upside down

So...I am getting divorced, or being divorced from, whichever way you look at it.

This is the 5-year anniversary of this blog and of the date we moved to Tennessee from Illinois.  I once said out loud on facebook "I give it 5 years."  I was so unhappy here initially, but I've slowly grown to tolerate some of it, and love other parts of it.  It's a bittersweet anniversary.

 I didn't and don't want to write the details here though, because this is mostly my "fun" blog, and what part of divorce is fun (unless you are the divorcer, maybe)?  That is why I've been so quiet lately.


Also, some of it might be offensive and depressing to my garden/insect/earthy readers, although I know that no matter what our hobbies are we all have very real and human problems, and sometimes it is our hobbies that keep us grounded and sane despite them.


Therefore, I am going to make a new blog only for the topic of the divorce.  It will be one more way to help me get through.  There will be many personal things on there, and since people I know in real life sometimes read this blog here, I have to "screen" the readers first.  I am not so brave and trusting that I won't be horribly judged.


My solution to this is if you would like to read about this side of my life--if you care enough to try--drop me an email at moonflower317@yahoo.com, and I will send you the link.  (Actually some of it might turn out to be a teensy bit humorous, only because my brain copes with this kind-of stuff by forcing myself to laugh at the sadness.)


To the rest of you, I will try to keep writing funny and/or informative things every 6 months or so like I've been doing ;-)

journey

Why do we stay in places in our lives where we feel, sometimes with every ounce of our being, that we should not be there?

Because we fear the unknown.

As wrong, as lonely, as sad, as infuriating or as unfulfilled as we may be, we are comfortable in the KNOWN.

And even though what lies ahead and is unseen may open doors that we never thought possible, we still can't see that far, and that's scary.

I know that no matter what happens though, I need ME.  I need to be the person that I was born to be; to not waste the talents I was given because I am in a melancholy funk.  I'm still not sure who that is, and I imagine I'll be working it out until I can't remember where to put my fingers on the keyboard anymore.

I need to be a friend, in return for all the friends in my past and present who have given to me when I couldn't give in return.

I need to be a mom to my kids, to fill their world with the joys of life that it took me so long to find on my own.  To give them the tools to be strong and to know that their greatest ally is themselves.

I have a feeling that this walk down a long unknown trail of many turns, through a forest I've never traveled in before, has already begun.  I am surrounded by stands of tall trees, thick shrubs and May apples covering the ground, still believing that I'm in the parking lot, that I can go back home and life will resume with the known.  I have yet to fully recognize the implications of where I am.

If I do finally figure it out--when I do--I expect poison ivy, thorns, ticks and spider webs on my face.  I also know that there will be surprise blackberries, fields of wildflowers, the croaks of a family of bullfrogs, and a soft breeze that cools me in my weak and tired moments.

And it is those moments that I will wait and hope for, because I know they will eventually come.  They always do.

undercrowded

Ever since we moved to this house I have had trouble sleeping. It seems like I can't get through a night without waking up.

My first thought was that it was because I was working more night shifts. Bigger mortgage=have to work more=more stress=insomnia.

But I think that I have discovered the root of the problem. The bedroom is just TOO BIG. While it is lovely--with 2 closets, a fireplace, a bathroom, and a balcony facing the backyard--I do not feel secure in there. It feels like I am floating around in the open air when I am laying in bed.

I have always felt that I could live happily in a tiny home (that is, if I was able to part with some of the "junk"). I also thought that this was probably a character flaw of mine according to our society. Houses are built so large now--ours is from 1985 but still 3,000 square feet--it seems like living in a behemoth should be a normal way of life. Never mind all the earth's resources that it takes to maintain and run this house.

Our home in Illinois was 1,300 square feet. I was living happier in it. We were all closer. My bed was right next to the window where I could see and hear the oak leaves tap against one another every morning. I had birds to wake me and I could see strands of caterpillar silk reflected in the early sunlight.

I miss the simple life.

imaginary surrender--not!

Alright,

Lets just pretend for a moment that I'm starting to like it here. That even though I say I miss the Chicago winters and all the complaints about everything that Northerners tend to have (because they spend too much time indoors together during the winter), I really don't miss them very much.

That I don't feel like a hell-bound heathen among all the churchgoing people.

That the water has not given me what my beautician aptly described as "Your Tennessee Hair" A.K.A. straw, and the southern change in latitude is not bringing me one step closer to discovering a subtle but fatal spot of malignant melanoma.

That the word "ya'll" slips forth from my lips, and I welcome it as "learning the dialect."

That the wolf spider I let stay alive the first time I discovered it (because it is a natural predator of the brown recluse) was not found residing on my daughter's pillow the other morning and didn't try to climb into her mouth, causing her to vomit all over herself.


That I drive the appropriate 15 m.p.h. speed limit in school zones, and do not get reprimanded by overzealous crossing-guards with crisp white gloves when they see my Chicago Bears plate on the front of the car.

That blondes do not outnumber the brunettes here. God save the redheads like myself.

That I look good in a spaghetti-strap sundress, a main wardrobe staple of the female locals May through September (especially at football games); unlike in Chicago, where dresses are mainly worn to church, weddings, and funerals, A.K.A. to church.

That I finally stop saying "pop" when referring to Sprite and instead call it "soda." Wait, I mean "coke."

That I come to accept the term "toboggan" to mean a hat with earflaps, rather than a sled-like device that you use to have fun with in the snow, because winter is bad, bad, bad.

While it's been fun to make fun of Tennessee (which I really don't think I've done all THAT much), maybe I should change the theme of this blog a little. Write more about family? Get all bitchy like all those SAHM blogs I've glanced at? Nah, my husband hears enough of that. Work? No, composing a novel for that subject (stay tuned). Friends? Don't have many here, and the ones that I do have are coworkers anyways.

Oh well, sorry Tennessee.

on the road with history

Sometimes I wonder if I am being too hypervigilant when it comes to Tennessee drivers. But the other day I spotted an unusual sight that deserved mention. The strangest thing about the scene was that nobody else seemed to think it was strange.

A woman pulls out of a fast food restaurant in a red sedan, maybe a Honda or Toyota. She was black, but I will give her the benefit of the doubt that she wasn't from this country.

Why will I do that? Because she had a Confederate flag plate on the front of her car!

It was almost like I had entered some alternate universe.

Perhaps she is not a student of history. Could it be that she is trying to fit into her new homeland by using a symbol that she has frequently seen? Maybe she thinks the Confederate flag is trendy.

That's almost as bad as what I have been up to lately--a Northerner, innocently carpooling to work with a guy who sports a "Sons of Confederate Veterans" license plate. Hypocrite am I? No. Broke from gas prices? You betcha.

Sometimes you just gotta sell out to survive.