All Good, Pretend Things Must End

The second bump in the road of fake marital bliss happened pretty much the same way the first did and ended with me, in a snit, on the sofa again. This time, P was in less of a hurry to apologize. And I was in less of a forgiving mood. I started talking about planning my exit; he didn't stop me. I began to wonder what was wrong with me; I couldn't even be in a two week relationship? For a while, I'd been pretty sure I was bad at maintaining anything long term, but now I was learning I can't even do a fling right. What exactly does that leave for me?

The second "fight" blew over and we continued to enjoy each other's company, but I also continued to think of my next destination. Getting out of Yarmouth, post-ferry crossing season, is much harder than I'd imagine. Especially since I had much less money than I would have imagined at this point in my adventure. When I first started thinking of this journey, I had a savings goal in mind and planned my original departure for a time when I figured I'd have that specific amount saved. I ended up not making as much as I'd planned and therefore, not saving as much as I'd have liked. When I left New York with much less than I'd assumed I'd have, knowing I still had credit card debt to pay off, if not any other monthly bills, I had already started calculating in my head how I would have to change some of my plans. And how I would eventually have to ask my parents for some help. It hasn't happened yet, but it's coming soon. And I had counted on being fine until the end of the year. I'd also counted on not having to take a loan from my parents at age 35. So, with my budget in mind, I pieced together a bus/train trip to Chicago (and more free lodging!) that would last 50 hours. More on that later. 

Besides the fact that I would be a terrible wife, I learned something else from my time with P. Well, really with his niece. When his great-aunt died, I volunteered to babysit while the family attended the funeral.  The service was far away and they would be gone for the better part of the day. This particular one year old is a lovely little girl, very good natured. And from our previous time together, she'd already decided she liked me more than her uncle. I have a way with kids; I always have. And I've always been crazy about children, especially babies. This has had me convinced for most of my life that I want children of my own. Not to mention a strong case of baby fever I'd been suffering from for over a year, brought on, I assume by my needy biological clock and my dwindling supply of good eggs.

The six weeks between my leaving NYC and this day of babysitting were the first extended period of time in a LONG time (I'm talking decades) in which I was only taking care of myself, thinking of myself. I guess I caught a new kind of fever in those six weeks, because as sweet as this toddler was, I realized I didn't want the responsibility. I'd caught freedom fever! Not once had I viewed the caring for others as a burden; it was just what I did, what I knew how to do really well. But getting a taste of what C and I have now named "Time for Amy" (a spin on our favorite catalogue, "Time for Me"), made me think it isn't so bad to just have myself to look after. And I need plenty of looking after. Maybe the next part of my life will see me figuring out some of the stuff I've been neglecting for a while. And I'm not just talking the credit card debt.

The Honeymoon Ends

And I suppose it had to at some point.  Although I know some that have gone on for over a decade, pretend marriages can only last for so long. As in most cases, it was me who started the descent. At the end of one of my fabulous dinners, P commented, "I'm really gonna miss these dinners when you're gone." So this, what I suppose would be a compliment to any sane person, had a two pronged annoyance effect on me. For starters, I heard "when you leave" as "you're going soon, right?". Secondly, I didn't want him to miss my cooking; I wanted him to miss ME. Right away I let him know I was annoyed, but as he's not a crazy girl, I'm sure he was confused as to why. 

Later, in bed, when P professed extreme exhaustion as the reason I wouldn't be seeing any action, I flipped. I grabbed my book and went to sleep on the sofa. He may have protested for a second or two, but he was asleep before I'd finished a page. What's REALLY crazy, is that this is progress for me.  I used to just pretend everything was fine, never expressing my anger or hurt feelings. At least I wasn't being passive aggressive! In the morning, he left without a word and I sprang off the sofa the second the door closed, rushing to the computer to text him a snotty message. He sent back an apology and I climbed into bed to sleep off my pissiness. By the time evening rolled around, I was over being upset and told him so, just so he wouldn't be afraid to return to his own home. We made up properly. Until the same thing happened again.

Playing House

Lots of innuendos had been flung around about sleeping arrangements in P's home, but when bed time came around, there was no discussion, we just climbed into his bed. That was the  beginning of my Canadian marriage. Due to an eye infection, I even wore my glasses all day long, something I'd never done with any other man. P insisted it was no big deal, but I never quite got over hating wearing them. And not only because my prescription is several years old.

