I ran across a joke website a few years ago and it cracked me up laughing. It was a blank page with 2 lines that read “You Have Reached the End of the Internet! It’s time to go outside and get on with your life. I guess there is a limit to things you can find or do on the internet. I’ve researched everything I could possibly imagine 8 ways from Sunday.
So I’m standing at the crossroads again. It’s time to crawl back out of my temporary shell and get on with my life. Oh, if it were that simple. I’m leaving Saturday for a week-long beach trip with 2 girlfriends. Looking forward to the vacation itself, but not looking forward to packing or the airport. And I’m really, really not looking forward to doing the spread eagle in that body scanner machine. It’s just yucky, there’s no other word for it.
I wish that I could just wiggle my nose and magically be on the beach with an ice-cold mojito in my hand. But I have to pack and hate that. I’m afraid that if I start packing too early my cat will get in a snit and pee in my suitcase. Have you ever had the feeling that you have to hide the fact that you’re leaving from your pets? Like you’re doing something wrong and you have to be all furtive about it. But you can’t hide – they know you’re up to something. They’re little furry 4 legged mind readers.
I snuck a load of laundry in today and tried to keep a straight, innocent face. Like “hey, I do laundry all the time – nothing going on here.” Mr. Kitty will bust me though when I start sorting my toiletries and stacking clothes on the bed trying to decide what to bring with me. There’s no fooling him. I wish I could just sit him down and explain “Kitty, it’s true I am leaving town, but the big furry beast, the Hubman, is staying here. You won’t be left alone, God forbid, or packed up in a crate and shipped off to the cat hotel.
Animals are so real. They act on their emotions, no bull about it. “You have offended me oh great one, therefore I shat upon your bath mat!”
But, I’m going anyway; I’m not going to let a cat run my life.
It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me. Ellen Glasgow
I tend to wax nostalgic on my birthday. I’ve been on this earth for 58 years now. Most of the time spent in awe and wonder, interspersed with occasional times of inevitable sadness.
My son’s father sent me a picture that drew my mind back into the past. In the picture I’m standing on the beach in Macau with my 2 children, looking across the bay at mainland china.
This moment in time happened about 35 years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. The feel of the sand on my toes, the warm sea air caressing my skin, my son’s sweaty little sumo wrestler body clinging to me like a baby monkey, my daughter asking a thousand questions, delighting in every sea shell – every grain of sand. It was a peaceful day that’s been lingering in the back of my brain for decades.
I think living a long wonderful life takes a bit of mental effort. If you let your brain sit back and randomly spew memories, you don’t know what you’re gonna get. A deliberate choice to remember happy times takes some mental gyrations, but the rewards are plentiful.
I do love to travel; it’s the number one on the favorite things to do list. But, I haaaate to pack. I’ve been looking for that perfect dress for years, but haven’t found it. It should be reversible and on one side you could wear it to a midnight drunken beach party debacle/bonfire or flip it over and wear it to a presidential inauguration. Haven’t found one yet, still looking.
If I ever get rich enough to afford supercilious things, what I want is a personal valet. They wouldn’t have to do much really, just bring me a cup of coffee in the morning, mail back my Netflix movies, and pack when I’m planning to travel. Anyone out there know someone looking for a part-time valet job? Ok, they might get asked to patrol the house for cat fur balls on occasion or go to the drug store and pick out that perfect shade of lip gloss that I can never find. Whatever I buy, I end up looking like a circus clown 20 minutes after application.
I tend to mutter curses and talk to myself a lot when packing. I’m talking through the activities trying to figure out what I’m going to need and combine that into the least amount of clothing and accessories. It occurred to me earlier that it would help to declare a packing day moratorium with Mr. Husband on responding to anything I say, scream or mutter. Unless I address him by his given name and am looking him in the eye, or if I happen to be screaming in pain and yelling “help.” Other than that ignore me completely, please, thank you.
Packing is a pretty personal thing though when you think about it. It gets even more stressful when Hubman starts asking me what he should pack. That overloads my brain. Once I snapped, “just bring everything.” He did…and threw out his back trying to get his suitcase out of the car. This time I told him “honey, we’re going to a place where people’s idea of dressing up is wearing a clean T-shirt, shorts with no holes and a new pair of rubber flip-flops, trust me I lived there, figure it out!”
Hubman and his mom have this thing about preparation that involves talking about it five thousand eight hundred and seventy-two times – per day. This just drives me bat shit crazy. I end up wanting to say rude things like “look, just throw yer crap in a garbage bag, get in the damned car and let’s go! Anything you forgot we can buy along the way. It’s not like we’re going to Botswana.”
