The (opposite of) Luck of the Irish

Given the red hair and affinity for good beer, you would think that I would be all about St. Patrick’s Day; however- not so much.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I dislike it, say, in the way that I dislike Halloween (that’s a whole other story) but for me it’s just kind of a take it or leave it type of Holiday.  Which is why when my Saturday night plans to go out and kiss the proverbial blarney stone with friends fell through, I wasn’t all that upset.  It was funny, in a kind of pathetic and sad kind of way, that instead I found myself scrubbing the bathroom and texting my sister about how wild and crazy my single life is- somebody stop me!  I’m living on the edge!  Hahaha. Yeah, remind me to never make fun of my quiet Saturday night ever again.

So after introducing GG to the awesomeness that is the Bourne trilogy, I took a nice bath in said clean tub utilizing some glorious Lush bath products I received for Christmas.  And while no green beer, there might have been a nice glass of red involved.  Feeling relaxed, smelling sweet, and all “miss independent and how great is it that house is clean and things are calm” type of nirvana, what I was clearly doing was actually putting a triple-dog-dare-you type of vibe out to the universe.  One where it laughs its crackly laugh and sneers, “Oh yeah?  Watch this.”

It started at about 12:30.

I had crawled into clean white sheets, book in hand, quickly drifting off when I heard it.  The distinct sound- and then the even more distinct scent.  The pup- all 115 lbs. of him- that so dutifully sleeps on the floor at the foot of my bed every evening- was sick.  Like, really sick.   “Where there Hell did this come from?” I think very loudly in my head as I run to the kitchen for the necessary supplies.  Quickly everything my mother has ever taught me about cleaning carpets- and that I passed along during that memorable evening during freshman year of college- comes into mind.  “Blot- don’t rub!”  But let’s just say it was… intense… and I knew that the carpet would never be the same.  Poor Samps- he looked so guilty, knowing that my peaceful Zen like state had quickly disappeared.  I finally got things back into some sort of order, chemical sting still fresh in the air, when I take a deep breath, scrub my hands multiple times, and get ready to get back into bed.

Little did I realize, the fun had only just begun.

5 minutes later, Belle comes down the stairs.  “Mommy- I don’t feel good… I was sick”. 

Um- What???

I went to her room.  It made the first incident look like a tea party.

Poor girl clearly had no chance of making it out of her bed.  Which was covered.  As was the floor.  And part of the night stand.  Linda Blair had nothing on this.

I quickly try to come up with a plan of action.  Step one- get a place for Belle to rest.  I strip off the sheets and don’t even try to save them- into the trash they go.  Move onto opening windows, click on the fan, and let her rest in my bed with a cool wash cloth until her room is habitable once again.  Clean the furniture, clean the carpet- blot don’t rub- rinse, repeat.  OK, got it.  Just as I am finishing up I hear it…

The dog.  Again.  Now in the family room.

ARE YOU *$%^&* KIDDING ME?!?!?!

I run downstairs, leap over the offence, get the dog, barricade him in the kitchen.  Go to my room, scoop up Belle, and place her back up into her room which is somewhat back to normal.  I go downstairs, and what can only be explained as a reenactment of Macbeth: Act 5, Scene 1, Page 2 “Out, damned spot! Out, I say! ” I cry and scrub the carpets again and look up to the powers that be literally saying out loud “Seriously?!?!”  Who even knew that your child and your dog could get the stomach flu at the same time? And as any parent could tell you, one is more than enough.

It’s now about 2:00 am and any trace of Zen I once had is long gone.  Like, so far gone it moved out of the country with an expired passport with no possibility of ever coming back gone.  But it doesn’t matter, because Belle is awake once again and making use of the ever popular trash can lined with plastic shopping bags I left for her.  It’s clear this isn’t over.

I am now simply operating in what could be called zombie mode, and while not wanting to devour anyone, I basically am only talking in grunts and “it’sokitwillallbeok” words.  While not the same as holding a girlfriends hair back, I zone out next to Belle while stroking her hair so that she would fall asleep.  At some point, I get up, wander back downstairs and collapse into bed.

