Category Archives: being thankful

Dating a (or, as a) single mom: part 1

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I have a group that I belong to that is for folks who are in, or are trying to remove themselves from, relationships with narcissistic exes. These folks (men and women) are helping me to keep my sanity.  We talk about everything from our children to finances to work to frustrations and hopelessness.

And periodically, someone will ask, “When is it time to start dating?” or, “How do you know this is a good person?”

Both good questions, both made that much more complicated if there are children involved.

And both I learned the lesson to, the hard way, so my initial response is, “Never. There aren’t any.”

Nope, not bitter or cynical at all.

And it’s so interesting because I did all of the reading, checked in with the available “experts” and still made my own decision based on what felt right to me at the time.

Who I should have checked in with, and really listened to, is my children.

They seem to have WAY better douchebag detectors than their mother.

If only they’d been there when I said “Yes.”

But actually, this isn’t meant to be about my stupid mistake.  This is about when and who.

Because, from what I’ve seen, those folks who get immediately involved with someone else, usually end up with a broken heart. Not always, mind you, but certainly more often than not.

Divorce sucks. There’s no way around that, even when you are the person who can’t wait to get out of the marriage. Even if it’s amicable, mutual and respectful. It just plain old sucks.

So then, you (I) get involved with someone who is most likely vastly different from the person to whom you were married and not only is it wonderful to feel loved and probably have an active sex life once again, but because this person seems to be all that your spouse wasn’t, you feel like you’ve grown, evolved and learned.

And maybe you have, and maybe with this person, you actually will have the opportunity for a lot of growth and self-exploration. But, from my experienced and expert perspective, if you haven’t taken that time to be alone, to feel the agony of the divorce and to truly rediscover who you actually are as a person, the relationship is doomed.

Because seriously, you are not the same person you were when you walked down the aisle and you won’t be the same person that you were in a shitty marriage – if you give yourself recovery time.

I didn’t and ended up with someone even more destructive than my former husband.

And we won’t even talk about what’s happened to my ex.

The thing is, that time to figure out me was basically forced on me in an incredibly mean way, and every single day, I am thankful for it. Who I am today and who I was for the last 40 some odd years are barely even the same gal.

This gal wouldn’t make those same stupid stupid stupid mistakes.

This gal can figure out who’s a good person.

And this gal can walk away from someone who isn’t.

So the answer to the questions…

“If you have to ask, then not yet, and (s)he’s not.”

My Mom and Dad

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They are really moving to Florida. That’s it, after 20-something odd years in Idaho, they’re finished – gone – pffffffffffft!

It’s hard to believe and admittedly a little bit hard to handle.

When they lived in New Jersey and my brother and I were in westerly regions, going home to visit wasn’t so difficult – I was young, single, making decent money (for being young and single in a ski town) and buying a plane ticket once in a while wasn’t such a bad thing.  Plus, at that point in my life I was feeling very independent and important and was often much too caught up in my own life to visit New Jersey.

Then they moved West, to Idaho, to be closer to my brother and me. Although still independent and important, traveling to Sun Valley for a week of relaxation, home cooking and hiking, skiing, mountain biking, etc, was always a treat. I started going “home” much more often – they were only a (very long) day’s drive from wherever I happened to be.

I went “home” enough that it finally became Home.

This is probably the right time to interject that yes, obviously, THEIR move is entirely about ME. 

It has been the only Nanni and Pappi’s home that my kids have ever known. They’ve certainly never known their grandparents to be New Jersey people.  We have loved the adventure of visiting my parents. It has gone from being an arduous, 2 full days of traveling each way, drag, to being one long, very funny day in the truck listening to Tony Hillerman and Willa Cather and doing a bit of our own story telling.

Sometimes we’ve tied in side trips: Craters of the Moon, Yellowstone, Park City, Bonneville Salt Flats. No matter what route we’ve taken, it has always ended at my mom and dad’s which is a fantastic ultimate destination.

Over  time, I’ve come to truly understand, love and appreciate my parents more than my obnoxious teenaged self could have ever imagined. I have taken great comfort in knowing that they are only a drive away. I could rest easy knowing that if anything ever “happened,” I could be there or they could be here – quickly and relatively easily.

