The Lunch Date: You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'

I don’t know about her, but I am pretty sure I have.

If you happened to peruse yesterday’s post about a lunch date, this is the followup, which went pretty much as expected.

[Here’s some insider info about me: When I know I am going to see someone I like, I am almost giddy with anticipation. I am excited. I can’t wait! If I know you well, be prepared for several warm hugs and, most likely, a snuggle on your cheek (I am a very affectionate person.).]

I was dragging my butt getting ready. I had a small pit in my stomach. More importantly, I felt  mostly nothing.

There was a mediocre fondness upon sight. The greeting was lukewarm at best. The hug was cursory.

Upon brief glance around the apartment, she pronounced the “new love nest”, in which I have now lived for one and a half years, “wide open” and “I bet the view is nice in the summer.”

I had previously made reservations at a delectable restaurant, in part, because I didn’t want to hear her bitch then or later that the food or service sucked, which she is wont to do. We ordered a glass of wine, (Yeehaw! Man, I needed one.) and after several questions about menu items and ingredients (her's, not mine), we placed an order.

We talked about her lake house and its renovations, how difficult and exhausting it is maintaining two home (her main and lake), dermatologists, her dog and travel. [Yawn!]

She must have needed to catch her breath because she asked for an update on my kids. I briefly told her about my daughter’s new-ish job, to which she said, 

“Didn’t you tell me this before Christmas?” 

“Yep, I sure did.” She was listening!

I provided a one sentence synopsis of my son’s life then promptly shut up. She followed with an additional multiple minutes long overview of both her kids.

[Blogger's $.02: If you have to do a fairly major life update when you talk with someone, you are an acquaintance not a close friend.]

Here's the pièce de résistance?

The bill came so I grabbed for it to do the quick division. She never flinched or made a move in the direction of her wallet. So I said,

“I got it.”

To which she exclaimed, 

“THANKS!”

As the monies were being exchanged, she mentioned she had been running late and didn't have time to stop at the ATM. 

"Do you have cash for the valet ($14 + tip)? I'll take you home so you don't have to take a taxi." 

What just happened here?

If I wasn’t so numb, I’d be pissed, but this is typical, and what it is like being friends with her, and why she is fodder. 

I can confidently put a check mark next to “Took the high road.” (though it cost me about $75). I can be thankful for the friends that do care about me and know my kids. Most importantly, I can move on without guilt.

I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling and it’s gone, gone, gone, whoa-oa-o…

But it still makes me sad.

About Those New Year Revolutions*

I have started and stopped this first post four or five times in the last two days trying to decide what I wanted to say and share, and in which direction I wanted to go, serious or light. 

I was recently reminded of a quote from Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston:

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”

What if last year did neither? 

A year without fluidity, or so it seemed.

I got no closer, but no farther away either. 

From what?

Here are some tasty, if general, morsels from my year:

2015 saw the bearing of emotional weight unlike any other that I can remember. Then there were the losses, both physical and otherwise. 

And yet, I traveled far and wide seeing things only one other people I know has ever seen, and frolicked through places everyone else had already been and I always longed to go.

Spent an enormous amount of time with the people I love the most like I was trying to make up for something, but wasted time, in equal measure, with people I didn’t love at all. Though, in all honesty, that was fun, too.

I did so many things right last year, but I made almost the same amount of mistakes. 

I felt to the point of pain. Or pleasure. And I felt intensely human.

So how do I quantify a year like this in a couple hundred words, let alone make it make sense to you? Where to begin? More importantly, where do I go from here?

I’m not longing or looking for fresh starts this year. At least not for me. I am yearning to feel more more intensely. 

In people, in peace, in books, in travel, in thoughts, in writing. 

Just more.

I’ll end this mishmash of words with a story from January 1, 2016 where I set off bottle rockets with close friends in rural Indiana to ring in the New Year:

Too bright and too early on the first day of 2016, we found ourselves completely out of coffee. This is not a good thing when six sets of eyes, who over-imbibed the previous eve, are staring at you in disbelief. 

My house, my run to the grocery store, in my pajamas.

