Trying On Someone Else's Life

Last month, I discovered a way to get as close as you can get to trying on someone's life: Housesitting. I was in Dallas for the month with the kids to both work and visit family/friends. My stepmother had made it clear to my dad that she did not relish the idea of us occupying their guest room... which upset my dad so was causing a problem. My mom was happy to have us, but she had turned the guest room into an art room. That meant a month of sleeping on the couch. A hotel was way too expensive.

That's when Mom got the idea of us housesitting for a couple of different friends who were out of town.

The first home was a couple with a little girl. It is lovely sprawling home on the edge of Dallas and Richardson. Very different from mine back in here in suburban DC. It was a ranch style with a courtyard in the center. The family room, living room and master bedroom wrap around that courtyard with a playground and grill/patio area in the rear. Now, the neighborhood is like mine in the typical suburban chain businesses and there is a wooded walking path that winds it way through it.

Also, the wife shares my passion for cooking so had a well stocked and well equipped kitchen. It was a pleasure to cook in that kitchen. And she must love to entertain as her dining room/living room is set up so perfectly for it. It is designed for comfort and conversation. The couple of dinner parties we hosted went wonderfully.

She also has dogs who are clearly attached to her as they quickly became attached to me, another dog lover. And if our shared interests, tastes and motherhood weren't enough common ground, it turns out we're in the same industry! Though, she still works for an agency whereas I went out on my own.

But I think it was walking her dogs in her neighborhood talking to her neighbors that was the most surreal. Effortlessly, I blended right in as I would have chosen nearly every thing in her world myself. In fact, I found myself wondering if this would be my life had I chosen to move back to Dallas rather than DC all those years ago?

After we left that house, we moved into a young musician slash lawyer's home in the Lakewood area... walking distance to White Rock Lake. He was getting married then off to his honeymoon. He had all the grown up boy's toys in this fabulously decorated home. But he clearly was no chef and rarely entertained. Which is probably why it is up for sale. (The happy couple is moving into her home.)

The home was luxurious but felt lonely to me. But maybe it was peaceful for a man with a very busy life. What I loved about it though was that I'm 99% sure his mother decorated. He had a few photos of her about as well as there being some distinctive touches in this Man-Land that felt like a Mother's Touch. This charmed me.

It was also very interesting to have scary dogs. He owned a pair of large, broad-chested boxers. When I'd walk those dogs, even though they were well trained, you could see people scattering with wary looks. It gave me a certain thrill actually. A sense of power... one that possibly created a swagger in my stride.

It made me curious about the owner. Is that why he had these scary dogs? Was he seeking as a sense of power?

I peeked in his closet to check out his clothing and shoe size... sure enough, he is a smaller man. I'd put him around 5 foot 7. Did his dogs do for him what they did for me? I relished it.

So there you go... I got to experience a path not taken as well as the thrill of being intimidating.

Savoring the Meeting of a Challenge

This weekend I met a personal goal that turned out to be more challenging than first anticipated. It was to hike the entire Bull Run Occoquan Trail, which is about 18 miles. It was a test of endurance for me as I knew it would take at least seven hours (including lunch break). Luckily, my hiking partner, Rebecca, is just like me. She doesn’t require a lot of breaks and walks the same pace that I do.

We miscalculated the effect the heavy spring rains would have on the trail as well as the time it would take to deal with those effects. It ended up taking nine hours thanks to flooded creek/stream crossings as well as trails covered in mud so slippery it was like walking on ice at times.

Now I had expected some of the water would be more than ankle deep which is why I had thrown some sandals in my pack for such crossings.

Uh, try hip (for me) and waist (for petite Rebecca) deep water. The first crossing at mile 10 was made easier by a strapping college boy. He gallantly offered to wade in to see just how deep the streaming water went when he and his dad came across the two of us pondering that question. Then he took his boy scout duty to a new level in terms of helping “old ladies” in crossings. He provided a steady hand as we walked with the other hand holding our boots and packs aloft. My fear of snakes must have been all over my face as the boy offered more than once during the crossing if I wanted a piggy back ride. I declined as I refused to be a bigger wimp than I was already being. But I did consider it.

