm. This is my therapy. In fact after the initial cost it is cheaper than any therapist. One stop shop for a summer of inner peace. Trying to find ways to cope with daily life can get to be a grind. I can only run so much, write so much, bake so much, but when my feet hit that board I am complete. I've never been a sporty person. I've never owned any kind of equipment so used to renting if I felt the need to release the inner jock. Fact of the matter, money and space constraints put a damper on having my own gear. This was different. I suppose I was hooked after the challenge of trying to get back to land after a sudden wind nearly swept my friend and I off to Canada(see 2 posts ago). Strange way to start my watery affair. After my third attempt in much calmer water I announced to my husband I was buying a board. He gave me that look that close friends and coworkers know all too well. That look that lets me know when he thinks I'm loony. My husband is all earth and matter of fact and one would think he'd be used to his wife's flights of fancy by now. First question out of his mouth mentioned the money. Yeah, yeah, whatev. I know it's expensive. I also know I will probably never have a boat or even my own pool, but this, this was doable. So I took some of that big money(well, big for us) he earned this summer and bought myself 12 feet of aqua and white fiberglass complete with leash, paddle, and pfd. I had the front of the board strung for stowing light cargo and a friend hooked me up with a waterproof cell phone case. Good to go. The minute I had the board in my possession I was off and running, well paddling. Meeting up with wild woman for a sunset paddle an hour after I had my board was positively magical. Repeating the same evening on my birthday a few days later was breathtaking. The water was glassy and the sun was a giant fiery ball of orange as it slipped behind the cliff while our 3 silhouettes paddled in to the beach. Now all this talk of cool calm water is great, but lest we forget this is Lake Erie we're talking about, the most shallow of the Great Lakes. Lake Erie can turn on a dime and I have spent a few hours in some choppy, wavy water. Crazy as it sounds, I enjoy this just as much as the stillness. I suppose I am a closet adrenaline junkie because when I "surfed" my first "big" wave I think I actually did a fist pump and I don't do that. That feeling of power and control over the water while being able to stay on my board was intoxicating! So dear readers, now you know why I've been away from my computer for so long. My love affair with my paddle board and that lake has taken over like the colder temps are about to take over our fair city. I am holding out though. Summer is not over until the lake tells me so. Good night world.

beach house

It is not a fancy house. It is not a big house. There is no swimming pool or brightly hued exterior. The furniture is knotty pine 1970's discards mixed with Miami Vice era white formica. The shower and tubs are the same harvest gold insert they've been for at least 25 years. The stove is still electric and the dishwasher was only added in the last few years. The old wood desk has sat by the side door manning the entrance for as long as I can remember. In fact the whole place has that feel of abandoned college dorm furniture meets summer rental. What does set this beige sided structure apart from say the bright orange monstrosity down the road is the fact that it sits on stilts in the middle of a sand dune facing the Atlantic Ocean. Climbing the steps to the porch one is smacked in the face with the view of sea, sand, and surf. The kudzu creeps through the sand while the sea oats wave in the salty wind. The weathered dock leading to paradise is old, creaky, and very splintery. The meeting place in the middle still holds memories from past margarita nights. This house, this special place has been my home away from home for 27 years. Every August I have made the trek to this beach, my beach to restore my senses or lose sight of them depending on the company. I do not own the house, in fact that honor belongs to Carol in Boca, but for one week a year it is mine. My respite. My getaway from normal life, stress, what have you. The house has hosted many a family member, friend, dog, even a shot gun bride. It has withstood countless hurricanes and heat spells. It has remained in the same hands through death and in my hands even through my parent's divorce. Like the ocean claiming the beach, I claim this house. I will not let go. I will work my tail off in order to pay the steep weekly rate. All worth it for this little slice of time where I can let go, not shower, eat shrimp until I'm sick, read for hours and best of all share it with my little family and the friends I love. The memories this house has cultivated over the years is what stays with me and brings us back each summer. Laughter and love all lulled by the sound of crashing waves. Salt air mixed with the briny scent of the ocean floods the senses as soon as we open the car doors. Shaking off the midwest pace and slowing down to a southern crawl rejuvenates my soul and I am loathe to leave. Alas the end approaches and I feel my gears starting to wind up again. I am sunburned, sandy, and hair like straw, but I am happy. I have spent the week with people I love and my heart is full again. Best of all, I know this modest cottage will be waiting for me in exactly 365 days when I can reclaim it as mine if only for a short time. Good afternoon world.

