Sickly

For the last few days I have been sick. I have enjoyed this. It wasn't the sick where you are REALLY SICK and FEEL YOU MAY DIE AT ANY MOMENT. More of the kind where you just feel run down and that life is totally kicking your ass!

I assign time limits to my being sick. A cold - 1 hour. A headache - 30 minutes. A stomach ache - 15 minutes. Anything blood related - like a paper cut - 5 seconds (I really hate the sight of blood). It has been so long since I had the flu (knock on wood) or anything major that I have no time references for those. These time limits in no way work but I feel more in control if I tell my body to stop acting like a big cry baby and get well.

My body pretty much replies the same way every time - "SUCK IT!" and then it continues on its sickly way.

This time I just went with the flow. I wore sweatpants and a tank top. Put my hair up in a pony tail. Had a glass of water. Watched my delightful la femme Nikita (that Michael, what a very yummy man! - I'll take one to go, please) and basically played slug for two days.

I did nothing but sleep and lay in bed while whatever it was beat the stuffing out of me. Then like it had arrived, it was gone.

And I lost weight. What a deal!

My new BFF

I have been spray painting plastic outside furniture.

This is the best invention EVER. It seems all the outdoor furniture you buy, is some horrible color of black, or dark green, or even worse, WHITE. I have the dark green color. It was Costco, circa 2001. It has seen better days but I can't afford anything new right now, so I have just sucked it up.

Until a few days ago.

I stopped at the local hardware store the other day to pick up primer. On the way out the aisle, I saw plastic spray paint. I stopped. There was the normal colors, white, black, dark green, BLACH. But right below it, lovely colors, blues, light yellows, purple, pink, mint green. Just lovely. I picked up the hydrangea blue color. It was a lovely light blue, so I bought a can.

I first tried it on the dark green chair, the color ended up being a little darker because I didn't prime the chair first. I'm sure if I had primed it white, the color would have been a lovely light shade of blue. The darker color is fabulous though. Today I am doing the white chair, and it is turning out just wonderful.

It has made the chairs seem so beachy and new! I just gave them a quick wash outside with soap and water, then went to town. In a beach environment, I am going for a casual, comfy look, so I wasn't too careful with the paint. After the chairs, I am doing the little table that goes between them pink with a hydrangea blue middle. Then the dining table is going to be yellow with blue hydrangea chairs. The cushions are green and white, so I will have to find something to cover them in, maybe a white chenille.

My deck will look festive, and new and the best part is that it didn't cost an arm and a leg.

My new BFF is spray paint for plastic.

Feelin' the Love!

How an eighteen year old boy tells his mom he loves her.

I know you guessed he simply says "I love you, mom." No. Never. Ever. EVER.

Did you guess he hugs her? No. Never. Ever. EVER.

Sends her a lovely card? Does the dishes for her? Cleans the house? Does the laundry? Turns off the lights when he leaves the room? Closes the front door so the dogs don't escape? No. Never. Ever. EVER.

Lets her watch her tv shows? Listen to her music in the car? Doesn't roll his eyes and throw himself on the floor in the grips of phantom pain when he hears what is for dinner? No. Never. Ever. EVER.

Comments on what an excellent driver she is? How nice she looks today? How sorry he is that her drivers license photo is the MOST UNATTRACTIVE PHOTO IN THE ENTIRE WORLD? That she is an superb parker? No. Never. Ever. EVER.

Nope, the way you tell when an eighteen year old loves you . . . .

Is when he says please, OH PLEASE, don't volunteer at the animal shelter because their waiver form says they won't let you sue when you get rabies.

Yep, I am feelin' the love.

Pieces - part deux

He is bothering me.

I'm a little less sad

Pieces

We are on the count down to college.

I thought I was ready. I am a big fat liar.

I'm not.

He is ready. So energized, so happy, so excited.

I'm sad.

I can't talk about it.

I can't write about it.

My heart is broken in a million pieces.

Something is very wrong here!

Every day I try and do one thing that absolutely terrifies me. Today I tried to get health insurance.

