Do They Really Exist?
Okay, so we warn our girlfriends about red flags. We read about red flags in self help books (yeah, I said, it…yeah, I read ‘em and you can just suck it if you want to judge) (sorry, sometimes my petite gangster comes out without warning). So, do these red flags really hold validity? And more importantly how do you decipher between a red flag or the knot in your stomach that may only be hang ups from past relationships? Without doubt, I can look back and see those red flags attempting to beat me to a pulp with the ex…I’m surprised I do not have scars. Need examples? (again, don’t judge…well, you should judge…I needed to be bitch slapped (gasp, I think my petite gangster just turned on myself). I was told “I find intimacy in snuggling vs. anything else” or “I don’t want to have children” or ”I take a very long time to do anything…it takes awhile for me to put things in motion, that’s just who I am” or when he cried when another dog ate one of Delilah’s dog toys…it was tiny bunny and it was her first little toy…Ouch! That red flag from the past just smacked me.
So…yes, I don’t want to repeat patterns. Hopefully none of the above will ever be repeated or I will then be convinced that playing russian roulette is totally not my thing.
But what about the red flags that I see lurking in the distant? How do I breathe and stay in the moment but still be smart? How do I not go into an internal monologue about all the imaginary “what ifs” that are unresolved?
Or do I just listen to my girlfriends that are married or about to get married who say things like “he will never be perfect, you will never get everything you want” or “sometimes I think he is such a brute” or “We just don’t have anything to talk about”…
Okay, writing the above did not make feel better.
This post is a downer. I think I should flag this one.
And then there was two…for the time being
Boo and Delilah
Boo Radley has joined us. I never considered D being a nugget of a dog…but she is…she is a nugget. I’m still startled when Boo leaps onto the bed like a wild antelope that has decided to join me. Not only do I have four little feet following me into the kitchen to cook or to the table to eat or to my single chair to computer, I now have an additional set of four big hooves with a sloppy wet nose and slightly gassy back end…but I couldn’t be happier. Without having a back yard that they can freely run, I am now taking many walks. D is a more spritely while Boo will tend to stop in a heavy stance when he feels the need to test me. In a low demanding “BOO” he returns to join the pack as we travel around the bend. I do not care that I use my swiffer twice a day to collect fur bunnies that congregate near the dinning chairs and under the bed. Nor do I care that I diligently cut raw meat and carrots each and every night or that it takes two plastic bags to clean up one of Boo’s potty breaks. (small dogs equal small poo…hence the choice of a doxie mix)…none of it matters because Boo Radley is a big love and I cannot imagine him not being here. Who knew that Boo from LA would be a part of my life one day. Who knew? Well, Peter knew…Peter also knew a year before it happened that in February I’d be leaving the first week in my own car, departing the state of California. Who’s Peter? He’s for another time. No…he’s not for the R rated version of this blog…but truly, for another time.
Boo Radley…thank you for accepting Delilah and I as your own. We sure do like you.
by one odd step at a time
Here. I don’t mean CT. I don’t mean this picture perfect little town of Wilton. More precise. Hmmm…am I referring to state of mind? But that’s so cliche, right? Yes…but I have such severe cramps right now and cliche is easy…I need easy…sometimes, you just need easy. But getting to my current state of mind was not easy. This is some of the steps it included: a ten day fast with daily colonics…yes, daily colonics while drinking a gel 4 times a day that expanded in your intestines so to attach itself to the mucoid plaque so it could be flushed out the next day. I will never do it again…I did it because I was afraid of it. I was more afraid of drinking that clay drink with the consistency of mud than that tube up my woo hoo and watching uneaten lettuce go into a pump inside the wall. Yes…odd first step. Another: I went to Ashram in Oregon…which is the inspiration to this post…because this past weekend was exactly a year since my trip to Portland where I raked a zen garden and harvested my first radishes from their plentiful garden. It was a year ago that I pushed boundaries like no other…I tracked down the fireman. (and those who know my secrets, know exactly who the fireman is…the beautiful fireman who drove the motorcycle) And like I keep telling everyone…one day I will write the R rated version to this blog…like Jenny Joseph’s poem “When I’m old I shall wear purple”…maybe I’m old fashion and surmise that a girl should still have her secrets or maybe (which I think may be more of the truth) it’s for another time…(but will say this…zen can be found in more ways than yoga). And then I returned from Portland and started to research my return to LMU to finish a degree that exhausted my shoulders but it’s weight needed to come off. But I truly believe that each time I pushed myself…put myself in situations that were uncertain…I was able to open the next door…another one that had been boarded up all other times when I had looked upon it. I took college math. It scared me but I went to every office hour and I showed up for myself. I got a beautiful curvaceous C. I drove across country with a little dog. I found an apartment without having a job. I started to seek out different paths in life. Hmmm, would I want to be a landscape architect? But I didn’t really care about why a half dead bush was half dead outside my back door…and so I then I kept asking myself questions and I wish I could tell you when I asked myself about speech pathology…but I don’t know…but it all made sense…all at once.
