One Year

It’s been one year to-the-date since T left.  In all fairness, it should not be expressed in that way — she left in anger on the 6th of November but in the clear light of the next day, it was the right decision for both of us.  On that day, our break-up became mutual.  I thought so at the time; one year later, a lot has changed but not my feeling that our relationship had reached its end.  I have missed her and, perhaps even more than that, I’ve worried about her.  In January, when I finally tried to convey that sentiment to her, I was firmly rebuffed.  We’ve had no contact since those terse texts.  In that exchange, I offered to talk and apologized for not being able to love her in the way that she needed.  She thanked me but had no other response; no apology or expression toward me of any sort.  That was it.  So our relationship of 11 years ended in a whimper. 

I’ve since had plenty of time to reflect on our years together.  But it’s a one-sided story and I’ve little idea how she thinks of our time together.  I’ve wondered - often - if she ever loved me.  I think that reflection comes from the hardships of the pandemic and our last year together.  I hope that’s true; there was a period when I was deeply in love with her and I thought she felt the same way.  I can only speak for myself, but as I think back on our last few years together, it feels that I spent an inordinate amount of my energy trying to manage her mercurial moods and inexplicable anger; to look after her in the way that she needed.  I recognize that my efforts failed, but I did try.  When things between us were at their most difficult, I would console myself with the notion that when I really needed her, she would be there for me.  I don’t know if I believed that as much as I hoped it would true.  But if the Summer of 2022 revealed anything to me, it was the falseness of that hope.  And by the time of her blow up in November - on my birthday, of all days -  I was simply spent.  The next few weeks brought me a strange sense of peace, followed by a whole lot of regret.  Now, a year later, peace is the more dominant sentiment.  Of course it’s tinged with regret; 11 years together is a long time.  I am not yet accustomed to thinking about my long-term future without a whole lot of uncertainty, a feeling that makes me anxious.  

In the last year, I have had the time - and space - to actually look after myself, an art I mostly lost in the blur of our last few years together.  I am not lonely on my own, though I’m a little scared of growing old by myself and being a burden on JT.  I’m sad; really, really sad that I could never find someone to love me as I am.  This is the second time a relationship that I believed was my forever life plan has failed.  Though the differences in my reactions are telling, in the harder moments, this second failure makes me believe that there is something gravely wrong with me.  Those feelings can run rampant far too easily.  So mostly I square my chin, dismiss these feelings of inadequacy, and remind myself of my better qualities.  I’m kind and funny; loyal and true.  Amazing, smart, and worthy.  Stylish and charming.  Beautiful.  And certainly deserving of better than I was receiving in the life I had with T.  One year out, I don’t know if I entirely believe these things, but I want to believe them.  That has to count for something.  

A Good Day

T and I took a day over the weekend to go to one of our favorite places and stop by some farm stands along the way.  We came home in possession of a variety of Fall squashes and a jug of fresh apple cider.  Better than that, we came home relaxed.  We had a picnic at our favorite place up north and found that someone had left a smidge of sidewalk chalk on the table.  We put the chalk to good use.

The blue sky at Jenny Jump Park is nearly always a special shade of lovely.  The day was warm but we've had some cold nights and leaves are just starting to change.  As September merges into October, I am grateful for days like this; a reminder to relax my mind and find space to simply be.

Jenny Jump

Before I returned to meetings at school on August 31,  T and I stole a few hours on that last weekend to visit Jenny Jump State Park, one of our favorite places in New Jersey.

The sky was clear blue and lovely.

The park was its usual quiet, which is always nice to experience when you live in a densely populated state like New Jersey.  It was verdant green, even as the Summer prepares to end.

Just a few hours of rest but it was lovely, a down payment of still and quiet in what is sure to be a busy Fall.

Real Life Texts with T: Migratory edition

The backstory: Flip flops are my favorite thing in the world and I own an unnecessary assortment of them.  This morning, T noticed flip flop chaos by the side of the bed and texted me a picture.

The caption below the photo read:  “The great flip flop migration has begun……”

Indeed.

Adventures in New Jersey: Monmouth Battlefield

Heady with the success of our first Saturday adventure in New Jersey, T and I set off to visit Monmouth Battlefield last Saturday.  The day was hot and humid and there were a few bolts of lightening and raindrops as we made the drive south.  The trees were a lovely reward when we arrived.

We walked down the hill and across a bridge over the salt marsh.

These days, the fields where the battle was fought are farmed and there were neat rows of corn as far as the eye could see.

New Jersey often offers this kind of contrast, with salt marshes and woods, farmlands and green fields often located right next to another.