I have been one of the lucky ones in this department. I have always had insurance since I was an adult. When I worked, I provided my own health care. After I became a stay at home mom, it was provided via the exes work. Now I am not working and I am not married, so I need to carry something on my own.

The kid is carried on the exes policy, so it is just me. Just old, totally unhealthy, me. I think I am very healthy. The insurance companies think otherwise. I have psoriasis, which is something you are born with. It is a skin disorder. I spend maybe $200.00 a year on lotion. It is the kiss of death in the insurance world. I get lumped with the same group as HIV/AIDS. It is labeled as "chronic" which it is, it just has different severity levels. I'm low. No one cares.

Since my life has gone tipsy-turvey, I take high blood pressure medicine. Another kiss of death. I have lost a bunch of weight, red flag. I had a C-section, red flag. The list goes on and on. I will never understand how a country as large and as intelligent as ours, can let this health care problem run unchecked. The insurance companies dictate and we follow, or in my case, don't follow.

Not one of us is perfect. Yet, we allow the insurance companies to say "NO, you are too fat" "NO, you are a smoker" "No, you are blond" "No, you are something or other" Sure I know all the talk of rising premiums. The cost that comes with obese people, or smokers, or people who don't exercise, or people with chronic illness, is amazing. Though even if you start to change your life, you are still penalized. Yes, I was fat at one time, sure the odds are good that I may be again, but the odds are also there that I may never be fat again. I exercise now, I hate it but I do it. I will continue to do it because I know the benefits it provides.

I hope to be off the high blood pressure medicine, but what if I can't achieve that goal? I am to have no coverage because I don't fit the profile for a "HEALTHY LIFESTYLE?" I run 5 miles a day, I eat low-fat, I watch what I drink, I maintain a positive attitude, and yet, I am "A high risk candidate."

Something is very wrong here.

Love that puppy away

Delicious weather we are having. Sunny, warm and it is just wonderful to go for long walks on the beach. We bring the dogs.

Everyone wants to talk to us about Olive. We are going to have a t-shirt made up for her to wear that states:

• Why, yes, I am going to be a big dog!
• Oh My, thank you I do have big paws.
• Why, really! truly! I am going to be a big dog!
• Yes, I do contain quite a bit of fur.
• Enough already, I am going to be a ginormous dog!
• No, I am not an Australian Shepard, A Newfoundland, or from the Samoa Islands.
• Yes, eventually I will be big enough to bring down a buffalo.

This is what we spend our entire walk stating. Every person says the same thing. The EXACT same thing. Yet, I answer with a smile and keep my opinions to myself. But it is annoying.

Herbie just marches on and pays no never mind. As far as he is concerned, Olive is a nut case and he lives for the day she disappears from his sight.

Today we stopped and had pizza in town. This is the only restaurant that has tables outside for the morons who bring their dogs into town. Also, it is a lovely place to stop and pollute the world with cigarette smoke while people eat. When lo and behold, we ran into another couple that had a Bernese Mountain dog. It was a male, about 5 months old. The look on Herbie's face was priceless.

Oh, what has the world done to me, THERE IS ANOTHER ONE. It is coming BY ME. It is STOPPING BY ME. It is SMELLING ME. SAVE ME.

When all of a sudden a change came right over Herbie. He started whining and leaping and just making the biggest fuss over that puppy. It was like he had just won the lottery, received the best Christmas gift ever, and his food bowl was NEVER ENDING. That puppy didn't know what to do, he had never been loved like this before. Frankly, it was a little frightening both to us and the puppy. Olive stared at Herbie, why he could be friendly! to a strange dog! not the dog that resided in the same home with him. The dog that sucks his head to get to the creamy center, the dog that yanks Herbie's leg while he sleeps to wake him up, the dog that will drink from the water bowl and dry her face on his back! The dog that thinks Herbie rises and sets with the sun. Her face registered disbelief.

Then it dawned on us. When Herbie first met Olive, he was the crankiest, meanest pug. He snarled and growled. He refused to be nice, or even tolerate her being in the other room. He was horrible. Still she stayed. Now it was like a light bulb had gone off in his head. I know YOU BE REALLY SUPER NICE TO PUPPIES AND THEY GO AWAY. If YOU ARE MEAN, THEY LIVE WITH YOU FOREVER!. I AM GOING TO LOVE THAT PUPPY AWAY.