And then, they decided to move to Florida, my mother’s home town to be exact. A move that I am 100% behind and believe is the very best thing in the world for them. My dad’s hips don’t work so well now that they are both fake and my mom can’t see worth a bean and Idaho is hard living: ice, snow, dark, cold, long drives to get anywhere beyond the ski slopes. It makes perfect sense for them to be in the sun, the warmth, the humidity and to have the beach right outside their door.

They are 80 years old, they deserve a little ease.

But they won’t be nearly so close, not nearly as easy to get to, not a spontaneous drive away.

I worry about me (of course) but I worry about them.  What if they need me? What if something happens and I need to get there quickly? What if I need them?

Plane tickets for three to Florida cost more than a few tanks of gas in the Toyota.

So, the reason that I am really writing this is that they left Idaho for good yesterday and, having chosen the southern route to Florida, came through Cortez last night on the way to I-40. We all had dinner together, a brief one since they were exhausted from all of it, and said goodbye in the parking lot of Jimmers at 7:30 pm.

I felt like a parent sending her children out into the big wide world for the first time. I am nervous and excited all at the same time.  I am worried sick about them driving all that way and I am thrilled for them to be off on a new adventure. I can’t wait to visit them at the beach and I am not so sure when that can possibly be.

Things really, truly do come full circle, don’t they?

I know that we are at that place in life (not to be morbid) that every time I see them could be the last and that scares the shit out of me.  I really love them, and they really love each other. One without the other just doesn’t work.

It was a little rough saying bon voyage last night, yet I am so happy for them too.

Old Friends

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There are the friends that I see or talk to every day and there is never enough time to catch up.

There are the friends that I see quite often to whom I can never find anything to really say. (At least not anything of substance.)

There are the friends from the past who connect, we email once or twice, “what have you been doing for the last 20 years” and…that’s all.  They head back into the recesses of my mind.

There are the friends who’ve been long forgotten, not in a bad way, but just no reason to stay connected.

And, there are the friends who, after years of no contact, connect and it seems like we haven’t skipped a beat.

I’ve got a few of those going right now – some men, some women. Single, married, divorced, living back east, out west, in Africa.

We pick up right where we left off. Yes, of course there are those conversations about what we have each been doing for the past 20 years, but there is so much more; love, parenting, music, mountains, “a funny thing happened to me today.” It actually doesn’t even matter, with these folks, it’s so easy we can talk about anything or nothing and still be totally at ease. It feels as if we are still sprawled across our tapestry-covered couches solving the problems of the world.

One, I saw, a few years ago, at her wedding. Love her just as much now as I did “back then.”

Her sister is another one – we don’t talk often, but we are two peas in a pod after all of the years.

A couple of them are each headed this way to get a dose of the desert. I wish that I could just cruise Southern UT and see them all. Lucky me, I  do get to see one of them.

These are people with whom I have shared transformative life times. Ballroom dancing, the agony of puberty, the lost college years, healing from breakups, Dead Shows, health issues, parenting, divorce, Outward Bound, lots and lots of laughter.

Why can I jump right in with one person about depression and not talk about it with the gal I see every day? Why does the idea of camping with one seem so much easier and fun than going with half the people I know now?

Who knows why some of these friendships still “work” and some have just fizzled out. Much of it is obviously how strong the original connection was, but I’ve had some pretty tight friends that I know I will likely never speak with again.

Is it that, through our lives, we’ve ended up growing in the same ways? We certainly don’t all have similarities in our lifestyles (although some of us do.)

It must be that some bond was formed, explainable or not, some heart connection. Maybe it’s karma – we knew each other in a past life. Maybe these folks reappear because there is something yet for me to learn from them.  Maybe they are just here to bring a little extra joy to my life.

Who knows, but I so appreciate it.  While I mentally pack to head to the desert with one friend, I am super excited because I know it will be a weekend filled with laughter and ease.

Like I said, lucky me.

Turkey Vultures

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That is seriously magnificent

That is seriously magnificent

Apparently, they’re back. But I haven’t seen one yet.