Each day played out something like this: 

P would wake up, get dressed, kiss me goodbye and head off to build things, while I lounged in bed and snoozed for another hour or so. When I got up, I headed to my laptop and spent most of the morning chatting with friends and reading trashy blogs.  Or doing some actual writing. Take your pick. After noon, I'd take a shower and walk to the grocery store with a meal plan in my head. The weather was cooperative for most of my time in Yarmouth, so I enjoyed the long walk in the sunny, chilly air. Once home, I would sit and read for a bit, waiting for P's arrival home. I didn't greet him at the door with a martini and slippers, but I think he usually enjoyed my welcome. He'd tell me about his day, I'd tell him who I'd heard from and how much (or little) I'd gotten done. While he showered, I'd get dinner started. Most of the time, I was making something P'd never made himself and he would watch and ask me questions in order for him to duplicate the recipe in the future.* For the first few days, he told me he hated that I did the dishes, because I was supposed to be the guest. But after I told him I liked doing them because it made me feel useful, he dropped the guilt. I did a LOT of dishes during my stay. Next, we'd watch a television program or movie and head to bed. It was a pleasant rhythm to get into and I liked that I still had my alone time during the day, but an assured "date" every evening. This married thing seemed like a pretty good deal. For a couple of nights, we even had a little family thing happening, as we watched his one-year old niece. Of course, THIS married with children thing had the benefit of being temporary, pretend.  

Over the weekend, P's mom invited us to come spend the night in her home, in what she termed "the best kept secret in Nova Scotia", the town of Barrington. I cannot remember the last time I met a guy's parents. I believe I was still in college. And now we were sleeping under his mom and stepfather's roof! And fooling around in his sister's bed! We spent all day Saturday driving along the southern coast, seeing ship builders and lobster boats and little shacks on the beach. I continually pointed to different houses, exclaiming, "I want to live in that one!" so as to unnerve him, thinking I wanted to make our "marriage" a permanent situation. Teasing boys is fun! Teasing boys about having to be married to you is SUPERfun! 

*In the interest of fairness, I didn't do all the cooking. P cooked delicious grilled things for me on several occasions.

Virtual Friends

By the time I returned to the hotel, I was exhausted, but too keyed up to sleep. I started to become very anxious about visiting P. We'd been in correspondence for over a year and speaking via Skype and webcams everyday during the few weeks leading up to my visit. There was a moment that passed between us a week or so before my visit when I looked into my cam and said "I'm trusting you." And I felt as though he knew me well enough to understand what I meant. Not only was I trusting in him to NOT be an axe murderer, but trusting him to take care of me. It's been a long standing fantasy of mine to take all of myself, the fears and joys and memories and neuroses and my heart and soul and just mush them up into a ball and throw them into someone's lap, saying "here, this is yours now, you take care of it". And I don't mean a professional. And not THAT kind of professional, either. I just kind of want to sit back and TRUST that the person with the lap will be gentle and do right by me. I came close once; I had me all bundled up, but I stopped short of tossing it to him. Turned out to be a wise choice, but it made me think about the other laps I passed on that maybe COULD/WOULD have handled me. (Oy, lap metaphor starting to sound dirty.) All of this is NOT what I was doing with P; he was just getting a small piece, and for a limited time, but it still required a leap of faith on my part and I wanted him to fully acknowledge and appreciate that. He did. Even if it did freak him out a bit.

My jokes about missing the boat in the morning (last one 'til Spring, remember!) having gotten old, P and I ended our final pre-visit chat and I attempted a few hours of sleep. I was up to see the sunrise, with plenty of time to have the hotel shuttle take me to the ferry terminal. The "Cat" ferry is a huge boat with 4 different screening areas showing movies and several rows of slot machines. As I walked on board, I asked one of the crew members to show me the quietest spot and was directed to a corner in the back (aft?). A dose of Dramamine and I was good to go.  And I slept for a fair amount of the five and a half (!) hour ride.  Occasionally, I was awakened by 3 older gentlemen discussing the 4th in their party and what they could do to get him to open up more. These were some course-looking and at times -sounding men and I was getting a kick out of hearing them psychoanalyze their friend.  With Canadian accents. As we were disembarking in Yarmouth, the men asked me about my backpack and my plans. When I told them I was carrying everything I own on my back, they didn't quite believe me. No one ever does.

By the time I walked down the long ramp from the ferry and into the customs line in the terminal, most of my anxiety was gone. Whatever was about to happen was inevitable, no turning back. I could see the doors to the waiting area from my place in the slow-moving customs line and started a new worry: what if P thinks I missed the boat, after all? I was determined to be cool about the whole situation, so I started up a chat with the couple behind me and stopped thinking about "what-ifs". 