The look on his face when that puppy continued down the street was priceless. Then he turned around and bit Olive's face.

Olive was happy to know the old Herbie was back.

The end.

pain

I took yesterday off because I finished my tattoo.

It HURT. A BOATLOAD! I because why, yes, I am an amazing woman, thanks for asking, sat for over two hours while they filled in the color.

Yes, it was my decision to get it. I am re-thinking the idea of getting another one. It hurt. A lot.

The first time they drew the outline and did the shading. That was more of an annoying sensation than an actual pain sensation. Yesterday, no annoying sensation, just pain.

At first, I'm like, WOW! good lord that was slightly painful. Then it was OH MY GOD, that is pretty painful. Then it was I AM FOR SURE GOING TO DIE RIGHT HERE IN THIS CHAIR. Yet, I stuck around. I sucked it up, didn't say anything, plastered a smile on my face and tried to find my Zen.

No Zen was to be found. He had left the building. Apparently he was pretty irate.

I laughed and joked. Told interesting tales of the moronic ex. Watched the people come in and out for piercings. Watched the people come in and make appointments for tattoos. Clenched my teeth so hard, my jaw aches today.

Now why I didn't leave? Other than the fact that my arm would have looked totally stupid with half an octopus colored in.

There was one other person in the room getting a tattoo. It was a guy. A guy who had the most amazing arm tattoo going on. A guy who never flinched or wiggled or moaned or asked repeatedly, HOW MUCH LONGER. A guy who was facing MY DIRECTION. I was in his direct line of vision. I didn't know him. I wasn't going to ever see him again in my life. Yet, for some odd reason, he wasn't going to see me act like no girly girl. No way, I don't care if that tattoo was going to take 5 hours, I was going to sit there until he either left, at which case, I would fling myself out of the chair and run screaming out into the street, or that tattoo was going to be done.

Being done came first. THANK GOODNESS. I paid with a huge smile and explained, Why that wasn't as bad as I had expected, it was a walk in the park, a piece of cake, a day of sunshine. AS LONG AS ALL THOSE THINGS INCLUDED MY ARM BEING EATEN BY A WOOD-CHIPPER. I left and whined my way through the evening.

I never said I wasn't a girly-girl in my OWN HOME.

Cobbler

Today I channeled Little House on the Prairie. I froze berries for the winter and I made a homemade cobbler from SCRATCH.
I know, what in the hell is happening to me.

I wish I knew.

The blueberry cobbler was a hit. I don't eat blueberries, but the kid does and he loved it. I used the Betty Crocker cookbook from my childhood. My mom gave me this cookbook years ago. I like to think it was a wonderful gesture and not a plea for me to PLEASE, OH FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD, PLEASE learn to cook.

After all, I did fail home economics three times in a ROW, until they moved me to the watering the plants class. I passed that one, or I could still be in high school. Cooking, sewing, all things home related, I pretty much sucked at them all. Still do. Didn't care then. Don't care now.

Only now, I try harder. I have had limited success in this endeavor. I have kept the kid alive for well over 18 years and if you knew my cooking skills, you would nominate me for mother of the year. So I go with my tried and true recipes, tacos, spaghetti, popovers, wok, baked chicken, that sort of stuff. Salad and a lovely bread product generally round out the meal.

I use the motto "It'll keep you alive til morning." Sometimes since the kid is eighteen, I go with the motto "shut up and eat it, or make something yourself." I didn't say I was in the running for mother of the year every day.

But sometimes I surprise even myself and open the tattered, stained, broken spine cook book and look through the pages. The pages that show the way through my childhood. You can tell we loved biscuits, pies, and cakes. The cookie chapter is pretty obliterated with spots of cookies past. The vegetable pages are as new as the day they were printed as are the meat pages. My mother didn't eat meat, so I assume she just sailed right by those chapters. The cobbler page, well it told a lovely tale of berries and hot summer nights. Of ice cream and the tart taste of fruit. The ending of long, free days and the start of school. I decided that is one memory of mine that I will pass on to the kid.