And so now, I am looking at grad schools where I need to take the GRE packed with math and classes packed with Anatomy and Physiology. But it all makes sense even though on paper, it doesn’t…where it’s supposed to. But it makes sense it my being. My path has always been to be of service to others like Laura reminded me.
I always said that I would never move back to the south…I’m looking into the University of Memphis. What if after 16 years, I’m finally only an hour and a half away from Kathryn? Even more, what if after 16 years…I just needed to come full circle to find my straight path?
A Ledger From Another Life
Unpacking doesn’t take too long…organizing is what continues to knock on your front door. A few days ago, I came across an overstuffed envelope of receipts. They were all food receipts. Each dated piece of paper jogged my memory. Johnnies New York Pizza located on Wilshire happened on 09/19/2009. That was back in September…we were happy then…I think. Caesar Salad with a small pizza. We sat in small booth near the entrance. We bantered back and forth about his I phone pre and post production website. We were trying to come up with clever titles to his articles. He held my hand. He always wanted to be touching me. I got in the habit of pulling away in order to look through my purse or fix my shirt or pull back my hair…it was easier that way.
07/23/2009 documented one of the numerous times we would walk down from his apartment in Santa Monica to eat outside at the Fish Grill. Two Grilled Fish Taco plates, one without salsa. He hates tomatoes. Kaylyn and I could eat them as apples…and another non transitional fact about tomatoes: KC had me smell fresh tomatoes on the Vine while we were grocery shopping at Stew Leonards…and yes, it is the best smell in the world…it’s the richness and coolness of the earth…and now, I only buy my tomatoes with vine included. He and I would have this meal practically every week. We sat in one of two tables. I’d mix my coleslaw into my baked potato. He would be wearing his black New York hooded zip up sweatshirt. Delilah would be on leash attached to one of the chairs. We were happy…I think. Yes, I can say we were always happy at the Fish Grill. Afterwards one of us would walk over to CVS and either purchase Swedish Fish or a Peppermint Patty.
Bloom Cafe on Pico Blvd. Truly the best omelets packed with chunks of zucchini and mushrooms and then water with a hint of cucumber. Vicky and I went there one morning when I didn’t have classes until the afternoon. She picked me up after she had broadcasted on the radio in the wee LA hours. We had spent very little time together, one on one, up to that point. Well, there was that stint when I went over to her place after the Avatar fiasco. I listened to her as she said “it may be an isolated incident”. I can’t remember the occasion to our breakfast…maybe it had to do with what she asked me when she dropped me back off at my place. ”Do you want to marry, him?” And I felt terrible as I lied to her. ”Yes”.
I do not have a receipt for our last meal together. He picked up that one. Appropriately named, we ate at restaurant called SOUTH. I dressed up…I called it a date. The past 3 months while I was in school coated our relationship with tension. I was ready to refocus. Delilah was in the car in her travel bag. He was unsure if he had locked the door and went to go check. As I sat on a tall bar stool and watched him walk down the sidewalk in his staple brown button down shirt…I had a peace come over me. I decided right then and there that I did want to marry this man. I loved him. He was good. I came to peace with the truth of what he was never going to be able to give me. I accepted that I would live a sexless life with him. (did she just write that??) (she as in me??) (me as in I??). Yes…I would live a sexless life with him…but we’d work on it and I find it in me to be attracted to him again. I was attracted to him when we first met…it must be in there somewhere? We’d go to a sex therapist…we would figure out why he is struggles with it. And I seriously, felt such peace.
The next day he broke up with me. And the rest is now.
But all my found receipts are from another time. Each documenting a time and a place much much different than now. I wish I could find that receipt that notes the following: “Sarah, You love him but your not in love with him. It’s time to leave, quit holding on and a pulled pork bbq sandwich with sweet potato chips on the side.”
The nice Klan, the one that doesn’t burn crosses or where unflattering creepy clothes
Kathryn hates that I call my girls: the Klan. Good Mississippi girl. Unsure if I have shined a spotlight on my coincidental pattern (not the spotlight I used to shine on opossums while I lived in Cleveland, Ms)…the pattern of my tight group of girlfriends from all different points of my life all begin with the letter “K”.