When it was finally my turn to get my passport stamped, I learned Canadians are not all as friendly as they seem on TV. Since I didn't have a return trip booked, the customs agent held me in suspicion. She didn't like my answer of "just wingin' it, ma'am". The thought of staying in Canada forever and starting a whole new life HAD crossed my mind, but only briefly and there was no way SHE could have known that! My highly suspect self was then shown to the immigrations room, where I waited with a few other deadbeat border-crossers. No joke! The ferry was held and one of them was sent back on it! I only had to answer questions like, "so, you're visiting this guy you don't really know; you're staying with him?" and "how much money do you have access to right now?". In answer to the first I just blushed and had to cave and text P to ask his address.  To the second, I lied, feeling too embarrassed to admit just how little money I have. Plus, I assumed they wanted to ensure I had plenty enough to not need to search for a job, robbing a decent Canadian of her employment. Eventually, I was allowed to leave the terminal, but that immigration officer now knows more about me than many of my relatives.

After a couple of awkward hugs and kisses, P mercifully offered to carry my backpack for the walk through town, to his home. I found it easy to talk to him and felt comfortable right away; I'm not sure he felt the same. He kept mentioning what a small town Yarmouth is, how there's not much to see. People do this. I'm not sure if it's because they know I'm used to Manhattan or because they think I'm being a judgmental ass. Honestly, I compare; no judgments involved anymore. This was (Canadian) Thanksgiving weekend, so the town was quiet with very few people on the streets, causing even more of a sleepy town effect. P relayed an invitation from his father to join in a holiday dinner; I declined, thinking it too strange to meet his dad when I'd just met him 10 minutes earlier. In P's apartment, we sat on the sofa and chatted (in real life!) and started to feel not so awkward. And made out. And I ended up meeting his dad anyway, when he dropped off some turkey leftovers.

Heading North

As I transferred from the train to the T to the Amtrak "Noreaster", that backpack got pretty heavy and I was regretting not practicing more, as had a colleague of J's who carried rocks around in a pack for weeks before a hiking trip.  Of course, J didn't share this story with me until I was about to board the train. Oh well, this was supposed to be all about spontaneity, right? Hernia, be damned.

Anyone who's been to New England in mid-October will know I'm not exaggerating when I say the trip was filled with GORGEOUS foliage. Even a city girl can appreciate some stellar displays of nature. I did very little besides stare out the window and text E, a cousin who'd been backpacking all summer, to tell moan about winter backpacking being much, MUCH harder, what with the boots and hats and sweaters and it being ME doing the carrying!

I've been telling everyone this was the first time I'd ever spent the night in a hotel room alone, but upon further reflection, I realized I'd done it once before, but my dad was also in that hotel, so I'm still not counting it. It wasn't so much fun to be in a strange room in a strange city. Strangely enough, I think I'd have preferred the stranger's strange floor. 

Feeling very alone, I grabbed my coat and my phone and went outside, dialing C on the way. We talked for a couple of hours as I gave him an audio tour of Portland. Would I have experienced the city more thoroughly had I not been dividing my attention? Probably, but I wasn't ready to give up my connection to home just yet. As an added bonus, C told me he feels he can now say he's been to Maine.

Leaving Comfort

My last few days in Massachusetts were spent arranging how I would get from S & J's to P, in Nova Scotia. P lives in Yarmouth, a straight-shot ferry ride from Portland, Maine.  Having never been to Portland and as it was mentioned to me by several different people as a city I might like, I decided to have a stop-over there. Now all I needed was a place to stay. Seemed like a good time to try couch-surfing. 

Plenty of people balked at the mention of trusting a stranger to put me up for a night, but I was raised in a home that always welcomed strangers and I know lots of people who have fantastic couch-surfing stories to share.  Of course, those people probably started looking for a couch with more than a few days notice. There are lots of last-minute couch-surfing possibilities, but not so much in a smaller city, like Portland. I did find a very friendly young woman willing to host me for the 2 nights I'd requested. She lives right in the heart of the city, within walking distance to the ferry and offered to show me around a bit. Once I had the security of a place to stay in Portland, I went about ordering my train and ferry tickets online. The train was no problem, but when I looked at the ferry schedule, I realized I had been thinking of the wrong dates all along. For some reason, I was a week ahead of myself. Instead of October 9th and 10th, I'd been planning everything for the 16th and 17th. And as I was planning to take the last ferry of the season, I really couldn't postpone my trip. 

First, I changed the train ticket; easy enough, just a quick phone call. There wasn't even a fee. Then I had to write an "I'm a complete dolt" message to the couch-surfing lady, asking if it was at all possible to switch the days.  She got back to me very quickly, but could only offer her floor, as she was already prepared to host 2 other surfers for the weekend. I really do want to have an interesting travel experience, but I'm 35 and a stranger's sofa is one thing, but a stranger's FLOOR? After writing to several other surfing hosts and not finding a couch, I threw in the adventurous towel and booked a room at the Holiday Inn. 

