Resolution

Here's my promise: A new post everyday of January. Credit for the idea goes to wifemother . 

Here's hoping I can do as bang up a job as she did in November; I'll settle for coming close.

Day 4 With No Voice

Still speechless. Still sad. Maybe this will start to become comical? I could use some comedy.

My voice is gone. I've been croaking and whispering and making all sorts of sick animal noises for three days now. Perfect time to write, right? But all I find myself doing is feeling miserable and frustrated when no one understands what I'm saying. 

C accused me of being extra needy today and I pled guilty. My take on the situation? My extra neediness requires extra attention. Would it really make me feel better if someone was doling it out to me? I'd like to find out. 

I'm well aware of how whiney and exhausting I can be when I set my mind to it. And it seems that's exactly what I've chosen to do. Over the past many (too many) years, any illness I contracted, I suffered through alone. I never liked it, but it never seemed like something I could change. Now I know I can. I just need to find a volunteer. Some day, some one is gonna like me enough to want to take care of my sick self. 

SATC and The L Word

Two very surprising things happened this past weekend in New York:

1) When I went looking for action from a man I considered a reliable source, I was denied. 

2) When I wasn't looking for anything, a man told me he is in love with me.

I thought it would take me a while to get over 1, but 2 is providing quite a distraction. Lots of processing taking place over here in my head.

Bad, Bad Blogger

In a few hours I'll be on my way to New York City for a visit and my excitement in palpable. (that's for you, C) From Texas I traveled to California and visited wonderful friends and enjoyed spectacular weather and I promise to (eventually) write more about the last couple of weeks. But for the moment, all I can think about is going HOME!

These three months have gone by so quickly, as I've mentioned to anyone willing to listen lately. And then, when I really stop to think about it, it seems as if I've been gone so long. I realize three months isn't exactly an eternity, but it's a season! It's kids who've grown an inch and lost a couple of teeth. It's friends who've had an entire relationship begin and end. It's a park that's gone from autumnal splendor to wintry nakedness. It's many, many moments I'll never know about and can never reenact. Not that I'd want to. The many, many moments I lived on the road provided me a lot of insight, a whole bunch of fun and some desperately needed closeness with loved ones. I'm not sorry I left, but I'm more than thrilled to be returning! 

And I'm not exactly done with the adventure. I still have that pesky "what will I do with my life?" question to answer.

Degree of Difficulty

Nineteen years ago, when my family moved to Dallas (dragging me with them, kicking and screaming) I'd made up my mind to not like the place. In my teenageriness, I'm pretty sure I was justified. It was the middle of my junior year, a few weeks before my 17th birthday. I'd started figuring out how to loosen up a bit and have some fun and then WHAM! TEXAS! My misery was no secret, either; I didn't exactly keep it to myself. 

Just about everyone I tell about this move comments on how tough it must have been for me. Even my parents, years later, confessed maybe they'd made the wrong choice, not letting me stay behind to graduate with my friends. At the time, though, they'd explained to me the importance of staying together as a family. In those days, it was down to just 4 of us, my older sisters having left home years before. My parents told me they just didn't think it was right to leave me behind. I've long since come to understand it was the difficulty I had living in Texas that spurred me on to move to New York. It also stunted my social and emotional growth  for a long while, but I think it all comes out even in the end. 

If I'd've* stayed where I was comfortable I'm really not sure I would have left that comfort. And I'd dreamed of living in New York City since my first day trip at 8 years old. I made that dream happen. And then I got comfortable in New York City. 

Sometimes comfort will seem like happiness. It isn't. It's having an apartment and a job and knowing both of those things will be there tomorrow. Those are nice things and I'm almost positive I'll want those things again someday. But those things aren't enough. What's making me happy lately is knowing there are people in the world who really know me. Because they want to and because I'm letting them. Maybe the only way I know how to get some change going in my life is to make a big move.