Both Belle and the dog were not well for the entire next day.  I will save you any more details, but I don’t think I have ever used every beach towel in my house nor had so much laundry in my entire life.

All of this caused me to have to cancel a trip to Boston, which ironically, would have been today- the actual St. Patrick’s Day.  My plans were to try to head downtown this evening after I landed so I could experience a little of what today would be like in Boston… not a life list type of desire, but I thought it would have been cool nonetheless.  Having just gone through what I did on the day I had been planning on celebrating the holiday, perhaps it is all for the best that I didn’t venture out on the actual holiday.  If this was any indication, I could not have handled any more, especially considering one additional factor…. green beer. 

The Greatest Love of All

So.  It’s Valentine’s Day again.

Seriously, didn’t we JUST do this last year? 

Being a Singleton on VDay can be hard.  I know, I know, not to be the bitter one, and I should acknowledge that my life is filled with love (it is) and still fulfilling (you bet) and that when the time is right the person I am meant to be with will enter my life (he will).  Yep.  All good stuff.  But for today, it is still a little “In Your Face-Boo-Yay!” reminder that I am on my own.  

Even though today is all about love and relationships, the past 3 years have provided some revelations- the most important is that there are some GREAT things about being single.  Seriously!  Anyone who knows me would tell you that I would proclaim that I am not good alone, and for the most part that is still true- I thrive when I am in the right relationship- but that aside there are some serious silver linings about being independent.  And as we all know sometimes it’s the little things that make a big difference in your life. 

Therefore, I bring to you, The Redd Room’s A Few  Kick-Ass Things About Being Single:

1.     I make the rules.  Guess what?  No compromise to be had.  In the wise words of Spiderman (ok, Spiderman’s Grandfather for you purests) “With great power comes great responsibility”.  Guess what?  I have the power.  I run this entire house.  I determine where the money goes. New pair of shoes? Yep- you got it.  No one to be accountable for that except- oh yeah- me.  Where we go on vacation?  Yep, I steer that boat, too.  How we spend our time on the weekends, what I make for dinner, what colors to paint the walls, what music I listen to and at what volume- all me, me, me.

2.    I get the bed.  The whole bed.  When I first moved for over a year I still slept on “my side”.  Now, I find the indent trending a little more to the middle.  And then there is my philosophy that there is no such thing as to many pillows, and I get all those, too.  I make a nest, snuggle myself in, lie sideways if I want to- guess what?  It doesn’t matter- no one to tell me to move over, it’s too hot in here, why do you need a fan on to sleep and- the best part- no snoring to keep me up at night.  Just sayin’.

3.    How I spend my time is my business.  No reporting in- where were you?  Who did you see?  Why yes, I just had a crazy night out with a band of circus clowns and we all piled into their mini car and we drove to  a country bar to ride a mechanical bull (please note these events did not happen exactly like this- clowns have been substituted to save the names of the innocent, although somehow appropriate).  But no worries about coming home from a GNO and there being any questions about what went on (not that anything ever did) because it’s nobody’s business but mine. 

4.    Now, this one is hard, because for their sake I wish it wasn’t’ this way, but… I get all the girlies love, all the time.  I get to hear all about their day first hand, I get each one to snuggle by my side on the couch, for the most part I get to be the one to expose them to new things, cheer them on from the sidelines, the one they look out to in the audience during school performances, and reassure them that they are safe, loved, and amazing girls.  I get the snuggles in the morning from Belle, and the late night philosophical questions from GG.  Honestly, I wish it was different for them, but in the “bright side of things” philosophy I am so very grateful for this.