S took photos of me with my backpack as I made my way out the door and J saw me off as I climb onto the commuter rail into Boston. It finally seemed like I was doing something different. I was leaving comfort. KInda.

fish and house guests

As I approached week 4 at S & J's, my visit started to become more of a residency.  And I started to feel as if I needed to be moving on to the next place.  The thing is, neither of them made me feel as if I'd overstayed my welcome.  On the contrary, they both seemed to go out of their way to highlight the benefits of having me around.  There's my fantastic sense of humour, which goes without saying, although I do find many occasions to talk about it.  Cooking several dinners helped, even if they did include vegetables that had never before been served on their table. (To J's credit, he ate his share of brussel sprouts, broccoli and cauliflower.  As for S? I'm considering it a small victory that she even put them in her grocery cart. Baby steps.) I also readily took J's hints to empty the dishwasher.  And after the initial day with the construction crew, they trusted me with overseeing the project. J may have even started to forget about the garbage disposal. I've honestly never felt so welcomed and, frankly, taken care of. Maybe they were still transitioning to having their kids out of the house and still needed someone to parent.  However, t he fact that I was willing to BE taken care was starting to upset me. 

Not only was I willing but I was really enjoying it, too. I've taken care of myself for a long time, most of the time believing I had to, some of the time wanting to, a lot of the time wishing I didn't have to. It's always made me uncomfortable to accept help from others and I've (over)analyzed all the reasons this is so. Not feeling worthy, worrying I won't be able to reciprocate, not wanting to seem needy.  Those are the biggies. But here's a secret: I AM needy. Not in a high maintenance, materialistic kind of way, though I may have been that kind of needy at some point. I'm emotionally needy and I've always had a hard time expressing my need. I want support offered to me without asking. The rub? I probably won't take it even when it is offered!  

I'm learning, taking those baby steps, to ask for what I need from people, to tell them what I'm thinking and feeling. In a lot of ways, this journey has forced my hand. I'm traveling alone, but I can't do this on my own. I need people to open their homes to me, to give up time in their schedules for me and sometimes, to listen to me cry about the directionlessness of my life today.  I've made a pledge to myself to try very hard to give voice to my feelings, to not pretend everything is fine and I can handle it all. Because I can't handle it all. I've attempted to manage myself for over a decade and it wasn't working out very well, so I figure it's time to ask for reinforcements. 

C was the first person I (as an adult) took from, readily. His graciousness and my love for him allowed me to feel comfortable having him take care of me. And then I moved on to S & J.  They're family, so maybe it made things a little easier. I found comfort in their home, being cared for by them. But as lovely as it was, I needed to keep moving; there are so many more people off whom to mooch!  All in the pursuit of personal growth, mind you.  Mooching for a higher purpose. I should have cards printed up.

other people's opinions

Here's a sampling of the reactions/advice I received from loved ones regarding this idea of mine to leave my life as I knew it and become an aimless wanderer:

(I'm paraphrasing here, people.)

The overwhelming majority: "WOW!"/"Sounds great!"/"Wish I could do the same!"/"You should definitely go to (insert far flung destination here-obviously from those with no comprehension of my budget constraints)"/"Can I come with you?"

My friend (yet another) K: "I think this is going to be really good for you.  I have a feeling you're going to meet a rugged Canadian and fall in love."  This, she said to me in early June and I've clung to it ever since.

Friend S: "I just feel like something really big and great is about to happen for you."  LOVE that woman.

Friend/former employer R: "Are you sure it's safe to be traveling alone?" Um.  I think so?

Various male friends of mine, including, but not limited to M,P,M,T,J,B: "You should carry a weapon with you.  At least some mace or something."  Hmmm, I never thought to be afraid until all of you people started planting seeds of fear in my head!  And no!

Sister LB: "It's really crazy, but I guess crazy is what you need right now." Yes!

Mom: "When do you think I'll ever see you again?" 

Dad: "I guess it COULD be good for you. Maybe. Perhaps. We'll see." 

Aunt M: "I've been to Nova Scotia.  I had to use an outhouse. Why on Earth would you want to go THERE?"

sound sleep

S & J decided to tear down the wall between their kitchen and living room.  It was a good decision. And as I would be around during the day, it seemed like a good idea to start construction.  It was probably the jokes about telling the crew to build a third story that prompted J to stay home the first day.  Ah, brotherly trust.  

