Keeping Your Word

Reflecting today on those who honor their word.  Honor and integrity are sadly rare these days.  People say a million and one things they don’t mean.  They make promises they never intend to keep.

Yesterday I was pleasantly surprised that someone kept their word to me.  I admit I’d given up on the follow through for this old promise.  I had shrugged it off, what’s done is done.

I received a text message last night that the deal was done, circle closed, promise kept.  Thank you very much for reminding me that it’s still okay to extend trust and that it’s okay to keep seeds of hope, even if they are tucked away in the back of dark drawer, slightly dusty.

As I watch snow falling out my office window, I hope I’ve kept my word to all of you to the best of my ability.  I hope I’ve been reliable, and I hope that I continue to be reliable for you in all the ways that matter.

Tale of a Sports Bra: An Overshare

Let me tell you a little story, a true story.

I decided to go to the gym today.  I’ve been on a little hiatus from the gym after a rough time with the same ol’ bone spurs in my lower back and hip.  I’ve had to break up with crossfit for a little while…sorry, crossfit, it’s not you; it’s me…while I test out some easier workouts.  Today was my first effort at a “normal” gym, as opposed to a “crossfit box.”

I pulled on my spandex pants.  Yay for spandex pants!  Look at how great my butt is in spandex pants! I realized today somehow every single pair of gym pants I own is cropped; how did that happen? Cropped pants were not a good choice for today, but I was not going to be stopped by overly short spandex.

Sports bra time.  I really prefer the sports bras that zip up the front and put everything on lockdown, but I don’t have one that doesn’t sneak itself unzipped mid-workout right now, so I had to go with the backup bra.

I dislike sports bras that pull over my head.  It’s not the pulling them on that gets problematic; it’s the trying to pull a soaking wet bra off post workout that gets a little tricky.  They stick and become unwieldy…and then boom, you’ve smacked yourself in the face with the sweaty thing.  Bleh.

The backup bra is kind of a hybrid deal…pulls on over my head, but does have hooks in the back so it’s not a total Houdini act to remove it after going to the gym.  Not my favorite, but it will have to do, because no excuses: it’s gym day.

Pull it on over my head, and I go to hook the back…and it won’t hook.  I try several times and then the panic kicks in:
Oh hell, have I gained 800 pounds since I stopped crossfit?

I must’ve gained 800 pounds.

I start bargaining with myself and the sports bra as I try to fasten it:
If I can get this thing on, I will do double the workout I’d planned for today.

If I can get this bleeping bra hooked, I will consume only water, air, and celery for the next 2 weeks.

If I can just get dressed and go to the gym, I will never leave the gym since they are open 24 hours…I’ll just stay there until this bra fits better.

The wrestling continued for a few more minutes, so then I dragged the scale out to see what the damage was.  I closed my eyes while the digital scale calculated the big reveal…and then the number popped up.  It’s the same it was, same as it has been…I’m still a delicate flower.  WHAT THE HELL?

If I can’t put on a sports bra, I can’t be trusted at a gym.

If I can’t put on a sports bra, how can I drive a car?

I took a break from the sports bra and put on my socks and shoes, pleased that I could still operate the laces. Pants and shoes: more than halfway there.  Let’s try this one more time.

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! It will not fasten.  I can’t do this.  Throw the cursed thing on the bathroom floor and glare at it…and I realize…I had it inside out.

Ahem.

Problem solved.

Please ignore all my pleas and sworn oaths related to celery; I was under duress.

The Death of Email?

Photo by Marion Hobbs http://bit.ly/1n4np2O
Photo by Marion Hobbs http://bit.ly/1n4np2O

Remember back in the olden days when we used to email each other?  I still pop open my inbox each morning in hopes of a real email.  Usually all I find in there are 15 or so ads from places I only shop once or twice a year, so delete delete delete.  There are a few subscriptions that arrive by email to articles and quotes, and I read those every day.

It’s a rare day to find a personal email, but I still skim the list of new mail, looking for that shiny gold nugget amidst the rubble.

I want to hear your stories.  I want to know the details.  I want to peek behind the scenes, beyond what you post on Facebook and Instagram.  I want to know the real you, not the social media persona.

I miss snail mail, too.  I have a couple friends that still send cards from time to time, and I display those cards for weeks.  I love the effort behind snail mail.  I had a friend who lived a few hours away from me in college, and he would decorate the envelopes before he’d send them, sketching in a little drawing on the back or coloring the entire envelope in a hodgepodge of shades; receiving mail from him was like receiving a gift, a treasure.

I don’t send as many emails and snail mails as I used to write once upon a time.  I suppose in some ways I’m sitting around waiting for an answer to some of the big ones I sent out, or looking for feedback on the 600 zillion blog posts and articles I have floating around the corners of the Internet.  Is silence the answer I’ve been awaiting?  I hope not.  I hope somewhere out there, you’re all coloring envelopes for me with your favorite colored pencils or roaming the aisles at the supermegamondomart, looking for just the right card.  Maybe you have a draft email that you keep coming back to and revising, deleting and adding until it’s just right.

