Day 2: #Reverb10

The prompt:

Writing.  What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing – and can you eliminate it.

My answer:

I tend to overthink, and that stops me in my tracks from getting the words out.  I don’t keep it simple, I turn it into a stupid Algebraic math problem.  If I just sat, and wrote the crap, all would be well.  I used to do something called Morning Pages, where I’d grab my notebook and just fearlessly write until 3 pages were full and my mind was overflowing with morning thoughts – I think I might try to go back to that, at least a few times a week.

There.

–

In other news, Man and I are officially heading to split. 

Initially I felt relieved that a decision was made and I could stop trying to avoid the tiny voice in my head that kept telling me it was over, then I felt a lot of shock and a resulting insane euphoria, then as I cruised through nearly a bottle of wine, then I sobbed, and sobbed until I finally fell asleep.  The dog insisted on hanging out with me on the bed last night while I did all this, and I think there was a reason he ended up staying the whole night.  I needed his warm little body and to realize it’s bigger than my pain.

Done.  And it’s okay.  I am owning it, and living it, and I am going to be a thousand percent okay.  One day.

Coming Clean

Way back when, in some fit of blogging enthusiasm, I came up with daily topics to write under.  Now we all know I don’t write here daily, and sometimes I do write and it just *happens* to fall in line with the theme I gave that particular day.  Mostly it doesn’t.  Today is “Face the Music Monday” and it was a shout-out to how diets always re-begin on Mondays, after a weekend of overindulging; a recommitment to health.  Again. 

Today, it’s a bit different. 

There’s been stuff going on that I have been keeping to myself, and it’s time to Face the Music, so to speak, and make it public.  I want to do this not to ellicit sympathy, but to make it real for myself and hopefully make it a part of how I will process this and make some forward steps.  I am also insanely sick of putting on a happy face all the time, while my brain churns and I fight back tears.  I am honest and clear and naked with the rest of my life, it seems that I should be the same with this.  I’m learning that there are good days and bad days, and good hours and bad hours, and that I can get through them all.  I am quite amazing that way.

After 14 years together, Man and I are separating, at least for awhile.  

It’s been coming on for awhile and it’s sudden, all at the same time.  It’s unexpected, but also predictable.  Man and I have had a brutally hard year together and find ourselves broken and apart, unable to come together to find the solutions we so need.  Neither of has been evil to the other; it’s just a matter of feelings that have fallen off. 

I’ve reached out to my support network, but I believe that Man has kept this largely to himself.  If you know him and this comes as a shock, then I am sorry to have broken the news this way.  I believe he will need support as we move through this, and perhaps this is a way for him to get it without having to admit to where we are.

The work has been done, the arguments have been had, the quiet words have been exchanged, and rivers of tears have been shed.  There’s no talk of the “D” word just yet, but we’re at in impass and feel that some distance and time to gain some huge perspective will serve us both well.  I remain optimistic that we may come together at some point, stronger than before, but I also accept that we may just be fortified to be on our own as we move on.   I continue to love him and respect him tremendously, and both of us are absolutely committed to preserving the partnership we have forged over the years; it’s still made of iron.

Yes, we did JUST buy a big, lovely house, and for various reasons, we’ll continue to share it, in separate rooms, taking advantage of some very busy work and travel schedules over the next 4-6 weeks to stay out of each other’s way.  We have lived this way for a long time, in many ways, and it actually feels okay to have perameters around how this will work.  We’re both okay.

I dreamt last night that I wrote my name on all my eggs in the fridge, much like a horrible room-mate would do, but I doubt I’ll have to resort to that in reality.  Although, perhaps I should turn into this Nightmare Chick I lived with for a year and stop using soap!  Ha!  She was not a pleasant person.

Baxter remains loved and doted upon; he still gets plenty of walks and scratches behind the ears.  He has been behaving like a star; when he accidentally pulls something down from the counter to eat, he quickly realizes the error and saves us the trouble by running downstairs and punishing himself. 

I am letting go of things I always wanted and dreamt of, and am working through what this new scene looks like.  It’s terrifying to be thinking this way after such a long time togther, yes, but I know anything worth getting is worth working for.  All this work will lead somewhere quite satisfying, no matter where it actually is.  I am focusing on my coaching practice, my own wellness, and the things I DO have control over, and predictably, this does help.  I am also getting well aquainted with the occasional glass of wine, bag of Hallowe’en candy, and the less-than-occasional bowl of ice-cream (apparently it can solve anything, so I am trying to determine if that is true – I will let you know the results of the study).