Laying down my Dunkin' Donuts grind on her belt, the far too cheery checkout clerk asked through her, no matter how toothless, yet contagious smile,

“Make any New Year’s revolutions?!?!?!?”

(Yes, that's what she said.)

In my weak attempt to match her enthusiasm, I replied,

“Not yet! You?”

“HA, HA!!! Nope, never do!"

"Maybe I shouldn't either!!! Have a great year!"

"You too, Honey Bunches!"

As I walked out, I couldn’t help but laugh. 

I laughed because of her verve and warmness at such an hour. I laughed because of her mix up. I laughed because maybe she did mean 'revolutions' as words have multiple meanings and contexts.

I will never forget the woman who changed the early morning of January 1, 2016 for the better, so easily and simply. With just a mix up (maybe) and a smile.

May I, likewise, be the one who changes someone else’s day, so easily and simply, for the better, at least one time during this year.

*Revolution

(A simple definition)

noun rev·o·lu·tion \ˌre-və-ˈlü-shən\

: the usually violent attempt by many people to end the rule of one government and start a new one

: a sudden, extreme, or complete change in the way people live, work, etc.

: the action of moving around something in a path that is similar to a circle

Not Making a Decision is Making a Choice

Are you a decisive person?

While some people are deeply convinced Zodiac signs, and the traits that each one possesses, hold credence with how we behave, I am not. I am a Libra, born smack dab in the middle of the date range. Libras are “supposed to be” notoriously diplomatic, and chronically indecisive. I am extremely diplomatic and fair, but I am also very decisive. Maybe a little too decisive sometimes.

I wholeheartedly believe you learn this skill. I learned to make thoughtful, and thought out, decisions from my father. My dad takes decision making to the “nth” degree, and considers, not only the positive results of said choice, but also the potentially awful (“and if you can live with those”…).

I don’t quite go to the depth of his process (not at all), but I did learn to, and do, ponder choices, and then MAKE THEM to the best of my ability usually relying on equal parts intuition and logic. I will admit to making far too many stupid, and quick, ones in my younger years. But I made them. (I was a math major through most of college; I don’t know why I think it helped, but I am convinced of it did nonetheless.).

I had a conversation yesterday with my daughter. Let me rephrase; she talked and I listened. She was reevaluating a decision she recently, and quickly, made to move out of our house and into a city apartment with some friends. Even thought the first month’s rent was already paid, and most of her things moved out, she questioned the rashness of her decision for a number of reasons.

She described with well thought out, and sound reasons, her decision, and it’s possible drawbacks. In her mind, the pros outweighed the cons, and I agreed. She’s scared, but making decisions then sticking them out is sometimes scary. I am intensely proud of her.

This discussion reminded me of many times when my kids were young. We talked a lot about making good decisions, and how not making a decision is also a decision, in and of its self. When you chose not to decide, or leave it up to someone else, you have no other option but to accept the consequences of your non-decision (good or bad). It is always better to make the choice yourself, rather than rely on someone else who may not be as thoughtful as you, have the same goals/values, or your best interests at heart.

My daughter made an uncomfortable, yet exciting, but difficult decision to spread her wings, exert her independence, and begin living her own life. It is bittersweet, and makes me sad because, as happy as I am for her, I will not be able to look at her whenever I want, or touch her soft skin, but she made a decision. For herself.

WWW.Wednesday: Books, But I Should Be Packing

I’m moving. Life is crazy. Squeezing in reading time has been challenging!

The hardest part about packing up all of our belongings is figuring out what to do with all the books. All five hundred of them! Some have found good homes already with several more being mailed off. That still leaves four hundred seventy-five to dispose of properly. I am seriously considering a “books only” garage sale.

I should be packing, but I wanted to update anyone out there who comes over to check out the pages I have turned.

What am I currently reading?

I bought this book and its companion The Things She Wrote to Him, I think, several years ago at the Shipshewana Auction (an Amish auction in north central Indiana). I am sure I bought them for very little and because of their intriguing titles. I came upon them recently in the packing process. Score!!! These little gems (this one first published in 1914, which this one is an orginal, and the companion book, published in 1930) are letters written between recently met romantic prospects. Each book documents the writings solely from that person, and not responses from adressee. So far, they are romantic and thought provoking, which is intriguing in and of themselves since they were written over 100 and 80 years ago respectively. I will report back when I am finished with both, and it won’t take long.