Tell me a secret.  Tell me a joke.  Tell me what your kids did that was awesome or embarrassing or awesomely embarrassing.  Tell me who you have a crush on or why you think that new movie totally sucks.  I want to know more than the character limit on your text message app will allow.  Can we bring one on one communication back into fashion?  Who doesn’t love a note written just to them, just for them?  Status updates are handy and fun, but there’s none of the mystery and excitement of a new message in my email inbox or a hand addressed envelope arriving in with the mix of bills.

Can I challenge you to write an email today or drop someone a snail mail note?  I will be generous in my challenge and say that those messages today don’t even have to be to me…but I want to hear from you soon.  I want to hear all about it, whatever “it” is.

The Return of Ghost Cat

photo by Alan Turkus http://bit.ly/1OMaehG
photo by Alan Turkus http://bit.ly/1OMaehG

 

I’m pretty comfortable living in haunted spaces. I’ve had some kooky stuff happen in the houses I’ve lived in over the years. My current house has been pretty quiet, knock wood, except for the stealthy ghost cat.

The very first night I slept in this house over a decade ago, I felt a cat jump up on my bed and curl up by my feet. I am a crazy cat lady, so I know what a cat hopping on the bed feels like, but I try to discourage my cats from sleeping in my room overnight because of my asthma. I assumed one of my kitties had snuck in as I closed my bedroom door, so I felt all around the bed for the naughty feline, and there wasn’t a cat to be found. I turned on the light, and as you might’ve guessed, no cat. This process repeated nightly for about a week, and then the phantom cat came to my bed no more.

One night last week, I climbed into bed so wide awake I worried that I wouldn’t fall asleep in time to get a good rest before work. I was running through my mental to do list in bed, and I felt it: up hopped a cat onto the mattress, curling up in a ball by my feet. My train of thought screeched to a halt as I processed this: I was completely awake, and that was surely a cat. On came the bedside lamp, and nothing to be seen.

The ghost cat has been back every night for the last few nights, but I’ve stopped turning the light on. If a kitty from the great beyond takes comfort in snoozing at my feet, so be it. The Adventures of Kat and Ghost Cat continue…

Another Christmas Behind Us…

Another Christmas behind us. Another Yule gone. Santa still sucks as far as I’m concerned…no winter wonderland jewelry commercials came to life, no magical surprises. That bites, ya’ll. I want magic, sprinkles, fairies, dragons, jewels, laughter and amazingness. I want all this and more in 2016. More hammocks. More naps. More books. So let’s make it so.

In 2016, I will have the following amazingness and MORE:

delicious naps with no alarm clock, a great book in hand and another waiting in the wings, intuition on overdrive, coffee with friends, dessert with friends, cuddles with the critters, allowing people to adore me, unexpected opportunities to earn money, wonderful concerts, love letters that arrive via snail mail, snail mail that has happy notes in it, generosity, more of those naps, bubble baths without interruption, time to write, time to craft.

I am ready to let more good stuff in, 2016. Let’s overflow 2016 with awesomeness.

Bah Humbug

I will Bah Humbug just for a moment. Christmas is just not as fun when you:
A. Don’t get to play Santa to the kid(s) in your house anymore
B. Aren’t receiving squat in the way of presents (ohhhh, don’t roll your eyes. We all like wrapped packages with our name on them)
C. Are feeling a speck worried about finances (or more than a speck)

This year feels icky. It started feeling icky when the stores were putting up Christmas merchandise alongside back to school and Halloween items. It started feeling icky when the Christmas carols were piped into every store November 1. I am not a big shopper in the best of years, preferring to make and re-gift many things, and if I do shop, I like to putter around used bookstores and such, not the big box mega marts…but around every corner on tv, radio, email, Facebook, Instagram…there’s someone trying to sell me some idea that the only way to show adequate love to my friends and family is to go about $5000 into debt.

I admit I do daydream of those smarmy jewelry commercial moments: a surprise jewelry box handed to me on a snowy walk or a delivery man dressed like Santa rings my doorbell to hand me what looks like a box of cookies but has a diamond nestled inside (mmmm cookies and jewelry)…but I know deep down that money can’t buy love or happiness. I can still daydream a little of cupids and sparkly baubles…but I don’t for a second believe anyone’s buying me a Lexus for Christmas no matter how good I’ve been…and I’ve been REALLY good, I swear.

So. Bah humbug. I will not be buying a giant screen tv or a new car or brand new sofa for Christmas, no matter what the commercials tell me. I will dream my little dreams of love and peace and happiness.

A Lil’ Gratitude

Facebook is awash in “Gratitude Month” posts for November and Thanksgiving. It kind of makes me wanna barf a little, because gratitude should be an all year thing, not a seasonal thing, y’know? But better some gratitude in the world than none, I suppose.