The beauty of the state at its finest is never lost on me.  I have been glad to call this place home for the last 18 years.  These days, as the people of our state have hunkered down to flatten the curve, I’ve been proud of the spirit of my fellow New Jerseyans, masks on and six feet apart as we share kind smiles and look after one another.  In public spaces, I feel a renewed recognition that we are truly in this together. The landscape we enjoy seems more valued than ever as we remember that more than 13,000 of us no longer can take joy in these views.  

Adventures in New Jersey: Voorhees State Park

The beautiful weather took hold of us and T and I set out on Saturday afternoon to enjoy a picnic and at Voorhees State Park.  The views were pretty.

The breezes and green forests were a reminder to stop and breathe.

We enjoyed ourselves so much that we’re planning some more local adventures this summer.  That’s happy!

Tiny House Tuesday: Thatched Roof Cottage

This little china cottage is my most recent tiny house.  T gave it to me for my birthday last November.  We picked it up at an antique store in update New York in early October, when we went to the Berkshires to watch JT run a cross country race.  We made a long weekend of it and enjoyed some happy adventures in upstate New York, Vermont, and western Massachusetts.  The house, which looks English to me because of its thatched roof, is a reminder of that adventure.

These days, as we close in on our ninth week at home to curb COVID- 19, those casual adventures seem a lifetime ago.  The house is a reminder that there will be more adventures still to be planned.

Peepers!

One of the things that T and I most enjoy come Spring is a walk on the D&R Canal towpath.  We most enjoy going at twilight when there is a good chance we can hear the Spring peepers.  Usually we make our first trip to hear the peepers in late March or early April.  By then, thanks to the pandemic, the parks were closed to visitors.  We might could have snuck in, but T was reluctant to take that step.  So we waited.  This past weekend, state parks in New Jersey were re-opened.  We took a walk to hear the peepers.  The trail was welcoming.

We saw some wildflowers.

And in the woods as the twilight settled around us, we could hear the peepers in the distance.  

That’s happy!

Card Sharks

My people are a competitive lot and nowhere is this more clear than when we play card games.  We are vicious and mean under these circumstances and normal people would be excused for dealing themselves out of the game.  

I consider myself less competitive than the rest of my family but I’ve made up for that in the form of JT.  The boy is so competitive that my mother, the lead genetic carrier of this dominant trait, eventually opts out of games with him, leaving a trail of simmering resentment when she departs the table.  

It’s somewhat interesting that JT is so fierce at the card table because in the world of sports, where competition is officially encouraged, he is genuinely a sportsman.  He cheers on teammates, celebrates their victories (even if they come at his own expense), and truly cares about his teammates.  The kid won an all-conference sportsman award in his first semester of NCAA athletic competition.

It’s clear that the NEWMAC conference has never played cards with the kid.  

Nowhere is JT’s ferocity more unpleasant than in the game of Monopoly Deal.  We bought it years ago in advance of a snow day and from the age of 8 forward, the kid just roasted me at the game.  Over and over, I’d lose to him, millions of dollars in debt, his sinister victory laugh the soundtrack to me shuffling and dealing a new game .  Eventually, I just refused to play that game with him.  

Whenever he plays cards with T and me, he proposes a round or two of Monopoly Deal.  We always say no.  But last night, in the spirit of thankfulness, we said yes.  It’s a different games with three people, more competitive for everyone and with less room for JT to slaughter the competition wholesale.  He won the first two rounds but without the usual wave of destruction.  Then T won a few rounds and both of us had the chance to stick it to the boy.  

It was delayed gratification for the beatdowns of so many years ago.  And in the true spirit of my people, I hope that we play again today.

And So It Begins

This week begins the all-school faculty meetings to ease us into the start of a new school year.  New students will come for a half day on Friday; everyone returns the day after Labor Day. and from there we are off and running. This week is faculty meetings and last-minute preparation; a chance to return to the regular hours of the school year.  I was up with the sunrise this morning.  A new year is always exciting and there is much to look forward to, though I’ll miss today’s opening meeting in exchange for T’s post-surgical appointment.

We’re looking forward to having the cast off and giving her back her left hand.  We’re still celebrating the good news that the excised tumor was benign.  The week will find us looking to return to our familiar habits, T no longer under the haze of serious pain relief and neither of us fretting about a malignant tumor.

This is my second school year with a boy in college; my first start to the year living in the same house as T.  I’m especially looking forward to the daily routines of being together at the end of each day.  At school, I’ve a series of new lessons for my 7th graders and plans for all-school field trips in October.  There is much to look forward to as this year begins and even more for which to be grateful.  