They got here yesterday – first day of spring – surest sign of spring.

I got the call: “Suzanne, they’re here (lots of small child cheering in the background.) They’re flying over town, letting us know they’ve returned.”

So I had 3 extra minutes to drive down to their snag and see them, but alas, they weren’t there.

I love them – it’s hard to explain this intense feeling for an animal, a bird, with which I have never actually interacted. But seeing them circle the sky above the river feels like extremely personal communication to me.

And a few special people feel the same way that I do, but from my experience, the general public’s reaction to “vulture” is “eeeeewwwww.”

Yes, historically, they are considered harbingers of Death – but they’re not killers. They are cleaner-uppers – the world’s first official trashmen (and women.)

They are magnificent and majestic and playful and dependable and they do things like show up, in town, on the same day every year and that happens to be the first day of spring. How great is that?

So here I have been, wallowing in cold and misery and a belief that the Apocalypse is here and that the earth will never warm up and it’s going to stay cold and windy and overcast FOREVER, and then they arrive.

They have given me hope and reminded me that yes, Spring will get here, the sun will shine without the wind blowing and I will not have to wear ditch boots for much longer.

My dear friends have returned. I hope I see one today.  Just knowing they’re here makes me joyous.

Horaltic Pose

Horaltic Pose

Turkey Vultures

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That is seriously magnificent

That is seriously magnificent

Apparently, they’re back. But I haven’t seen one yet.

They got here yesterday – first day of spring – surest sign of spring.

I got the call: “Suzanne, they’re here (lots of small child cheering in the background.) They’re flying over town, letting us know they’ve returned.”

So I had 3 extra minutes to drive down to their snag and see them, but alas, they weren’t there.

I love them – it’s hard to explain this intense feeling for an animal, a bird, with which I have never actually interacted. But seeing them circle the sky above the river feels like extremely personal communication to me.

And a few special people feel the same way that I do, but from my experience, the general public’s reaction to “vulture” is “eeeeewwwww.”

Yes, historically, they are considered harbingers of Death – but they’re not killers. They are cleaner-uppers – the world’s first official trashmen (and women.)

They are magnificent and majestic and playful and dependable and they do things like show up, in town, on the same day every year and that happens to be the first day of spring. How great is that?

So here I have been, wallowing in cold and misery and a belief that the Apocalypse is here and that the earth will never warm up and it’s going to stay cold and windy and overcast FOREVER, and then they arrive.

They have given me hope and reminded me that yes, Spring will get here, the sun will shine without the wind blowing and I will not have to wear ditch boots for much longer.

My dear friends have returned. I hope I see one today.  Just knowing they’re here makes me joyous.

Horaltic Pose

Horaltic Pose

A “trip” down memory lane

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clearly none of these people should get behind the wheel

clearly none of these people should get behind the wheel

I ate acid three times.  They were all in the same year of college.

The first time I went to a dance in a barn on campus that I’m not sure even existed.

The second time I had a run in, literally, with a bat (the animal) and a cement post.

The third time was at some Dead shows in Virginia. The trip was so influential in my life in so many ways.

It was the first time that I stopped the car and peed on the side of the road – opening my eyes to the freedom of immodesty. It was the longest I had ever gone without a shower, opening my eyes to the wonderful world of dirtbagging. It was the first time I crashed in a park, illegally, under the stars with a couple of friends, opening my eyes to the joys of roadtripping. It was days of camping and music and friendship and camaraderie and cutting class and then getting an A+ on the paper that I wrote about the experience for my religious studies class that I had skipped to be in Virginia. It was just great fun.

And it was the Dead. At the Hampton Coliseum, with my boyfriend, my best friend C, a bunch of my “siblings” and a head of cabbage that kept showing up.

It couldn’t have gotten any better.

So, since my first two experiences with LSD hadn’t been all that great, I wasn’t overly excited to do it again. And then, at the third and last show, everyone was doing it, and it was The Dead, at the Hampton Coliseum, and we had driven all the way there from Upstate New York and had to drive all the way back that night to be in class (Religious Studies, with Mary Gerhart, 8:00 am) the next morning, so I figured why the fuck not.