One wet summer

Let me just preface this post dear readers with a great big apology for my absence. I cannot believe it has been 2 months since I sat down to write about my crazy world. Well, settle in because this may take a bit for we have a lot of catching up to do! Summer certainly has washed by in one big torrential wave. Honestly, I do not like to complain about weather matters in the rust belt, but this never ending tumultuous gray sky and daily downpour are starting to make me a bit goofy. Ok, enough about the weather. For me summer never kicks off until I go to my annual flea market in southern Ohio. This year I changed my tune and instead of adding to my hoarding I decided to boost our income and sell my vintage wares. Grabbing a girlfriend I barely knew we headed south in our 20 foot "rig" to spend 4 packed days together. Let me tell you, I have never worked so hard and had so much fun! My small bout with bronchitis that had me coughing like a coal miner miraculously ended in time for me to get down and dirty. Hauling furniture, standing on my feet for hours at a time, talking to hundreds of people, assembling endless displays over and over as my merchandise disappeared at a fast rate all ending with a giant cocktail(or 2 or 3) with my other wild girlfriend. Collapsing into bed in our run down room at night only to do it all over again the next day. Country bands, cowboys, carnival food, margaritas and good friends about sums it up. We even have slumber party tales to tell of wild child's crazy boyfriend and his freight train snoring which left us unable to succumb to our wine induced sleep. He will not be sharing our room next time. After the excitement of Springfield it took me a little while to get back to reality, so much that my girlfriend and I took one more day of fun, sun, and old junk. When the school year's final bell rang later that week, I was ready for summer! Unfortunately Mother Nature had other plans which ended with my girlfriend and I nearly being swept to Canada on our paddle boards. Father's Day came and went in a rainy muggy haze. Fourth of July began with gray skies and very slowly turned to blue just in time for barbecue and fireworks. Another round of paddle boarding with my nephew and his girlfriend gave us water smooth as glass and a hint of blue sky. A day at the pool with my girlfriend and our boys felt like heaven until the approaching gray forced us out and our dinner plans in. Sitting in her garage amongst the junk, rosee in our hands, rain drippin down, was as close to normal as we know. Now here we are just barely 3 weeks away from two big store events and our annual trek to the beach. Now is crunch time and I swear my anxiety is off the hook. Time to pay the rent, the BIG beach deposit and the rest of the bills. Yay. After this week, when the checks (hopefully) clear, I can breathe, paint furniture, and pack our suitcases because a week at the beach is just what this busy, working family needs. Time together, time with Uncle Rob,  and time to stuff my face with endless pounds of shrimp! I swear if one rain drop falls, I'm jumping off that pier! So my friends, there you go. A recap of all things summer in this little life of mine. I promise next time, it won't be as long as it's been. Good night world and stay dry.