I am enjoying the heck out of this book set in a New England bookstore!

What have I recently finished?

Shotgun Lovesongs was very good!

I was afraid I would only "just like" this book because I thought What Alice Forgot was good, not great. This book continually lead me through twists and turns. Just when I thought it would most likely/probably become complacent, it more than held my attention and interest. Well done, Liane Moriarty!!! This book is really very good.

What will you read next?

An Untamed State…probably!

And, of course, I will be listening to something as well!

As always, thank you MizB at Should Be Reading for hooking all of us Bibliophiles up with one another!

Trifextra: June 28, 2013

Stolen from waters that nearly robbed me.

Absorbing tears

as my lashes dripped,

I abandoned you gently

with others.

Centuries of accumulated

prayers,

sorrows,

hopes,

closed chapters,

broken shells.

Without a hindsight glance.

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

On the Camino de Santiago de Compostella (the 500 mile pilgrimage I completely this summer), it is believed that we carry a stone with us (usually from home) and all our losses, sins, pain, sorrows, weaknesses, insecurities, unanswered prayers, etc., are symbolically embedded within it during our walk. By leaving it behind at La Cruz de Ferro, we shed those things we no longer need to "carry" through life.

This weekend's Trifextra comes to us courtesy of MOV. They want us to give them a 33-word time travel story.  They would love it if we would title it with the year/date that we choose. 

Sometimes Being Right Sucks

The text came through at 12:30 am on a Sunday evening. Just about anything, at that time of night, makes my heart convulse. I groped for my phone.

“I need to talk to you. Can I come over tomorrow?”

Ugggggghhhhh! I rolled over attempting to ignore the message knowing slumber wasn’t returning anytime soon. I was way too exhausted, now exasperated and extremely hurt. Plus, I knew he was waiting for my reply.

“Sure. We’re leaving at 1:00.”

I tossed all night remembering how, just a few short months before, two beautiful children fell more in love with each passing day. It was one of the sweetest things I’d ever seen. As summer friends, it had been coming for years. 

But school starts up again every fall and long distance relationships are never easy especially when you’re young. There are far too many distractions.

Now, I was emotionally maxed out from a hellacious weekend spent listening to, crying with and emotionally stabilizing my daughter (who was away at school). It was her first, horrendously painful, inexplicable, dumping by a boy. A boy I loved and who felt like a son.

That next day, I anxiously waited for the clock to chime 1:00. 

Why does he want to talk to me? 

What am I going to say to the boy who crushed her heart into pieces so small I worried they wouldn’t go back together?

Just like a rolling reel from a bad movie, her sobbing screams played over and over in my head. “Mom, it hurts. It hurts so badly.” “Now I know how Robbie felt when I broke up with him!”

It’s difficult to explain to anyone how someone they love, who they thought loved them, now loves someone else. Let alone your kid. There are no words to express the pain I felt for her.

Watching him come up the walk, I met him at the front table. Hugging me, he said he was sorry; that he'd made a mistake. Then he just listened as tears streamed down his face. I said something along these lines.

“You are so young. Why are you falling in love so fast all the time? Slow down. We all make mistakes. Learn from them. You will experience heartbreak someday; unfortunately that’s a promise because we all do. Then and only then will you realize just how fragile a heart is and you’ll take better care because you’ve felt the pain yourself. But you two will know each other for the rest of your lives; your children will play together, so you need to figure out how to move past this. Time will help.”

I gave him a big hug telling him to come by next Memorial Day.

That conversation was two and a half years ago.

This weekend, my daughter showed me an email she received from him just a few days ago. It said something along these lines:

“I finally understand how you felt 2 ½ years ago when I f$#ked up really bad that weekend in October. It sucks and it hurts. I’m so, so sorry for what I did, how I treated you and how you felt. I get it now. I’m just happy we’ve been able to get back to being ‘sort of’ friends. Summer’s coming! Woo hoo!”

It does totally suck and it hurts badly. 

Sometimes I hate the idea of what goes around comes around.

And being right has never felt so awful.

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