Gray Skies

Inspirational song: Not Perfect (Tim Minchin)

I'm closing out the day in just about the most perfect way I can, sitting outside in the dark, watching two black cats pounce across the lawn in leaps, trying to kill bugs. It's delightfully cool outside, although I had to switch chairs as a late night rain shower started up, and I had to protect my laptop from the sprinkles. My fairy garden is as pretty as we could make it in the time we had, and it is really lovely. I have zones for flowers, vegetables, hot tubbing, patio sitting, and fire watching. I have lights all throughout it to show me boundaries and give me targets on which to rest my vision in the dark. The fence is solid, and the well-behaved felines stay inside of it. It's almost perfect. But not quite. The person who built it all walked away from it, and that's enough to make it bittersweet. It has been a full week now, and I'm feeling a few chips in the armor that got me through up until now. The next five to forty years of my life are looming in front of me, and I just don't see them playing out like I wanted. I don't have a new plan yet. I don't know how to want one yet.

At least the weather was perfect. It was overcast nearly all day, and never climbed out of the mid-80s. It rained off and on, and I took that as my signal that it was right for me to go out and weed the plantain out of the Unless garden. Most people think clear, sunny days are gardening weather, but for me it's the exact opposite. Give me gray skies and I'm a happy girl. I remember writing in that very first summer of the blog how I could have been happy living someplace with a climate like Seattle's or London's, and it's still true. I just didn't want the big cities that were attached to those places. The gloomier it is around here, the more I want to be outside, walking through the zones of my Park, admiring the progress of the growing things.

I had been closely watching the three day lilies I planted just outside the vegetable garden fence. They were varieties I'd never heard of before (unlike the plethora of Stella d'Oros we planted up front), like Promise Me, Bela Lugosi, and Pandora. The last one I got because that was once a nickname of mine. So far, only the Bela Lugosi has sent up a flower stalk, and early this morning, it finally opened. I had checked right before bed, and it looked like the Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors, but this morning it was a dark velvet maroon like I've only dreamed about. It was a perfect flower. I'm so glad I grabbed this one, and I look forward to future summers as it grows and fills that side of the fence with dozens of richly colored flowers. Maybe Promise Me and Pandora will bloom along side it next year.

A friend of mine convinced me to go to her favorite Denver plant nursery (and you know I took SO much convincing...). I have made another impulsive purchase in my quest to find a white rose. So far I've failed three times to come home with one, even though we have bought two that were supposed to be white. Once again, I have a plant that was the last of its variety, with a sign on it that claims it was white (this time it's Sugar Moon). There are tiny little buds just starting to form, so I have no proof that it is the rose its label claims to be. This is how I ended up with the blush pink one next to the flagstone patio. In a month or so, I will know what it is. Either I have finally succeeded after trying since February to find the right one, or it will be another chapter in my hunt for the perfect white rose. Whichever way is fine by me. Perfection isn't the result. Perfection is paying attention and enjoying the journey.

Fatrabbit

Inspirational song: Ride of the Valkyries (Richard Wagner)

For months I've been driving past a face that beckons me every time I see it. All along one of the main thoroughfares in Loveland are dozens of sculptures, in the neighborhood that includes Benson Sculpture Park. I always watch for the giant fat rabbit on the west side of the street. I have been telling myself since March that I was going to stop and take her picture. I put it off and put it off. But I always thought it would be a good idea. Today, I stopped procrastinating. It only took three minutes out of my commute to pull into the parking lot, and take two photos of her. I don't know why I never did it before. It wasn't hard, but it was something I wanted and never accomplished. It felt like a lesson.

