Blinkers, Blinders and Blindfolds

I was prompted by a comment made by a friend of mine on one of my blog posts yesterday.

Dragonfae said: “What is it with mothers in denial of all the nasty crap and the need to deal with it?”

I’ve given it a lot of thought.

Growing up, my own mother had a tendency to hide from things that she didn’t want to acknowledge.  I used to tell my best friend that if there was something outside herself that she didn’t want to see – she’d “slam the window shut on it”.  Actually, it was more like a steel wall coming down, blocking all visual, sound, every sense, really.  As though, if she could just block out all of the sensory information about it – it wouldn’t exist.

My mom had a really strong “Blindfold”.

The problem with that is that when you wear the blindfold too long – you end up squinting when it’s finally removed, shocked and disoriented by the light of the truth.  It makes it all that much more difficult to face the things in life that are right in front of you, and you are usually in it up to your elbows by then, because you decided you didn’t want to see it coming.

Then, there are the times when we all – me included – wear the “Blinders”. 

There are times when we’re so focused on what’sright in front of us,that we don’t see the mess coming from the side, or from behind.  Focusing on the task at hand is good, and gets the job done, but you don’t want to be so blind to what’s going on in the worldaround you that you get mowed over by something you didn’t use your peripheral vision for.

I’m guilty of that to a certain extent.  There have been things in the past that I got side-swiped by, simply because I was too focused, hyper-focused, on something else. 

But you can still end up “ass-deep in alligators” before you actually see the trouble surrounding you.

So, I think I’m going to practice being the last sort of person I pondered on today.

A “Blinker”.

Because maybe I close my eyes for a second, to re-orient my vision and perspective…

But at least I’m looking.  I’m seeing.  And I will know what’s going on around me.

I won’t hide behind a more convenient “Blindfold” or even the hyper-focus of the “Blinder”.

No more side-swiping, no more refusing to look at the hard truths…

Even if I don’t like them.

Thirty

Thoughtful Moment:  Having someone trust you with something that’s precious to them, is humbling.  They trust you not to break it, not to hurt it, and to treat it with the respect that they hold for it.  The same goes for that person introducing you to the important people in their life. 

This weekend, I was invited to meet A’s 2 children.  “A” is the man I’ve been seeing for about the last 6 months.  He’s met my kids, almost right from the start, but then my kids are older, teenagers and young adults, and it’s a little different then.  A’s kids are younger than OnlySon, and so I understood the wait. 

Not only that, but A’s kids live with their mom, almost 2 hours away, so he doesn’t get to see them as often as he’d like.  I know how badly I miss my own when they’re gone, even though they live with me, primarily, so I don’t want to intrude on time that should be special for him and them.

This weekend, however, he called and asked if I wanted to come over and meet them.  And yes, I was nervous.

(And yes, A, I know you’re reading this and laughing!)

I was nervous that they wouldn’t like me, I know it’s hard for kids to accept someone else in their parent’s life, sharing time and affection.  YoungerDaughter and OnlySon had their individual issues when I started dating again after the divorce, and, for the most part, we’ve worked through them.  I know there will probably be more in the future, it’s the nature of dating when you have kids.  Jealousies pop up in the strangest ways, sometimes, but as long as the kids know that I’m still there for them, and love them (well, DUH), then any little issues can be resolved with minor fuss.

So, when I went over to A’s house, I was nervous.  I felt a little like I’d been handed a Faberge’ egg, and asked not to drop it, while walking on marbles…

Well, of course, once I got there, I relaxed.  A’s kids are a lot like him, and that’s just fine with me.  I laughed quite a lot with his daughter, and his son was a quieter, peeking presence, keeping just enough distance to maintain his shyness. 

We watched Bee Movie. 

His daughter, “E”, and I bonded over fart jokes and talking about some of the weird things boys do.  I told her that her brother wasn’t so different from OnlySon, even though there’s 6 years’ difference between the 2 of them.  (OnlySon is 13, and A’s son is 7). 

And later, E told me she liked me… mainly because she thought I was funny and had soft hair… but hey!  It’s a start! 

It means a lot to me that I was trusted with the two people he holds most precious.  I’ll do my best not to break it.

 

Nineteen

Yeah, I know there was no post for “Eighteen”.  I’m skipping that because of the blackout for opposition to SOPA/PIPA.

Straight to today.

Life has changed so much in the past year, it’s barely comprehensible to me that I could have had so much occur in so short a period of time.

