It's All About the Journey

Redemption. It's a real thing. It can happen. I had a talk last week with someone that I love and respect deeply about the line. The line between human and irredeemable. For that person, there is a clear line. I don't think I have one. I think that's part of what makes me who I am. There is always the gray. In the instance we were talking about, my friend was right and I was "sentimental and stupid" my words. Someone else I love said that "sentimental and stupid" is part of my love language. I will love anyone who will let me. And another dear friend tonight told me that's one of the things they love most about me. And that I am so resilient. They call me with the worst of news. I guess because I'm one of the most earth-beaten people alive. Not that I didn't do some of it to myself. Most of it. They think I've found my purpose. I've been feeling like that lately too. I've needed somewhere to direct my anger and my frustration and ...

I had this moment recently. My therapist loves these. She loves watching my brain move around a problem as I solve it myself. Or, maybe not solve it, but understand it. And maybe it's not a problem, maybe it's a whole person I've been trying to figure out for four months. And it kind of all settled over me, exhausted, after working shoulder to shoulder with him yet again and feeling like I was standing in sunlight the entire time. I guess you could say baking is my OT and helps me coagulate thoughts into whole sentences. I'm reluctant to share this with him. I don't know if I'm right, though I think I am, and I don't know if it will be what he needs at this moment. Maybe all he needs is what I'm giving him while he comes into his own realizations. And I can do that too. He's behaved differently since the whole calling out business. I think that must be where it started. I think he saw then what I am. Sentimental and stupid and how beautiful and fragi...

Twenty-two years ago today, we held my father's funeral service. I remember it pretty clearly considering the trauma we'd all just been through. I don't remember much of the day, but I do remember the service. I remember what Mama wore. I remember where we sat. I remember what it did to my heart to look over and see my only baby brother sobbing like he'd never stop. He was only 13. Still had baby fat and those big, soft eyes they lose when they become men. His are still there a little bit. I love that man. I remember also that I was dating a good guy. He really did love me. He always did. It was his birthday. He gave it up to be with my family while we grieved out loud. That was a sacrifice, wasn't it? Former Marine. Tall, dark-haired, blue-green eyed Irish. I talked about him a few days ago. I defended him like I do people I love. Maybe I was a little extra-fierce defending him. I guess he never really had anyone to defend him that way. And we all need that. I hope...

Today is one of those anniversaries I usually refuse to celebrate. I try not to even remember them. Sometimes I succeed. Today I woke up and checked the analytics for  https://www.gigarage.org/  and saw today's date in a linear graph next to all the days before. It's been twenty-two years since Daddy died. I have written before of the eras of life and how I mark them with big events. This was one of the first of such events. "Before Daddy got sick" and "before Daddy died" and "right after Ansley was born" and "after Gabe was born" and "before I met Jay" and the list gets longer and longer with the ticking tally marks of the years. They're not all sad, just look at the births of my babies. They tend to just be these profound moments of change for me. I hold onto the good ones like the anchors they are. These moments ground me and hold me and remind me of the beauty that change and love can bring. And that's why I tend to ...

We met on Bumble. It was kismet. Maybe one of those first signs I tried to ignore. I'd been over to Lena's house when she hurt her back to help. I was run ragged. Burning a divorce and a broken heart and trying to be a good mother with a hurt shoulder and a dozen other things. I'd been lonely for a very long time. There was something in his eyes that I liked. I liked that blue so pale it's like white-hot fire and deep as Thor's Well. And his dog. In so many of his pictures. Experience has shown me never to trust a man with that much of a bullshit profile. We chatted a little bit and kind of let it drop over Thanksgiving. My divorce was finalized and I went home. I fell all apart and got temporally smushed back together with the glue of roots. I hadn't checked my messages. But there was something about his sincerity. His openness. So when I got back home, I checked in. He gave me his phone number. I texted. I don't know how long we went before we talked on th...