On a cold, rainy day like today, the comfort of a cozy, warm bed is welcome and appreciated. But for my life, I prefer some challenges, some difficulty. I stopped doing Monday crossword puzzles because I knew I'd be able to finish them. Sometimes I can't finish a Thursday, but I enjoy trying. My life right now is a Wednesday; it's gonna be tough and it may take a while, but I have the confidence I need to make it through.

*Even if it's not grammatically correct, the double contraction is one of my most favorite things in the world. I get so tickled when I can squeeze one in! See? It really is the little things!

Thankful in Texas

There are a few more tales from Illinois, but since all this gratitude is flying around, I figured I would get caught up in the spirit of Thanksgiving. 

If you've been reading, you know I've spent a lot of time with various family members in the past 11 weeks. When I set out on this journey, it was with the knowledge that I had a bunch of people willing to welcome me into their homes. I suppose I take that knowledge for granted, because I've always had it. 

My family is large and I happen to like just about everyone in it. The only times I realize how lucky I am is when I hear a friend talk about not being able to ask a parent for assistance. I would never say it was easy to go to my parents for a loan, but I knew I COULD and I also knew they would do what they could to help. And they did. Even threw in extra, in case I had "underestimated". They're always thinking practically, which makes it easier for me to be a little flakey right now. One of my friends sincerely doesn't feel wanted or cared for by his parents and it took me a very long time to just accept his word on the matter. I guess because it was so unimaginable to me.

All three of my sisters and the brothers-in-law who are matched to them are people with whom I enjoy spending time. I may have more in common with some, but each of them are interesting and generous and make me cry at the thought of all the love I feel for them. T & C probably have the least in common with me, which only makes a visit with them more exotic. They've lived in places I'll probably never see and done work I know I'll never do, all in service of this country and I couldn't be prouder. A HUGE amount of thankfulness for their safe return from a combined 4(!) tours of duty. S & J's hospitality was (and will be again, I'm sure) outstanding. And they gave me a nephew, a niece and another huge branch of extended family I'm glad to know, and feel a part of. LB & B welcomed me and took me to The Cockroach Museum. They also share my sense of humour and I will will ALWAYS be grateful for that.

My grandpa is alive and driving and doing pretty darn well. Our relationship is a bit strained at the moment and may continue to be, but I love him and think about him daily. I have aunts and uncles I enjoy visiting. My Aunt J is a super neat lady and I wish I saw more of her. I have an embarrassment of riches when it comes to cousins. I'm focusing on a few, but only because I've been able to spend more time with them recently. O has become a nearly daily touchstone for me and I'm excited to be interacting with him on a (mostly) adult level. I'm glad he's forgiven me for being mean to him and I appreciate what a good listener he is. M is fun and funny and gives me a different perspective on a variety of topics. It's cool how different our lives are and how much we can still find to talk about. Those two weeks I spent with A, as I've previously mentioned, went by so quickly. She's a sweetheart and the main reason I'm thankful for unlimited texting. (Flirting with boys is a close second.)

Then there are my friends, my created family. I've got a whole passel of them all over the country and I'm grateful to the ones who've been around a long time for their loyalty and patience, the ones who are newer for embracing me, and to facebook for the ones who've resurfaced. 

The C family stood in for my biological family on many occasions and I'm thankful to have been a part of their family for so long. My friend C (the other one) has been my main ass-kicker for many years and I appreciate her bluntness and her advice; it hasn't missed yet. Which leaves C. He's housed me as if I were a family member and he bought me drinks as if he were hoping to get lucky. Thank goodness I finally opened myself up and thank even more goodness he noticed. 

Were you paying attention? Do you realize all my "thankful for"s are people? They're all I've got right now. And I've never been happier. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Insight In Illinois

On the occasion of my Aunt N's birthday, several relatives and I visited her at her new home (the first time for me), complete with a horse pasture. N, along with Uncle D, bought this teeny, tiny house on stilts near a river, with a bunch of land. Add a fence and 4 horses and it's turned into a ranch. Without a barn. When I stopped by, Uncle D was in the process of building the stalls, as well as a large guest house. He pointed out where everything would be; a wall here, a fireplace over there. His creativity and construction skills have been proven time and again. There will no doubt be a wonderful barn and guest house in that space. 