It helps the story to know my sleeping habits vary greatly from those of S &J.  From most of the work force, actually. I'm up late, usually on the phone or computer, and fall asleep sometime after 2am. Which means I sleep until 10.  Or later.  And on this extended vacation from real life,  I might need a nap later in the day, too. It may also help to know that "my" room is about 10 feet from the kitchen. 

Anyway, on the day the wall came down, I awakened when the guys came in, a little after 7am; heard them talking to J, then J heading into the basement to get some work done from home. Next thing I remember, I was waking up to J saying "I can't believe my sister-in-law is sleeping through this." It was 10:30. The construction workers' response? "Oh! We didn't know anyone was here!"  And they quickly turned off the radio, to continue slamming hammers into the drywall. 

When I saw the progress they'd made on the demolition, I also was impressed I'd slept through it all. Then something occurred to me and I ran downstairs to declare to J, "I miss New York!" Not that I had to listen to a wrecking crew every night, but there is always some kind of noise and I had gotten used to it.  And I missed it.

Enough with the missing things. Next couple of posts are guaranteed to be homesick-free.

phoneless

I'm going to catch up.  I swear.  There is a list of posts in my back pocket right now I intend to make.  A few may even get up here tonight, but right now, I feel the need to write about my homesickness.  Specifically, the voices I miss hearing.

Nova Scotia has perfectly good cellular service and the home in which I'm staying has a landline. But my cell has been turned off since I got here two weeks ago and only a few people have a contact number for me, in case of an emergency. I imagined I'd get some peace and quiet and not rack up too much of a bill. The added benefit of a text-detox is not lost on me. My mom's already called, and no one was dying. I think she probably just wanted to hear if I sounded under duress.  Not unreasonable, as I came here to visit and stay with a virtual stranger.  When she found out the rates for dialing Canada, however, she decided it was best to stick with chatting online.  Which I'd figured would be a fine way of keeping in touch, seeing as I'm (is usually the right word here?) working on my laptop several hours each day.  And I have chatted or exchanged emails with most of the people I would talk to on a frequent basis.  

Not. The. Same.

Let's start with C, the best friend.  His job doesn't allow for online IMing all day, as so many of my other friends' do. He's computerless, for the most part, but even so would suck at a written correspondence.  It took him until this week to even read my blog, damnit! When I went away, I was afraid of this.  We were used to seeing each other nearly everyday, even before he housed me my last six weeks in NYC.  And we still spoke on the phone nearly every night. I haven't had a friend like that since middle school. (Not shocking since I've regressed to the mentality of an average 12 year old girl.  C never moved past it.) (That's what you get for not reading sooner!) Not hearing his voice for 2 weeks would be bad enough, but there's so much more.  Twenty times a day, something happens about which I would normally text him.  "Cyndi Lauper's gonna be on the next celeb apprentice!?!?" "My mom's stripper name would be 'Cinnamon!'" "I'm bored." "Just roasted brussel sprouts." "Whatcha doin'?"  (We have quite the intellectual exchange; don't be jealous.) The thing is, all those moments will be gone by the time I get back to the states and turn my phone on again.  Three weeks isn't a huge amount of time, but they contain a HUGE amount of tiny moments that just aren't worth recounting once we reconnect. They'll always be more, of course, but I miss his take on all this insipid stuff NOW.

Other people whose voices I miss: 

R,C &W. Man, I would love to hear some laughter coming from your lips. Because you must admit, my hilariousness would surely elicit some.

LB. I realize I could probably just talk to myself and have the full experience of listening to your voice, but I can never get your tone just right.

My mommy.

more visiting

When I knew I would be staying in Massachusetts for a while, I thought about people I would want to see.  Sister is obvious, all of her in-laws, whom I've claimed as my own for 20 years, B (the old friend): same thing.  Of course I would see them.   Then there are those who aren't on my usual visiting schedule, but seeing as I had the time and certainly the inclination, could be added to the list.  

The childhood friends:

Another K, a girl I found to be so interesting and cool, in the most relaxed sort of way when we were friends in high school, was a definite.  I'd been facebook "friends" with her for nearly a year and had become a fan of her blog which I find to be the kind of honest to which I aspire. Through her writing, I felt like I knew more than I should about her, as we hadn't really been in touch since high school.  There was time, maybe 10 years ago, when I happened to run into her. We exchanged emails and she wrote to me and I completely dropped the ball of our correspondence.  I know why I did.  I just didn't have anything to report.  Nothing I thought would be impressive or interesting.  And at that point in my life, I felt a very strong need to impress people.  Thankfully, I've lost that urge.  Good thing too, since homeless-and joblessness impress very few.

