A Lesson on Learning to Love My "Forever Life"

I am just wrapping up my fifth summer in California.

Well, wrapping up isn't quite the word for it, as it's about 11 days from the beginning of fall, and we're forecasted for the low-100s all next week. But hey! That's 'way down from the 116 degree + humidity temps we had at the end of August/beginning of this month. You learn to take what you can get and be happy with it.

But anyway, summer is, in theory, ending; the kids are back in school; the orange/red/yellow decorations are out in the stores; people on my blogroll are talking about crisp air and autumn projects and quite frankly, I want to punch them in the face. Really, really hard.

This is not a healthy response. I know this.

So...a few weeks back, I was thinking on this unhappy state of affairs. And then that night I went home and read Single Infertile Female' s blog, and she was talking about her "Forever Life" and how she was afraid that it was going to be defined by fear and loneliness and bitterness and disappointment. What stuck in my head was the term "forever life". I didn't realize why until the next day, at work, when it occurred to me that we all, eventually, commence our forever life.

And I had just commenced mine this summer (of all times!) I cast my lot in with Himself, committed myself to a life with him, for better or for worse. I'm so happy that I did. But. Himself loves the desert; he grew up here, he loves the mountain and the trails and the deadly black widows and velvet ants and rattlesnakes and the roadrunners and the bighorns. He loves it here.

And me, not so much. I dislike being so far from my family; I miss rain and seasons and cold weather; I miss old houses and barns and fields and the color green...well, you get my picture.

But this is my Forever Life. This is it. Himself and I both have great jobs, and coupled with the fact that he loves it so much, it's looking more and more like we won't be leaving here any time soon.

If ever.

It finally sunk in that day at work. In the course of a few hours, I grew up and faced facts: my circumstances won't be changing, so what do I do? Continue bitching and whining and making disparaging remarks about California? That would only strain and perhaps kill my marriage. Quietly resign myself to it and act all passive-aggressively like the long-suffering wife? Unlikely; the act would be too difficult to sustain. So, the third option: Adapt. Like it or lump it or make yourself love it--and do so genuinely. And until you get to that point, celebrate the great parts and learn to cope with graciousness.

I think we can guess which route that I am taking.

It's simple enough--I simply try, day to day, to find the funky, funny, quirky, delightful, gratifying things about living here. I throw myself more into my job than ever. I make a genuine effort to cultivate lasting friendships.

But just now, I learned another thing that I have to do.

A lot of unhappiness comes from comparing yourself and your circumstances to others; seeing what they have and being envious of them. Now we come back to where I want to commit aggravated Internets assault against innocent homemakers on my blog. No so much with the healthy, there.

Just prior to composing this post, I happened upon this:











A real estate listing re-blogged on Hooked on Houses. I am a total sucker for these types of houses, and so I followed the link...

Only to find out that this house is in the town from whence I originally spawned, Milford, Ohio.

It's selling for $189,000.

Of course, I began perusing the link, ogled over the compact little rooms, the hardwood floors, the pleasing reds and neutrals. And then I caught it--that little kernel of unhappiness, starting to swell and explode--and I knew what I had to do.

I closed the tab.

If part of graciously coping and eventually building a genuinely happy life out here depends on me turning away from pictures of My Ideal Life, then that's what needs to be done. Is it sticking my head into the sand?

Well, yes. But whatever works, right? And I live in the desert, so at least there's plenty of sand to go around!L

Sick Abed

I love and hate it when I am sick.

Hate it because physically, I am miserable, and emotionally, I feel so goshdarned guilty for not being at work, where I belong.

Love it because it's a damned near irreproachable reason to do nothing.

Yesterday, I felt just plain punk. Freezing cold, all day, and several times, I felt like I was going to pass out. Went home at the usual time, got eight hours of sleep, and woke up exhausted.

With a sore throat.

Yeah, nothing good can come of this. But I showered, dressed, took my sorry self into work, and made it all of one hour before I drove home to my bed, my cats, and my zicam.

So now I lie, here in bed, feeling very miserable and wondering what the heck is wrong with me. It's not the usual m.o. for my notorious head-colds-turned-sinus-infections-or-bronchitis-or-pneumonia. We'll have to see if I get better or worse.
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In other news, it's August.

Thank the frigging lord.

Don't get my wrong--here in the deserts of the Armpit Empire, July and August are the worst months. And sometimes, September can be nasty, too.

But it's August, and it means that we're on the downward slope. We're one month closer to my favorite time of the year. If I lived in a place where there were actual seasons, and a genuine rhythm to life, I would rejoice, weep with joy, and begin to listen with a tiny bit of sorrow as the summer dies away and gives in to the gentle death that autumn brings. If I lived in such a place, I would perhaps feel more connected with this life that seems to be speeding past without my full attention.