Yes it was fun, no, I did not suddenly become a fan of the never-ending high, but all was okay until we were back in the parking lot, after the show and trying to figure out who could possibly drive home.

There’s a blip in my memory about how the decision was made – maybe we flipped the cabbage – but there I was, cruising north on I95, high as a fucking kite with a bunch of really dirty hippies lying all over each other in the front seat, the back seat and the way back.

At some point, I realized that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t a good idea for me to be operating machinery of any kind, heavy or not, so I pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. Not an exit mind you, just the shoulder, with cars zipping by at 80 mph.

I went to sleep – or whatever you want to call that really weird place when you are tripping but totally exhausted and you can no longer open your eyes, but you’re still seeing “things” behind your eyelids.

Next thing I know, there is a cop tapping at the driver’s side window with the handle of his flashlight.

My thoughts…”FUCK,” “I am going to spend the rest of my life behind bars,” and “How do I tell Mom and Dad when they think I’m in the Finger Lakes?”

So the guy looks in the car, and my eyes.  He shines the light into every sleepy melting face in the backseat. I am telling him how tired I am while listening to the silent thoughts of all of my friends breaking through my sanity.

We are covered in tie-dye, bells, patchouli, and flowy things; scarves, skirts, ribbons, beads.

The officer, after scanning the train wreck surrounding me, comes back to my over-sized pupils and says, “It’s really not safe for you to pull over on the side of the highway. Why don’t you drive to the next exit and go get a motel room or something since you and your friends are so tired.”

Excuse me?

Did I hear that correctly?

Would everyone else in the car please shut your brains for a minute so I can hear the person who is actually using his out loud voice.

Mind you, we are a mere 30 minutes away from the shows – probably the biggest  event that town has ever seen which escaped no one except perhaps this one lone policeman.

Yes, miss, this really isn’t safe, so I’m going to have to ask you to drive on.

So I did. And I pulled off at the next exit and slept on the side of a rural road instead of the interstate and I swore to the heavens above that I would never, ever eat acid again.

And this is why raising teenagers is so incredibly scary – I have first hand knowledge of just how unbelievably stupid one can be.

Restless Brain Syndrome

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A terrible affliction, similar in symptoms to Restless Leg Syndrome, but happening in my head. See below (accommodations for “brain” vs “leg” are in green):

RBS leads to sensations in the brain between the ears. The feeling makes you uncomfortable unless you move and change position and situation. These sensations:

  • Usually occur at night when you lie down, or sometimes during the day when you sit for long periods of time
  • May be described as creeping, aching, pulling, searing, tingling, bubbling, or crawling
  • May last for 1 hour or longer
  • Sometimes also occur in neck, shoulders, back, gut, or anywhere else you carry stress

You will feel an irresistible urge to walk, run, or run away, which almost always relieves the discomfort, albeit temporarily.

Most patients have rhythmic brain movements during sleep hours, often called dreams.

All of these symptoms often disturb sleep. Symptoms can make it difficult to sit during air or car travel, or through classes or meetings.

Symptoms may be worse during stress or emotional upset.

I don’t know if this is a temporary affliction or if it is the beginning of a Great Unsettling. But I have this underlying fidgety feeling that I can’t shake.  I am trying to come up with a solution – one that is reasonable, workable, affordable and won’t completely upheave my life and those lives close to mine.

In other words, I am not packing up and moving to Mexico any time soon.

My life is very good – of course there is the issue of the ex that causes things to be less than ideal. That and the money thing (wishing I had more). But I have great friends, lovely community, a job I actually enjoy, basic good health and the most fabulous kids ever.

What more could a gal ask for?

Apparently there is something out there that is missing because my brain twitches all night long, disturbing my sleep and sometimes making it difficult to sit through meetings during the day.

It could be a lot of obvious things: like, it’s winter.

I have been inside a lot – running an infirmary/refugee camp. I haven’t gotten any exercise to speak of this winter but skiing hasn’t done it for me this year and when I try to run in the snow, I just fall down. It has been cold and icy and my pain has flared dramatically. It’s dark. Also, I’ve been working more than ever, limiting already limited “me” time. I am broke. I haven’t left town or had an adventure in 100 years. I’ve cancelled two trips due to my ex-husband’s lameness. And, there have been some pretty serious ongoing issues with said ex.