I mean – really.

The beginning of the year of 2011 saw me in a failing marriage, struggling to figure out where I was going, if it was going to be salvageable.  With 2 kids still at home, and 1 semi-grown up, having issues and troubles of her own, it was a festival of drama, trauma, stress and pain.

A couple of months later, saw me divorced, living as a single mom again, and dealing with my EldestDaughter telling me she was pregnant at 20…. just like I had gotten pregnant for the first time at 20…. just like my mother had gotten pregnant for the first time – at 20.  History really does repeat itself, hunh?

The summer saw a multitude of things happen, as my city flooded for months on end, many lives were irrevocably changed forever.  My own life was changed already by the divorce, but I also started dating again.  Friends, family, co-workers, all have at some point come up to me and told me that I’ve changed immensely.  I’ve lost weight, starting to feel healthier again; I smile much more often, and I generally just seem “lighter” emotionally, physically, all around, really.

And the end of the year saw changes as well, as I started getting some of my own independence back.  Regaining a portion of who I was “before” I let myself get swept away by my ex’s overwhelming attitudes and personality.

And the beginning of 2012 has seen a continuance of that.  Little by little, I’m feeling stronger, more sure of myself and the solidity of the footing underneath me.  I have started putting my foot down more and more in my own, and my family’s, defense.  I’m figuring out more of What I want, Where I want to go with my life, and Who I choose to have surrounding me as I travel this path.

My children are, right now, all back in the roost.  And while it’s nice having them all close, I know too, that I’m going to have to schedule times where I get to be alone.  I still need that “me time” that so many people talk about.  Time to decompress and recharge my emotional batteries.  It may be that I actually go off somewhere, by myself, or I may choose to spend it with someone special.  Me time doesn’t always have to be “Me Have To Be All Alone” time.  It’s just a chosen escape from the constant flow of emotional demands…

My thoughtful moment of the day:  You can cram a lot of life into 12 short months.  After all, it only takes 9 months to make a new one.

Storm on the Horizon ~ Or ~ Apocalypse Soon

There’s a storm a’brewin’ on the horizon.

And I’ve been watching it for the last 5 months.

As it grows, gains strength, and swells, I can imagine the impact of this upcoming storm… the damage that could be left behind, and the estimated length of time and power needed to clean up afterwards.

I’m not sure is there’s a way to get around the storm.

I know I can’t fly under it… I’ve been through too many storms similar, and ended up drenched, scorched, and generally miserable… to do that again.

I can’t fly over it, pretending it’s not there.  It’s too large for that.

The only solution that I can see, is to prepare in advance, get plenty of water-proof coverings to keep down the waterworks, and just go through it.

Let me get to  heart of the matter, so you can understand where I’m coming from, and where this is all headed.

When EldestDaughter found out she was pregnant, her boyfriend and she decided that they were going to have the baby, and get married next summer.

ED’s Boyfriend’s mother thought differently. 

She wanted ED to have an abortion. 

She hounded, threatened, and cajoled, until I came unglued, and threatened to report her to her place of work (she’s a nurse) for harassment of my daughter. 

She also tried to get ED to take anti-depressants, citing the fact that since her child was bi-polar, that obviously she knew the symptoms, and she was positive that ED was also either bi-polar or chronically depressed.

Neither of which is true.

This woman has repeatedly threatened my child, albeit, my grown child, with vicious words and seriously disparaging remarks.

At Thanksgiving dinner, (which my mother invited the woman to) she made a comment about being “So thankful for the new baby that’s on the way”…. made me want to simultaneously slap her in the head and throw up at the hypocrisy.

Neither of which I did.  I kept my mouth shut.  (I know, I know, freaking miracle, right??)

Now, I’m planning a baby shower for ED.

And this woman has been going insane, wanting to “help” plan the thing, trying to force me to “hurry up and get it set up already!”

I’m having a really rough time simply reconciling the fact that this woman thinks that she’s automatically invited into my home for my daughter’s baby shower.

I’m not sure how I’m going to handle this.

If I’m simply going to :

A)  Tell her off now, and end up having issues with not just her, but with the Future Son-in-Law for a Loooooong time…

B) Wait until the baby shower, and at the first sign of her opening her mouth – put her in a choke-hold and haul her ashes to the curb….

or C)  Just lie back and let everyone do whatever the hell they want??