From the look of the cobbler, he has taken that memory right to his stomach.

Driving

Today was my wedding anniversary.

I spent it at the DMV getting an Oregon drivers license. It was a serious hoot.

I have a license. I love my license. I don't love the DMV. I don't love taking tests. I really don't love being in the DMV talking the "knowledge" test. First I read the driver's manual. I now can quote the speed limit on alley ways, driving on the beach, and what to do if my hood flies open.

I now can point out when deer may be crossing, what to do if I see a blind man, and how far my load can extend past the front of my hood. Also, in Oregon my license allows me to drive a fire truck or an ambulance. I'm telling you the benefits of this state ROCK. I am SO going to get me a fire truck. It's legal and I intend to enjoy that perk, especially the siren.

I brought in all the pertinent paperwork, old drivers license, passport, mail with my current address, birth certificate, cash (no bank cards here!), yep, I was prepared. No, I wasn't. I have misplaced my ORIGINAL social security card, you know the one from the DARK AGES WHEN THEY GAVE IT TO ME, so nope no license for me. I did however, get a lovely piece of paper surrounded with a lot of yellow highlighted areas telling me what to do in this case. #1 - bring in Social Security Card, geez! why didn't I think of that. My Oregon Health card, hello, no license yet, I'm pretty sure I don't even know what the Oregon Health card is. My military record, Nope. Finally, one of them was a tax document, fine, I may have that one.

The kid wasn't faring much better. He at least had his Social Security Card, his mail to his current address, his license, and he didn't have his passport. Ok, we both had to head home.

First we got to take the knowledge test. We both passed. Guess which one of us did better than the other? Clue: It is not the one having a glass of wine tonight.

We headed home, collected some more documents and headed back to the DMV. Received our licenses. Know why I am having a glass of wine tonight?

Because I thought I heard the man say "don't look happy until after the flash." When in actuality he said "look happy until the flash." Yep, I am standing straight faced looking very deranged and wanted in my photo. I seriously look stoned. *Sigh* This is my photo for the next bunch of years. I'm pretty sure, I will always get a ticket and I lay odds that my mug photo will end up looking so much better.

The kid. . . oh, he looks fabulous. It is good to be young and have good hearing. Especially at the DMV.

just a day!

So it is a delicious Sunday down here on the coast. These sunny, warm days are so wonderful, I think made better by the fact that you know they won't be here long and it will be back to cloudy weather.
I have finished up the front flower bed, for the moment at least. The flowers are a little shabby but they fit right in with my shabby chic decorating style. Yesterday, at the nursery I found this lovely vine with the palest of orange flowers. The flowers are so soft, almost like velvet, I know this for a fact, since I petted it for quite a few minutes. It probably won't survive the winter, and it really didn't make sense to buy it this late in the season, but it was so pretty I couldn't resist. I may try and protect it through the winter. We will see how my green thumb, or lack thereof progresses through the fall.

I added some pink geraniums for a burst of happy color and threw some other plants around. Next summer I will have more time and energy to devote to making a true English garden. Today we headed into Gearhart, a town North of Seaside. It is very small, and quaint. They have a little nursery and since I needed potting soil, we stopped in. They had a delicious smelling jasmine plant, which I bought. With the exception of Gerber Daisy's, which are my favorite flower, I love jasmine. It smells divine and is so easy to grow. I planted it right by my front door, so hopefully next summer my house will smell heavenly.
We stopped at the little cafe and had lunch. Today reminded me of every thing I love about summer. It seems that we just wondered around, with no real purpose or destination in mind. This is what living in a coast town is like. You are always on "island time", which is not always a good thing but it is what it is. Though on Monday thru Friday, I mostly complain about "island time"

The anchovies and herring are running down here. Every night the whales come into feed. It is quite the sight to see. I tried to take a photo with my little camera, but it really doesn't capture the magnificence of them. The tourists (and truth be told, the locals) love them and every night I sit on my back deck, while the "ooh's and aah's" drift up from the shore. The ocean is covered in birds as well, so it is quite the cacophony of nature.

Dirt

We are making HUGE strides in forming a home here in our small neck of the woods. Today I bought plants for the front yard.

