About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

My friend Sooz! Headlining, and not in Vegas!

Click now, or forever hold your peace!

I remember when we moved to Texas 30 years ago: a 1966 Dodge, a five-month-old baby, a 6’ x 12’ U-Haul Trailer, four gas credit cards, and $15.00 in cash. (That’s my crossing-the-plains story; you may have heard it before, and I can pretty much guarantee you’ll hear some version of it again.) A few months later, our best friends from Provo moved down. I assumed that once we were all living in the same zip code, the friendship would pick up where it had left off. It did not.

She was from a large and loving family, where the kids really were each others’ best friends, in spite of nearly thirty years’ difference in age between the oldest child and the youngest. I had yet to learn the tender lesson that some people are in our lives for a reason, some for a season, and some forever. She was always kind to me, but we were never again really close, with that closeness which comes when you are young and struggling and expecting your first babies within weeks of each other. [Not to mention far from home and the greater support system.]

So, I was envious of her close family and the time she spent with them. And I was envious that her husband had a job with a bank and made considerably more money than did the children’s father, who in spite of an MBA could only find work as a management trainee for the grouchiest restaurateur in Dallas. And I was crazy-jealous that they were able to buy their starter home a year or so after they graduated from BYU, ahead of the interest-rate feeding frenzy during which we bought our own wee cottage. [Primary mortgage bumped up to 14.25% from the 7.25% the previous owners had paid, and 20.36%APR on our second mortgage. Woe be unto those who grind the faces of the poor…]

Where was I?

I was envious of the sisters who put together playgroups for their children, and did not think to invite us, because we were poor. I was envious that other people’s kids got the solos at church, because their children were all starched and prim and proper. You name it, and I was envious.

Thankfully, over the ensuing three decades, Heaven and I have made a modicum of progress on the ongoing project which is Ms. Ravelled. I have learned to be [mostly] happy at the good fortune or the hard-earned blessings of others. I cannot claim to be entirely stripped of envy, but we are lurching along in that general direction.

Though when I masochistically view the box-opening posts for other folks whose Cuprit has arrived, I do feel a little green around the edges. I restrained myself to two brief texts to Fourthborn yesterday, out of respect that Tuesdays are her busiest day.

“Box?”

“Nope sorry ♥”

“Tnx.”

And now I am undecided whether to drive in again, in the faint hope that Cuprit will arrive in today’s mail, or take the train and pretty much guarantee her arrival. A box opening tomorrow night would not be good for me; I am on a committee at work for a Speed Mentoring activity that takes place on Friday, and we are staying late to decorate the office.

Had lunch yesterday with the friend who has recently popped up in my life again. No spazzing this time around, just good food and lots of fascinating conversation. Well, I was fascinated, anyway. It’s most instructive to hear the other person’s perspective on why that marriage went south. And also to hear why he has said and done various things over the years. Makes it much easier to finish forgiving him for some of it.

[I wonder how Trainman’s dinner date went last night? Can’t wait to find out.]

Went to Knit Night last night, met some new people, fondled all the yummy yarn that Monica brought back from Stitches East, which coincided neatly with her business trip. *Lovely* stuff, including a 75% merino 25% nylon sock yarn that felt like a wool/silk blend; no trace of icky plastic to it whatsoever.

I am tired this morning. Not sad, not sick, not depressed, just physically tired. I was awakened at 3:34 this morning by what sounded like knocking on my bedroom window, which is about eight feet above the ground. So I got up and turned on all the lights and have been typing away ever since. Lots of other excitement this week, lots of good news, steady progress on various projects, much to ponder, and the laundry is reaching critical mass again. [I think I know what I will be doing tonight; it involves quarters, but no shot glasses.] I might see about taking the afternoon off, if I can get my decorations done this morning. We were having issues with the overhead projector on Monday afternoon.

Life is good. Somebody hand me a Cherry Coke.

4 comments:

nekokoi said...

i do appreciate the brevity of yesterday's messages, i was at work from 8:30 to 7. it was nearly apocalyptic. X.x

Jenni said...

What a good article. It has been hard to explain to people (at least those close enough that I bothered with an explination) why THINGS are sometimes so important to me. To try and make it clear how much it means to be able to fit in with the other soccer moms, because my mom didn't fit in and I sure didn't fit in with the kids. To explain why I am so willing to break my back working at AAC so that my kid can play select sports and other such things that are important to us all as a family. It comes down to wanting to give her more than I ever could have dreamed about growing up. I am so grateful for the eternal gifts and lessons that you gave to us that we can in turn pass on to your grandchildren.

Bonnie said...

So when you heard the knock at your window at 3:00am, you turned on the light but didn't check to see if you really had a stalker outside? Oh well, I'm glad you are ok. I'm glad that I haven't had to repeat the struggles that you went through when you were raising a young family. I know you came through and are stronger, but those were some hard and depressing trials. I'm hoping that I learned my lessons from all that when I was a kid.

Robi said...

Bonnie & Jenni - just to let you know that your mom fit in perfectly with me. We were both "outcasts". I still don't fit in. Which is fine by me. I dance to my own tune. Still a bit of a rebel. (I guess that would explain my not having a calling because no one would put up with me. Again - fine with that.)