Back to K.  When she greeted me at the door, I knew instantly it was a good idea to see her. She's still relaxed, a very roll-with-the-punches kind of chick.  She has two very active young boys (C & E) who were climbing trees and jumping off stairs without a care in the world.  And her house was a mess, which she informed me is it's usual state.  I met her husband, whom I found engaging and fun.  I loved every minute of it.  K was fascinated with this idea of mine, of leaving my life behind.  It was a real "grass is greener" kind of thing.  But ultimately, of course, she doesn't want to leave her life; she has a pretty good thing going.  And I'm determined to figure out exactly what my life's supposed to look like.  For now, it looks okay to me.  Just the way it is.

Then there's J.  I'd seen J more recently, when we were both going to school in New York.  She moved away when she got married (to another former classmate) and again, the only contact I'd had with her since had been through facebook.  I knew the basics of her life: husband, home, 3 kids & a dog.  This visit was trickier.  While I remembered J as an extremely creative girl from a really lovely family, I also remember a sense, at times, of us not liking each other.  That sense is hard to pinpoint, but I'm certain it was mostly my fault.  God, I could be a real bitch.  Still can, I suppose, but not for such petty reasons anymore.  Following the posts about her children and the interaction between her and her sisters made me want to know her again, to give myself a second chance to like her.  And hopefully, to give her a chance to find me likable.

More time well spent.  Her kids were sick and being semi-difficult in the way sick kids can be, but J was a gracious host all the same.  And once the kids warmed up to me, I was thoroughly enjoying the visit.  I really overstayed my welcome, too.   A dinner date had fallen through earlier in the day, so I wasn't in a hurry to leave and I was getting a kick out of this glimpse at a day in J's life.  I stayed on through the kids' dinner and when invited to stay for a grown-up dinner once J (husband/father/former classmate) returned from work, I only pretended to think over the offer.  With J &J, there was a lot of "what happened to so-and-so?" or "did you know this happened to whatsherface?".  I love this kind of stuff.  We had a great time catching up over a delicious dinner J kept apologizing for, saying she could have done better with more notice.  I suppose everyone feels the need to impress every now and then.  Fancy dinner or not, I WAS impressed.  And, oh god!, I hope she likes me now!

The family friends:

I spent one day in my old hometown of Dartmouth, with the intention to make two house calls.

First up was B's mom, C,  a woman I couldn't find more dear and has known me since I was 11. We hadn't seen each other since B's baby shower, 4 years earlier.  A former travel agent, she had plenty of good advice about what to see where and how to get to it.  It's always great to talk to her, but I have a very hard time feeling like an adult in her presence.  My issue, not hers.  Of course, her offer of a loan if I find myself in need didn't help on that front, but it was entirely appreciated.

Before my next meet-up, I killed an hour or so driving around, searching out any place I could think of which held meaning, or did at one point: my old house, the homes of friends, the Friendly's I frequented as a teenager with nothing better to do.  Plenty has changed in Dartmouth since I lived there, even in just the 7 years since my last visit.  What struck me the most, though, was what a lovely place it had been.  The strip-malliness of Route 6 had become even more pronounced and, frankly, repellant, but the neighborhoods are as beautiful as they ever were.  Tons of trees surrounding homes with none of the cookie-cutter aspect prevalent in so many towns.  I liked living there, but not as much as I should have.

R is one of my mom's closest friends, and although I'd seen her the month before in NYC, I'd promised to visit when I was in the neighborhood.  I pulled up to the house just as her husband, I, was getting home.  They shared photos of a cruise they'd recently taken and stories from when they first moved to their home, some 40 years ago.  I love the idea of the history in that house; the rearing of 4 children and and several more grandchildren, the tree which had been a seedling on move-in day that now far exceeded the height of the house.  I've always been jealous of those with a childhood home, a place they could keep going back to.  A place that would always be familiar and make them feel at ease.  What I realize now is that my mother was right all along when she used to tell me that "home is where my family is".  Score another one for the moms.  I'd extend it to include those I've made my family, too.  Friends, old and new who've 

welcomed me into their homes, their lives, really, and made me feel as if I belong right where I am.

company

After a week of being on my own (more or less) and developing an angry, painful eye infection about which I had no one to whom I could complain, Saturday rolled around and it was time to pick up S & J from the airport.  But not before I removed my belongings from their kitchen floor, transferred a week's worth of dishes from the sink to the dishwasher and attempted to make it seem as though I'd kept a tidy household all week long.  