Yeah…. it’s not going to be option C…..

My mom told me the other night just to “let it be, there’s nothing you can do, anyway.”

Bullshit.

This is going to be in my home.  I am not just going to let this woman continue to steam-roller over everyone, myself, my daughter, or anyone else who comes to my home, just because she can’t control herself and get along.

I’m still conflicted on exactly how I’m going to handle this…. but I know one thing…

I can handle the storm when it hits.

Can she?

 

Diary of a Divorce – Part 1

My divorce was final on the 25th.  Yesterday.

I am, once again, a single parent.

And I’m not sure quite how I feel right now.

I took a break from blogging.  Mainly, because I was feeling a little “burnt”, between the frustrations of work being hectic, school ending for the kids, graduation for a friend’s child coming up, trying to finish writing my book before my birthday-deadline, and the whole “divorce in limbo” thing, I’d had it up to my eyeballs, and couldn’t think of anything interesting, entertaining, or even semi-coherent, to say.

I’m still not completely back, but I wanted to let my friends out here in Blogsville know, that I’m breathing, I’m upright, and I’m still here.  I will be back, full-time, soon.  Just not right now.  I still have a few things I need to deal with, before I can really get back into the swing of 5-days-a-week-blogging.

And this has all happened so fast, that I’m just now starting to get a handle on how to process the things that have happened, just in the last 2 months. 

When I started realizing that I needed to be single again, to not be married, I was terrified of what was going to happen.  It was so overwhelming, and I kind of fell off the deep end, emotionally.  What that meant for my friends and family, was that they were dealing with an extraordinary amount of radical moodswings from me.  I would be manic-hyper-happy one moment, and super-depressive-moody the next.  There was also a lot of repressed, snarky anger and guilt thrown in the mix.  I never really knew, myself, when the mood-swings would strike.

I cried.  A Lot.

I vented.  A Lot.

I fell into moody depressions where all I wanted to do was curl up in a corner, somewhere, and turn my face to the wall.

There are still times, like just in the last couple of days, where I contemplated simply packing my bags, and checking out.  Running.

I question people’s motives, their actions, and their words.  I may not say it out loud, and I know, somewhere inside my head and heart, that I’m reading too much into everything, overanalyzing – but I still wonder… if maybe I’d be better off simply starting over somewhere that no one knows me.  No past.  No judgments.  No preconceived ideas about how things should be, or how I should be acting, Only future.  I’ve had people tell me that for as much as I’ve changed over the last few years, they wish I was how I used to be.  Happy, outgoing, carefree. 

I wish I could be that person.  But I’m not her. 

That person was happy, yes.  Mostly because she was so focused on the present moment, and the fun to be had, that she didn’t stop and take a look around at the consequences of her actions, most of the time.  A great deal of the time, the only person that ended up getting hurt, was her.  And she dealt, and moved on.  But, sometimes, the fallout of her “present-mindedness” hurt others.  She didn’t see it, blew right past it, on to the next thing.  She was young.  It’s over, and I don’t have many regrets from that time.  But there are a couple that linger.

That person was outgoing, definitely.  She could talk to just about anyone and didn’t worry about social class boundaries, or age boundaries.  She could talk to adults, teens, and children, all with the same candor, humor, and respect for whatever group she was in.  She was a chameleon and a social butterfly, flitting from one group to another, able to talk, at least a little, about almost any subject.  She still lives within me, and I treasure her ability to help me blend in and get along.  Her skills have been invaluable to me in my line of work, making me able to talk to lenders, realtors, and customers alike, and do so in a professional and honest manner, while still being friendly, helpful and pleasant.  Sometimes, even funny.

That person was carefree.  Well… I don’t know about that moniker, so much.  If by “Care- Free” you mean having no cares, no worries?  Well, yeah, I suppose.  Mostly, because she simply didn’t face the problems.  She ran from them.  So, yeah, she was care-free.  But not “Problem-Free”.  Those came back like a boomerang.

And even after I got married, I was pretty happy.  I can admit that.  There were a lot of good years, happy, content years.  I had a good job, a nice house, 3 wonderful children, and a man that supported me, accepted me, and was affectionate with me. 

And honestly?  I couldn’t tell you when it started to fail.  It was a slow descent, an erosion of what brought us together in the first place.  And I know that it was not all his fault.  I was in the relationship too.

But it wasn’t all my fault, either.