5.    And the best one… I get to build a great relationship- both with myself and with my future partner.  We people who lose the most important relationship of our lives might tend to spend some time thinking about what went wrong (insert sarcasm here).  We become very self-reflective, and earnestly work to acknowledge our own mistakes, not just the ex’s, in hopes to learn and grow to find what we are really longing for- the right relationship. But in this process, a great thing happens- you realize that you get to create a great relationship with yourself first.  You realize what makes you happy, and then you go and do it.  Not complicated, just true.  And when you do it right, just like any relationship, its hard work but really fun along the way.  And when you are in the right place, then you will be ready for the most amazing relationship of your life- the entire reason you were on your own in the first place- to be open and ready for that person who is meant for you.  And with that comes butterflies in the stomach, anticipation of a first kiss, the joy of getting to know someone that you feel this indescribable connection with, and the excitement over the possibility of the future- all of that is out there, waiting for me.  That’s pretty damn lucky in my book. 

So, I guess you could say that while I have not found my partner-in-crime just yet, I am breaking the old rules and learning to embrace the new ones- the ones that I determine are right for me, the ones that I make up along the way, and the ones that I have not yet faced and will of course test the limits of those as well.  Yes- I will be in the best partnership of my life….  Someday.  But for now, embracing this life is truly the greatest love of all.  

Here's To You, Caitlin Chavez

So I find myself in this stretch of time after the end of summer and the beginning of fall, where the insanity of back to school, conferences, start up of the girls’ practices, games, uniform fittings, permission slips, and crazy amounts of homework ensue.  Usually, there is this wonderful short window (called Thanksgiving for a reason) where I find I can take a breath in preparation before the next level of insanity (called December) hits, but this year that first window has closed.  This year my girlies won’t be making the fall trek back to Michigan, and in this I am in every sense of the word thankful.  This does not mean, however, that momma still doesn’t need a little break.

I know that I have mentioned CJ (awesome couple friends) having recently moved to TN.  What I may not have emphasized is that any trip to see them starts with the most beautiful, easy, 3 and a half hour drive to their house that you actually enjoy, where you can collect your thoughts as you are sounded by the beautiful Tennessee mountains.  And then there is the fact that CJ are such gracious hosts-it’s like the most amazing Bed and Breakfast you could never afford.  Seriously.  Fresh flowers in your room, artisanal chocolates by your bedside, and fresh soaps from the farmers market in your private bath, all of which are handmade in TN.  And I have not even mentioned J’s cooking (the J standing for Julia, as in Julia Child). But all of that doesn’t matter as the most important aspect- the overwhelming love, warmth and genuine kindred spirit you feel as soon as you walk in the door.  Whenever we are together you just know it’s going to be a great time.

Yes, I think I will take some of that.  Stat.

So, much to their dismay I left the Girlies behind for a weekend getaway to paradise.  And on the first evening as the three of us were walking the narrow streets of downtown Franklin, there seemed to be a crowd gathering; trying to act conspicuous, but doing a really bad job of it, this group of people all kept stealing glances across the street.  Literally, it caused all three of us to stop and do the same; heck, we didn’t want to miss it- even though we didn’t know what “it” was.  And then we realize what all the commotion is about; over the local theater, the marquee was ablaze with a level of awe-inspiring wattage lighting up the street below that said:

“Caitlin Chavez will you marry me?”

And amid this group of strangers that are clearly there to witness this personally public moment about to happen for people they know, we found ourselves as part of the throws of on-lookers. 

We see the infamous couple a few shops away making their way to the sign.  The guy was trying to point out something miscellaneous in the shop window right before the theater, clearly looking to buy some time.  I was 44 min past the hour, and I am certain there had been an intricate plan in place including exact time and location.  And then, as they step into the glow of the marquee lights, he is clearly saying some heartfelt words, and then points up.  She sees the marquee, gasps, and you see her excitedly say yes.  There are cheers, which only increase as he gets down on his knee and produces a ring.  More cheers, friends and family crossing the street to extend their congratulations, and you know it’s one of those moments that will live forever in the hearts of these people.

And what I wanted to say was- Suck it, Caitlin.

Ok, so not literally.  I would never want to rob anyone of this precious moment, and I was genuinely happy for them, but my heart has gone a little cynical as of late and if I’m being honest that was my gut reaction.  Here I am, almost three years post-divorce, and to be honest I just didn’t think that I would be this…… Single.