It is a little late in the flower season, but my motto, better late than never seems to apply here. Our yard is mostly grass with a small flower bed by the front of the house. I go with the "Cottage Garden" look. Ornamental grasses, roses and hydrangeas make up the majority of the plants. During the summer months I throw out some geraniums and call it good to go. Also, I have some lavender bushes and a few Daisy's that come and go with the winter weather.

I had started weeding out the bed last week when I saw a snake, I have not been back. I wanted to give it ample time to move along. The dogs were no help in this snake sighting. Herbie can't see anything unless it is green and round or touches his food bowl. Olive, well, she is just a dim-wit. Though she did enjoy the scream of terror I omitted, and want to immediately jump on me and head butt my mid-section. Because nothing says snake fun like a ruptured spleen.

So, I have not been back to the flower bed of terror until today. Nothing really says home ownership like dirt. It is very therapeutic to dig in the dirt, those toddlers are really on to something. The sun warms the earth while the flying insects hum little tunes. I put out all my doodads, plant my plants and let the simple task of planting soothe me.

When you start to control the chaos around you, it is amazing how much better you feel. Even though yard work is not my thing, really any work is not my thing, it is such a feeling of satisfaction when you accomplish something. Even just putting geraniums into the dirt. Their little pink heads look happy and that in turn makes the house look happy. Which in turn makes me a happy camper.

I do have warn you though, gardening can lead to other home activities, tonight I baked cookies. Oh, not from scratch, I have not lost my entire mind yet, but from a cookie tub. They were good! If I start to know how to make a meat loaf or start ironing my sheets, I am moving back to the big city!

Vacations are fun

Delicious vacation has come to an end. Oh, so sad.

The dogs are happy. Herbie because if there is anything worse than being a deck dog, it is being a kennel dog. Having to be in a same run with Olive for FOUR WHOLE days, pretty much just like death. Olive on the other hand, thinks that the kennel is fine and when we picked her up today, pretty much had no idea who we were. Though she left with us just fine. When we got home, she ran upstairs, got into my suitcase and chewed up another pair of unmentionables, guess she remembered those. Nice to know she is using her brain for something fun.

We shopped and ate too much. The kid, because he is truly wonderful, bought me some lovely vintage stirrer sticks. They are delightful sea creatures and will look delicious stirring something. I have sparkly clean teeth and beautiful hair. A new coat. Piles and piles of unread books and magazines. We attended wine hour. We went to a movie, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. Slept in until 9:00 am one day.

Vacations are nice. I actually think they are more enjoyable for me now that I am not in a relationship. During my marriage, I was "in charge" of everything. Where we ate, what we did, where we stayed, on and on. I felt like Julie, the cruise director on the Love Boat, only I didn't get paid and my duties didn't get to end after the hour episode was over. Nope, mine went on for the whole dang vacation.

Now, while I still run them, I am more flexible. I don't like mornings, never have, never will. I choose not to get up early. I like a breakfast snack, not a whole meal, so we have snacks. I like a big lunch, so we eat our nicest meal of the day at lunch. It goes like this. I still plan for the kid but now I figure, if he doesn't like the plan speak up!

It has only been now during the divorce that the ex brings up all the stuff he hated about me. I'm like, hey idiot boy, you should have either spoken up, or better yet, done it yourself! So with three vacations by myself under my belt, I like it better. Sure it would be nice to have someone to talk to at night but it is not an necessity. In fact, the longer I am single, the more I don't want a relationship EVER.

I do however, want a boatload of vacations.

vacation

I am on vacation. I have had too much to drink. My hotel gives out free drink coupons AT EVERY OPPORTUNITY. I have had a lot of OPPORTUNITIES. I have a lot of free drink coupons. I had two martinis in the bar FOR FREE.

I TOTALLY THINK VACATION ROCKS!

Undersea garden

I have decided I like myself. I really, really, like me and to show it, have decided to get a tattoo.

I have a tattoo already. A small green gecko on my left leg that I got in Hawaii a few years ago. No one really sees it unless I wear shorts and flip-flops. Even socks cover it up. I thought I was pretty daring just to get that.