And when I realized that the wine was turning to vinegar, I tried to reverse the process.  But, hints weren’t enough.  Stronger measures, coming right out and bluntly telling him that I needed more, wasn’t enough. 

I’ve never thought of myself as a “high-maintenance” kind of person.  I’m pretty low-key most of the time.  But… if you don’t ever work on keeping a relationship going, much less strong, it will fail.  Every time.

And he was content to sit (literally) and watch me do all the work.

That didn’t work for me.

 (To Be Continued)

Betty Crocker I Ain’t

I must be stopped.

I don’t know what’s going on inside my head… if it’s all the rain making me want to stay indoors – or if it’s some kind of virus – or maybe I’ve been possessed by the spirit of Donna Reed, I’m not sure… but I’ve been in the mood to not only clean house, but to bake.

I repeat, I must be stopped!

Sure, for a good cause, like the upcoming bake sale our office is holding for an ALS fundraiser, I’m willing to do some baking, but… I am having all these “domestic goddess” ideas floating around in my head, and I’m starting to wonder if someone slipped me something in my morning Diet Coke while I wasn’t looking?

Maybe it’s the fact that I watched an episode of the Gilmore Girls where they were watching and mocking The Donna Reed show, and then Rory later dressed up like her, complete with bouffant hairdo and pearls.  It seeped into my brain and infected my thought processes with a 50’s mentality. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s finally spring, and I can finally do all the things to my house that I have wanted to for YEARS, but couldn’t actually do, because the other adult that lived here, couldn’t stand all the noise the cleaning process engendered. 

I’m in a complete snit.

And I want to get a box of BIG BLACK GARBAGE BAGS, and clean out my basement. 

I have some big dreams of an immaculate house, with everything in its place, clean, shiny and sparkling.

I’m sick.

I think since the day I was born, I was the bane of my mother’s existence.  I was that child that could never keep her room clean.  I had to make a weekend of it at least once a month, to completely scrub my room from top to bottom, tearing everything out of my closet, and finding various “science projects” at the bottom of the space.

I was the child that she had to dress 2 minutes before we left for church, because any sooner, and I would find some way to stain my fancy frock, thus disgracing her in front of the whole congregation.

I was a total tomboy, making mudpies and throwing rocks – climbing trees and skidding down cliffs.  And I didn’t care much what I was wearing while I did it.

And now?  I’m having ideas of being some kind of SUPERmom. 

There has to be an pill, or  vitamin supplement, or maybe a SHOCK TREATMENT for this affliction.

Please?  I think I need help??

Betty Crocker, I ain’t, folks. 

More like Betty Cracked.

The Secret Life of Mom

YoungerDaughter has a dilemma.

She recently found out that I have a secret life.

Actually… she recently discovered that I have a life, outside of our home and family.

The day of our big storm here in town, I had to take her to work with me after picking her up from school when it let out early.  It gave her a chance to really see me at work.  And she was highly perturbed and disturbed to listen to me talking at work about people and things and happenings that she had no idea about!

“What?  What is this?  Who is that?  Why are you talking about that?  What is going on?????”

This child of mine is insatiably curious, needing to know everything that’s happening, at all times, whether it affects her at all or not.  And so, it drove her mad when I would say “Oh, it’s nothing to do with you, and you wouldn’t get it.”

The same thing happens when we go to the store, and I happen to see someone I know through my office, realtors, loan officers, etc., and strike up a conversation with them… all the while she’s standing there, befuddled and bewildered, and crazed at the notion that I know people she doesn’t.

And just the other day, she discovered that I have a new friend.  Norman.

Norman Betta, to be exact.  Because he’s just a little “psycho”.  He sits on my desk at work, but doesn’t do much other than freak out every time I stand up, move in my chair, or accidentally bump my desk at the office. 

Oh, and I’m lovin’ the “Freddie Krueger” fins… just sayin’…

I posted this picture on my facebook wall the other day, shortly after I got him set up at my desk, and that night, she freaked – wondering how I could have a fish and her not know it??? 

Well, honey, it’s because I’m not just a mom.  I also have a secret life… as a real person.

Staggering, the things you learn, ain’t it?

The Runaway

I woke this morning to a moment of clarity. 

I’ve been a runaway all my life.

I remember the first time I “ran away”.  I was a little girl, probably about 4 or 5, and I was angry with my parents about something.  I felt like they “didn’t love me anymore”, so I decided to split, and find a new place to be.  I no longer remember what it was that caused me to pack my miniscule suitcase, but I actually made it about halfway down the block before I plopped my suitcase down and sat atop it, miserable.