Later, back in her teeny, tiny house, Aunt N described the plans for expanding it. Another big project. And all I could think of was that I couldn't picture any of it. Just seemed like an awfully big undertaking. I had a similar experience when visiting my cousin S. She lives in a big, old house on a tree-lined street. The visit was great. I got to meet her new baby and see a couple of her other kids when I dropped in for dinner. When I mentioned this to O, he asked "isn't the house beautiful?" My first reaction was, "it's a disaster!" I could tell he was shocked. That's because he (as well as S) can imagine how gorgeous it would be when the renovations are finished. I saw stacks of boxes and an unfinished staircase. 

The more I reflected on these two visits, I realized this lack of vision has been pervasive throughout my life. When my family moved from one state to another, my parents often chose a house with great "potential". I wanted a furnished house with the smell of chocolate chip cookies wafting through every room. My parents were always right; they picked the best houses for our family. And over the years and lots of household projects, each homes' potential was realized. Only when one of our homes had reached this "finished" state, was I able to see what my parents had been talking about all along. Pondering all of this led me to the following:

For a while now, I've been telling people a story about how I came to be working on the book project I should probably be working on right this very minute. The tale goes something like this: After years of trying to produce the next Great American Novel (and failing, time and time again),nearly two years ago, I stumbled into a small writing assignment. Really, just a request from an old friend. And it was work outside my comfort range as well. I struggled with the writing. As in got stomach aches and cried over the writing. But. I FINISHED the writing, work for which I was genuinely proud of myself. 

Around the same time, another friend offered me another small writing assignment. This new work was much simpler, but fairly boring. Again, I FINISHED the writing and handed in quite a decent article. I believe this was the day I had an epiphany about my creativity. It was: I don't have much. Certainly not enough to make up a novel out of my head. I couldn't even figure out how to fictionalize my own experiences. And instead of feeling depressed with this realization, I felt free. It was a great relief to no longer feel as if I had to live up to an expectation which was apparently out of my reach. 

Coming to terms with my limits enabled me to think about how I could apply my desire to write to a project I might actually be able to finish. Even in the early stages of the project, I could imagine the end. Knowing I was capable of completing something, and doing it well, to boot, was a new feeling for me. As I get closer to finishing, I'm becoming a little afraid. What will I do next? I'm not able to picture what my life will be like when I'm done. Will I think of a new project? Maybe I'll go in an entirely new direction? No way for me to tell; I'm just not that creative.

Thanks, O

So much for contentment; it didn't last long. Does it ever? Should it? There are more Illinois tales to tell, but I have something else on my mind today. 

Lots of people have asked me if I miss my apartment and the stuff that filled it. I can honestly answer "no". And it feels really good to be able to say that. Even though the homesick pangs get stronger and closer together as the days go by, they are for the PEOPLE  and the ENERGY of NYC, not the books or sofa to which I can no longer lay claim. 

Now I'm going to tell a story about a trip to The Container Store, but stick with me; it'll come together. My sister needed to pick up something at the aforementioned organization emporium, so we stopped in after dinner last night. I clearly recall a trip I took to a branch of this store in Manhattan around the same time last year. It was a rainy day and I spent a couple of hours making sure to walk down every aisle, so as not to miss anything. And I also put many things in my basket: rolls of beautiful wrapping paper, irresistible "stocking stuffer" items, a mini vacuum for keyboards, etc. 