Happy Mother's Day

Four and a half years ago I became a mother. While pregnant I had all these romantic notions about motherhood and how I would raise my child. I vowed to never get overly- emotional or neurotic. I vowed to always lay on the floor and play with the plethora of planes, trains, and automobiles along with blocks, crayons, paints, etc. I vowed to never let him go to sleep upset. Now my child is at the end of his toddler years, in fact sometimes he acts so grown up I swear he's really 14 trapped in a 48" tall body. Having a boy presents many challenges because he never seems to run out of energy. My child is also strong-willed and independent. Thank God. My child is exactly as I want him to be. He is equal parts my husband and I. As far as all those romantic notions go, I am powerless at what was passed down to me. I have inherited my mother's hair trigger nerves so noises and yelling tend to make me edgey. This doesn't bode well when raising a boy because they are boundless balls of energy, noise, and dirt. Going to bed upset after bathtime tantrums is just inevitable, but I still try to kiss and soothe. Oh and those toys. I have spent hours building Thomas the train tracks and coloring anything put in front of me or making huge block towers. I must say though, my husband is much better at this part. His patience is infinite. As the past few years have gone by we have all settled into our relationship as parents and child. Never having children before leaves a lot to get used to when doing this for the first and ONLY time. I am able to mostly ignore a lot of the random shouts or kicks or when he rushes by and smacks me in the belly as a sort of weird high five to his mom. Little boys like to show their love by doing annoying things just to get your attention. My child likes to lick my face like a dog because he knows how much it irritates me. In fact anything that irritates me, he just does more. What can I say, boys. The first three and a half years of my child's life were spent in my shop. These were not easy years. These were years where I spent much of my time crying. Trying to run a business in a depression while simultaneously tending to his every need did not always make for a harmonious relationship. Life is easier now with little man in school, my emotional state back in check(mostly), and business doing better, but motherhood is still the hardest job I've ever had. At the beginning of this maternal adventure I felt lost and abandoned, my true self given to this tiny bundle. Each stage of his young life has had it's challenges yet as we stumble through this together as a family, it becomes less difficult. Now we have actual conversations. I can take him to the shop and he can entertain himself with his Legos and not wreack havoc amongst my merchandise. We can sit and have lunch and it doesn't end up all over the floor. While driving he has learned to point out furniture abandoned on the treelawn, so used to me making sudden screeching stops for good junk. My little man has made strides, he is growing up. The more this happens, the more I want to stop and hold him and kiss his beautiful face. At the beginning I just wanted to get to this point. Now as he runs into my arms after school, I just want time to stand still. I want to keep him safe and warm and healthy and never let him go until he's ready to fly our little coop. Even than I will still be waiting for him to run into my arms and I will show him the first Mother's Day card he made for me and I will cry. For hair trigger nerves are not the only thing my beautiful mother has passed down to me. She has given me far too much emotion for my own heart and a strong will that is able to withstand all of the endless bumps in our road of life. For this I am most grateful and this is what I will pass on to my own child. Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there and especially to one very special lady. I love you Babs. Good night world.

gettin' it

Wife, mother,daughter, friend, proprietor, just a few of the hats I wear daily. Being all things to all people on a daily basis is not an easy job to uphold. Regardless of the fact that I love my family and my job more than pizza, there are still days where I throw my hands up in the air and want to run away to Florida. Each of these personas requires an enormous amount of patience(something I am lacking)and emotional/mental energy as well as physical stamina in order to chase my four year old or haul heavy pieces of old furniture. One particular field trip to the botanical gardens had me like a WWF wrestler in order to remove my son from his friends and get to the car. Oh big sigh thinking about that. The unfortunate incident rode on the crest of an extremely long month of worrying about my husband's job search, moving large loads of furniture to hoard for the fast approaching flea market and troublesome bedtimes trying to get the boss in the bathtub. This was also the month where I had to make my grocery money stretch like a rubber band so I could continue to buy those loads of old junk. Thank God for cheap tacos and bananas! I'll tell ya, as stated, I love my job, but some days I am so freakin' tired I cannot even move the remote control. My job though rewarding can be positively back breaking and exhausting. Imagine all the times you've moved than make that a weekly thing and you'll get what I'm talking about. There are days where work is just work yet there is still no better high than foraging and finding treasures and to be your own boss is positively priceless. I will continue to shop at Aldis and bake bread from scratch if it gets me through the slow times so I can continue to do what I love to do. Now being a mother, that's hard. It makes lifting all that old stuff look easy. I have to say being a mother is the hardest job I ever worked. Like just now as I am trying to spread my words of wisdom, somebody was having a whiny meltdown because his Lego firetruck came apart. You see these are not my worries at 42, but at age 4 it is positively the end of the world. He also needed yogurt, waffle, juice, cereal, and to be held, all within the past hour. Now mind you, to hold him is what I live for. Nothing feels better than his hands on my face and to feel his warm body, but the endless up and down off my stool gets a bit aggravating as I try to find the patience I don't have to feed him with a smile his fourth meal of the hour. I have also just spent the better part of the day grocery shopping and moving more furniture so this stool is the only place I want to plant my derriere at the moment. I have come to realize sitting down is a luxury. For the next 3 weeks until I schlepp my old finds to the flea, there will be no sitting down. There will be more endless errands, painting, projects, crafting, and hauling. This will be the time when I may snap. I will not be able to listen to friend's tales of boyfriend woes or work woes or even have a conversation with family members without wanting to shoot myself, but through all I will try to maintain a smile, mind my temper and pray for a large cocktail at the end of the day. Through all of the mothering, working, friending, etc. there is one constant in my life that I simply cannot be without. My husband is my rock. My tether to sanity. This man who has put up with all my moods, attitudes, dreams and schemes and continues to look at me with that beautiful smile on his face. God bless him or help him if you may. Without this man I would be sunk like the Titanic. His unwavering optimism and support makes all these hats a little easier to don and allows me to just keep gettin' it. Good afternoon world.