Ah, yes, the “S” word.  You know what is so funny (as in the universe laughing, and you no so much?) Is that I CLEARLY remember discussing life after divorce with the Wizard in Michigan, and her saying “You know, you could just be single for the rest of your life.”  And me, scoffing at such a notion.  Scoffing I tell you!  There is no WAY I was going to end up…. Single!  As if it was a disease.  (Did you hear what happened to her?  You know- she’s single (said in stressed whisper). 

Now I have realized that Single does not come with a scarlet S upon your chest.  Single does not have to equate to lonely.  Single is truly- conscious or unconscious- a choice.  Your inner self knowing if you are ready to be the partner you are supposed to be.  An external self making it a point to be selective, waiting for the entire package of Mr. Right, and not settling for Mr. Right now as a convenience, a solution for the feeling of loneliness, which clearly still shows up from time to time.  The choice of short term fix vs. lifetime fit.

Here’s the thing, and while I knew it somewhere in my gut long before it ever came to light, for some it still may be difficult to comprehend.  I got divorced for love.  Yes- for love.  For the IDEA of love, and my faith that there was more than what it was for me.  And just to clarify here, not that I didn’t love M- I did. Regardless of what occurred, the reality is that I believe that Great Love is possible.  Big Love.  Grand Love. The love that you know exists because while you know countless couples, you can count on one hand the ones who got it right.  You know what I mean- not flowery, poetic love, or convenient, I-know-what-to-expect or better-than-the-alternative love, but after-22-years-they-are-still-my-best-friend-and-we-want-to-be-together love.  It’s not that any other type of love is bad, or less worthy, it’s just that it wasn’t right for me. And somewhere I knew it, had Faith that it exists, and that it was worth losing it all in order to find it.  And that is where I find myself.  Literally and figuratively.

So while my (impatient) cynical heart would love to know that what I am looking for is just around the corner, let’s face it, that’s just not the way these things work.  But what Caitlin Chavez did show me is that it IS possible.  It DOES happen.    And maybe I just needed to see the marquee lights in order to be reminded.

Game On

For those that have known me my entire life, to say that I have always been health conscious might result in some hysterical laughter.  But after realizing that there was a way I wanted to live, and most importantly a way I didn’t, I made some significant life changes and here we are today, a healthier version of me.

This is not to say that (just like everyone else) I still don't struggle. Besides for that one week a month where I fluxuate 5 lbs. and I must then transition to the stretchy yoga pants (don’t lie ladies- we all have them) used to accommodate the situation, I do try to reasonably stay on track most of the time.

But then there are times, well, when things start to slowly unravel.  I have week after week of travel, and despite trying to still bring a healthy lunch from Whole Foods, the dinners out, drinks after that, and the not so healthy array of what might be available in an airport does not help.  Neither does the 12 hours of straight meetings and said dinners, which leaves no time for a good workout.  And did I mention that I work for a company that supplies free donuts and ice cream ALL THE TIME?  Combine this with trying to heal a knee injury, and suddenly I find myself permanently transitioned to previously mentioned stretchy pants.

I try telling myself that it is due to that one week a month, but then it rolled into weeks after that.  I then tried to justify that it could not have been as bad as I thought it was- you know, as I was laying on the bed trying to zip up the “night on the town” jeans (don’t lie ladies- we all have those, too).   Perhaps some Carny came in and installed those funky carnival mirrors all over the house which projects a bigger self, and it’s not reality?

Sadly, no.

Because then I stepped on the scale.  And those 5 lbs. were most certainly there.  Along with some of his friends.

For a girl that is 5’4” (on a good day) those unwelcome friends is almost a SIZE on me.  It makes everything suddenly feel tight.

I was off my game.

And I should have seen it coming.

Why you ask?  Because my house had been sabotaged.

When I am on my game, I eat well- very little carbs, no dairy, but of course there is always dark chocolate (I am not insane). I actually like the way I feel when I eat this way, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t miss the good stuff.  And suddenly, they start appearing.

