A couple of weeks ago Hubby bought a memory foam pillow on impulse.  He clearly bought into their boldly advertised claim that this miracle product – developed for astronauts – would ensure him a more peaceful rest. The cashier’s warning that it would take up to 3 days to get used to it did not dissuade him from the idea that he would finally get a good night’s sleep.

After only 20 minutes under his head on the first night, the pillow found itself hitting the wall opposite our bed and resting on the floor for the duration.

On the second night I have no idea how long it lasted under his head but in the morning I found it on the floor on Hubby’s side of the bed.

The third night the poor abandoned pillow never even made it onto the bed.

Finally I decided to give it a try and I absolutely LOVE this pillow.  I’ve been using it the better part of this week and I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well.  Even when I wake up in the middle of the night, which I am prone to do at least a handful of times, I simply lift my head a little and put it back down on the pillow and zonk, I’m right back out again.

I’m sorry for him that it didn’t work out but I’m super pleased for me! 

After innocuous chit chat and mundane pleasantries like, “How’s it going” and “How’s school” – to which the responses were equally disinterested “Fine” and “Fine” – we got to the meat of the conversation.

I basically told him the same thing I told his Mom earlier in the day, “A lot of people blah, blah, blah a lot of trouble blah, blah, blah.”

And as I stood there feeling like not only was I banging my head against a wall, I realized I was actually blaming the wall.  I stopped in mid-sentence of my not-your-parent-but-close-enough lecture on irresponsibility and crying wolf.

“You know what” I said without waiting for an answer.  “You know all of this already.  You know what I’m going to say, why I’m going to say it and that I’m right.  I suspect you knew it even before you canceled the appointment.”

“I guess I kinda knew you’d be mad” he said sheepishly.

“Well, I am to be honest.  Moreover though is that I’m concerned for you.  You certainly didn’t do yourself any favours in this.”

True to the nature of the typical 16 year old his reply was a defiant expression of know-it-allism wrapped in a blanket of sarcastic snarkiness, “Well, it is my problem.”

Okay then. Very good.  Message received loud and clear.  (I, of course, did not retaliate with my own sarcasm, I let it just swirl around in my head for a few minutes while I formulated a more mature response.)

“Okay.  You’re right, it is your problem and I sincerely hope you get a handle on it.  Call me if you want or need to talk about anything.  I love you.”

Then I hung up the phone and moved away from the wall.

I didn’t really expect things to end just because Nephew moved out.  I knew full well that in a way it was just the beginning.  I had, no matter how outwardly unwittingly and subconsciously invitingly, set precedent.

Today, Nephew’s doctor’s secretary called.  Apparently she was not notified that Nephew has moved back home, of which I happily informed her.  I then called my sister to let her know.

Her disinterest startled me,

Sister: Yeah?

Me: I just thought I’d let you know in case it was about the appointment with the youth psychologist.

Sister: Oh yeah, he said he canceled that.

Me: What?!

Sister: What? He told me he canceled it because he didn’t feel he needed to go.

Me: And you let him?

Sister: What do you mean let him? He’s sixteen, I don’t see what I can do about it.

Me: (after banging my head against the wall) You know, a lot of people went through a lot of trouble to make sure he got that appointment because HE expressed a serious concern about his own well being.

Sister: Well, you should probably tell him that.  It’s not like he was living with me when this appointment was made.

Me: (choking down the bits of enamel flying from my grinding molars) Fine then, I will.  I’m going to call him.

Sister: Okay, good.

And I did.  The subject of Part Two.

For now, the moral of this story…

Well, you’ll have to wait until I figure it out for myself.

Though I’m totally open to any suggestions.

She wanted very much to confront her father with her doubts.

Not unused to the proud man’s nature of omission and vagueness, most particularly of matters pertaining to family history, the 38 years experience as his daughter was qualification enough to doubt the original claim.

“It belonged to my grandmother,” he said as he watched her eyes widen. She had just pulled a ring out from a tiny cloth box that was inside a small metal box that was presented in a larger paper box.

The boxes were intended as a comical lead toward her real birthday gift. A lovely piece of jewelry, the ring was a slim gold band with a sterling silver curled bridge atop that held eight tiny birthstones.

“Thank you Father,” she said in earnest as she slid the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand and leaned over to kiss the elder man on his cheek. She of course had to act as though she wholly believed him, asking all manner of questions regarding previous ownership and going so far as to note his responses with pen on paper.

Now this may appear rude to anyone whose familial engagements are bound in trust and unconditional. This unfortunately was less than true in her case and was thus deemed necessary.

Still the good daughter caused no scene, served cake and coffee, engaged animatedly in meaningless conversation until it was time to amorously and graciously, with firmly planted kisses and gripping hugs to her father, sister and nephew bid them all a fair night.

Leaning back on the door closed she looked toward and grasped in her left thumb and middle finger, the ring.

Holding there she thought to remove it and dismiss all notions it wrought to happenstance, not wanting to know the truth.

Holding there she thought to cry her tears unto the ever after and continue to wear it as a matter of intent and sentiment being the closest things she would know as truth.

Holding there she decided neither mattered as much as the love, no matter how obscure and barely visible, that was indeed the undercurrent of any kind of stability that existed from beginning to now.

It’s been a great birthday!