By that time, I was well ensconced in my nephew's room.  I really know how to make myself feel at home; it's always been a talent of mine.  My laptop had found a temporary home on the desk, with every spare inch covered in papers and bills I'd yet to pay from an apartment I'd moved out of nearly two months earlier. Throw in a few empty water bottles and the wrappers from a bunch of granola bars and you have the idea.  Piles of clothing dominated the limited floor space.  The "too summery to pack, but useful for now" pile, the "definitely coming with me" pile and the "need to get rid of" pile.  It's remarkable how easy it becomes to toss articles of clothing, once deemed necessary, when space becomes a real issue.  Every time I had enough stuff to fill a bag, I felt proud of myself.  Certainly better than the initial rush of pleasure felt upon the purchasing of those things, mostly on credit and all more than I should have been spending at the time.

So, with a made bed and some semi-organization, I headed to the airport and realized it was the first time I'd ever done that.  An airport pick-up on my own.  I'd never even had to navigate a parking garage on my own.  Such excitement!  And I was excited.  But mostly about welcoming S & J home; I hadn't seen them in months and I was looking forward to having some company.  And I think they were happy to be back after a week of the rest/eat/relax/eat again schedule involved with a visit to my parents.  

And J never noticed anything amiss with the disposal.  Until he started reading this.  And then again when I actually DID screw it up.  Who would have guessed potato skins would cause a clog? My guilt didn't even allow me to laugh when J had a pipe full of watery garbage spew out into his face.  S didn't have similar reservations; she laughed plenty.

Here are a few of things I'd forgotten about living in the suburbs:

1.  What should and shouldn't go in a garbage disposal, (J-you can stop reading now.)  I was pretty sure the pit of a plum fit in the former category.  Wrong.  The terrible noise only lasted for a second before I flipped the switch and fished out the offending stone.  Worse than the sense of dread I felt at the thought of my brother-in-law discovering I'd broken an appliance (I hadn't. Really!) was the feeling that I'd forgotten how to live in a house.  I grew up in the suburbs, in houses with garbage disposals.  And the next thing on my list...

2.  The basement.  The basement scares me.  Especially, but not exclusively, when I'm alone in the house.  Scary things happen in basements.  At least they do in the movies.  And my imagination. But the basement is also where laundry happens.  Seeing as I have about a dozen pieces of clothing to my name (that includes underwear), I need to do laundry. 

 

So I developed a system where I have a friend on the phone, talking me through my expedition down the stairs and into the bowels of the house, where a serial killer could have set up camp. Alternatively, I may keep a friend on the IM while I run down to switch my clothes from washer to dryer.  If I don't return in the designated two minute time frame (having been eaten by ferocious rats), said friend has been instructed to call emergency services.

3.  During visits to my grandparents home in Illinois, I would often laugh at my grandma's seemingly compulsive need to draw the curtains the second the sun set.  It was impossible for me to imagine who she thought could be lurking outside, peeping into their tiny house, where nothing exciting ever happened.  Now I can conjure up plenty of unsavory pictures in my mind, which makes being in S's drape-less living room after dusk an impossibility.

I never missed having a car.  Manhattan is much easier to get around without one and my handbags are messy enough; imagine if I had a whole car, carrying my crap from place to place. That being said, I love driving.  Especially alone.  I love finding a song I like and blasting the radio and singing along.  Don't get me wrong, I'd do that even with passengers, but the sense of abandon just isn't as great.  It was with this abandon that I headed out on the turnpike to western Massachusetts.

That few hours of road makes for a beautiful trip, even when the foliage hasn't reached it's truly splendid autumnal potential.  I had two intentions with this road trip: to see where my nephew is living and to visit with two of my favorite people, who happen to be fantastic writers and editors.

The nephew:  

T is in his third year at UMass Amherst and moved out of the dorms and into a house with five other guys this summer.  They have a gigantic television (seriously, it's HUGE) and I'm sure they are all fantastic people (I only met one of the other guys), but these are not incentive enough to get me to go back.  Not that I've been invited.  But, it smelled.  And can hanging beer/naked girl posters and fly strips really be considered an attempt at decorating?  All I can hope is that the ambience encourages them all to spend extra time at the library.  

The writers:

C & D (and their children P &N) are people I know from NY, who moved up to Northampton several years ago.  And I really mean "up".  They didn't win the lottery or anything, but they do seem to have hit the jackpot.  Beautiful home, thriving, lovely children, work they enjoy in a town that is small enough to feel familiar, but bustling enough to never cause boredom.  The walks I took with C through town and the talks I had with each member of the family reminded me that interesting stuff is happening everywhere.  One needn't be in the middle of a metropolis to find stimulating conversation.  And I learned more about Nova Scotia, a future destination, in a discussion with N, than I had in the several months since I'd made the decision to go there.  It's good thing (for them) we're not related, because I could have made myself very comfortable staying in their guest room for a very long time.  What lucky sisters I have!