But, I’m trying to be a lady about this. I’m still a little raw and embarrassed by yelling at an in-law on Thanksgiving Day. I’ll get over it, I always do. If I didn’t, that would mean big trouble because I say things that even I don’t believe came out of my mouth, often.
**Sigh** Here I am writing again, when I should be doing….well, you know. I guess I’ll go pack.
Howdy all. Been so busy yakking about wanting to travel and planning to travel that I forgot to mention that I’m leaving town.
Mr. Husband, his mom and I are hitting the road in a couple of hours. We’re heading off to Houston for another cousin’s wedding. His family is a hoot. They do love weddings. And they know how to throw a party, lemme tell ya!
It’s only a 4 day trip, but I’ve spent days trying to figure out what I want to bring with me. We’re not flying so I don’t have to worry about liquids or sharp objects in my luggage. Always need plenty of both on a road trip. Oh and a bottle opener. You never seem to have one when you need one and I never mastered opening a beer bottle with a cigarette lighter. My sister can do it and I was impressed when I saw it the first time.
Once I got laughed at for bringing a camping ax with me in the car. They weren’t laughing when we had to use the ax to hack of a big hunk of car tire that shredded and was flapping against the fender so hard we thought we were going to crash. It worked long enough for us to get to a station to buy a new tire. Who’s laughing now? Ha, I say!
Houston is hotter than the first few levels of hell in the summer time, so it’s a tricky mix to pack for a dressy occasion with clothes that won’t make you swelter any more than necessary. I’m not bringing any stockings, that’s for sure. All attention will be on the bride anyway. My naked legs are nobody’s business but my own.
Hubman and his mother are both side seat drivers and spend the majority of their time together either telling the other one how to drive or where to turn, while the other is yelling “don’t tell me how to drive.” My plan is to hide in the back seat most of the way there. Plug in my Ipod, and read or stare out the window. Maybe if I put a towel over my head they will forget I’m back there, yea buddy.
So anyhow. It’s off we go. I’m going to experiment with not lugging my laptop with me this time. So I may drop off the radar this weekend. If I get the overwhelming urge to say something in the meantime I can always borrow Hubman’s laptop. Right after I pry it out of cold dead hands. Nah, just kidding. He’s good about sharing. But, thank God his laptop isn’t powerful enough for gaming or it might not be a pretty story.
This Blog has turned into a festival of fabulous ideas. Some of comments, well many of the comments my beloved readers post, literally rock me back on my heels. A treasure chest of so many different perspectives and wonderful suggestions.
Other times they launch me into such an orgy of introspection that it sends me to the fainting couch. Yes, I actually have one of those set up in my office. Sometimes I go into a swoon from excessive brain spinning and need to get immediately horizontal. Technically it’s an Ikea guest bed with lots of pillows, but no one but me has ever used it…so far.
What I need to do is start taking action, and document the actions. This is a new one for me. I realized the other day that I spend waaaaay too much time living in my head. It’s getting crowded in there and quite frankly a little spooky.
My brain is starting to resemble one of those hoarder reality shows. Stacks of book ideas, blog ideas, where I want to go, what I want to do, what I think about just about every topic that I’ve ever heard about, old baggage, and card board boxes full of discarded plans. I think all the horrendous headaches I’ve been having lately are a physical manifestation of this problem. The doctor calls it a sinus infection, but I know better, hah! OK, I am taking his dang cooty pills, and on the 2nd round, but I know what really needs to happen.
I simply must move OUT of my head and out IN to the action realm. I’m going to start telling y’all what comes of your wonderful ideas in my little corner of the universe. Hey, it’s a start, go easy on me. At least I’m doing this before I have to rent some sort of medical contraption to roll my head around on because it’s falling off my shoulders. A scooter for one’s brain, now that’s a frightening mental image.
Action #1: Today I’m going to start boxing up all my books that are collecting dust. The intent is I’m going to get rid of most or all them. If I find some that I think I might want to read again, I’ll take a picture of them with my phone so I can get them on Kindle, and out they go. That will keep me busy and/or out of trouble for most of the day.
Update: While sorting books I found one that I thought was so terrible that I didn’t even want to give it away. Discovery: My cat peed on it. The decision is easy now. Toss in the recycle bin. Strange he chose that one specific book…life is interesting.
The comment that jolted me for this post was from Ed Helvey – The Professional Nomad
Sounds like Mr. Husband is a perfect example of what Thoreau was talking about when he said, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” And, by default, you could replace men with women. Many of us who are single don’t have to concern ourselves with how a spouse (male or female) thinks, feels or acts. We just make a choice “to do.” Unfortunately, even the vast majority of single men and women of all adult ages are still examples of what Thoreau said.
Picture above from http://evelyn.smyck.org/2010/09/18/burning-man-festival/