They let me sit there for a while, what seemed like forever to my preschool-age heart, before my dad finally came over and asked if I wanted to come home now. 

He came after me.

I don’t know if that’s where the mindset started, but somewhere along the line, my deepest fear became the idea that someday, no one would come after me when I walked away.  And I would be alone.

When I was a teenager, and full of rebellion towards my parents, I ran away again.  They were making me attend catechism classes, which I hated, and regularly lied my way out of by telling the pastor that I had to babysit, when I didn’t.  I’d go to my best friend’s house, and we’d hang out.  It all came to a head, when the pastor told my parents that I would not pass the class because of missing too many classes.  There was an argument, and one day after school, I simply didn’t get on the bus to go home.  I went to my friend’s house instead, and hid out. 

My dad came after me again, even so far as to chasing me through our tiny town on foot, of course, catching me, and hauling me home, where I was told that if living with them was so bad, they would seek to find me another place to live.  I broke down, and gave in, because I really didn’t want to live somewhere else, I just wanted someone to care whether I was there or not. 

An aside on self-esteem:  (The first time in my life I heard that my parents were proud of me?  Was the day that I graduated from high school, and I was taking a picture with my parents.  My dad reached over, took my hand, squeezed it as hard as he could and said “I’m so proud of you”)  This is still one of my favorite pictures, because I was told that day that I was worth something.  I was worthy of pride.

When I went through my really bad phase, at about 19-20, I ran away a LOT.  There are simply not enough words to tell you how many times, in how many ways, and from how many people I ran away.  I ran away from college, leaving after only a year and a half.  I ran away from relationships, using all kinds of stupid behavior to push them away.  Run before you can get hurt.  Run before you can feel too strongly about anyone. 

Run, to see if you’re someone worth chasing.

When I first met the man I married, I had given up on relationships altogether.  I had told my best friend that I was “done with men”.

He sought to change my mind.  He chased after me. 

For a while.

But the years rolled on, and yes, there were good ones, I’m not denying that.  We had a lot of good years.  But there came a point, where the 2 of us, me included, stopped working for holding on to one another.  Complacency became apathy.  I tried to get back to the point where we had been, I sought reassurance that I was still important.  But I never heard those words “don’t go, I still want you here”.  I hinted about the way I felt, and when hints weren’t strong enough, I came right out and bluntly stated it.  No response.

And so, I started to walk.  Away.  And I wasn’t followed.

And when I reached that invisible line in the sand, the one beyond which there is no turning back, I turned one last time to look.  To see if I was someone worth following, worth chasing after. 

And found that I wasn’t even being watched.  He was too busy focused on other things, to even see that I had left, and was no longer standing next to him.  He didn’t care enough to see that I was so far away, and our relationship was drowning out its last gasp of air.

I’m not saying that my behavior was totally right, in any of the instances where I’ve run away.  I’ve been testing people most of my life.  Testing their feelings toward me, and their commitment to whether they care about me.  Trust issues, you might call it.  The fear that, if you fall back, is there going to be anyone to catch you?  My shaky self-esteem tells me to beware, to be wary, of trusting anyone enough to actually stay put, and to catch me when I fall. 

And still, to this day, there are times when I feel a strong urge to run.  To simply take the easy way out, and bolt.  Escape before you can get hurt, before you can be vulnerable with someone that could get close enough to actually get up close and be inside the walls of self-defense.

One person in my life lately, someone that I ran from years ago, recently reappeared in my life.  And this person was able to make me promise to “not run” again.  And promises, to me, are something that you have to keep.  It’s a measure of my own personal integrity, to do whatever I have to, to try to keep a promise.

So, for probably the first time in my life…. I’m not running away.

My feet are twitching, my hands are clenched in fear, palms sweaty and shaking.  But I’m not running. 

I’m trying, desperately, to change a lifetime of waiting for someone to come afer me, to make me feel as though I’m someone worth searching for.  This is one of the hardest things I think I’ve ever had to do.  To simply stand my ground, and face it head-on.  But I’m trying.  And sometimes, I falter, I fear, and I take a step away.  So far, I’ve taken just that one or two steps, and I come back, like a hesitant, wild animal, wanting the promise of what stands there, but not sure if it’s going to mean being hurt. 