I’ve been admittedly irritable lately. Financial concerns primarily are my annoyance as child support is about to end, yet there’s still school tuition to pay, health insurance, et cetera. I’m a speck worried about making ends meet, and I frankly think it’s ridiculously unfair that one parent is “off the hook” based on a birth date. I could use some gratitude so perhaps I can be less grumbly. I could also use a miracle or two.

I’m grateful my friends. We drink a lot of coffee. We laugh. We are sassy and snarky and happy together. Even though my new job puts me in a tough spot financially, it gives me much more room to see these wonderful people for meals and adventures. I love my bunch of weirdos, near and far.

I’m grateful for my fur children. The kitties and the doggies are always glad to see me. On a crummy day, they will always snuggle with me. Priceless.

I’m grateful for a warm house on this blustery cold day. It’s crazy to think that it was so warm outside just a few days ago that I had my windows open, and now the mountains in the distance are dusted with snow. It’s warm and I have my ginormous fleece hoodie on that could fit me and a few other people all at once.

Have I ever posted that I’m grateful for my slow cooker, because I totally am?! I made turkey with cranberries earlier this week, and last weekend made a chicken with salsa. I love my slow cooker.

I am grateful for this day. The sun is shining, the dogs are snoring on the floor, and it’s almost time to go to work, but I’m alive alive alive. I’m here. We’re here. This is good.

Stopppppppppppppp

The number of people trying to hack into this site is, like, ridiculous. Why? I don’t even sell anything on this site. There are no secret credit card numbers to have here, no e-commerce to disrupt. Find a new site to hack into, like Apple or Amazon or something, somewhere where your efforts might be fruitful, because really, it just pisses me off that I have to lockdown a lowly blog on such a regular basis. No money here! Go away! All I have are words. No money here. It’s not worth the effort, ya’ll. No money here. No transactions here. Just some mood swings and words, move along, nothing to see here.

Well.

I’d like to write something here about romantic love, but it’s hard for me to dive in. It makes me think of earthquakes and lightning and the fires of the very bowels of Hell.

I don’t truly get romantic love, how it should be, how it works, why it’s such a clusterfuck? What I do know is that Every Single Time in my adult life (yes, Every Single Time in caps) that I’ve thought things were deliciously good and we had similar goals and wanted the same things…haha, guess what? I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Here’s something I’ve observed. I’m very driven in my life to improve myself, to learn new things, to grow constantly…so almost by default, my significant other begins to work on improvements, and I encourage it. I encourage applying for jobs that seem out of reach. I encourage reaching for the goals that seems intimidating. I applaud it! And then…they grow on outta here with zip zero zilch loyalty to me…and I’m like, well, fuck.

I don’t require a man to live a delightful life: this I know for sure. But I enjoy having a partner, a significant other, a love. I would like a consistent partner, y’know, as advertised in the brochure, someone as fiercely loyal to me and in it for the long-term haul as I am for them. Someone who is not a ginormous wuss, because I just can’t deal with men who are intimidated by me. Someone who will show up for me again and again. Is that crazy? Is it non-existent? It’s beginning to feel non-existent, and that’s disappointing, because I’ve believed in this possibility for so long.

I don’t believe in Prince Charming. I don’t believe in perfection. I believe in love, loyalty, friendship, and a mutual commitment…and apparently, that’s right up there with believing in Santa Claus, Tooth Fairies, and chupacabra.

I sort of imagined by this point in life, I’d know who’d be by my side at my kiddo’s graduation, who’d see me through empty nesting in a few years. I know sometimes the Universe makes us wait, because something better is coming? I am frustrated by the wait sometimes. I want that totally bullshit silly “Every Kiss Begins With Kay Jewelry” kind of woo. I want to be adored by the one I adore. Flowers. Romance.

I won’t bore you with the specifics of how things keep playing out, but I just want to say that I want the woo. I want a smart and funny man who wants to live life to its breadth and depth, who’ll kiss me like it’s his job, who is as proud of me as I am of him. I want a loyalty as true as mine. I hope this man exists outside the confines of these words and my mind.

Recovering

I am recovering from October. There were concerts and road trips and parties and dancing and costumes and adventures and so much laughter, so much joyous wonderfulness that I am exhausted. October was overflowing with opportunities to live and love.

There was sadness and loss. There was physical pain and there were multiple trips to lessen said pain. There was worry over the financial future and paying for the kiddo’s school. Most of that yuck is still lingering into November.

September and October always feel more like the dawning of a new year than January to me. I feel renewed, like I am starting over and reborn when the first chill hits the air. This time of year is exciting as well as introspective. When November and December roll around, I am ready to go into the cave with my creative ideas and bring out something new soon, but grrrrrr, let me hibernate in the cave with my thoughts.