Much of my life has been on hold. I have been so miserable for so long, both physically and emotionally, and I found myself stuck on simple tasks that seemed impossible to complete. The inertia was weighing heavily on me. It has been dragging me down a lot longer than the last few months that I've known about the big separation that just happened. It's been years since I felt the fire of creativity like I did in my youth. I used to have boundless energy to make things day and night. I once had a costume design business, and I would spend ten or twelve hours a day designing and sewing costumes. In my down time, I would draw or paint or write. I cooked from scratch, I copied things I saw in stores and made them all by hand. Sure, much of this was inspired by a lack of income to buy ready-made goods, but I also knew I had the skills and it was fun for me to beat the system. But my life and body got the better of me. I got tired. I started to hurt. I took short cuts and let things slide. I decided that as our family income went up, my burning desire to do everything on my own was going down. And then... apathy set in. Managing pain and fatigue became more important than proving that I was a Renaissance woman who could create anything with her own two hands.

Now I am wondering how to pull myself out of that years-long funk. I've been working on that conundrum for ages. This time around, I'm trying to tackle things a few small tasks at a time, to retrain myself. If that has to start with pictures of one fat rabbit statue, then that counts as my first step. It's not the only thing I've accomplished in the last week, since the next phase of my life began. It's just the first thing that has felt like it is sending me a message. And what a cute message it is.

Miffed

Inspirational song: Bitch (The Rolling Stones)

As the cycles of emotion roll through, I'm starting to wonder whether the reason I'm finding the strength to power through might be because a little anger is starting to creep in. I've had a few less than charitable thoughts over the last few days, and I don't feel guilty over them. Yeah, I played a part in what happened, but I am absolutely not entirely to blame for the demise of my marriage. And when I look at the big picture, I have every reason to be angry for how a whole lot of this played out. I used plain English to express an awful lot of my concerns, but they were dismissed, rejected, or misunderstood over and over. Yeah, I had my own communication failings here and there. I could have listened more. I could have said more. But more often I spoke volumes and it did me no good. I had very real needs that received zero respect. For that, there is a spark of resentment, and it might be what is powering my recovery.

I surrounded myself with my new friends today. My Rotary girlfriends pulled close to me, and said Good! when I told them the slow breakup had finally come to completion. My writers group had no idea what had been simmering under the surface, and they were surprised and a couple even expressed shock that anyone would leave me. I know I'm not perfect and won't claim to be, but that still soothed my hurt a little. I don't want to think about the people who may be gathering around him whispering the converse into his ears, telling him how glad they are that he escaped that bitch who always complained about being tired and wanting to go home from parties, who hated that he ignored her...

I let myself be happy today too. I didn't cry in public. I smiled and laughed. I talked about the future. And I let people entertain me. We had a potluck dinner tonight for writers group, and it was truly fun. I brought prosciutto-wrapped, goat cheese and sage-filled dates. It was at the home of one long-running member of the group who had a huge yard with the sort of garden that my new Park may grow up to be. They had zones of flowers and vegetables, decorations everywhere, including colorful objects all over the fences. They had a "duck pond." (See the photo.) And like me, they intentionally feed the squirrels as well as the birds, although they've taken it a step farther than I have. They went ahead and screwed big steel dog bowls to the tops of some of their fence posts, to fill with squirrel corn. They even had a chubby corgi who did NOT want me to take his picture. The home owner was a former piano teacher, and the husband of another group member sat down and entertained us with jazz and mid-century standards. I have always envied the ability to play freely like he did, by ear, improvising and blending one song into another (like running Georgia On My Mind into Blue Moon so seamlessly that we had to be sure we'd heard the transition). It was nice to feel like resting and celebrating with friends again.

All Okay

Inspirational song: Smoke from a Distant Fire (Sanford-Townsend Band)

How wrong is it that a simple, normal day comes along, and I feel like I should have had more drama? I've been living under a shadow too long. I had a quiet morning. I took care of something I was supposed to do for work for a few hours, and then made my weekly call to the boss. I went to a movie and out to dinner with my daughter. And I finished the evening with a little comedy television. I actually feel guilty about having a good day. I need to take a step back and feed a little slack into the line. I don't have to have a stressful freakout every day. I'm allowed to feel okay.