The first culprit to arrive is usually this:

Never heard of it?  Well then you are clearly not a butter fiend like I am.   Yes, I might sell a body part for some really good butter.  Not margarine, not even something like Land-o-Lakes; oh no- I am talking pure European butter.  Kate’s Farm Fresh Homemade Butter from Maine.  Icelandic butter.  Betcha didn’t even know there was something such as “Icelandic butter” did you?  Well trust me on this one- just say no.  If not, before you know it the entire stick will have disappeared using some vehicle such as flax bread under the guise that you are actually eating something healthy but all the while you can’t even see the bread because it is smothered with the golden shimmer of pure heaven across every inch so as to not miss a spot.  Oh, and then there’s the bread involved. Yeah, that’s not so good either.

If I continue to be sliding down the slippery slope of “well, maybe I will just pick up a little something special this week” this next criminal finds itself on my panty shelf:

 

People, don’t let the international appeal fool you.  This is crack.

Again, I start off slathering the said crack food on strawberry’s- hey!  I’m eating fruit! But soon there is more chocolaty hazelnut spread than berry, and so then I just go for the easy move and break out a spoon.  Yep, me, the jar, and a spoon.  I start by using the spoon like a cement trowel to “even it out”. Come on- you know exactly what I am talking about. And before you know it, you have reached bottom.  Literally and figuratively.

Now, even the girlies will tell you, there is one food that is NEVER allowed in the house.  I mean it- in what I am afraid might be a moment of weakness I will avoid Isle 4 in Publix so I don’t even have to walk past them.  Because they are evil.  Just. Pure. Evil.

Oh, you think they are all cute and every generation enjoys them- you may discuss all the ways there is to eat them, their Double Stuff brothers or their holiday colored cousins, but that is a lie!  They are all the same… and the problem is you can’t have just one.  Bring me a cold glass of milk (said item’s accomplice) and back in the day I could easily have downed almost half a row before I knew it.   Seriously, if you ever find a bag of these and a gallon of 2% in the house, put me on 24 hour surveillance because I have clearly gone off the deep end.

Luckily there is the internet where I was able to obtain the mug shots used here because I am gettin’ my game back on.  Back to the gym, getting in some good workouts, and even signing up for a 10k in order to provide some extra motivation. Healthy choices to be had in the house, and while I have never been one to deprive myself, putting forth just a little more discipline.

Because I know it’s all up to me.  No matter how much I want to blame a Carny. 

9 Times

In a world where typically the person that is most critical of you is the person staring back from the reflection in the mirror, I believe that it’s a good thing to really embrace the things that you like about yourself.   I love that I have red hair.  I think I have a great smile. I love that I can have very deep and connecting conversations with friends, and that they turn to me in times of need.  I love that I try to embrace the moment, and sometimes break the rules.

I also like that I genuinely believe the best in people.

But now, I am starting to question this last one.

There is that saying, “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me”.   I wish I could adhere to that philosophy, but it usually takes me more than once.  Okay, maybe more than twice, or more.

It typically takes me 9 times.

I know!  That’s crazy.  I am much smarter than that, or I would at least like to believe.  But alas, here I find myself, dumbfounded yet again when I realize who a person really is.

And I am sitting here, ranting around saying “I can’t believe that this person did that!” and then a little voice says, um really? You CAN’T believe it?  Because it was so out of the blue?  Why didn’t you believe it the last time, when they were so irresponsible?  Or the time before that, when you had asked them to commit to you, and they couldn’t even try, and just gave up?  When they disappointed you time and time again.  When they did this exact same thing before and they don't even realize that you know, because you chose in that moment to not call it out? Why didn’t you believe it then?

But I chose to not believe any of those times.  It was more that I wanted to believe that this time was different.  That the person behaved and acted in the way that I wanted them too.  Treated me the way that I would have treated them.  Truthfully.  With care.  With respect.

But they didn’t.  And now I find myself here- after the 9^th time- Over. It.