We saw a show. One of my favorites. He did not wear his work clothes. He wore this soft green tee that I'd seen on him in a picture and told him was a good color for him. He looked good. Fresh haircut, I think. The intensity. He picked me up at home in his gold Camry. Leaned over and opened the door from the driver side. I slid in, folding my legs in. I don't think he even kissed me hello. Maybe he did, but it was chaste. I put on my seatbelt and he made some comment about never wearing his because he'd seen too many accident scenes where it was more harm than good. I just said "I know. I've seen your traffic court record. Slow down." I figured if I was having a date, I may as well look like it. I wore high rise jeans with big flares and tears at the knees and a completely backless top that tied with a ribbon as its only way of holding on. Threw my rockstar leather over it. It was a chilly night. Red lipstick that was not supposed to budge. Well, it did a litt...

 Something moved in me. I don't know what it is. I really like it though. I've had a few moments that felt like real epiphanies lately. Last night it was telling someone if they want something from me, the best way to get the chance is to bring me coffee in bed. I've always loved that. Softens me right up. The effort to make and bring it to me is basically my love language. For the first time last night, I realized why. Daddy used to wake me up in the morning holding my coffee. It's the way to make sure that I'm sitting up and fully awake or I'll dump it all over myself. These days, if I'm not already sitting up, just leave it on the night stand. Another one was realizing why I love a man who gives me a hard time in the getting. I mean, surely part of it is knowing that nothing worth having is easy. Knowing that I love anyone who makes me work. Earn it. The other half is because I tailed Jay Tate for six months before he calmed his ass down and realized he d...

Some nights are like this in Suwanee, Georgia. Don't ask me how I am. Pick a category and ask a question. I realized a few days ago that my poor lemon tree had a parasite. I thought for two years that this baby had just been going through a rough time. Tough thing. Relatable thing. It lived through all that and wasn't even just being a dramatic bitch. So I got some horticultural oil and sprayed her down for a few days in a row and then combed over her carefully today, scraping off the parasites. Scale. They call it scale. Red blobs that start green and look as if they're growing right out of the plant. I've been running. It's what I do when I don't know what else to do. And it works for me. And I love it. I love it because it hurts I love it because it clears my whole mind. Active meditation. I have my best and clearest realizations while running and right before I fall asleep at night. I've been meaning to get back to here. I won't start. All I know is ...

My therapist instructed me to journal about these fellas in my life. Two in my life, I suppose. The third has been gone for seventeen years here shortly. She wanted me to list the attractive qualities of each of them and see what commonality I find. In order not to doxx the living, we'll call them Jay, M, and D. Jay doesn't care because he is dead. He wouldn't care anyway. He never had any shame. Attractive quality 1. Jay I loved him because he was one of the first men I ever met who was confident like that. Probably because he was 28 to my 20. Actually, I think I was still 19. He had no fear. I saw him across the mall and I saw him look. I really was just his type, chin up, challenge. He was wearing that yellow hoodie. That was his uniform when he wasn't at work. His ability to wear that hoodie and a ball cap juxtaposed with how wonderful he looked in a blue button down with a tie. Well, is that 2? He was sharp as a tack. Smart. I can't do much with a dumb man. 3. ...

Sometimes love is a lizard. Or a mouse. Or a bug. Or any other myriad vermin. Blanche brought a lizard to my back door this morning. She meowed loudly to get my attention. I went to the door and she dropped this thing at my feet, guts all hanging out. Gross. But this is one of those mean lizards. They'll bite the shit out of you and hold on until you pry them off. They're the snapping turtles of tiny things. She worked hard for that kill. And she wanted to give it to me. What I'm saying is that we all have two love languages: the language that we speak and the language that we hear. For my Blanche, love is gifts. They are gifts. That is the language that she speaks. My responsibility in this whole love thing is to recognize these gifts and reward the effort. That does not mean that I should never say "I can't let that nasty thing into my house." You can't let someone else's love make you sick. You can't let someone else's love put you in danger...