The bonus:

At the last minute I messaged an old friend (K) who lives in Holyoke and hit her up for a visit. She was extremely accommodating and welcomed me on very short notice.  Last time I saw her she was graduating from high school; she's now married and the mother of three.  And although there was plenty of we could have talked about (18 years means a lot of catching up), we spent very little time doing so.  What I did do was watch a lot dancing performed by two princesses (E & M), got my baby-holding fix (R) and enjoyed seeing a girl I so very much liked so very long ago, as a woman with a family and still highly likable.

Scene: A huge bookstore on a Monday evening in a suburban town.

Characters: Me, one other customer and a three employees.

Dialogue: None!

Eye contact with only other shopper: As if!

Best thing a friend said to me the next day about me freaking out over not living in Manhattan anymore: "Strip malls don't suit you."

Time to head to the mountains.

I wish I could say it's taken me so long to get a new post up because I've been hard at work on another bit of writing which could use a whole bunch of my attention, but I can't.  Because it would be a lie and I'm trying really hard to not tell those things anymore.  The truth is I've been wasting a whole bunch of time on a whole bunch of nothing.  Relaxing, tv watching, facebook stalking (word's gotten around- http://english242.blogspot.com/2009/03/seriously-check-this-out-and-really.html ), ice cream eating.  I just sat in the sun for 20 minutes with a tweezer and hand mirror, going at my eyebrows (along with a couple of chin hairs).  Time well spent, I assure you, but still...

When I last left you, I was waking up in my sister's house on the second day of self-induced job-and homelessness.  And I was still feeling pretty good that morning.  The sun woke me up, something that never happened in my first floor apartment.  The chilly air caused me to shiver, a wonderful, post-summer feeling.  I snuggled deeper into T's flannel sheet-covered bed with the knowledge I had all the time in the world.  There wasn't even anyone around to make me lazy for not getting up and out of the house.  But eventually, I did.   

One of my major goals of this journey is to connect with loved ones.  Since S & J were still gone, I called up B, a woman who was my girlhood best friend and someone I've managed to stay in touch with, though we haven't lived near each other in 18 years.  B lives close to my sister, with her husband and daughter, expecting a baby boy at the end of the year.  When we were teenagers, B and I spent a LOT of time together and I was devastated when my family moved to another state in the middle of my junior year.  I've often thought that had we been emailing and IMing in 1990, I would have managed to stay closer friends with B, but that isn't how it worked out.  No amount of phone calls and letters and twice a year visits can match the intimacy of seeing one another everyday, keeping up with the minutia of each other's lives.  Still, we HAVE stayed in touch and B holds a large portion of my history in her memory, and that was enough of a reason to seek her out whenever I would come to town.  

Many of those visits, however, were painful for me.  B seemed to be having more fun in college than I was.  Because she was.  She seemed to date more often.  Because she did.  She got married before I ever had a chance to really fall in love.  She bought a house and had a beautiful red-headed baby while I rented a crappy one-bedroom and took care of other people's children. And I resented her all these milestones and all that happiness.  I never said I did.  To anyone. But I'd have a hard time believing she couldn't feel my resentment.  That's no longer the way I feel.  I'm not sure exactly when it changed, when I changed, but I did.  It had a lot to do with forgiving myself for not having what I thought I should have at certain points in my life.  And being really, truly appreciative for where I was and what I was doing with that life.  This Sunday visit wasn't the first resentment-free one we've had.  But it was the first one during which I didn't stop to think about how I wasn't feeling bitter and jealous.  I just enjoyed the sunshine and the breeze and the comfortable conversation from an adirondack chair in the beautiful garden behind B's lovely home as we watched her daughter play on the lawn.

Driving back to S's after the visit, I realized I would pass a Barnes & Noble.  I hadn't shopped for anything in several months, besides groceries and my backpack.  As I was shedding my possessions, I decided to go into a "no acquisitions" phase.  Made sense AND seemed kinda noble-bonus!  Of course making vodka and Trader Joe's mini peanut butter cups (groceries!)my only real expense probably wasn't a terrific idea.  Anyway, back to the books.  A wonderful friend and his wife (M &W) gave me a B&N gift certificate as a going away gift, so I felt justified in my need to purchase a copy of "Pride & Prejudice & Zombies", something I'd been wanting to read for months.  As I got nearer the mall, however, I began to realize the expanse of time that lie in front of me and decided to save the book shopping for Monday.  This was the first time it hit me that I had NOTHING to do.