I don’t want to be the runaway, anymore. 

Not even from myself.

And I’m standing right here.

Laundry Day

As I was loading the washing machine last night, I got to thinking about how my brain has been set on “spin-dry” lately… and some dork stuck a pair of sneakers in there.

They’ve been thumping around, making noise, and generally bashing the heck out of the inside of my head.

There’s been so much going on, that I’m making lists… and promptly losing them.

They’re now littering my van, my desk, my Blackberry, and lining the pockets of my cardigans and pants that I wear to work. 

And I think I just threw this week’s grocery list in the wash, too.

My moodswings have been spinning rapidly, as well, with everything that’s been going on, and I’m beginning to think that maybe I need to get back to some serious breathing techniques. 

Basically, that means that I need to start breathing again.  I find myself holding my breath a lot, as though I’m headed under water, or like I’m in training to cross the English Channel.

There are so many, many things that need to get done, that need to be remembered, and that require my attention, that I end up wandering in circles, not really knowing which way I’m facing at any given moment.

No one hand me a stick, or I’ll think there’s a pinata hanging somewhere above my head, and start swinging.

Life has been moving pretty fast, which is a change for me, as it’s been slow as molasses for a long time.  And I’m not quite used to these many changes in this short of a time.  It’s a lot to adjust to.

But, as with the laundry, after the spin cycle, comes a period of rest, when everything falls down to the bottom of the tub again, and you get to retrieve all the socks and towels and throw them in the dryer.  There they get all fluffy and warm and comfy again.

Time to go switch things up.

Follow the Road Home

I had a chance to go home this weekend.

And by “home”, I don’t mean where I was born, or even the town that I graduated high school from.  The little town is a place that I lived in, off and on, for a few years.  A place that taught me a lot of lessons in my life, both good and bad. 

I made friends, made mistakes, found love, lost it, and learned a million things about life, parenting, and friendship there.  I had some of my best, and worst, years in this town. 

I was the conflicted, angry girl in this town.

I was a partying, laughing, screaming-through-the-night girl in this town.

I was a single mom in this town.

I have a lot of my fondest memories in this town, and some of my worst nightmares.

All three of my children were born in this little town.

The town seems smaller now, not quite as I remember it, but that’s normal.  Because, it was never really about the town.

It was always about the people there.

And, even though many years have passed since I spent any real time there, when I went back tonight, it was with those fond memories coloring my thoughts.

I was going today, to deliver some of EldestDaughter’s stuff to her.  She’s living in this little town now, pulling her life into something that she can be proud of.  I know that this place can help her do that.  It worked for me.

And, I also went today, to have dinner with one of my dearest, oldest friends.  My best friend from highschool, who was such an influence on so many areas of my life.  A woman who helped me figure out that there was more to life than what I was raised to believe.  That I could forge my own path through life, and have a blast doing it.  She was in town for a family function, and we arranged to get together with our daughters for supper. 

And, it was amazing.  The road trip was just something I needed to lift my spirits, after this last few days and weeks.  Listening to loud music, driving down the road, and a comfortable silence with YoungerDaughter, punctuated with moments of laughter, was just what I needed in that moment.

And, after hanging out at Elder’s apartment for a while, Younger and I drove around town, revisiting some of the old haunts, and remembering a lot of those good times.  A little shopping and a lot of memories. 

When supper time rolled around?  We went to the restaurant and started harassing ElderDaughter, as she works there.  The restaurant was empty, in anticipation of the supper rush, so we sat and chatted with Elder for a little while longer, before my friend and her daughter got there.

The food?  Was just as I remembered, normal, small town restaurant stuff.  Good.  The service?  Well, since it was ElderDaughter… what can I say?  She was funny, trying not to hover, but doing just what she was supposed to.  I watched her skip from table to table as people started coming in, and things got busy.  She was a pro, and I was proud of her.

The company?  Priceless.  I laughed so hard, I think I had my friend’s daughter worried for a minute, as I had tears streaming down my face, and had to wipe my eyes more than once.  I was seriously in danger of losing my french fries over some stories that were told.  Many of which, by the way, I did not remember, but others remembered about me.   Frightening!

And when the evening was over, it was… a little sad to think about, but… not too bad.  Because I knew that even though we were all going our separate ways, for now, that I could always find my way there again.  Not to that town, or to that restaurant, but to those times, those people, that laughter.

The Beach on better days

I just have to follow the road home.