Just as clear in my mind is the day I cleared out the drawers and closet of my apartment, in the preparation of leaving, and wondered what to do with all of these things. I had enough wrapping paper for the next 3 Christmases, which meant I most likely hadn't needed those rolls I picked up at TCS. The vacuum hadn't been used once; my laptop's keyboard remains kinda dusty to this day. Some of these things I passed on to others, hoping they will find some usefulness. Some of it I didn't mind tossing right in the trash. I was angry at myself for wasting money I didn't have to waste and for taking up space I didn't have to spare in my home.

So, during this visit to TCS last night, I noticed right off the bat how familiar everything was. The whole holiday set-up, the bins of cute and clever and stocking-worthy items. I also noticed that while I enjoyed browsing through every aisle just like last year, I didn't feel the same compulsion to HAVE those things which were displayed on the shelves. And not only because I have no place to put them. I really don't desire things in the same way I once did. 

This is all good, right? I think so, too. But I think it's lame that I do. I don't want to feel a sense of pride or accomplishment for not wanting what is, essentially, useless crap. I also don't want to feel the need to punish myself should I find myself wanting a bit of that crap, whether it's tomorrow or a year from now. I'm not interested in living like a monk, just in being more mindful of how I spend my money and how I live in my space. I just want to feel at peace with my decisions; no judgements, of either the positive or negative variety.

 I have this thought that since I'm working really hard to stop beating myself up for making mistakes, I also shouldn't be giving myself mental high-fives for doing some trivial little thing like not wanting things I can't afford or fit in my backpack. When I shared these feeling with cousin O earlier today, he told me he couldn't see anything wrong with doling out a little self-praise once in a while. In most cases, I'd say I'm right. In most cases, O would probably say I'm right. But in THIS case, I sorta want him to be right. Because I could use the positive reinforcement. This ontheroad thing might be starting to get to me. Just a little bit.

Contentment

Once ensconced in cousin A's home, I didn't feel the need to leave for two weeks. Not only am I crazy about her, but we seemed to get into a rhythm which suited us both. I even believed her when she said she would miss me: I know I've already been missing her. 

A is everyone's favorite person and it used to drive me nuts because I'd always imagined myself as America's Sweetheart. Never mind that I'm not kind (or tall) enough, I felt it was my rightful title and A was usurping it. Eventually, I came to terms with my lack of kindness (and height) and realized that since I think the world of her, it was natural for the rest of the world to do the same.  In one of my kinder moves, ever since she told me of her pregnancy (with her now one year old, N), I even decided to stop spreading nasty, false rumours about her.

While N is as charming as can be, those days I spent hanging out with her only cemented my feelings of being very happy to NOT have a similar responsibility. A is a wonderful mother and from what I saw, enjoying every moment with her baby. Even planning for more. Maybe it's been a while since I've spent much time around small children and I'm just out of practice. Maybe the idea of putting in as much effort as I see A doing is exhausting to me. Maybe I really am over my baby fever. Whatever the reason, I was once again surprised to find myself in the "love them then leave them" category. 

Not only have I given up my dreams of being adored by all, I've given up the idea of myself as Super Mom. I'm not sad about these lost titles, just sad to have wasted so many years thinking I needed them to be applied to me. It's a good feeling to no longer yearn for something that may never happen. And an even better feeling to be satisfied with knowing that while I'm adored by way less than everybody, they're the right bodies.

It's About Time

Why do I suck so badly at updating this blog/travelog? There's plenty to write about and I even catch myself composing sentences in my head. Often. But I just don't take the time to type them out into a cohesive post here. When I do get the chance to commune with my computer, I'm usually catching up with a friend or getting my daily dose of news from www.dlisted.com . But since scads of my followers (read: my sister) have been clamoring for more from me, here goes:

    The Top 16 Most Wonderful Things About A Bus/Train Trip From 

  Yarmouth, Nova Scotia To Chicago, Illinois

16. Getting an entire bus to myself for the first 5 hour ride to Halifax in which I could sleep and revel in fond memories of my final night and morning with P.