I can look at the list above and reason through this season of discontent, but I’m not sure that the brain is going to stop bubbling, creeping and tingling just because the sun comes out and I go for a run.

This feels bigger than that. Usually when these feelings arise, I can say, “Well, I have had some glorious days in the woods on my skis” or, “At least we had a great trip to Idaho.”

I’ve got nothing. Or almost nothing.  I have to say I have some fabulous person-to-person stuff swirling in my life at the moment.

Years ago, my friend N said, “Did you ever just know that you are supposed to be famous?” As everyone else shook their heads, mine said quietly, just to me, “Well, duh, yeah.”

I’m not sure fame and fortune is exactly what my destiny is, but I do think there is something bigger or more or grander (is that a word?)

So, two dilemmas to trying to answer that question:

The first and most obvious: “What is it that I am meant to be doing and how do I figure that out?”

And the second: “How do I “go big” without sacrificing the things in my life that are already grand?”

I don’t want to just pick up and move – although my parents’ new Florida residence is sounding 1,000 times more than appealing, at this point in the winter. There is no reason in the world why I would think that I would ever find friends, anywhere that could compare to the ones that I have here – it has taken 16 years to cultivate these relationships – not going to find anything even remotely similar any time soon, anywhere else.

School is a thought – but of course, if I go to school, I want to get a Master’s Degree, not just take a few classes and I want that degree to be from Iowa’s writing program. I can’t swing it, don’t live in Iowa and don’t really want to live in Iowa. Plus, I never took a single writing class for my bachelor’s and only one english class – not sure I’d even get in to a Master’s program, regardless of my glaringly obvious and unmatched talent.

But what do I want to do with a degree anyway?  It’s not like I have some fantastic career goal that requires a Master’s to achieve.

New job?  Might make more money somewhere, but would I feel as if I am in the right seat on the right bus as I do now?

I’m starting to ramble – the twitching that goes on inside my head is oozing out onto the page here.  I don’t need to do that.

What I really want, more than anything, is to figure out how to make a (decent) living with the one talent I have – laying down the written word. I don’t want to be a journalist and I definitely don’t write fiction so The Great American Novel is not an option.

I see it as the perfect solution because I could be anywhere doing it – Florida or Mexico or Colorado. If I could support myself and my children with it, then I could have more freedom for adventure or at least take a run during the day instead of being tied to my desk during daylight hours.

I could hopefully “go big” without giving up any of those things that are so wonderful in my world today.

Existential angst? Seasonal Affect Disorder? Restlessness of a brilliant mind (HA!)? Immaturity? Inability to be content in the present? Delusional?

Who knows.  All that I am sure of is that I am not sleeping peacefully, I drink coffee and stare at the wall with the nagging feeling that I am missing something (not missing out, but missing in that way that something is right in front of me and I have yet to see it.) My brain wanders in search of greater challenge and stimulation and I feel a little bit trapped at the moment.

 

 

 

 

Coolest job ever

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Now I know that not everyone would agree with me and that some of the things that I find particularly appealing about my employment might not be all that appealing to another and some days I wish that going to work involved a little bit less work, but on a day like today, I’ve got the best fucking job in the world.

So some days I would like to sit at my desk without a wool hat and long underwear; and it would be nice to not have to get the wood stove fired up before shoveling snow; and wearing nice shoes instead of ditch boots to the office would be a novelty; and peeing inside and not behind the landcruiser/snowplow in the driveway would be greatly welcomed on a -10 morning when I’ve had too much coffee trying to warm up to hike my sorry ass up the driveway to start shoveling before feeding the cat and after  shredding my jeans on the barbed wire while cutting under the fence to feed the horse.

But, so worth it because today there was a mountain lion kill just 100 yards from my desk.

Now how cool is that?

A buck. Down. Eviscerated. Dragged. Caught by the neck. Buried and then unburied. Hair everywhere. Blood in the snow. Big prints in the mud.

Just right there. Right where J and C park their trucks. A stone’s throw from one of the actual toilets.