Now I am entering a different phase of my life. I am all for everyone being whom they want to be. Embrace whatever your heart desires, within reason of course. I did the whole being married and having the kid scenario. I behaved. I drove car pools. I baked cupcakes and ran the Halloween carnival. I attended work dinners and events, to carry on conversations with people I didn't like or have one thing in common with. I chit-chatted with neighbors and maintained a nicely kept home. I did the birthday parties and Christmas gathering. I have fixed Thanksgiving Day dinners time and time again and put together giant family events. I have done what is expected of me.

I want something different. Something edgy. Something that people will not expect. So I am doing an entire arm tattoo. Maybe. I have just started and we will see how the pain goes. So far, so good.

I came up with the idea. I thought about it and researched it. I don't believe the kid was a big fan but he faithfully supported me. The first appointment came and went, I cancelled it. The next came. I went.

I absolutely loved it! Tattooing isn't for everyone. For me, it is something I totally love. It has only just begun and already I feel different. I can cover it all up. No one knows it is there but me. And it effects me. I feel bolder and brave. That the image I present to the world, is but one side of me. And I can choose to show it to you or not. My choice. I haven't showed anyone yet. Except the kid.

The kid, who REALLY loves it. Stares at it all the time and exclaims how cool it is. Right now it is only the outline and shading. In two weeks the color will go on. I have no idea what color it will be, so that is why the delay. A giant octopus resides at the top of my arm. A beautiful octopus. My favorite creature of the sea.

A creature that is smarter than it appears. Is gentler than is given credit for. And totally 100% beautiful, in a weird and unusual way.

Just like me. How appropriate it lives on my arm.

Once in a blue moon

Here in the land that time forgot, we can pretty much eat anything we want. I am pretty sure that the guide to healthy eating has never made its way to this neck of the woods.

Sure, we advertise no Trans Fat. In the produce aisle, behind the candy display, is the eat 7 a day poster but really other than that, butter, cream and all that goodness is still alive and well.

We are a large population down here. Everything that can be deep fried, is. Everything that can use a dipping sauce, pretty much has 10 to 15 to choose from. Salads have cheese, croutons, and those little hated shrimps all over them. We have a huge amount of dessert products. You can have popcorn while you shop the hardware store. Candy stores outnumber locals and you can easily buy 8 different kinds of ready made whip cream.

It is a constant struggle to maintain a healthy eating lifestyle and I have been doing a piss poor job at it. Luckily I have so much to do that I haven't gained any of the weight back but neither have I shed anymore.

If I was being truthful, I would have to say I like it a little bit. In Seattle, everything has a low-fat/non-fat option. When I lunch with friends, I can't remember the time it didn't involve a plain salad and water. All of that is good for you, I know it, and most of the time, I do it. Down here, I haven't been doing so much of it.

Today I went to lunch. Had spinach tortellini in CREAM sauce, Had a appetizer of cheesy bread (which, yep, is just what you think it is, cheese goodness, three kinds, broiled on french bread. Oh, god, it is delicious!) and two glasses of wine. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY! The kid had steak medallions with deep fried potato pancakes with a side order of blue cheese dipping sauce. He followed it with a dessert of carrot cake.

It was easy a lunch of 1 million calories and the fat content was seriously OFF the chart. Yet, it was so delicious. So wonderful, that I didn't feel an ounce of regret. Tomorrow it is back to the salads, the cut up pineapple, the billion of glasses of water, the chicken breast cooked with no sauces, the baby carrots and the cauliflower.

That is what I appreciate about the change of lifestyle. Everything in moderation. I wouldn't want to eat like that every day, but once in a blue moon, OH it IS sweet!

Strange

I try and be a nice person. It is not something I give my all to each and every day, but rather I try and go through my days with a little bit of kindness for my fellow men. Granted some days I achieve my goal and other days I fall way short.

Since I have quite a bit on my plate at the moment, I haven't much patience with idiots. Idiots are defined by someone or something that annoys me.

The person who counts ALL the fruit as 1 item in the 12 items or less aisle. In reality she has 32 items but counting the fruit as one, now has 8. Idiot.