But then again, maybe I wouldn't.

Anyway, I don't live in a place where there are real seasons, and let's face it, most of my life has been this way. Familiarity might not be the most joyful option, but it is the most realistic...and at least it breeds a certain grim, passive will to get through it.

And since I don't live in a place with seasons, I simply have to smile as we get through the second half of the awful time of year, and thank god that we're one day closer to a little less misery. And mark the days until I can celebrate Fake Autumn and Imaginary Winter.

As Himself says, "we do have seasons: the leaves are on the trees, the leaves are off the trees."

Heh. But what he fails to mention is that here in the deserts of SoCal, we have very few trees, and even less that have the kind of leaves that change color.

But one day, in a couple of months, it's only going to get up to 85 degrees. And when the sun goes down, a breeze will come up and it will actually be a cool breeze, and everything, from us to the cats to the cactus, will be slightly revived and energized.

And if we're really lucky, this might happen before Halloween.

Thank god it's August.

A Slice of Life

Pop quiz!

What do Crazy Aunt Purl, Single Infertile Female, and Pioneer Woman all have in common?

They're all successful bloggers.

In other words, they're not me.

Common sense dictates that in order for a blog to actually be worth its salt, posts have to be both regular and engaging. Apparently I have that common sense, and yet lack the follow-through to make it a reality. Go figure.

Maybe it's because my one faithful reader (sisters and stalkers don't count) is on hiatus as she packs up to move from England to Indiana. Without her reading, who is there left to blog for? And if any of you wise guys out there say "blog for yourself!" I think I shall have to reach across the cyber divide and thump you.

Among the unremarkable quotidian adventures of the past few weeks, there have been:

-Numerous crickets making their way into our home. I felt like an awful housekeeper until someone assured me that they are everywhere in the summertime. Poor things, they're probably just trying to find respite from the 115-degree heat. Unfortunately, around here they get in from the heat only to walk straight into the jaws of our cats.

-In less than two weeks, I get to fly home to Florida for an extended weekend with the family. Since I won't be able to make it out for Thanksgiving this year, this is as good as it gets.

-We snorkeled with sea lions earlier this month.

-We're thinking about getting a Siamese kitten.

-We've planned a trip to Sequoia National Park in September. As Himself was booking the cabin, he exclaimed, "Hey, pets are allowed?"

"You want to take Austen and Maggie?" I asked in disbelief.

"Actually, I was thinking about taking the fish."

There you have it, folks. What you've been missing. Maybe more interesting content coming soon?

A Promise of Things to Come. Theoretically, at least.

It was 112 today. I think it's going to be the same tomorrow.

But, even with that, I discovered the bestest thing in the whole wide world.

JoAnn's is starting to bring in their fall merchandise.

I know, I know, it's 112 degrees outside, and here I am blathering on about fall. And the sad thing is, when fall rolls around, it will still be well into the 90s.

But I love autumn, in theory and in practice, even if we don't really have it out here. And with JoAnn's help, at least I can make it autumn inside my home!!!!

Thinking on Thursday: It's the Little Things

Currently, I'm reading The Happiness Project for my book group. It's making me think a lot--not that this is a hugely challenging book, but it does bring up some relevant points--and consider the things in my life that make me happy or unhappy. I'm not ready to say just yet if I am willing to commit to a Happiness Project (okay, who am I kidding? I am a sucker for this stuff), but I am certainly willing to celebrate the little things that bring joy into my life.

So. Something that makes me happy? Leftovers--really really yummy leftovers--for lunch at work.

It's crazy and more than a little stressful most mornings at my job. The days that I have a good lunch of leftovers waiting in the staff room fridge are days when there's just a little bit of extra sparkle in the air. I eagerly anticipate lunch; it's a pleasurable time, in which I get to savor some yummy goodness and also be reminded of the original dinner, which is usually an event enjoyed with Himself.

Last night we had friends over and Himself fixed a delicious pesto pasta with shrimp. There was just enough left of it for me to take to work today, and anticipate, and finally snarf down at lunch, and enjoy every little morsel of it. That makes me happy!

















It also...almost...makes me want to cook all the time so I always have yummy leftovers for lunch!

Which leads to the ultimate thought on Thursday: is the pleasure in savoring something so slight and minimal decreased upon repetition of it?

Work on Wednesday: One Day Late Due to Earthquake Action

Okay, now is as good a time as any to use the "earthquake excuse." I'm sorry I didn't post yesterday; I was too busy surviving an earthquake!