I'm getting reports about the progress on repairs down at the house we still own in New Mexico. The roof replacement is costing significantly more than the estimate. Injuries are happening. And truck repairs are necessary. Mr X said that if he wrote a daily blog with an inspirational song, his choice for now would be "You Can't Always Get What You Want." Not having a good trip thus far. I promise, I'm not bitter and gloating. I feel bad for how rough this errand is for him. He's working hard in the hot sun. He is spending way more money than he expected. And he's bruised and broken in a couple places. Maybe that's why I'm having so much guilt over the easy day I had today.

At least the pictures he's sending back have been interesting. And tonight, he reminded me of one thing I really miss about New Mexico: the Toad Show. We used to leave our front door open most of the day and night while we were home, so that the cats could stare out the all-glass storm door at their leisure. In the summer, the junebugs would cover the front porch, and toads of all sizes, from thumbnail to dinner plate, would come to snack. The cats never broke eye contact with the toads. It was a real life re-creation of Hypnotoad from Futurama. To be honest, at times it was a little creepy.

And my sunset was particularly pretty. It appeared that there was a wide current of smoky air high in the atmosphere, dimming the light from the setting sun and making it glow neon orange. The best views were from the road, but I ended up pulling over in a park to take slightly less optimal pictures. Was still nice. Today, nice was nice enough.

Strength Training

Inspirational song: The Bottom Line (Big Audio Dynamite)

Everyone keeps telling me that I'll find strength like I never knew existed. Today, I started looking for it, and tested myself with a little strength training exercise. I held another house open for my managing broker, with my own agenda at work. It is assumed, when an agent holds an open house, that one of the things they're doing is fishing for new clients. It even works sometimes. But that wasn't my motivation this time around. I've been stuck in one long anxiety attack for weeks. Today all I cared about was shaking off the shackles that have been keeping me from working effectively. I was just there to spend a few hours thinking only about real estate and chatting up strangers. It worked. I got my words back. I got a level of confidence back that I hadn't had in a while. All I had to do was stand up and talk to people for two and a half hours non-stop. I had a stack of flyers for the house with my name at the bottom of them, and I had an acrylic stand with my business cards. I didn't monitor anyone to see whether they took them. I didn't harvest names or contact information. I just wanted to get my mind on houses and people, so that is all I did. And I feel much better for it.

The house was painfully beautiful. It was a small place, built in 1900. It was 50 square feet smaller than my daughter's condo, but it felt like it had so much more space. The floor plan really worked in its favor. It had been thoroughly remodeled, with dark bamboo floors, a gorgeous custom kitchen (including cabinets that a craftsman friend made and recycled glass counters), and adorable touches throughout. The homeowner has a very similar taste in antiques as me. I coveted so much in her house. I wanted things so badly I felt guilty for just taking pictures of a few things. I enjoyed being there the whole time. I grew up in a house of a similar vintage (mine was built in 1908), and it felt like home, even though it was a quarter of the size of my old Oklahoma house.

It feels good to be back at work. I needed to be able to get out of my own way and focus on things that give me a sense of purpose, and real estate does that. I'm not worried that I didn't do the cheesy salesman thing, scooping up contact information for future leads. I just wanted to be back in that world again, speaking that language. I feel stronger and I see a way forward. Still waiting for that big break, but it's coming.

What It's Going to Be Like

Inspirational song: Nothing But Flowers (Talking Heads)

I guess all those years of living alone while the man was deployed have trained me well for this day. I'm fairly certain I did not use my voice until well after three o'clock this afternoon, when I told the felines that it wasn't yet time for their dinner. I spent the entire day leading up to that in relative silence and stillness. And quite against my expectation, I was calm and composed. I'm pretty good at denial, so that might have been what was at play here. That, or I'm taking this way better than I expected to. My money is on denial.