Relieved

T and I spent the week nursing her stitched and casted arm and, as the days passed, nervously awaiting the doctor’s call with the pathology news.  Our expectation was that the removed tumor was benign but confirmation of that confidence was much-desired.  By Thursday, we were nervous whenever her phone beeped.  As Friday closed with no news, we steeled ourselves for a weekend of uncertainty.  Then her phone rang on Saturday and the news was good — all benign.

Saturday was a lovely day, with milder temperatures, lower humidity, and the kind of breeze that suggests fall in the air.  The good news made a lovely day even better.  It felt - it feels - like we can take a deep breath and plan the coming months.  We are relieved and glad, of course, and all the more aware of blessings received.  That's happy, so very happy.

Adventures in Local History

Last week, T and I took some time for some regional historical site adventures.  We travelled to Oyster Bay, New York, to check out Teddy Roosevelt’s Sagamore Hill home.  Though the traffic in and out of Long Island was maddening, the visit was lovely.  The landscape of the estate was green and quiet; it was hard to believe we were less than 15 miles from NYC.

On Friday, we went to one of our favorite places, Jockey Hollow.  It’s the site where George Washington and his troops wintered over in 1778-1779 and it’s now a national park.  It’s beautiful all the time, but especially in June when the trees are leaved and the expanse of the fields can be admired.  It’s also the place where T and I had our first date so we always enjoy a visit to the familiar woods.

On Saturday, we continued the Washington theme and headed west to the Delaware River, where Washington made his famous crossing in December 1776.  On the New Jersey side of the review, the home of the ferry operator still stands.  We stepped inside the cool interior and thought of the conversations and decisions made on that fateful evening.  

We took a walk in the steps of the Patriot soldiers and wondered what they were thinking on that cold night.

We crossed over the river to the Pennsylvania side to admire their monument and while we were there spied a pretty medicinal herb garden planted by the historical buildings on the western bank of the Delaware River.

We had beautiful weather on Friday and Saturday.  The much-needed time off was a happy break in our scheduled life.  Adventures of this sort are just our cup of tea.  That’s happy!

One Roof

Posting has been light this week as I attend to a zillion last-minute chores and errands in preparation for a very big deal.  This weekend, T and I will combine households and live full time under one roof.  We’ve been planning for months and to have the day at hand feels rather unreal.

Her office is ready for business.  I’ve cleared space in the attic to store her things.  In a few weeks, some new storage-rich bedroom furniture will arrive for us.  The house is as ready as it can be and my heart is even more ready.  It was a long journey to get here and I am so grateful to the universe that we found each other eight years ago.  No one makes me laugh as much as she does; no one makes me feel as loved as she does.  

She’s the lid to my pot and damn, that is happy!

Running Downhill with Sore Knees

We’ve reached that point of the school year where things are busy beyond measure.  Each week in April there’s been at least one after-school event, most in the evening.  The teachers are starting to feel weary, consulting our planning books and realizing that time is fleeting and there are still lessons we wish to teach.  Thanks to the mild weather and Spring blooms, the students have more energy than ever and holding attention in class requires class activities more inspiring than usual. 

I spend my days working through an increasingly long to-do list and then gratefully slipping on flip flops at the end of the school day, a little treat to remind me that these busy days will soon enough be replaced by the relaxation of Summer.

My boss jokes that April and May feel like we’re “running downhill with sore knees” and I think of that when I slip into bed each evening, weary of the day and working like mad to turn off the to-do list that whirs in my brain.  Mornings come faster than I would like, though the chirping birds never fail to make me smile.  The days fly by and my to-do list seems to grow longer.

This year, I keep thinking about last Spring, which seemed to fly by at light speed as I prepared to watch JT graduate and head away to college.  This year’s Spring days feel less frantic and have helped me to see that last Spring I was sometimes so anxious about the coming change that I forget to enjoy and live in the moment.  This year feels different: I made the transition to having a son who lives away from home, T is preparing to move in; my boy is coming home from his first year of college next month.  The summer stretches before me without fear of change.  I’m grateful for the difference.

Tortured By Tunes, Extra Credit New Jersey edition

Last weekend, T and I went to Sunset Diner, as one does when one lives in New Jersey.  My previous calls for public soundtracks to be cleansed of the most horrifying of songs have been ignored  and Sunday’s playlist started on an unsettling note with a song guaranteed to linger in your head long after the last note has sounded.

“Wild Thing,” by the Troggs.