Second crossing around mile 15 was tad trickier as we had no clue as to the depth because of all the mud in water. Plus it was totally still which made me fear water moccasins even more. We found a fallen tree not too far off the trail that served as a bridge across the 30 feet or so of water. But between our fatigue and muddy boots, we feared we’d slip and tumble into the water if we did the balance beam walk.

I straddled that tree like you would a horse and inched my way across. I hugged the sides of that tree so hard my inner thighs got a little chaffed along with a massive wedgie! Thankfully Rebecca did NOT have her camera as I’m sure I looked ridiculous.

And when I triumphantly stood on the other side, feeling such a sense of relief... I slid down that steep, slippery bank back towards the water. As luck would have it, in that mud was a few tree roots that I caught during the slide down that stopped me from plunging into those murky depths.

By the time we reached the end, I was covered in mud and exhausted. Plus I had brushed up against some poison oak so my lower calf had some ever so lovely red blotchy marks. It wasn’t until I got out of the car, that I felt like I’d been hit by a train. Every muscle ached as I dragged my self up to the shower.

But I am so pleased with myself. General George Patton was right. "Accept the challenges so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory.”

Home Sweet Home

Apparently, you can take the girl out of Texas, but you can't take Texas out of the girl. It has been close to 20 years since I had an address in Texas and my speech has pretty much lost the twang of my youth. So it amazes me whenever someone is able to identify that is where I'm from. But it would seem that it has more to do with my mannerisms, not speech.

It had been my second visit that day to a rural Virginia gas station. First time had been to go the bathroom before hitting the trail we'd planned on hiking. Second had been to fill up the tank for the two hour trip back home. Plus, I was dying for a Dr. Pepper. I was joking with the guy behind the counter who had remembered me from that morning about how I couldn't bear to leave the area without spending more time in this particular establishment.

He had asked where is home to which I replied the DC area. His head shook then stated, "No that is not home to you. You're a Texas girl, right?"

How on earth did he guess that?

Looking quite pleased with himself, Sherlock explained it wasn't the "ya'll" I let slip out but the choice of soda on top of a friendly, laid back manner that tipped him off.

This little exchange popped into my head after I finished booking the flights for myself and kids for a month long "working vacation" to Dallas. After I had hit the "confirm" button, locking in the schedule, I felt such a rush of relief.

As much as I adore DC, and I really do, Dallas is home. Not only does my entire extended family (parents/siblings/aunts/cousins) all live there, there is a vibe there that is not here in DC. But the biggest thing is that feeling of relief that comes with basking in the familiarity of landscape and people.

Everything from being able to get a good glass of iced tea in a restaurant to the rush of heat that surrounds you when you step out of an air conditioned building feels "right".

I'm home. Well, come, June that is.

A Streetcar Named Spring

Winter and me always begin our romance with a bang, probably helped greatly by the joy of the holidays. The change in scenery, the very starkness is such a pleasant change to the clutter of all those fallen leaves. Ice and snow are merely sparkle. Who can resist that? Yes indeedy, I'm smitten every December.

My passion is rather short-lived. You know how that tall, dark and brooding man can only capture your attention for so long? Then you realize that there is nothing behind that pretty facade. In fact, its akin to realizing your lover isn't Rhett Butler, but instead, Stanley Kowalksi.

Just like Stella, I'm stuck with this harsh and moody man. But unlike Stella, I don't love him. By end of January, there is no sparkle just lifeless ice and I can't wait to ditch him. I'm just marking time while he blusters about my life. Some days, while I know on an intellectual level that winter is going to end, emotionally, I don't always feel it.