Beyond the time spent with family and friends and the lovely gifts I received, the weather has been remarkably mild for late November.  No snow yet.  Some rain and cloud cover.  Even a few warm sunny days.

It’s very refreshing and makes me reluctant to get out the Christmas stuff just yet.

I’m hoping I can pretend it’s April for another week or so.

Truthfully, this has been one sucky year and I couldn’t be happier to be having a birthday tomorrow.

I really need one.  I’m in desperate need of a marker, a designated “from here on out”, a proverbial point of reference. I couldn’t be more at ease with the idea of going to sleep tonight 37 years old waking up tomorrow being 38.

“38 Is Great” is going to be my mantra for the next twelve months.

The truth is, the numbers have nothing to do with it.  It’s the symbolism, the meaning I attach to it and the idea of a fresh start that matters.  I love a blank canvas…whether it be an actual canvas, a computer screen or just a piece of paper.

Whether you want to call it starting over, anew or fresh it just feels good to be able to shake off the old.

And this is just cute…

That’s Hubby’s way of hiding my, specifically asked for, strawberry mousse birthday cake.

At least it better be the specifically asked for strawberry mousse birthday cake.

It’s not like I peeked or anything.

  Happy Birthday to Me!

Back in August I made a pact with myself that I would try to finish my novel by my birthday.  Well, with only 5 days to go and not a single word written in the 10 weeks that Nephew was here it looks like I’m going to have to concede failure on this one.

In a way, I suppose I’m sabotaging myself by inviting chaos, drama and distraction into my life with open arms.  It’s as though part of me can not accept that for the first time since I was 16 (going on 22 years now) I have the freedom to finally put myself back on the front burner and actually enjoy myself, explore my talents and, for the love of God, finish a project that I started for me.

Why is it so bloody difficult?

Anyway, difficult or not, I’m going to keep at it.  Nephew moved back home on Tuesday and by yesterday I had transformed the spare bedroom he was staying in, into:

A space just for ME!  And I don’t even care if the Queen herself shows up at my door with a suitcase in hand, SHE can sleep on the freakin’ couch…this room is MINE!

There you can see my laptop set up, external keyboard of course and pinned to the wall is my outline for direction and a few of my drawings for inspiration.  Rough drafts are stacked in the corner, fresh notebook on the right (did I mention that I’m almost 38 and STILL can’t tell left from right) and a slew of pens and highlighters for editing beside the phone.

I swear folks, if it kills me this book will get written.

I’ve also set up my sewing machine and my art supplies in another corner of the room to round out the space (and to remind others that it’s MINE)…kind of like how a cat sprays, I throw my crap around.

As of yet I have not given myself another deadline and I’m not sure if I will.  I’m  just happy that I still feel inspired enough to keep trying.  Right now it’s just a matter of writing something, even if it’s only a few pages, everyday and see where it takes me.

Nephew moved back home two days ago.

He went from having a phone conversation with his Mom one day, the first in the 10 weeks he’s been here, to having coffee with her the next and then he moved out 3 hours after that.

My head is still spinning.  Not that I don’t think it’s a good thing, it’s just that I really didn’t get a whole lot of opportunity to think much of anything before it happened.

Of course I’m happy that my sister and her son have decided to work things out, it’s all I’ve ever wanted from the get go.  I really do hope they get their shit together and make a real go of forging a stronger and healthier bond between them.

It’s just that, and this may be totally selfish, I kind of feel like I’ve been left out in the cold and I’m somewhat disoriented.  I mean, I knew what direction I was going in when all this first happened it’s just that now I feel a little lost.

“What was I doing again?”

Not to mention how utterly exhausted I am.  Taking care of your own teenagers is one thing, taking care of someone else’s and all the baggage that goes along with that…well, to say it’s trying is putting it mildly.

It’s too soon yet to find any real perspective and I know that some real heart to heart conversations with both my sister and nephew are in my very near future.

Though I am happy to be able to be a source of support for them as they work through their parent/teenager relationship, I’m not willing to again be a lifeboat when they decide to jump ship just because they’re pissed off at each other.

I have so much more to say but I’m too tired.  I’m going to go watch a movie and have a glass of wine.

Ever feel like screaming yourself blue
Why is it that’s something we can’t do
Unless we’re two

It’s not like life gets easier
It’s not like life slows down
Age doesn’t prove that it’s better to wear a fake smile
Than it is to express an honest frown

So why can’t I tantrum and cry my eyes out
Why do I have to stay quiet when I want to shout?
Just because I’m almost 38

It’s not like things are easier
It’s not like life has slowed down
Age doesn’t mean I’m immune to my own emotions
Maturity is overrated

Ever feel like you’re caged by your age
Ever feel like you’re confined to a stage
And that deviating is somehow childish

It’s not like life gets easier

I know that this is probably getting old but I don’t care.  I’m not yet done grieving and finding ways to celebrate Karmie, our beloved pet and friend.

Here she is with Darth, who is still with us, and you can just tell by the look on her face what her temper was like.

Hanging out wherever she felt like, in this case Hubby’s underwear drawer.

Here she is nonchalantly taking over my ironing board while I’m in mid project.

And this is my favourite pic of her though I’m not sure why.

Anyway, I’m done now and promise to get back to my regularly scheduled posts about nothing.