What I have tried to explain to this person is that it will never be the same.  I will never view them in the light the way I once did.  The way I cared for them, thought I could trust them with the things that I held most precious in my life, thought I could trust them with my feelings.  But now, I realize that THIS IS who they are- not who I had hoped they would be- but THIS is their true self. 

And I don’t even know who that is anymore.

There is another saying “When someone shows you who they really are, believe them”.

This time I believe. 

There will not be a time #10.

Inappropriate Language

We have certain rules in my house.

·         Be responsible for your actions

·         Education comes first

·         Always have some fun

·         Try something new everyday

·         I’m your mom, not your maid

·         Own your emotions and talk openly about them

·         Love yourself for who you are

Another non-official rule is that we talk one way inside the house vs. how we might talk outside the house.  I know, a little backwards from most parents.  But then again, as we have established, I am not most parents.

I swear.  I own it.  It’s not lady like, and yes, I understand this is not setting a good example for my children.  But let’s face it, this is not going to change (please see last rule).  So, instead, I explain to my  girls that not everyone talks this way, and that while mom may use bad words they are not allowed to use them until they are an adult.  Still, I allow them– within reason- to talk one way in the house (saying words such as “this sucks” is a big deal, trust me.  They both like to charge me a dollar for more serious infractions) with the knowledge that they are not allowed to repeat such language with others.  My GG takes this rule, like ALL rules, to heart.

For those of you who don’t personally know my GG, she is the most empathetic, sweet, responsible child you will ever meet.  I’m not kidding; I have told her on more than one occasion to please go text her friends, stop doing so much homework, and go have some fun.  She is the first born, and takes her role seriously (honestly, you should feel bad for her- having to live with two babies of the family,  both Belle and myself, cannot be easy).  GG knows the rules of the house, and follows them to a T.  Does not push them; never tests the line.

Until soccer.

GG has playing soccer since she was 6- I can still remember getting the call that she had made RUSH as I was standing in the Phoenix office, tearing up as I heard Coach Shannon say that she wanted her for the U7 team.  Since that time, being goalie has been her thing- the position she prefers, the position she thrives in.  When she is in the zone, my GG owns the box.  You can see the concentration in her eyes, in her moves, the way she anticipates where the ball will go.  Her competitive nature comes out- the red head gets a little fiery.  Yes- that is my girl.

Now GG is at the next level of play, a true competitive travel soccer team.  This is our first year playing at this level, and at the first “pre-season” tournament things did not exactly go her way.  She had not played all summer.  The team was worn out the second game due to the hot Georgia sun, the ref made a few bad calls, she had a few unlucky breaks, she made a bad move. 

And she was mad.

The game was called for lightening, and as the team crossed the field she was exiting at a 90 degree tangent away from everyone else.  I know this look.  Heck, I own this look, and let the girl borrow it from time to time.  I clearly knew this was one of those times.

I met her about half way across the field, and she greets me with “I am so MAD.  I Just. Can’t. Talk. About. It.” (Please see second to last rule).  A few seconds later, she looks at me and says

“I need 5 minutes of inappropriate language.”

“Okay”, I say (trying not to laugh- she is so serious about this), “Go ahead”.

And for the next few sentences, she tentatively lets it fly.  She lets out an F-bomb.  She inappropriately used the B word (yeah, the ref was male).

But let me tell you she meant it!  And is it wrong to say that I was proud of her?  This girl NEVER breaks the rules, and it’s good for her to feel like she is crossing the line a little now and then.  And if a few swear words are the biggest issue I have to worry about, then let’s be honest- Thank.  God.

And after she lets these few sentences go, she looks around and says “I  don’t want to say anything else because I don’t want Belle to hear”.  And my GG is back, worrying more about others than herself.

We talk about the game the whole ride home.  It takes a lot of convincing for her to not be so hard on herself, to accept that in life we get tough breaks and mistakes will happen, but you move on, learn, and live to defend the goal another day.

And that’s just what she did- less than 24 hours later, in one of the best games I have ever seen her play.