Someone who counts out 92 cents in pennies at the local coffee store, idiot.

The people outside my bedroom window last night at 1:00 am IN THE MORNING, smoking, drinking and throwing rocks into the ocean, idiots.

These are my definition and it may mean something different to each of us. I often put myself in the idiot category, just to be fair it is not saved for only random people.

The kid woke up sick this morning. So in my effort to be kind, caring, and win some sort of mother of year award, I headed off to the grocery store to buy a wide and varied assortment of food products. We had soup, and juices, and crackers, some applesauce, and some bread. I was all over that food pyramid.

Now in my town we have one main grocery store. Safeway. You can head into another town and hit another Safeway but pretty much your selections need to be contained in either Safeway or Fred Meyer. Costco if you are feeding a search party but other than that, you are pretty much out of luck.

I am not a morning person. So this morning I counted myself a winner in the fact that I had on shorts, flip-flops, and a t-shirt. My hair was combed and I had my purse and PHONE, all at the same time.

So there I am, bopping along the aisles, playing Mrs. Beaver Cleaver. Buying stuff to make cookies. Buying a chicken for BBQ chicken, etc. etc. etc. I decided to buy the kid some cheese. He loves cheese. I'm enjoying the cheese aisle to no end when I notice a man is standing right next to me. Now this in and of itself is not unusual, I attract strange people like no one's business. I have forever and I don't see a reduction in this activity as I age. I make eye contact and start to move my cart along to the milk section, when he speaks.

"You are dressed inappropriately for Safeway!" He says to me. I look around in case there is a naked woman next to me or someone using a stripper pole in the cheese aisle. Nope, just me and the man.

"What?" I say, slightly mean toned, which really means, go away you strange strange man.

"That is not proper attire for grocery shopping." he angrily states. I look down to see if I am wearing clothes that could possibly be construed as not fit for the outside world. Nope. Still shorts and a t-shirt. And a bra I might add.

Now most days, I would continue on my merry way, today not so much.

"F*** off" I snarl. And I head to the milk aisle.

I finish my shopping and proceed to the checkout aisle, when who is standing right FRIGGIN' in front of me, but idiot man. He turns to look at me and I glare right back. Then he does some sort of wavy thing, like we are old friends. I glare. He picks up his groceries and exits the store. I complain to the sales clerk.

"Oh, he is a strange one." she says.

Good to know they can still find me even in Oregon.

Here and now.

We are slowly getting the hang of living here. The coffee store now knows our "usual." We saw people we knew at the garage sales we went to this morning. The neighbors wave to us. Slowly but surely we are finding our niche.

I thought it would take longer but it has gone pretty smoothly all in all. The house has some order to it. The car got the oil leak fixed. We have been to Portland enough to know the streets to get where we need to go and more importantly to get home.

Get Home. Two little words that encompass so much. I like it. I like it here. Some things are harder than I thought but some things are so much easier. I really thought I would miss the big city more than I do. I still grumble and moan about what I don't have, what I can't find but it passes quicker. I still have hard stuff ahead of me but in a small town it is simpler. People are kind. I'm sure they are kind everywhere, but in a big city you don't get so much of it. Here you get it all the time. They remember us at restaurants and gas stations and the hardware store.

A new life unfolds and starts to take place. It becomes ordinary. It starts to become a comfortable routine. I think it is like a wound. At first, because it is new, it is painful and noticeable. You feel sadness, anger, fear. You believe it will never go away. That you will always have a gaping wound that everyone stares at. Eventually, it starts to heal, to scab, to become less noticeable, the pain lessens. A scar takes the place. The healing is a process, a long process. In the end, the scar remains. It remains to remind us that we went through something and came out the other side. Maybe not as intact as we would have liked, but intact enough to feel contentment that we survived, that we are strong, that we are happy and at peace.

This is how I am starting to feel. Some days are hard and some are easy. I still want to scream and cry about the unfairness of it all, so I do. Some days I want to laugh and do nothing all day, so I do. And some days, I plan a future. My future. A future staring me! A future I hope holds more good things than bad. Even if it doesn't, because who among us really knows the future, the here and now is pretty darn good.