There’s dear sweet Kelly in Florida…and we’ve never lived in the same state. Kathryn from my young college years. KristIn whom I met through Ruben and our friendship hit the road running (is that a saying? because what does it mean?) Kerry who is the one person I practically call every day to share the important news like “I tried the peanut butter jar that had the mixed in jelly”. There’s KC (yes, Casey) but when I met her she spelled her name the latter so to better compete in the dominate male field of production…so she’s still in.
And now, I’ve met Kaylyn. Oddly, she is the one renting the house from Casey. Last month I went over to introduce myself to her because she was looking for someone to watch her little one, Tyler. I thought it would be a half hour max meeting. I was there for 4 hours. We instantly clicked. Yesterday we had lunch…it was bizarre, being back over at KC’s. Delilah was so happy to be back…looked for Boo for awhile and then relaxed in the sunshine. It was as if we had known each other for years.
And so now, I have a K to represent my CT life. Yes, there is KC/Casey but remember she’s going to Sweden for a year…so she’s out of the pool.
Serving up possbilities
I love a good grocery store. Whole Foods has always been a favorite but now I’ve discovered eclectic independent ones spattered throughout all these many mini towns within CT. And even my little Wilton has one…and they are all called markets. Now, I can honestly say, “I’m going to the market”. Will be returning for another pre packaged steamed summer squash with onions and cranberries. It’s so fresh. It’s so perfectly balanced. Getting to a place of a personal balanced nature takes time…or does it…does it just happen when you stop trying to keep things safe. Rosie, Casey, Kathryn, Kristen, Ruben, and Dana all said to stop being so obstinate. Well, actually that was only Kristen who used those choice words.
He’s coming out. I gave the green light last Thursday. While holding my breath, I typed “let’s revisit the idea of you coming out to see me” and within a half a moment, he took the reigns.
Casey said “just try to stay open…promise me, you’ll stay open to possibilities”. After feeding Delilah her new raw food diet this morning, I decided to share her remaining carrots with the our neighboring chipmunks. While walking back, an english accent over my shoulder asked me where apartment 70 was located. I decided to help him because I didn’t have the answer myself. I’m 84 but unsure of anything else. In a 5 minutes conversation, I found out that he has lived in Norwalk for 8 years. He found me to be funny and much kinder than the average Fairfield resident. He has lived in Thailand and taught rock climbing in Vail, Co. He owns his own business and his eyes are warm. And his name is Oliver. Oliver, what a perfect English name…don’t you think?
Yes, I’m in the market for taking chances.
And Fabreezing your comforter
Getting cocky is what always gets you in the end. Once you get cocky, you stop being mindful of your surroundings. You begin to trust the unknown. And you begin to trust a little animal with four legs and a tri-colored coat. Every time I’ve let her out the back door, I follow a regimen. I open the door and she sits. I go out and then I ask her to follow. She is not allowed to run out with abandonment. She is then always attached to a two linked leash that is securely in place. I had walked out with her, did not chain her…she used the potty in the area that’s considered mine. She sat there facing our door. The wind was picking up her ears and the sun highlighted her wispy leg fur. I turned and went inside. Picked up the Fabreeze bottle and began spritzing a fresh scent to a newly made up bed. I turned to look at her and she was gone. Gone.
I flew out the door and looked out and only saw green. and it was quiet. and there was no Delilah. The freshly mowed lawn did not frighten me.
What lurked passed the grass that pulled at my gut. Slightly passed the wooded area is a definite dip in the earth as rusted train tracks constantly await a speeding commuter train to NY.
and passed those destination tracks, lurked an unruly amount of shrubbery where any small animal could get lost…if they happen to make it across.
And in the quiet, I run calling her name. She does not appear. I do not hear her running through the dried leaves. I do though hear a distant vibration. A low, distant vibration. I keep calling out. It’s odd, how in those moments of complete loss and fear how time stands still but also how many thoughts can enter your mind as well. I couldn’t believe I made it through the state of Texas but this is where I lose my beautiful little girl. I imagined having to tell people about my irresponsible actions. I imagined having to tell the ex out of respect. I realize that I have no one to call. Kerry is miles away. My go to person, Kerry is too far. I thought about calling Kerry in those moments just to reach out. I kept calling her name. I call Martin…big Martin. I tried Casey but she didn’t answer her phone. Martin was on his way to work but said he’d come right over. I stood on a boulder trying to get another view. I looked down the hill and there she stood, happy as a lark. Tail wagging. Her eyes danced with sugarplums dressed up as chipmunks. She looked at me, saw something move a few feet away from her and begin to hop towards it as if on a trampoline. ”Don’t you dare” I yelled. I dropped to my knees and started to cry.