And both the day before, and at the end of the 60 minutes of the last game, I have never been so proud of her.

I Feel Home

I feel home,
when I see the faces that remember my own.
I feel home,
when I'm chilling outside with the people I know.
I feel home,
and that's just what I feel.
Home to me is reality,
and all I need is something real.

Well in the end we can all call a friend
well that's something I know as true.
And then a thousand years and a thousand tears
I'll come finding my original crew

cause to me throughout eternity
there's somewhere where you're welcome to go
I said it's something free that means a lot to me
when I'm with my friends I feel home.
 *************************************
How I wish I could take credit for these lyrics.  But I can’t.  So I won’t.  I will just say how they perfectly capture that night….

It’s the last weekend before the girls return.  I have had some good times going out, and some pure, peaceful moments of solitude, and relished in them both.  But this last weekend was one of those magical times when it all seems to come together- a destiny of moments that call out to be remembered in future nights with those that shared in its magic.

Time with friends is always special, but when close friends end up relocating to Nashville (a convenient 3 hour commute away), one of their favorite bands are playing at a venue I have been wanting to check out, and oh, and it’s his 39 birthday, well, as they say, it’s a done deal.

C & J, or CJ as we will affectionately refer to them here, are “those” type of friends; the ones who I love and adore as individuals, but together as a couple they are special.  The type of friends that you go months (or perhaps even years) without talking to and pick up right where you left off.   Friends that call you that nickname that you haven’t heard since the last time you saw them.  Friends you have known for life, or at least you feel like you do.  And regardless of the plans, or lack thereof, you know you will have a great time just because you are together. 

CJ arrive Friday night, and we laugh at how we have both clearly anticipated the end of the world as we have prepared enough food and beer for the next apocalypse.  Another “I immediately connect with you”  friend (and awesome dog) join us that night for an evening of “OMGwhathaveyoubeendoingtellmeeverything”.   We casually sit around the kitchen table, loosing track of time and glasses of sangria, noshing on snacks until the lateness of the night takes over and we know we have to give in because there is yet another night of fun and catching up to be had.  And after goodbyes and goodnights you realize that your cheeks are slightly sore because you have been smiling and laughing for the past countless hours.

The next day is an event.  We head out to one of my favorite local breweries, but what makes it special is that yet another feels like life-long friend joins us for the fun.  After taking in some local flavor (aka- seasonal release craft brew) we head downtown for dinner.  Soon the 5 of us are together, friends new and old, all sitting around a table during senior citizen dining hours at a wonderful Atlanta restaurant, without a care in the world as we share dishes, stories and friendship.  What amazes me most about this moment is the ease of it all; here, I am surrounded by people I have known for almost 40 years to only a few, and yet we all get along so effortlessly.  We all seem to share the same fundamental approach to life, and are having fun in this moment; comrades in arms.

We head over to the concert- the venue is amazing.  On old church, clearly with a storied past, the unique beauty of how the light filters through the stained glass windows, now reinvented, living a new life.  I immediately relate.  

We stake our claim on the main floor, and listen to some music that you can’t believe is just the opening act.  Then suddenly, captured by an all-encompassing sound that, while you may not be familiar with still tugs at your heart, the headliner O.A.R is playing.  The music connects with me.  It’s an experience- and it’s not just the music.  It’s these friends that I am surrounded by- friends new and old, and how I connect with each one of them, and how it would not have been the same that night if it had been anyone else.  I can feel how happy I am, pretending to sing along with song I don’t know, and not having a care in the world.  How I find heartfelt conversation in stolen moments among the buzz of the crowd.  How I realize that I am truly so lucky to know and have these people in my life, and how there is an aspect of this moment that you don’t want to end.   And just like the first night I saw Red Wanting Blue on Girls Weekend, or that night after my first Tri, it’s this night- this is what I will hold on to days, weeks from now, remembering…  how my heart felt home.

And now real life moves on, but I still have that soundtrack playing in the background as I work, cook dinner for the girls, pay bills… all with this sly smile that tells a story… the story of that night.