Finally Somewhere to wear my Crocs

Yes, they’re stunning.

Persecuted for their comfiness, accused of being ugly, ridiculous.  Shunned.  Victim of the facebook group “I don’t care how comfortable your Crocs are, you look like a dumbass.”

I bought into it all when they were first out, I’ve had them for years.  In the townhouse, they were the official shoes for Poo Patrol (I’m pretty sure I don’t have to explain THAT job, do I?) and since we moved, they’ve been relegated to the pile of shoes I have yet to go through and officially unpack.  But I would never wear them in public.

Sunday this all changed.

Our new house has what I call “Grounds” – a back yard with some what-not growing around the edges, a side yard with more of the same, and a HE-YUGE front yard that will require some work.  Man has suggested flattening it and starting over.  Our friend Lori, upon hearing we’d bought the place, asked if it was the “mid-century with the hideously overgrown yard”?  Yes, it is.  And for someone who can barely identify a dandelion, it’s a tad overwhelming.  Luckily I have gardeners in my midst to hold my hand.

The sun was out, it was a perfect fall day.  I had done a lot of my chores already: grocery shopping, prepping for the week in terms of laundry and meals, dog walks etc.  I contemplated a nap, but decided to join Man outside, instead.  I dressed in a t-shirt, yoga pants, and you guessed it, the Crocs.

As I worked to dig up what I can only hope were weeds at the side of the house, I entered a lovely sort of Zone.  I noticed worms and centipedey things, I saw snails clinging to branches, I became one with the critters in my garden.  I became one with myself, and the big smile on my face. We were all trying to do the same work, right?  As I toiled and wiped dirt on my brow, I had a Big Thought: “Weeeee!  This is my new thing”. My thoughts were my own, allowed to ramble around in my head, I became conscious of the dirt under my knees, pushing the earth with my hands, getting dirty and relishing it like a 3 year-old.  It was cathartic to see the dirt moving, the landscape taking shape, the pile of (what I hope were) weeds growing.  It was free therapy.  I envisioned planting beds, and using fancy words like “annual” and “perennial” and knowing the difference between them.  I saw myself taking an entire day to tend to my babies in the sun.  I saw my fingernails being eternally dirty.  I heard cha-ching as I visited the garden-planting-dirt store (what do you call it?)

I love my Grounds.  I can’t wait to get back out there.  And finally, finally, I have a place to wear my Crocs. A hobby is born.

Ode to Running

Running is on my mind this week.  I am running my third half marathon of the year in 2 days and I’m pretty excited.  Man and are heading to Kelowna tomorrow for a small getaway, and I am quietly hoping for a wicked PB.  My only regret is that Baxter is staying behind, as he’s my most fun cheerleader on any course and makes it go that much faster. 

I’ve been an on-an-off runner for about 20 years.  I picked it up briefly in highschool, but it never took because I was forced to do it in gym class, so it wasn’t something I wanted to be a part of.  I know now I would have been good at it, but I couldn’t bring myself to join track or anything scary like that.  I can still remember Mrs. Howard saying “If you’re going to run slow, you might as well be in a field picking daisies!”  It wasn’t safe to try it and grow at it.  Once I moved away to school, I ran more, but I was also a bit of a smoker then (oh, yes I was!), so obviously I wasn’t super serious about it.  I would go out a couple days a week to try and ward off some of the pounds that were sneaking on. 

When I met Man (and had long since quit smoking) I really got a little more serious about it.  I remember our first run together along the water in Victoria; it was the longest 20 minutes of my life and I whined and bitched the whole way.  I think I even cried.  I persevered and kept at it, running my routes and celebrating as I reached milestones: 10 minutes without stopping, 20 minutes without stopping, my first 5k, my first 8k, quitting, re-starting etc etc.  I would run in the dark so people couldn’t see my jiggly ass and purple face, then graduated to not giving a crap what people thought as they drove by.  At least I was DOING it, and it was more than than they were doing, sitting in their cars.  I ran but it’s truly been an evolution to call myself a Runner and appreciate just what this little body is really capable of.  Today, I know I’m suited to long distance running; my lungs love it (I can almost run with my mouth closed!), my body seems to roll with it, and my soul aches to do it.  Gone is the purple face, not gone is the jiggly ass (it just refused to go!), and always usually there is a smile on my face. 