friends

Friend. Such a simple word with so much meaning. What does one consider a friend? Is a friend someone to hold your hand when times are tough? Is a friend someone to whom all your secrets are spilled? Is a friend someone you can call at anytime and you know they'll be there or someone to laugh with over absolutely nothing? In today's social network/ Facebook world the word "friend" can mean anyone who simply says yes to your request of "friendship". In our race to acquire multitudes of "friends" have we lost our ability to recognize friendship in its truest form? Aha! There lies the rub. With the amount of friends I have gained or lost over my 42 years, the ability to recognize a true friend can still elude even me. I have had best friends move away. I've had friendships that take off and fizzle out like a firecracker shortly after they've begun. I have friends that I don't see on a regular basis, but know that when I need them they are there in an instant. I've had work friends that as soon as the job ends the friendship slowly fades as well. I have one friend whose mischievous behavior sucks me right in and lookout because then there is no turning back! Certain friends of mine make me laugh so hard I almost pee myself and one particular friend is always there no matter what to offer sisterhood, comfort, laughter, and love. There are also surprise friendships I never expected, acquaintances whose common interests have developed into multiple conversations, coffee clatches in the car, and hundreds of texts. Of course for every friendship gained there is always one or a few lost.  Friends on the surface, a good time, but not much else. Because of the amount of time I spend in the company of friends, I tend to take these relationships seriously. Some of my friends are as close to me as family. I have learned over the years to distance myself in situations where I feel my feelings are threatened or hurt. I have also learned to just walk away from friendships that are cutting or mean yet are disguised as humor. At my age nastiness doesn't turn me on. To me a friendship needs to be tangible, heartfelt, and meaningful. It's really that simple. I don't need accolades or acknowledgement everyday, but just to know that in some part of the relationship I matter to you as a friend. True friendships take years to build and mature. Facebook friendships happen as soon as one confirms that request. Don't get me wrong, I love the social network. It has done unbelievable wonders for my business and in cultivating that I have met some truly wonderful people, friends, if you will. To this social butterfly making new friends can be as gratifying as hanging with old friends. Some of these new friends I hope to know for many years. In the meantime to my truest of friends is where my heart remains, this small core that somehow has managed to accept me and all my flaws. Goodnight world.

fashion

After getting my men out the door this morning I immediately made a run for the television in order to immerse myself in all things Bravo and its Bravolebrities. In particular my fav stylist Rachel Zoe. After an hour of watching my girl in her long pants, fur jackets, giant accessories, and very high shoes, I was prompted to write about a subject barely touched on in my literary adventure. Running to my closet to recycle my tired old wardrobe, I ran my fingers over my own collection of wide legged pants,vintage fur jackets, high shoes and opted for a fun yet very un-Zoe like ensemble. Seeing the plethora of clothing that runs throughout the Zoe empire I am inspired to look at my old wardrobe in a new light. Old jackets become new again with some hot pink skinny cords. Vintage metal flower pins find a sunny perch on my collars and my "funeral" shoes now look fresh with the hot pink skinnies. Okay men, I'm sure at this point you have lost interest and clicked back to your manly cyber browse, but hey, I'm a girl and sometimes what you get is girly stuff. As a teen my wanderlust would never quite go away, hating the "burgh" as much as I did. This led to my big dreams of running off to Paris and New York City in order to conquer the fashion world. Well, I did get to Paris, as a tourist and upon sitting on the steps of my coveted Chanel (after hours) I managed to set off the screeching burglar alarm. My traveling partner and I quickly made a mad dash down the rue St. Honore and that was the end of my Parisian fashion career. Upon entering Kent State University's esteemed fashion program, I quickly realized by the end of my second year that maybe there were other plans for me. Sitting at that awful industrial sewing machine that I swear moved faster than light speed ended with me in tears. My roommate and college bestie would sit at her machine and pump out garment after garment while I struggled to thread the damn needle. Fashion illustration was also another bump in my stylish career. I've always been somewhat adept in the drawing and painting department, but fashion illustration I could never quite master. My models always looked deathly with giant lobster claws for hands. Of course the bestie never had a problem with this either. Her sketches were beautiful and fluid with all perfect hands. Ugh. Discouragement at its finest. Maybe a different path WAS inevitable. After trying to channel my creative energies into majors that were just, well, dry, I gave up alltogether. Soooo many years later I have found my niche. I have learned to redirect that manic creative energy into my other pop culture passion, vintage home decor. Surrounding myself with color and texture, size, shape and scale and of course little bits of history has renewed my sense of self. Finding my true path has been one of my greatest rewards and hey, I still get to shop for a living. Goodnight world. 