The house was quiet front to back, even beyond my unusual reticence. No barking, no sounds of landscaping, construction, or packing. I had all the time in the world just to listen to my own tinnitus. Not my favorite activity in the world, but inescapable for the last thirty years, so I've learned to live with it. I could have done without it today, however. I used to live in such a bustling house, and now all I have left are me and the flowers that Mr X surrounded me with to say goodbye. I remember watching the movie Red for the first time, seeing the Bruce Willis character go through a day like I have, living alone with no reason to talk to anyone or anything, in an empty, silent house, and I pitied him. I thought then about how much I would hate that sort of existence. Now I see that stretching in front of me, and I wonder how I can avoid it. The Pride will help, especially since Rabbit has been so needy, running laps around me and demanding attention, all while she growls and throws shade on the other three felines. And having a housemate will help some, when he is here and not working. I got used to having a husband home to talk to too quickly. I need to unlearn that behavior just as fast.

I got antsy by days end, and persuaded my housemate to go to a movie with me this evening. I needed some unbridled escapism, and decided the Independence Day sequel was the right source for it. Lots of explosions, lots of unbelievable plot devices, and lots of cameos by actors from the original movie. It was the perfect vehicle to take my mind away from reality for a couple hours. Now I'm back and the house is quiet except for the sound of window fans and fireworks outside (which I'm fairly certain are not allowed in this county, but I'm not going to nitpick). At least for two hours I was in a hustling, bustling, science fiction world. Now I'm back to a garden. Perhaps I'll go sit out in it and learn to enjoy the stillness.

Stand Straight

Inspirational song: Jigsaw (Marillion)

Damn the house was quiet today. Obviously that was by design. No dogs barking at squirrels, no sounds of a husband making coffee first thing in the morning. Welcome to the first day of the rest of my life. It's a lot like his last deployment, but without the promises that he would come home. It isn't his home anymore. He wants it that way, so I guess I'm going to learn to live with it.

I've had a lot of friends coming out of the woodwork to talk, and many stepping up to keep me company in the immediate future. I'm going to rely on the kindness of these people frequently, especially at first. When I was told I was meeting close friends for lunch today, I didn't argue. I showed up at the restaurant on time. It's helping me hold my head up and keep a straight face. I've taken a lot of time off from the outside world while I rocketed across the emotional spectrum for the last several weeks. I need to get back to work and back to acting like a grown up as soon as possible. Otherwise, I risk digging in so deeply that I can't be extricated again. I know what I'm capable of, and I'm capable of building one hell of a blanket fort to hide in.

To prevent confusion, a word about pronouns: I will continue to use the word "we" fairly often over the next few months. A week ago, we made arrangements to rent out a room downstairs. There will be an extra adult around to help me with a few things, but he isn't here as hired help. He's a fully autonomous housemate. Occasionally we'll keep company, like maybe playing Guitar Hero or going out to restaurants together (like last night). I just don't want people to think I've already replaced Mr X. I won't necessarily keep it super secret when the time comes for me to date again, but no, I haven't started yet. And it is entirely coincidental that he's also a Smith. He's just not a second Mr Smith-Park.

The Train Wreck You're Expecting

Inspirational song: Bye Bye Love (The Everly Brothers)

It is finished.

He left this afternoon. He didn't get every project done, but he left the house in as good of shape as he could. I think I can handle it from here. The house, that is. The other stuff is going to take a while.

There were times I wished he would have just left when it all blew up. Obviously there were more times I didn't want him to leave, ever, but I did have moments when it hurt more to drag it out. I had friends who were on the "just leave" side. But in the end, it worked out for the best. It gave us both time to come around to say that we do still have love left for each other, even if living together isn't possible anymore. I needed to hear that as much as I needed to say it.

For those who have seen me this week, I swear, yes, eventually I did eat. I didn't expect to, but I was coerced into going out to dinner. By the time I got to a restaurant and smelled beef, I found an appetite, enough to have a small meal. Victory!

I've been talking to my daughter for an hour, and I'm feeling sort of positive right now. It has not been that way all day. Yes, I have cried an ocean of tears today. I probably will do so again. It seems to happen most often right as I get quiet and try to sleep. It hurts as much as you can imagine.