My first 10k was an hour and 8 minutes around Elk Lake in Victoria.  I cried when I finished, I was so proud of myself.  This was the first glimmer of becoming a Runner.  It was magic.

Over the years, I’ve picked it up and dropped it a number of times.  I’ve missed it, I’ve hated it.  But I always seem to come back.  Running is like that, it’s always there, and you can’t beat the price.  For the cost of shoes and something to wear, you’re in the game.  Sure, it’s frustrating to start at the beginning after a break to get back up to speed, but it’s satisfying, and my hours of training have come to be some of my favorite workouts.   I like competing with myself and pushing myself.  There is a hill near my house that always killed me, so I never added it to my route, and now I do it almost every time I go out.  I use Nine Inch Nails “Closer” to get up it, but I do it and am still standing at the end.

My first half, in 2005 (the same year I turned 30) was slow…my goal was to complete it without any mediacal intervention, and I did, in 2:38:11.  I walked like a zombie for 4 days and had trouble sitting, but I did it.

Nowadays, I’m faster, and halfs don’t make me sore at all.  I have my system down with energy gels and what not, although I still tend to struggle with pacing.  I’m like Baxter that way, I get caught up in whoever’s passing me and speed up (he thinks he’s a sprinter when people run past us as we walk – cute!) and then die in a few minutes.  Like my work life, it’s about pacing myself.

Running is a group sport that’s individual; I get support from every other runner on on the road, but I don’t have to work out with them.  No one questions that I run when I go to buy new shoes.  No one ever says, “You gained 15 pounds, you can’t possibly be a runner!” Instead, they ask what kind of mileage I do in a week.  Anyone can do it. 

As I move into this next race, I’m optimistic for a PB, I’m proud of myself for sticking with it and pushing through a pretty bad last-race, and looking so forward to wearing my medal for the day.  Perhaps the whole week.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Wednesday Woes II

I love Diary of a Modern Matriarch.  She posted this today at her Primal site, so I jumped right on the complainy bandwagon and well, here we are.  Life is good, blah, blah, blah…and it goes against all my Pollyanna training from my childhood, but I feel like bitching it out.  I refuse to look at the bright side, I refuse to put my chin up.  I am just going to enjoy the suckitude.

• my hips HURT.  My long run on the weekend left my left hip very sore, and now the right is joining in on the fun.  I am just trying to get through to the race before completely falling apart.
• A friend of mine is dating someone that he thinks I “hate” – and that couldn’t be farther from the truth.  I like to see him in the company of people he enjoys and I LOVE to see him happy and the few times I’ve met her, I’ve found her to be wicked-smart, articulate and positively lovely – they’re great together – I don’t waste my time hating anyone because it’s a big fat waste of my time, I just don’t like that it’s affected our friendship in unexpected ways.  He seems to have changed and taken his friendship away since meeting her, and that’s my issue with it.  Doesn’t he know there can be room for everyone?
• Our Dog Nanny has left us, which means I spend lunchtime bolting home to let the cross-legged dog out for a pee.  It also means he is way less socialized lately.  Looking for a new one is making me want to drink.
• It isn’t Friday yet.
• I am not likely to go on a vacation with Man until February of next year.  He is going away in November (on a trip I likely wouldn’t enjoy) and while I know he needs a sunny holiday,  I’m going to miss him like crazy (we’ve never spent more than a week apart in 14 years!) and I wish there had been a little more intention to his vacation planning.  It’s water under the bridge, but it still sucks.
• Tyler Clementi’s story makes me sick.  So does bullying.  I wish he didn’t have to jump from a bridge for us all to realize what needs to be done.
• It looks my last living Gramma has a big tumor in her brain and that she might not be around much longer.
• There are giant spiders in my basement.  Seriously.  I deal with them, but I scream the whole time.

Ok, so maybe I didn’t have that many woes.  In true Me fashion, I will now flip it, even though I didn’t want to do so:

• it is so sunny out that I have trouble dressing in the morning; I bundle up for the morning, but my noon, I’m gleefully ipping off my clothes and opening the sun roof on my car….weeeee!
• I get to go away with Man this weekend to Kelowna for the race.
• Race will be over in 4 sleeps.  Holy crap.
• Man is able to peek in on the dog today, so I can have lunch the way I like it; seated at my desk working
• I ran the fastest 5K in a long time last night. 
• I’m having dinner with a dear friend tonight and I can’t wait to see her
• We have a big exciting month to look forward to: dinners in, dinners out, weekend guests, hot tub soaks, cozy fall stuff.
• I am sure I’ll be getting a PB at the race this weekend, by more than ever before.
• It’s flannel pj season again!
• I’m writing again and it feels good
• I sourced out the perfect furniture for my home office, and it’s even affordable!
• I start my 30 day yoga challenge tomorrow…wee!