A dining experience that starts there makes one understandably anxious.  We waited as the songs veered into an especially strange playlist.  We heard Michael Jackson recommend that we “Beat It” and Kenny Loggins told us we were “Footloose.”  With lightening speed we’d moved from the ‘60s to the ‘80s and then Smashmouth reported,“Hey Now, You’re a Rockstar,” which seemed patently unlikely under the circumstances.  Also, late ‘90s?  Back to the ‘80s as Billy Joel whined about his “Uptown Girl.”  Then we abruptly headed to 1960 with a Chubby Checker diversion…he wanted us to do “The Twist.”  At this point, T decided soundtrack predictions were in order.  She predicted we’d soon be treated to something by Elvis.  I predicted Cindy Lauper.  We waited.  The sound track delivered an inexplicable “Just a Gigolo” by David Lee Roth.

And now we were in terrifying territory.  Naturally, “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond followed.  T was preparing to tear out her eardrums when the Stones announced they could get no “Satisfaction.”  No kidding.  We were in a holding pattern.

No Elvis; no Cindy Lauper.  We made new predictions: T went with a solid: Elton John.  I optioned for Frankie Valli, always a sound choice when you live in New Jersey.  The soundtrack responded with Madonna, who remains “Like a Virgin” at the ripe old age of 60.  Then we achieved a new level of horror: Dylan’s “How Does it Feel” in …wait for it… instrumental-only format.  Who does that?  Why now?  Lunch was nearly over and then my most triumphant victory of all time settled over us when Frankie Valli delivered the goods with “December, 1963…Oh What a Night.”  

We laughed maniacally but as maniacal laughter is regular fare among the customers at the Sunset Diner, no one took note.  As we left, Boston was wailing about “More Than a Feeling.”  

Fair enough as we had a lot of feelings.  Angry feelings about the day’s confusing soundtrack.

Ready, Set, Bake

T and I have been gobbling up Netflix showings of the Great British Bake Off.  We love everything about it, even the week that features the horrid English delight in meat pies.  The challenges are great and the competitions are so charmingly English, with nary a whiff of smack talk and good humor all around as the contestants bake and utter the most-charming of English phrases.  The show is a delightful Angophile’s dream come true.  We love it.

The English bake a metric ton of things so vastly different from our American efforts and I’ve been fascinated with the abundance of delicious-looking items they whip out of their ovens.  I keep threatening to try my hand at some of these things and this weekend I got my wiggle on and did some baking.  I baked a Victoria Sponge and then cut it into smaller heart-shaped cakes that I filled with my own lemonberry jam and homemade creme patisserie mixed into freshly whipped cream.

They were pretty to look at and delicious to eat.  I don’t think I’m in line for Star Baker, but I made a jolly good effort.

A Word About Rest Stops

On our trip to the burning region of New York state, T and I stopped at a rest stop in Pennsylvania.  It was a vending machine wonderland and outside the bathrooms at least one man was seated on the lawn drinking a beer before he got back on the road.

Ahem.

The bathroom was a pink tile affair with a half dozen stalls and a long line. It smelled like a rest stop, which is to say, it wasn’t all that fresh.  When our transaction had been completed, I was eager to leave while T stopped to wash her hands.

I commend her commitment to hygiene but in all honesty, washing hands in that place was just a no.  I’m a woman with the immune system of an experienced teacher and can therefore afford to be around germs but I drew the line at that reststop and exited with haste.  When T and her wet hands emerged I suggested that the hand washing in that place was worse than just going without.  She wiped her damp hands on my shirt and agreed with me.

Thanks, honey.

Family

My parents flew into town on the Friday before JT’s graduation, on the heels of my nephew S’s own high school graduation.   They were here to celebrate with us and they were proud.

We were joined by KO and S, who made the celebration that much sweeter.

There were flowers and fairy lights to go with the cake.

It was a celebration with laughter, joy, and a few tears.

That’s happy!

In Search of Spring

On Saturday, after we finished our weekly grocery shopping chore, T and I went to Colonial Park to look for Spring.   We’d had one of those weeks, the sort that sends a reminder to stop and smell the roses.  It’s far too early for roses, but there were tulips.

There was a faint smell of Spring.  And there were tulip trees, which are a Spring treat I never grow weary of seeing.

Down the canal path, as twilight settled in, we could hear peepers and bullfrogs in the wetlands.

We’re still waiting for Spring’s abundance; the signs of its arrival are everywhere.  We’re ready.

Pretty Packages

 T celebrates a birthday this week and at Sassafras House, birthdays mean presents.

That’s happy!