Thank you to the people who have offered support. Your kind words are heard and appreciated. To all of you who have survived broken marriages and come out stronger on the other side, I admire your strength. I do not yet know where to find that strength for myself. People say it is there, but right now all I can find is the pain. Lots and lots of pain.

The Last Supper

Inspirational song: Gethsemane (Jesus Christ Superstar)

The end is approaching. I don't know what I thought it would be like, but I'm not sure I imagined it would be yet one more night of sitting at home, keeping dinner waiting on him, while he ran more and longer errands than he told me he was off to do. It feels like such a freaking normal night. Not like the clock is running down and my time married to the only man I've ever loved is coming to a close. For the last two days, I've been entirely unable to take advantage of the last few moments I have. I've had a stomach bug and spent most of my time in bed, and when I have been awake, we have been with groups of people. How do you say goodbye to the love of your life when you can barely speak at all?

I asked him whether there was one last meal he wanted me to make for him, before he left. I have a large repertoire of dishes I have invented, things he has enjoyed eating. That was one of my very favorite things to do, cooking for him. For a skinny man, he always seemed to eat with gusto. And I love to cook, even though I don't always love to eat. Somehow it seemed like a perfect blend. I felt like I could express my feelings for him through food even when the words were stuck in my throat. Sharing is caring, and food is love, right? So at his request I bought the ingredients for the first dish I ever made up, which we inelegantly named CTM (for "uh... chicken, tomato, mozzarella stuff"). (If you want to go searching for the recipe, I posted it under one of the Annie's Test Kitchen posts, somewhere around ATK #8 through 11, I think.) I meant to make it days ago, but the stomach bug interfered. So now I'm taking my one last chance and cooking. I hope I feel like eating it once we sit down. And I hope he sees it for the final farewell it is.

I feel like I ought to write more, but I really can't. Two paragraphs a night have been a challenge for me lately. Three really takes it out of me. I know that one day, I'll feel like my normal verbose self. One day.

Family Fun Night

Inspirational song: YMCA (The Village People)

I am so going to pay for this tomorrow. A year ago, the day after we returned to Colorado, we celebrated the youngest's birthday by going to the ultimate Colorado kitsch experience, Casa Bonita. This year, to celebrate the same event, we all met at a giant arcade/fun park. We arrived close to sundown, after things had clouded up a bit, so it wasn't quite so bloody hot while we played mini golf, but I still had plenty of time to heat up. It was nearly full dark by the time the crew loaded into Go-Karts, and I stayed on the sidelines to take blurry pictures and wave. We came inside for the ten of us who remained to bowl one full round, and then when the younger ones ran off to play laser tag, the man and I and one other played a second, frantic, round Robin sort of thing. We had five player names and we just took turns as we felt like it. Now my right arm is going to fall off (yes, I bowl opposite of my dominate hand), and I am so deeply tired. But the boys wanted one chance to play enormous video games before we left, so here I sit, on a "nitro stunt racing" game, feeling the trailer rumble through my back and butt, while I wait for the boys to run through a full series of Star Wars games while it's on unlimited play. Why did I volunteer to be the DD knowing I'd be up past my bedtime?

I did think several times tonight about one of my favorite memories from this daughter's childhood, when my father and stepmother came to visit, and took us all up to spend a week in Estes Park and Meeker. We went to a fun park there too, and the three year old version of this same child thought mini golf was the greatest thing ever. She ran around waving her putter, telling us how she had to "whap it" (whatever "it" was) "with my sword and kill it and eat it," and at one point she got a hole in one, but I'm fairly certain it was by playing ahead into the next group's green.

I'm working hard at not letting this week overwhelm me more than it has to, and the lights and noise and action around me is helping. I worry how tomorrow will be when I'm overtired though. Wish me luck. And while you're at it, wish me luck in prying the guys away from games, driving home, and being able to stand up long enough to put the clean sheets on my bed.