What about you? What’s going wrong and right for you?

House Tales

It all started in May.  I got home from visiting some friends for the weekend, and Man handed me one of those MLS flyers for a house up the street.  He thought we should go look at it.  I scoffed, laughing off the big price tag, but came around soon enough with wanting a little peek inside.  We called our realtor and arranged it.

We’d been toying with selling and moving for a long time, never intending to stay the seven years we had in the townhome – our neighbor was driving us Mad, the train nose was still waking us up and interupting conversations, and it wasn’t fun anymore.

Our first visit to the house was fairly brief, but given the opportunity, and a more impulsive husband, I likely would have signed an offer on the spot: big, open layout, all on two floors, big kitchen, yard, hot tub….etc etc.  We loved it.  We slept on it.  We visited other houses on the market to see what the comparables were.  We slept on it some more.  We visited it again.  We thought some more.  We made an offer on Thursday, June 17, and it was accepted.  I was at a yoga class while it all went down, and came out to find my iPhone exploding with texts from Man: call me call me call me call me!

June 22nd – a second offer was accepted on the same house, so we had 48 hours to remove our subjects, make the bank comfortable with us owing for two houses and a LOT of money, inspections, appraisals etc.  We did it.  With an hour and half to spare, we did it.  The house was ours.

Meanwhile, the townhouse was listed, was being shown, but the bottom was falling out of the market.  Crap.  We staged, and cleaned, and vacated, over and over and over again.  Exhausting.  Poor Baxter’s routine was upside down and he was feeling persecuted for shedding.

August 31 – we took possession and I clung to it.  I moved as much as I could to make it a liveable home as quickly as I could.  We sat on furniture we had in storage, we lived without all the stuff still staged in the other house. We waited.

After an offer that went down the toilet, we received another, and it was good.  SOLD!  Then not so much!  We moved all of our furniture anyway, then changed out the carpets to make it look buyable (word to the wise: dogs are not gentle on houses!)

Finally, we have furniture, we have each other, and we have a Home.  We love it here.  Money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy a home to be happy in.  There is still loads to do, and many, many before-and-afters to follow, but here are a few snaps (taken with iPhone, as camera cord is still AWOL):

Entrance etc - Master Bedroom is the door at the top right

Great Room, with Baxter

Kitchen, obviously.

Now, we get settled, and I start thinking about the next goals, plans and strategies.  It’s time to return to my school work, coaching practice (so sorry I neglected you!) and the enjoying of life.  It’s grand.

Where I Rant and Wonder

There’s a lot in my life I don’t blog about – it’s private stuff – not necessarily about anything racy or even particularly exciting, but I just don’t.  I sensor some of my words, keeping in mind that people can find me on Facebook and Twitter and a website and on about 3 pages of Google (how the hell did THAT happen?), and someone I met about a year ago even sent me a photo of my truck, parked in my driveway, courtesy of Google Earth – he didn’t even know my last name at that point.  The point is, I’m findable, and I have a business that needs my discretion at times, it requires that my clients feel that they can trust and approach me, so it just isn’t always appropriate to vent in this particular setting.

But there are times, oh, there are times, when I wish I could swear my face off (see, I didn’t even do it here!) and talk alllll about the things I Don’t Blog About.

**I should preface this for my actual-friend readers: Man and I are fine, more than fine, and he is in the next room napping after a truly horrific day.  Baxi (I think I might make him sound foreign and start spelling it Bacci) is also fine.  His chin is resting in my foot and his woeful eyes are begging for a W-A-L-K.

The original point of this was to Write.  To flex those writing muscles and get me beyond the slack-jawed stupor I find myself in sometimes.  It forced me to document our lives, even it meant leaving part of them out for privacy.  I don’t feel like I can switch gears here, but maybe I can…?  Perhaps a new (secret) blog is in order that none of you will find – just a way for me to be able to be a total asshole in the internet and talk about stuff that is the opposite of Coachy and Fluffy and Inspirational.  I’m complex that way.