I think…I know….I’m being courted
and I’m only writing about it now because I have a tendency to be an ostrich and hide in that sand. But as I fwd a message he sent me to Kathryn tonight only in efforts to stay “light” and to not over think and to be girly…I truly only want to run and find the Norwalk coastline. Instead of breathing and not over thinking…I go the opposite…I go to that place of what if’s whispering in your ear like Shell Silverstein speaks of so fondly. I create an entire scenario that doesn’t exist…in the future…where I have to make decisions about my life…and the truth is…I don’t have those answers now…and I feel threatened…and dammit, I wasn’t looking for a man to send me flowers, signed “with affection”…I wasn’t looking. I was driving across country. I was visiting Rosie at work. I wasn’t looking.
But did I tell you that he’s kind? Did I tell you that he’s a man’s man? Did I tell you that he’s a good ol’ country boy who wants to set up ‘coon traps to catch all the ferrel cats because he wants to get them all fixed so he’ll stop seeing so many kittens. He wants to build his own boat. He now, builds his own shelves. He fixes things. He fishes. He thankfully, doesn’t hunt. He is quite religious though…and I’m not…I should talk about this…but not in this post. And this is where most of my anxiety comes from…where most of my what if’s clamor inside my brain. It’s acceptable to think differently everywhere else in the country except the south…and I was reminded of this by my old choir teacher while there a few months back…her fears of my going to hell. If I had a penny for every baptist who told me this…
Did I tell you that he made sure to send me my first piece of mail? Did I tell you that he wants to come out and see me but I got scared and so he retracted his suggestion? Did I tell you that Casey thinks I’m being ridiculous? Did I tell you that I think I am being too? But…I need to tell myself just to breathe.
Kathryn wrote me back and her husband, Trey gave me some advice: “Don’t shoot all the dogs just cause one of them has got fleas”. Thanks, Trey…you made my night.
now, let me hobble over here
The moving truck came. My stuff is here. My stuff that collected dust in Los Angeles for a little over nine years traveled to CT on two different trucks and taking up only a quarter of the large bed of the truck. And while I diligently cut through taped boxes to only discover another pile that I didn’t want to look through at that moment…a pile that contained memories that should have been left else where…the room began to fill with packing paper. Brown packing paper covered the floors. I had a rule: once a box was emptied, it had to be broken down and put outside the front door. Once there were a few emptied box carcasses leaned against the brick wall, I decided to take them to the dump. Kaylyn, a new friend (hooray, I have made two new friends) warned me of raccoons that surprise you at night and so as I repeat to myself my innate strength and determination; I hear a noise. I turn my head and look one way as I continue to walk forward. And within seconds, I completely roll over my ankle…I think for one step, I actually walked on the top of my foot. Continuing with my internal monologue of my hidden powers, I hobble over to the oversized tall dumpster. I throw the boxes in only for them to fall out on the other side. I hobble over and try again. I throw too hard and miss the damn thing all together. My monologue lessened to “your an idiot”.
And while my foot rested at Casey’s house because I could not find the pieces of my bed to put together…I remembered my thought process…”it would be real once my stuff is here”…I planned for my emotional state. I did not plan for my physical state.
I have established a doctor. My foot is not broken. I am here. Let the games begin…but wait, I may be on the side lines for a bit.
didn’t make me cry
Strolling through a wonderful little grocery store today called the Food Lover’s Market in beautiful Westport, CT, I came across the pre made refrigerator section. A package of chicken herb empanadas were placed in basket along with tomato cous cous when I noticed a container filled with sliced apples and cheddar cheese cubes. It was the last one left. I just kept looking at the contents: apples and cheese, cheese and apples. Pre made. See, we used to have this odd little food ingestion in common. On our second date, I couldn’t find my cell phone in my purse and while pulling everything out…my dented fugi came too. Which then opened our discussion to eating apples with cheese….preferably gouda. When I first went to his apartment we had apples and cheese. When we took road trips together, we were sure to pack the pair. When we were looking into purchasing property, we would always question if there was a good view for sitting and eating apples and cheese. It became our rhythm. And it dawned on me while looking at one of the slices that was beginning to brown a tad…I hadn’t eaten that fruit and dairy since January. Since before the time we broke up. I put the packaged back down on it’s empty shelf and then wondered over to the gourmet candy section and got lost in sugared coated lemon drops and swirled lollipops. Mother’s day is tomorrow, let’s see what I could get Casey.
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