15. Truly beautiful scenery throughout Nova Scotia, including a portion of the trip during which I was literally heading INto the sunRISE. Seemed pretty symbolic of my new beginning. You do get it, don't you? Also, a town called Mahone, where I decided I could definitely live. Until the next 45 hours made it clearer than ever that I want to have easy access to a major airport.

14. Nearing the city of Halifax and witnessing population density more along the lines of my comfort level. And, lame as it is, seeing a Starbucks. I don't even drink coffee, but it made me happy none the less.

13. Listening to Hare Krishna teenagers explain their philosophies to strangers and then ask for a donation for the "free" books (read: pamphlets) they've just distributed. Also, smelling the curry they'd packed for the overnight journey. For real.

12. A bus driver who acted as tour guide and reminded me of the scary robot/almost Buffy's stepdad played by John Ritter: creepily cheerful and wholesome with an undercurrent of menace.

11. The few minutes of internet connection I was able to get at various stops along the way.

10. Wearing no watch, I honestly can't say how much sleep I was getting. I know I woke up a lot, but I also fell asleep a lot. I could fool myself into thinking I'd gotten plenty of rest. Not for long, mind you, but still.

9. Seeing the first snow of the season sometime in the middle of the night, somewhere in Quebec, stopped at some no-name motel reminiscent of the settings of several horror films, for what the new driver promised would be "a good lunch". Never should have doubted him. Or the motel restaurant named "restaurant". (Noncapitalization intended.)

8. Changing clothes and brushing my teeth in the Montreal bus terminal at 6am. And getting myself from said terminal to the train station via subway (le Metro), using my high school French.

7. The croissant, fruit and free wifi I enjoyed in the Gare Centrale, waiting for my train.

6. The suddenly luxurious-seeming accommodations of Amtrak Coach Class.

5. Crossing the border and turning my phone back on after 17 days.

4. A walk around the surprisingly charming Schenectady, NY. And the fish & chips and beer I devoured in the pub next door to the quite uncharming train station.

3. Not being beheaded by the crazy man sitting across the aisle from me on the ultra luxurious train (foot rests!), ranting to himself for much of the ride. And him disembarking in Cleveland, leaving me with several hours of peace and quiet.

2. The long shower in cousin E's apartment which washed away 2 days of grime and desperation.

1. Lying flat for the first time in 63 hours under a down comforter on the futon in cousin A's guest room.

And the dream

A couple of years ago, as I was reading the NYTimes, I came across a piece written by some guy about his recurring dream. He perfectly described some of my favorite dreams with what I've since learned is a very common theme.

The gist is that I open some closet door and discover a whole new room I never knew existed in my home. It is always large and never furnished. Just a big, empty room. Sometimes it's an entire wing. The dream has taken place in my apartment, but most often in a place I don't recognize; I just KNOW it's home. I loved these dreams for obvious reasons: the pleasant surprise, the clean slate, the possibilities, the upgrade in square footage. Of course, there was always the let down of awakening to realize no matter how hard I searched, I was never going to find more space in my place, but in my mind, those moments of discovery outshine the reality hits.

The reason I bring this up? Last week, in some 20 minute chunk of time I managed to sleep on a 15 hour train ride, the dream came to me once again, with a twist. This time, as I removed my backpack and placed it on the floor, I saw something new; a feature which had escaped my notice until that very moment. My best guess, in my fuzzy recollection, is that the feature was some sort of bedroll that hooked onto the front of the pack.

These are 2 possible interpretations I've managed to come up with:
1) I really do consider that backpack my home. It's true I haven't missed my apartment or anything I gave away. Not for a second. And I have been more or less living out of it for a few months now.
2) I really, really, really needed to lie down and get some sleep. As I do now. Thank goodness I'm not on a train tonight.

Once again I find myself falling behind in my travel-logging. But maybe I just need to let go of the idea that I have to keep a linear thread going here. I WILL write about my long-ass bus ride and the visit to my grandmother's grave, but right now, I feel like writing about this.