On the other hand, I have enough obligations I pile onto myself and there isn’t a single one of them I want to give up: I love my life, I love my husband and the life we’ve built together and the dreams we have, I love my coaching practice and all that are in it, I love running and being reminded every day exactly what these muscles (and me) are made of, I love my job, I love the people in my life that I make time for.  I allow zero excuses for myself.  I am hard on myself and I ask a lot of the people in my life.  That might be what got me here; writing a blog I would feel comfortable having my Gramma read.  But I wonder if being able to vent about the stuff I Don’t Blog About will serve to set me free a little. Hm.

So.

I think I’m off to start another blog.  Or not.  You’ll never know.  Well, actually, if you email me at niblet604 (at) gmail (dot) com, I will suss you out and see if you can come with.

A Week Ago…at Capitalist Woodstock

…we were settling into our horrible hotel room in Omaha, Nebraska.  The hallway smelt like smoke, there were no bedside lamps, only flourescent lights over the bed.  Charming.  We were meant to arrive in Omaha Thursday night, but there was a lightning storm that closed the airfield, so we were diverted to Minneapolis, Minnesota (600 miles away).  When the pilot announced the happy news (it had already been about 9 hours since we left Vancouver), I wasn’t sure I would be able to sit on that hot, cramped plane for another second, but I was bolstered by the idea of getting to visit Minnesota and maybe hear some fun accents.  We didn’t get to bed till 2:30 am that night and rose again early to actually get to Omaha.  The room was pretty nice though…

Our free room, for 6 hours. Weeee! Minnesota!

We were traveling to such a destination in order to attend the annual shareholder’s meeting for Berkshire Hathaway.  It was something Man had wanted to do forever, and this year the pieces all fell into place for us to be able to go.  I was looking forward to the adventure of it all, getting away for the weekend with my sweetie, and seeing Omaha, of course!

We landed around 2pm on Friday, made our way to the convention center where we picked up our credentials for the meeting the following day.  Then we checked into the hotel and started snooping around the city a bit.  We had a great lunch, a stop in a cigar bar (where I was accosted by a parrot and was lucky to survive with my finger intact)(or maybe I just got a little nip when I surprised him)(no hard feelings, Dylan the Parrot).

Seems like an obvious request...? Some parts of America elude me.

We checked out Borsheim’s Jewelry store (owned by Birkshire and offering large discounts to shareholders) and I wished over and over again that we were millionaires ($8000 for a watch?  Really?  Does it GO TO WORK for you?) We walked among people who could have been extras in any rich-kid party scene in a John Hughes movie; 20 year old girls whose sole purpose in life is to shop, tan, and shop some more, and their boyfriends, oozing money with their sweaters tied loosely about their shoulders.  That particular part was a nightmare.  We finished the night with dinner across the street from our hotel, which also happened to be in Iowa.  Add another state to the list!

Qwest Center in the sun.

Saturday started early; the shareholder meeting began at 7am and we didn’t want to be late.  There were 40,000 people expected there.  To give you an idea, the whole thing was held in the Qwest Center, which is a stadium attached to a giant convention center, and the Whole.  Thing.  Was.  Full of People.  Here we are in the stadium:

At the big meeting...7am...uncaffeinated

We watched Warren Buffet and Charlie Munger on large screens as they answered questions in their folksy, friendly manner throughout the day.  I was quite engaged in it for the morning, but napped a little in the afternoon.  It was all very interesting, but next time, I’ll be bringing a book with me.

We went for a steak dinner that night, and enjoyed the city a little more.  We had perfect weather the whole time we were there, and found it to be very Vancouver-ish, less the ocean.  We’re definitely planning to go back.

Here is what we learnt for next year:

• Book a hotel a lot sooner than 2 weeks before the meeting. Or learn to appreciate cigarette smoke.
• Rent a car.  While there are still some left in the city to be rented.  Bring the GPS.
• Bring a book and assorted other Tara Activities to the meeting to keep myself occupied.
• Make  a reservation at a steakhouse.  We had a great dinner, but it wasn’t our first choice.
• Start saving for said steak dinner now.
• Bring some money in order to invest in some new jewels.
• Arrive at the Borsheim’s Reception a lot earlier. Don’t wear the schlumpy shit we’ve been wearing all day.
• Allow for more than a day and half on the ground.