happy spring!

So here we are, spring! Yeah right. Last week's post left you with a recount of my beautiful day with 70 degree weather. Today's post, polar opposite I'm afraid. We were warned. The weather channel has talked about nothing else except snow, winter storm, falling temps, blah, blah, blah. Ok, so we have snow, so it's cold, so what. We live in the midwest. We should be used to this craziness by now. Move to Florida if you don't like it. There you have hurricanes and giant bugs. Forced to disconnect from all social media today due to the incessant weather complaints by the masses, I turned to last year's blog posts to assess the seasonal situation. Last year was quite a different story. Last year my pond was open, lilacs blooming, perennials green, you know real spring. The winter that passed was actually quite temperate considering our place on the map. So temperate in fact the general complaint was global warming. Well here we are, a year later and it's snowing. Global warming? Maybe, but really a normal late spring winter storm. I can remember one Easter toting my in-laws around in 5 heavy wet inches of snow that disappeared the very next day. This too shall pass. By the end of the week, this wet blanket of white stuff should be gone, my stunted crocii will be back to blooming and we will be one week closer to opening the pond, the windows, storing away the winter clothes, boots, blankets, and of course the snow shovels. Weather is fleeting and here in the midwest it is cold one day and searing hot the next. For today though, I am indulging in the laziness the weather allows me. Eventually I will take off my ugly robe, put on the boots and take one last walk in the snow with my child. Upon returning home I will make fresh coffee and since it seems appropriate, some warm pumpkin bread. I can indulge my senses in the last fading aromas of winter. For as I look out my window I can see the birds are back despite the snow, the trees are still budding and all too soon we will be complaining about the heat and wondering where we stashed that air conditioner. I believe you might find it next to the snow shovels. Good afternoon world.

sunny day

Time change, tiny blooming crocus, buds on my lilacs, not to mention the flocks of fowl sited in the park. All signs of spring! Yay, we're almost there! After waking to the sun yesterday morning and stepping outside to a much warmer temp than previous days I felt March had come in like a lamb. One can even smell spring as the ground and lake begin to thaw. Rushing to the babysitters than on to my estate score to haul my new vintage finds back to the store had the windows down and Lana Del Ray blasting from my car speakers. My husband following close behind most likely had his reggae of choice blasting from his car speakers. What a beautiful day only to be made brighter by my boxes of vintage Christmas, Easter, toys, coolers, bowling pins, glassware, etc. The colorful 1950's vinyl chairs and 1960's tiki rattan only added to the cheery day. By the time we arrived back at the shop the sun was out in full force and the temperature had climbed to almost 70. Lured by pictures of my haul, a girlfriend popped in and spent the next hour chatting outside in the sun while we lounged on the old rattan set. All we needed were umbrella drinks to make the moment even more perfect. After she left, with one of my chairs, I was bombarded for the next few hours with customers. Apparently the lions had been let out of the cage because my little city was hoppin'. People were everywhere! In this gray and gloomy city here in the "rust belt" we take what we can get. On its darkest day Cleveland is gritty and industrial, but when the sun shines it becomes an urban beach town. The lake positively sparkles and as the ice mounds break away and separate, the lake is as blue as the sky. Who couldn't find beauty in this midwest "mistake on the lake". I hate even using that old moniker so outdated that it is. Live here a few years and than tell me you don't take notice of all that is offered, but that is for another post. Today was just a beautiful sunny day and this city's residents were reveling in it. Hard work on a nice day makes me thirsty and after a text from my wild girlfriend, an impromptu evening al fresco had been arranged. Margaritas, burgers, and boys. Oh so many boys. Husband, boyfriend, and our 3 boys chasing chickens, grilling said burgers, lighting fires, and my favorite part of the evening, sending fiery Chinese paper lanterns into the dark night sky. Magical. Warm weather evenings with friends and children just make you feel good inside. It doesn't matter that my son had brownies for dinner or had chicken poo on his pants or had to be carried to the car crying because he was so tired he could barely stand. It was just a sunny day spent working hard with the wonderful reward of family, friends, and yes, a margarita or two at the end of it all. Goodnight world.