It is a challenge not to give into the despair. Towards the end of this year's particular siege, I found myself outdoors nearly every day, searching for signs that spring will come once again. Seeing buds start to form followed by spikes of green felt like a miracle. Those first crocus flowers with their bursts of purple and yellow make me want to sink to my knees and give thanks as I know Stanley is packing his bags now. He may have a final outburst just to prove he can, but he's leaving.

Lately, I've been thinking about people who lived in a time before science and technology. Winter wasn't passed wearing Gortex lined everything. No warm homes filled with a variety of fresh food from the grocery store down the street. There were no books to read let alone museums, theaters or even television in which to help pass the time.

To them, knowing spring would eventually arrive wasn't an understanding of science, but an act of faith.

You Know That Crazy Lady on the Corner?

She's the woman who will step out onto the crosswalk with a look that just dares you not to stop for her and her children. As you catch glimpse of her in your rear-view mirror as you sped by, you see her throwing her hands up in disgust and mouthing "idiot." Fury etched across her face. If you could read her mind, she's actually thinking "You stupid, self-absorbed idiot!"

"Self absorbed" because you obviously live in this residential neighborhood and you not only missed the sidewalk markings but also the warning sign several yards prior. The one with that makes it clear it is a crosswalk for children. "Stupid" because it is state law that if someone is in the crosswalk, you must stop.

You probably guessed how I know this... that crazy lady is me. There was once a scene in The World According to Garp that I so can clearly relate. Some guy is speeding through a suburban neighborhood, ignoring all the traffic signs as well as children at play. Garp, played by Robin Williams, finally has enough of this. He chases the truck and commences to beat it with a crow bar.

This could be me. Luckily, there is no way for me to catch the car.

Love, With a Capital L

Recently, I read something that truly resonated with me. The author divided love into two categories. There is love (lower case) and then there is Love (upper case).

The lower case love is marked by conditions and limitations. If either changes, so does the level of love felt. This is still a genuine type of love that goes beyond mere infatuation.

On the other hand, “Love, provides space, endurance, acceptance, patience and comprehension. It does so in a way which is limitless, timeless, neverending, everlasting and continuous.”

Personally, I have given and received both Love and love. However, it is when you’re able to feel Love for another person, that is an amazing gift to yourself. You are filled with a positive energy that just makes life sweeter — regardless if it is returned. Needing the love returned in order to feel it, is indeed a condition. Which makes it love, rather than Love.

I remember the first time I felt Love for a non-family member. The object of my affection and my paths crossed in first grade on the first day of school, standing in a school cafeteria line for the first time as well. Given all those firsts, I was both nervous and excited with my little tray. Determined to make sure I did everything exactly the way the teacher explained.

My concentration was broken when the boy behind me flicked some peas on to the ground. The teacher sternly asked, “Who just threw those peas?”

To my horror, the boy pointed his finger at me and said I had done it. My face grew hot, my chest constricted so tightly, I couldn’t get out the words of denial. That’s when my angel came to the rescue. With one hand on her hip and the other pointing at the true offender, Amy said with such authority, “She didn’t do it, that boy did it.”

Right then and there, I was smitten. Amy and I were the closest of friends for the next five years. Monday through Friday, we sat next to each other in class and at lunch. We’d passed each other notes in class, played together at recess and walk home together after school. We were in complete agreement that Fonzie from Happy Days would make the perfect boyfriend when we were old enough to have boyfriends. (Little did we know the better choice was Richie Cunningham!) We both loved Donny Osmond and wore purple socks to show our devotion. We co-authored songs for him. This cemented my Love for her.

At the end of fifth grade, my mother’s fiancé decided to open up a car dealership in his hometown in Ohio. She figured it would be best to have us switch schools during the summer break. Unfortunately, my step-father got cold feet and dumped her before the summer ended. (He later regretted it and a couple of years later, they reconciled and married.)

As sad as my mother was, I was thrilled to be going back to Dallas. Not only because my dad lived there but also because of Amy. Unfortunately, Mom couldn’t get her job back at the same suburban newspaper, but her boss was able to get her a position at another suburban daily. However, it was on the other side of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Which meant in terms of my relationship with Amy, I might as well have still lived in Ohio.