What a day yesterday. There was a knock at my bedroom door at 3am after I'd been up most of the night picking myself apart. It was my boy. My first instinct is that he needs his mama. There was flash of annoyance at his waking me up, but a flicker really. I am jealous of my sleep, but it wasn't as if I was getting any. I told him to give me just a second to get some clothes on. He waited outside the door. I eased it open and put my hand on his shoulder. He seemed okay with that, so I told him to come here and let me hug him. And I did. For a long while. Some of the hardest realizations at his level of emotional maturity is that you're part of the problem. No one is ever the whole problem. I went downstairs and made a huge pot of coffee and took him a cup in the mug with the sugar skull. I chose the transparent royal blue with the lovely foot and sat down across from him in my chair. We talked for about two hours. It's selfish, but I appreciated the time to just be with ...

It seems like every 48-hour period gets weirder and more intense. He's leaning in, but he acts like he's leaning out. No man stays around for this long if "you don't put out and Zip City's so far away." He's a good support person on a Friday night when you call to see if he wants to see you this weekend. Luci ate something she should not have. So he's been watching her all night to see if she needs the emergency vet. She finally settled into his shoulder in bed and slept. No one will ever love you like your animal companion will. I love her more than I'll ever love him. 1pm Sunday. I'm his Sunday girl. Ew. I've seen six shows in nine days and that's if you don't count the two pre-show shows I saw. My heart is full, but my tank is out of gas. I am so tired. But I feel guilty for not staying productive constantly. That, in addition to my full-time job, my baby's full-on emotional crisis, trying to keep a house alone, dealing with ...

I had a couple epiphanies in the car this morning. It happens that way sometimes. You can't really multitask and drive. Ergo: think. I've been listening to this podcast about music from the '90s. And that takes me allllll the way back to 1997. All of that angst and air sucking and grasping for whatever it is you want to find when you're an 11-year-old girl. Returning to my id, maybe. I heard that the music you hear and love when you're 14 shapes your taste for the rest of your life. I think I hit it earlier. I think that's because I've been so steeped in music since birth. That is to say, I heard so much music to that point, but as a child early to the teenage angst party. I think I was 11. I'd heard my mom's love for country and early roots and my dad's love for gospel and country story songs, I'd heard unaccompanied hymns in church and I'd heard guitar pickers and acapella humming all over my entire life. But I hadn't heard anything...

Most mornings are this way. Sometimes earlier, sometimes later. This morning, I turned and looked at my watch at 3:47. I told myself if I laid there until 4:30, I could get up and make coffee, bake the bread left rising in the cold oven, pack up my laptop, the camera, shower, find something to wear. I almost fell asleep again, but there is that dull, nervy ache in both legs and a rare case of heartburn making me uncomfortable. I went to bed at about 11:30 last night. My eyes still have the sleep and tear tracks hazing them. I'm averaging five hours or so. Tonight won't help bring that up. My sleep tracker says 4 hours and 34 minutes with a score of 34. Could be the wine. Could be the mild insanity. So I made the coffee and sat reading while the bread bakes, my head swimming and dull. That will be the couple glasses of wine from last night or the meds I take that should help me sleep. They help me get there, but nothing legal I've found can help me stay there long. The harde...

There is so much going on. It's nice to sit with my own mind for a little while. I haven't really felt like doing that lately because I had this moment when I questioned it. I am still in this place that I'm more likely to question myself than someone else I trust and care about, no matter what my gut tells me. I have got to start listening to that gut. She's almost always right if I don't shut her up. I've had some health news that kind of has me shook. I have sat and cried for a long time. I kind of knew for a long time, but there isn't really anything to do about it, so having it named out loud doesn't really help. I have some people in my life who have the same condition, so when I'm ready to talk about it, I can. I'm just not ready yet. And I don't know when I will be. And that's really okay. I have to be so careful about who I give weapons. Here we are with this again. Every time I let that creep in, I regret it. The thing is, I...