A few things to note here:

1. We're, like, a bunch of years overdue for the next Big One. We're pretty much on top of the San Andreas Fault, which erupts every so often in geological history. It hasn't erupted in a while. On top of that, there are oodles of other quite active faults in SoCal as well.

2. I work for a city that takes disaster preparedness VERY seriously. I have an emergency worker ID, a number to call when Armgaeddon happens, and a lot of expectations about what will be required. Not only that, but about twice a month all city staff are reminded of what to do in an earthquake: Drop, Cover, and Hold On.

3. I laughingly tell my Director that my codename is "Jigsaw" because I expect myself to go to pieces when catastrophe strikes.

Well, each time in the past, I have not been at work when the earthquakes hit. I've been at home, and each time, I have frozen in terror and didn't do the Drop Cover Hold On bit. Epic fail.
And then...yesterday it all changed.

Thank god it was not bigger, or closer, than it was. It could have been a very bad scenario: later afternoon; dozens of children still in the building for the Kids's Program; the middle of summer and therefore brutally hot and sunny. I was talking with one of my bosses in the doorway of her office when we felt the first tremble. I paused to see if that was it.

It wasn't.

It was loud. The next tremble hit, and I dove under my boss's desk. I felt like a fool, staring at my boss's feet (she had not yet taken cover) and I actually apologized. Then the next rumble, worse than the first two, hit and then my boss was right there beside me, taking cover under her desk.

Thankfully, her desk is big.

As the rumbling and trembling was still happening, I turned to her and said, "When this is over, we'll need to check on the patrons." I said it almost conversationally.

It took a while for the trembling to end. It tapered off, until it was just giving these occasional, convulsive shudders, in a twisted parody of an extremely prolonged orgasm. When the floor was finally done twitching, we emerged and joined the sea of city employees surging out of the workroom and into the Library proper. Our g

oal was clear and didn't need to be spoken: check on the patrons. See if they are okay.

Thankfully, everyone was.

I learned a few things during this event: 1. That I chose to die with my boss (that actually went through my head as I dove under her desk "I'd rather die in here with ---- than over there, alone, under a workbench). Didn't matter that I didn't die. I could have. And I thought I might. 2. I didn't actually go to pieces. In fact, I kept my head enough to Drop Cover and Hold On (I suspect I was worried that if I didn't, I would have points deducted on my annual evaluation). Ad 3. My library rocks.

Quite literally, actually!

Manic Monday in Marriage

Today has been an interesting day in the marriage of Sassy and Himself.

And the day's barely half over.

It started innocuously enough. We both had a day off. I slept in. He went out for a massage. I woke up. Eventually he came home.

Maybe that's where we went wrong: me waking up and him coming home.

Because when that happened, the shit hit the fan.

What we argued about is certainly not relevant here, and possibly not relevant within the context of the our marriage. To be terribly reductive, we'll just say that it came down to chore division. For now, we'll assume that there are not underlying issues. What is relevant is how we handled the quickly-escalating situation.

It had the potential to be not pretty. In fact, it was fairly unpretty. It seems unkind and petty to say "he started it," and not even that is particularly relevant. What IS relevant is this: I think we both did something right in how we handled the situation. I didn't rise to the bait, and ultimately, he didn't pursue it.

What did happen was this: he went off to the spare bedroom, and I began to clean. The entire time I was cleaning, I was thinking angry, frustrated thoughts. I was hurt, I was boiling mad, and at least in my head, I was on a warpath.

And then he came out of the guest room. I threw him one dark, deeply foul look before continuing on with my current task of vaccuuming. After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings."

You know when in a disagreement, someone offers an olive branch, at least ostensibly? And sometimes you take the olive branch, and you begin to communicate and hopefully make up and forgive each other, but it degenerates into a continuation of the anger and miscommunication of before?

That could have happened.

But it didn't.

I looked up at him with tears brimming in my eyes, and I said, "I can't talk about this right now. Because I want what is best for us and our marriage, and talking right now won't be helpful."

He went away again. I continued cleaning. He took a nap, I filed some things...do you see where this is going? I took the time to cool off; I deliberately avoided a situation of saying angry things; he respected that, he took the time to cool off.

After about ninety minutes, I went into the guest room and laid down on the bed with him. I threw my arms around him. He woke up. We cuddled. We looked into each others' eyes, and we soothed each others' hurt feelings. We still haven't discussed the issues; we will when the time is right.

The main thing is this: in marriage, in ANY romantic and committed relationship...bite your tongue. Give your anger time to cool off. With time comes perspective, and with perspective comes the awareness that really, what does it matter, in the great scheme of things? It doesn't matter who's right and who's wrong, at least not at this point. It matters how you can fix things together, and avoid them getting broken in the first place.

Sassy and Himself earned major marriage points today, I think.