Relief

Well, here I sit again, brain buzzing with my new favorite Starbucks, ready to put it all out there in cyber space. As previously stated, wow, I can't believe this month is just about over. Thank God and Buddha. February has never been my favorite month. As a teen my mother would have to threaten and cajole just to get me out the door to school, so content was I to just lie in my bed. February sucks all the life out of me. It's gloomy, stagnant, cold, blah. I hate blah. This year as the clock rolled over to 2013 I decided there are two ways I can start out: I can be depressed and complain and worry about weather, money, health or I can take charge of these two worst months and tackle all my demons that wake me at three in the morning. Well of course there was a little of the former and a lot of the latter. Here in this gray city one can't escape winter without a little seasonal depression, but there were ways to combat mine. Running in the park, visiting the cold icy beach with hot coffee, walks in the muddy woods, reading an endless array of books, and just plain motivation. Motivation was my prozac. A grocery list of responsabilities that I was shucking because I hate paperwork and schlepping around from office to office was about to be conquered. Health plans were acquired, taxes were filed, scary bill taken care of, business name change put into action, furniture finally painted, exercise routine established. As a born procrastinator I have to fight this part of my personality in order to "get 'er done". God, I hate Larry the Cable Guy, but that saying is just so fitting. I even hung a big foreboding list just so I could cross each item off in order to feel accomplishment. Of course with each item deleted there seems to be a growing new list of "things to do", but this list is much less daunting, at least for now. For now I can feel relief over all those crossed off items. I can look in the mirror and see less of those holiday desserts. I can rest assured that if one of us gets hurt we have a place to go and have care. My shop is alive and colorful again with new merchandise and more coming. The government can leave me alone now for everything is filed. For now I can enjoy my evening reliving my teen years with my wild girlfriend drinking margaritas and rollerskating. Maybe not the best combination, but hey if I break anything at least I'm covered and February is over! Good morning world.