My sixth grade year was minus a best friend as all the girls in my new elementary school were all paired up. Luckily, when we made the jump to middle school, the dynamic changed and I had a brand new best friend. I did not Love her, but was very fond. Rachel and I bonded, among other things, over our mutual crush on the 8th grade history teacher and football coach. (He was dreamy.)

Because of this crush, we went to every football game. And it was during the play-offs that Rachel and I loyally attended to support our oblivious crush that I ran into Amy again. Our school was playing her school. Rachel and I were giggling about how cute boys’ butts look in the football tights as we walked to the concession stand. Right there in line was Amy with her friends.

I was filled with joy. At long last, my beloved friend! And how fitting that our reunion was once again while we were both waiting in line for food?

I excitedly ran up to her, thrilled with the coincidence and convinced that this meant we’d pick up where we left off. I’d have TWO best friends. Instead of meeting a happy smile, there was only a blank stare. Apparently, three semesters and two summer breaks wiped our bond from her memory. For a split second I wonder if I had the wrong girl. But when she confirmed she was Amy, I was even more confused. How can this be?

A couple more times in high school, when we were both doing the pep squad thing, our paths would cross. But I didn’t bother to do more than smile. Of course, it stung to realize that what I had felt hadn’t been returned. But it didn’t diminish the Love I felt. It was a heartfelt smile of joy to see her every time. I just recognized that that was all it was now.

And it truly doesn't matter... the warm wave of Love I feel when I recall her is glorious. That is the real power of Love. The relationship may not last forever, but the good feelings do.

The Dream of One Fickle-Hearted Woman

For years now, my pretend husband has been Ze Frank. He’s cute. He’s funny and insightful. He knows how to make cool stuff to play with on the computer.

I even got my kids onboard with him being their pretend father with such gems as Sing-Along Songs for Children with Short Attention Spans. It was a happy pretend family for many years.

Then last summer I found myself at an art show in Santa Fe. I was unexpectedly and completely mesmerized by The Confession by Vladimir Kush. That’s the image included with this post. Not sure if it has the same stunning effect as it does in person. It was so beautiful in such a haunting way to me. He’s a surrealist by strict definition, but he defines his work as metaphorical realism. For a split second, I considered raiding the kids college funds so I could own this piece of art. I created a love story on the spot between those two leaves. It ends with the declaration of undying love even in the face of their now leaving this earthly realm.

I floated throughout the rest of his collection—torn between the desire to possess his work or magically jump into it. Then... I saw him. Hubba, hubba. Bonus: RUSSIAN ACCENT.

I was smitten. Yes indeedy I was.

But what about my pretend husband Ze? I still adored him, but something about Vladimir called to me. I had to break the news to the kids that they would now have a new pretend daddy. They were a little hesitant... They liked the art and all, but he wasn’t nearly as fun as Ze.

Which should have been a sign.

Vladimir and I embarked upon a passionate pretend affair for several months. It was just like his paintings... Dramatic, magical and awe-inspiring. But he couldn’t make me laugh the way my beloved Ze could.

I think it was missing Ze’s silliness is what ultimately led to that little pretend flirtation with Jonathan Coulton. Jonathan was a musician who wrote and sang his own quirky lyrics that both made me giggle as well as touch me. The man wrote a song about a lonely squid who recognizes this is his fate as he “crushes everything”. Of course I couldn't be anything but utterly charmed.

What pickle my fickle heart put me in! But being the ever creative woman who has ultimate control over my pretend love life... Ze became a pretend homosexual and my new best pretend friend. His pretend life partner is now Jonathan who is also a pretend homosexual.

My new pretend husband Vladimir still paints beautiful paintings by day and makes mad passionate pretend love to me at night. And he speaks Russian while doing so because I think it is hot. And several times a week, Ze and Jonathan come over for Tea or Brunch... making me laugh and laugh.