There is still snow on the ground, but the days are getting longer. Will just informed me that Spring will arrive in 28 days. The angle of the sun makes things melt like crazy, even if the temperature doesn’t warrant it. And while eating lunch today, we marveled at the icicles and how they go from dripping slowly to dripping continuously, and then back to a slow drip. You can hear the birds chirping and almost smell the wet soil, where the sun has melted the snow and warmed the earth a bit.
Gardening season will soon be upon us. Okay, it’s not going to be here that soon, but it’s fun to plan. Last year, about this time, I was making plans for our little garden and flower beds. I always draw the garden out on paper so that I remember to rotate plants. That way I won’t keep planting things in the same place each year. I was sketching out where to put the Early Girls, the Sweet 100s and the Norland Reds, when it hit me. I don’t like potatoes. Baby reds are nice once in awhile, but I don’t like them enough to devote all that space in my tiny garden to just potatoes. I had been living in my own house, and I was still planting what Mark liked. It took me about three years to figure out that I didn’t have to plant potatoes anymore.
Just when I think I’m making all this progress, figuring out how to make my way after this bizarre relationship, I realize I’m still clinging to aspects of my old life. When I first moved into this little house, I remember walking around with nails between my teeth, a hammer in one hand, and ‘Frieda’s Dream’, by Monte Dolack under my arm. I was trying to figure out where it would look best. As I’m walking through the house, mumbling to myself, I caught myself thinking, “I wonder if Mark would like it there?” In the next instant, I realized I didn’t have to take Mark into consideration when decorating my own house. That realization was as sweet as the waking from a bad dream, when you realize it’s all just a bad dream, and that sense of relief washes over you.
There were a lot of delicious thoughts running through my head when we first moved to this address. “I get the remote. I’m going to watch Food Network, HGTV, Lifetime movies and whatever I darn well please. No one is going to make fun of me for reading Martha Stewart Living. I don’t have to eat waffles on Sunday mornings anymore. I can have a glass of wine (or two) while cooking dinner, and I’m not going to feel guilty.” Now that we’ve been living here for over three years, it’s interesting to see how things are shaking out. I haven’t picked up a Martha Stewart Living Magazine in probably five years. I have probably checked out the Food Channel a handful of times. Each time I watch, I think to myself, “Why was I desperate to watch this? It’s not like they are gonna do a whole show on the glories of peanut butter and jelly.” Lifetime Movies make me cry, so there’s no point in that. I haven’t had a waffle in almost four years. Yes! And I do enjoy a glass of wine while making those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. (That I also serve at dinner, not just lunch. Just so you know I’m not also sipping the vino at noon.)
But all this got me thinking about what it is I like and don’t like. What are my preferences? I thought I knew what my preferences were when I still lived with Mark. I seemed to want to steer toward the things that he didn’t like. Maybe I was trying to make a statement. It’s a lot like the child that is denied candy and cookies. They want those treats all the more when they are told they can’t have them. When there aren’t any limits put on the sweets, the child may or may not be interested. But they certainly aren’t feeling desperate to have the Tootsie Rolls. When my world was so limited, I found myself clinging to stuff that had been off-limits. Now there are no limits, the world is wide open, and I’m not obsessed with HGTV or romance movies. But I could watch, “You’ve Got Mail” every week. And now I can, if I want to. Continue reading →
So it’s one o’clock in the morning and I am sitting in front of my laptop, in my cat hair covered robe, with an Ocean Breeze scented candle burning, eating the best fudgy brownie cookies I’ve ever tasted.
So now what? I know how I got into these relationships. I know what to do differently once I’m in one. I am learning new things about myself; what I want; what I don’t want, and what I will compromise on. I know the sweetness of the good parts, and I know the sour of the parts I won’t live with.
Apparently life is not waiting for me to catch up. It’s time to put an end to my little pity party, round up the soggy wads of kleenex, wipe the mascara from under my eyes and move on.
Some days are like that. You have to remind yourself to laugh. You have to stop taking yourself seriously. You have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
These prints belong to Nina, the world’s most patient cat. She left them on the front step while she patiently waited for one of us to remember to let her in.
I stepped out of the shower this morning, head full of what to make for dinner; are they on track for home schooling; did I figure the taxes correctly; gotta order some firewood …. And I found this on the bathroom floor — a love note from Jenny. Sweet words sung to the tune of ‘Clementine’. It doesn’t get much better than that.