catching up

Wow! It's February already?!! What happened to January? I swear it blew by in a wintery rush. January was actually a really nice way to start off 2013. As stated in my previous post we were not in financial ruins this year due to the holiday hang over. The store had the most profitable January in years due to the many sales I ran just to get through the month. I also kept my shopping to the barest minimum so I could allow myself a quick and cold trip to the Big Apple. After not being there in a few years and going through the many tired catalogs and companies from which I usually order, I knew this trip was a neccessity. The gift show there in the big city is my favorite. Who am I kidding, it's the only one I frequent. Row after row of companies, thousands. A treat for the eyes and a big dent in my wallet. Well dressed and sometimes snooty owners and employees hawking their wares under the bright lights. Everyone excited for their line of jewelry, perfume, home design, linens, paper, you name it, it's there! I'm happy to say I returned home with a new stack of fresh catalogs and fun new merchandise ordered for the shop. Did I mention how much I adore New York City? It just gets under your skin with its manic energy and lightning pace. If I don't return every year I feel like something is missing. My cohort had never been before so I dragged her poor tukas all over mid town and beyond. Margaritas at Maya were the best I ever had. My third horse drawn carriage ride was still as fun and touristy as the first. Ice skating at Wollman Rink in Central Park was downright magical and the unexpected sighting of the Roosevelt Island Tram hanging from its wire had me running w camera/phone in hand. Our hotel though poo pooed by some was absolutely beautiful and luxurious, gotta love those travel sites for a good deal! Trains, planes, and automobiles to get to our plane home had us shoving airport cupcakes in our mouth just to gain back some energy. Note to self, never eat airport cupcakes. After my arrival home, I was comatose all of Monday followed by a sick child, than husband, and of course yours truly. We were also hit here in the midwest with a lovely snowfall that fell for days. Tucked in my bed, store closed, catching up on sleep, life was not too shabby. Now it is February. Rent will be late, but my bills are paid. Store is still slightly empty, but there are a few new fun items. Tomorrow I return to my running in the park, painting furniture, and finally cleaning up that nightmare behind my desk. You know, normal life. The upcoming months plan on being a blur of buying activity preparing for my first foray as a flea market seller. As you know, dear readers, I will be sharing my thoughts and anxieties as the date gets closer and I wonder what the Hell am I doing?! For the time being I will just try to survive February. There are no trips this month only rent and more bills, but that's okay, life could definitely be worse and this month, though it's not January is gratefully a short one. Good night world.

balance

Blissfully bumping along in my no worry day I was jolted back to reality by a call from the school nurse. Nothing stops a heart faster than fearing your child is hurt or worse. My mother always warned me of these feelings proclaiming, "you'll understand when you have children". Well now I have one, a boy and boy oh boy she wasn't wrong. It's bad enough fearing the phone call, but boys are just dumb. Boys do stupid things because that's just how they're made. They play with sticks and stones and jump off high things thinking they can fly. They wave shovels in the air and throw balls at windows all the while laughing their little dumb heads off. Oh sure it's funny until someone loses an eye or flips backward off a porch or gets hit in the neck with a stick. Good Lord, he is only 4. How the heck do I make it to his adulthood?  My husband tells me stories of all the dumb things he did as a boy and let me tell you, dumb! He used to launch dog poop from the end of a stick at people he didn't like, hide for hours from his poor screaming mother, jump off cliffs into the shallow lake, climb back up those same cliffs. He was a holy terror. Neighbors used to hide. If that's what's in store for this mom, God help me. After retrieving my child and getting him settled on the couch with heating pad and Tylenol(pulled neck muscle)I than retrieved today's mail. Please don't let there be anything suspect I pleaded to no one. Of course as fate loves to have it, a big threatening, I mean scary take care of asap bill. Great. You see yesterday I paid my store rent and paid for a work trip to New York City. Even though just an overnighter one of my favorite friends is joining me and I have fun things planned for the down time. A lot of I Love New York crammed into 48 hours. I was also making tentative plans to do some estate sale-ing this week with my partners in crime. So you can see I was happy. No worries. Bills were paid, so I thought. Financial plan for the next 6 months in order and now, yes, F*@# reality check. January is usually a month of despair for me. I usually enter this month with an overdrawn bank account and unpaid bills from the holiday frenzy. This was not to be in 2013. My husband and I were smart, dare I say thrifty this year when it came to gifts. Money got put in the bank not someone else's pocket. Life was on track, again or so I thought. See, I am a BIG believer in waiting for the other shoe to drop. For once, I wasn't thinking about the balance, I was just happy the scales were tipped in my favor. So I guess I got too big for my karmic britches because the shoe dropped hard. I suppose after writing it down it doesn't sound all that bad. My child is fine, the big scary bill will get paid, but in the heat of the moment when my stomach is flip-flopping all over the place, life feels sucky. I don't know what it is about my generation, but sometimes it feels like we all got a really bad turn. Trying to find balance in such an unstable environment is so tough, no wonder we are chasing yogis, and cleansing ourselves with disgusting juices and self-promoting only the happy times. Life is hard and ugly, but it is also beautiful and fabulous and if one can find the balance between the two than I guess we are ahead of the game. For me that would mean finding a little financial stability and a big plastic bubble in which to enclose my child. Since the latter is slightly unrealistic I suppose just being the best mother, wife, and friend that I can will have to suffice. Good evening world.