Yikes, I’ve neglected the blog. And yet, like a loyal dog, it’s waited patiently for my return. Good. I’m back. I didn’t go anywhere, really. Just got busy, I guess. Or maybe I just got bored. I don’t know. Lets catch up.
So, the empty nest thing is real. I wallowed in it for a bit longer than I care to admit. I’m over it now. Our youngest is fine, I’m fine and we’ve enjoyed a handful of visits both here and there. Were good, really.
I had a list. Remember? Let’s review.
I did clean out a couple closets. Boring.
I did scrape the popcorn off the ceiling in one small closet. That shit’s messy. And if you get the little white flakes in your eye…. Well, just don’t do it. Hire a professional. Better yet, don’t look up.
I did not visit many art galleries. I did go to one art show. I did purchase one print. An original, by Freddie Fred. It’s for the kitchen. Our kitchen’s not worthy yet. We’ve got plans for the kitchen. Another list. Another story. So, for now, Freddie Fred’s artwork is safely stored in one of the recently cleaned out closets.
I did take a painting class. Twice. It was fun. I think. Good therapy, I guess. I really had to concentrate on not freaking out about messing up the picture. Turns out I’m a bit uptight. Who knew?
I did go to a couple yoga classes. Literally, a couple. It’s still on my list. I really like that yoga place. Ananda Yoga Dunedin Every time I go, I declare right then and there, I love this. I’m going to do this every day for the rest of my life! And then, I don’t go back for weeks. wtf
I did commit to Camp Gladiator. In theory. On paper. Mostly. I signed the contract. Been paying every month. I’ve been going. Sometimes. It’s a great fitness program but it’s hard core. The sort of thing I should have done twenty or thirty years ago. But I didn’t. Now I’m out of my league. What can I say. I’ll fulfill the contract. Go when I’m up to it. I’ve decided not to beat myself up over it. You win some, you lose some.
I did not lose ten pounds. Yet. Forever on my list.
I did not paint the house. I did stumble upon and hire a good painter. He’s a member of my super secret sober society.
Like me, he’s from Long Island. Bayshore.
“Ever been to the Bayshore roller rink?” I asked.
“Been there? I grew up there!” He replied.
“You ever been to the Lindy House?” He asked me.
“Been there? I grew up there!” I answered.
I soon discovered he’s a painter. And so began the project of painting the exterior. As with all home projects, one thing led to another. He trimmed the trees, repaired the gutters, hung new shutters, replaced light fixtures and painted the whole house. And a bathroom. And the laundry room. And fixed a sink. All the while, reminiscing about days gone by on Long Island and singing the praises of today’s sobriety. He was good company. Got me out of the empty nest funk.
Not only is ‘paint the house’ off my list, (which was a joke in the first place because who was I kidding) but my husbands honey-do list is null and void. Over and done. For a fair price. My husband is happy. A win win.
You’re curious, my Long Island friends, but the painter guy remains nameless because “A lot of people think I’m dead Jeanne. And that’s probably a good thing.”
According to my list I was going to spend more time with my Dad. Well, that was a crazy idea. What I, we, really needed was a little less time. Mission accomplished. I found a great lady to sit with him whenever I need a break. It’s working out. They enjoy each other and I enjoy the free time.
I was going to spend more time with my church basement friends, sipping bad coffee and whatnot. Done.
Ulcerative Colitis was not on my list. But that happened. I guess I’m at that age. The age when you start accumulating diseases and ailments. Aches and pains. Whatever. Could be worse
Thanksgiving came and went. It was good. Our youngest spent most of the day upstairs studying. And watching Greys Anatomy. My husband and I shared the cooking. We kept it simple. Turkey and a few sides. We watched the parade and some football with my dad. Our oldest sent an apologetic text around 5:00. So sorry. Running late. Overslept. We laughed about that. Ate without him. Dinner was good. Afterwards, our youngest went to her friend’s house for desert and a sleepover. The oldest arrived around 8:00, with a new friend. A beautiful girl who also overslept. Im guessing. He reheated and ate leftovers in the kitchen, standing up. The beautiful girl wasn’t hungry. It was a nice visit, really. Good conversation. Then they left. Later, a few friends from the super secret sober society came over. My husband built a small fire out back. We listened to good music and made s’mores. A nice Thanksgiving. Not the stuff they make Publix commercials of, but good. Good enough.
Ah, I was going to write more. Well, clearly that didn’t happen. At least not here on the blog. I fell out of the routine. I guess. Ran out of ideas. Maybe. It happens. I suppose.
The internet magazine that hired me went bust. Im not terribly disappointed. It’s nice to be able to say I’ve been published and paid for my writing. On the other hand, I wasn’t nuts about being categorized as a ‘alcoholism expert’ or whatever. That was icky. Or an ‘expert blogger’. Because really, I’m far from it. So, it’s a relief to be let off that hook.
I’ve been writing though. Started a book. Pure fiction. Straight outa my head. It’s a good one and that’s all I’m going to say about that. You’ll have to wait. Probably years, because it’s slow going.
Apparently I’m a bit of a diva when it comes to writing. Everything has to be perfect. Everybody healthy and happy, the house clean (and painted), the setting ideal, the mood perfect. You get the picture. Everything has to be just right before I finally sit down to do the writing. I’m working on changing all that about me. Stay tuned.