We all (all 4 that is) took a “field trip” up there together to dig around in the mud and revel in the fact that we work side by side with a big, fat, cat.

How many people can say that they truly risk their life going from their desk to the bathroom?

What I think of her

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I haven’t seen her yet, actually haven’t even spoken with her.

We have sent a few texts, just to connect.  She can’t really hold the phone up to her ear. There has been so much sickness in my house that no one, not even her child, has been able to visit her. She can’t risk getting what the kids have (violent cough) or what I had (violent vomiting.)

She comes home today.

I’ve been thinking about her so much and have burst into tears a gazillion times since the surgery – much more so than in the days leading up to it.

The reality of it is that I am in total awe of her – she has achieved hero status in my mind – and I am so honored to be her friend.

And yes, I am starting to snivel again.

She has faced our greatest fear – her own mortality; that and her children being motherless – and did what was necessary with grace and courage.

Yes, there were huge ups and downs and breakdowns and denial and all of those things that one would expect in the face of something like this, but she really didn’t dilly dally.  She took the time to make an informed decision, get her ducks in a row and then just went in and had those damn things lopped off.

She did this thing that will impact her every single day of her life – she will never be able to avoid the scars and the flatter than flat chest. Wherever she goes, particularly in the tank tops and shorts seasons, the rest of the world will look at her and know. Buying clothes, going to the beach, having sex – it will all be different. Her cancer will be a piece of it all.

And here she is, sending me texts from her hospital bed about getting laid and loving her children.

I am not saying that any of this has been or will be easy but she has been truly inspirational in her bravery and attitude.  She will be the gal on the beach with no bikini top, sporting those scars unabashedly.

She will never evoke pity in others – instead, she will be an inspiration to anyone facing something hard and scary. She will be that gal:

“Look at ____, funny, loving, audacious, bold; a woman of Herculean strength, I need to leave my pity party and approach my challenges like she has.”

Just think about the example she is setting for her children regarding facing adversity with honesty and cajones.

Honestly, I don’t know if I am saying this well at all.  I also don’t want to discount the pain and anguish that she has endured…

It is difficult to put into words the thoughts and fears and sentiments that have been milling around in my head and heart through this entire process. It started, in such a bizarre sort of way as a feeling akin to envy.

Right?

Obviously needed to sort through that one.

What I came up with was that I was envious of her having been put to the test and passing with flying colors, envious of the grace and strength and wisdom and bravery that she possesses.

And doubt that I would be able to walk through something like this and maintain my humor and love and not end up wallowing in self-pity.

She is heroic.

BAD ASS.

http://byebyeboobies.wordpress.com/2013/01/25/flat-as-a-board/

Proud Mama

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My son(s) made me so proud yesterday that I can barely think about it without tearing up.

(It was mostly one who was involved, but the other one jumped right on board and acted with grace and maturity and compassion also.)

Without getting into all of the details, of which there are many, our home has been a refugee camp for the past few days for a couple of E’s friends, both of whom, for totally unrelated reasons, needed a little peace and quiet and support.

E offered his hand and his home like no one’s business.

He was unflappable and kind and listened and hugged.  He was sympathetic and wise and mature and realistic.

He made it clear to me that we needed to be helping.

So help we did.

One boy’s situation could have involved the police and social services and my child convinced this boy to do what was best rather than getting involved with those two entities.

The other boy just needed a place to sit, breathe and grieve. They spent all day doing a jigsaw puzzle and not talking about anything.

The wisdom that E showed was way beyond his years.

After everything shook out and things calmed down and friends were well taken care of, I said to him that I was very proud of what he had done. His response:

“Mom, you just fucking step up for your friends.”

At that moment I realized that my child might like to pummel people on the football field and he has forgotten the joy of reading a book and swears too much (as does his mother), and he doesn’t like to talk about anything (especially feelings) except for lifting weights, but he has also gotten the biggest lesson that I could ever hope for: compassion and kindness for others.

The fact that his friends, when they craved those things, turned to him, AND GOT WHAT THEY NEEDED, shows me exactly what this child of mine is made of and how deep his goodness really runs.

He is such a gift.