My cousin A and I had a long talk tonight about something I feel very comfortable sharing with friends, and frankly, sometimes virtual strangers. And yet it is so difficult to discuss with family members. So difficult, in fact, that I don't. This has to change and I feel I'm working towards that end, but I seem to have hit a bump in the road.

I understand what the bump means, mainly because I've run into so many before. The bumps mean I'm close to figuring out something big. For years, I was stopped behind one particularly bumpy bump; eventually, I just turned my back on it. Damn thing never left, no matter how long I ignored it. So I turned myself around and started climbing over it. I've handled several since then, some bigger than others. This current bump is a doozy. But it can be traversed. Good thing too, because I know there are plenty more waiting for me up ahead.

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.

So, I left my life.  Basically.  Job, apartment, city, friends, even my bed.  Two weeks into whatever this is and I don't feel I'm any closer to figuring what whatever this is.  Not that I thought I'd know by now.  But I do think maybe the significance of what I've done is starting to sink in. 

Sticking to my own rules, I'm not going to recount my last days in New York.  Is it enough to say that they were fun-filled and tear-soaked and brutal?  And then I left.  It's all the stuff that comes next I hope to chronicle here.

day 1 (saturday, september 12th)

It was my intention to leave with only a backpack; I'd been planning it that way in my head for months.  In the end, I didn't manage it.  There was the backpack (heavier than I'd imagined) and another small bag.  I tried to rationalize with myself that there were things in that extra bag which needed to be left with my sister.  Why I couldn't leave them with C, I'm not sure.  My sister has a house and C has an apartment.  So I guess I can write it off as a space issue, but what was more likely going on was my reluctance to let go of those few extra things.  Just so you know, 6 weeks before this, on the day I moved out of my apartment, I had 5 extra bags, the contents of 4 which were given away or tossed in the trash.  And never missed.

During the short walk to the X27 bus from Bay Ridge to Manhattan, I realized the magnificence of my backpack.  It was heavy, but easily handled on my shoulders.  Until I went to take the first BIG step into the bus; I nearly fell backwards when my balance was compromised.  The driver and I (but mostly the driver) had a laugh and he wondered aloud to me why I wasn't hiking into Manhattan.  I told him the thought had crossed my mind.  And it had.  And then it flew right out again.  

After that brutal week, I'd prepared myself for a full day of crying throughout my journey from Port Authority to Providence.  I was wearing sunglasses on a rainy day and had a stash of tissues in that extra bag.  They were wasted.  I wasn't sad to be leaving.  As Greyhound carried me north, I mostly stared out the window and felt relieved.  Of the stress of worrying about and explaining this idea of mine.  Of all the those things I'd left behind that didn't really matter any more.  Of all the things I was ready to leave.  And of the girl I was when I'd come to New York, 15 years earlier.  

That was one l o n g  bus ride, but it was the cheapest I could find.  I arrived at my sister's empty house and made myself right at home.  S & J (my brother-in-law) have always made me feel welcome, but the fact that they would be out of town for the next week made me all the more comfortable.  I dropped my bags on the kitchen floor, where they'd remain until the morning of their return, and opened the door to a fully-stocked fridge.  Choosing a room was my next task.  D (my niece) has a big bed and a full length mirror in her room.  T (my nephew) has a small bedroom with a twin bed, cable tv and a bathroom 2 steps away.  He wins.  Or loses, should he chose to come home from college for the weekend.  

And it is in that bed I would spend the next 18 hours or so.  Watching that cable tv and phoning C (my best friend), who I'd left that morning.  All the while feeling pretty great to be starting this new chapter.  And then I woke up Sunday morning.

More catch-up to come tomorrow.

I Did It!

Took me 18 months or so, but I finally managed to start a blog.  Correction:  the actual blog construction used up all of 3 minutes; it was the procrastination and laziness which sucked up the rest of the time.  So here I am.  A real live blogger.  I'm so on top the trends!