Misadventures Over 40

March 27, 2020March 27, 2020

COOKING IN TIMES OF COVID: A LIGHTER FARE WHEN THOUGHTS ARE HEAVY

It’s been nearly two weeks of Stay at Home, first a strong suggestion and now a State order. Today I find myself with a clear schedule and a hankerin’ for some fun. Since all in our household are blessed to currently be in good health, for me right now fun looks like trying my hand at a new recipe, one of those I’ve-been-meaning-to-try-that recipes, stashed away for whenever I made time. I never did, until now. The pièce de résistance? Carrot dogs! A vegetarian substitute for the tasty but arguably unappealing (I mean, think about it) bit of classic Americana: the hot dog. I admit when I first heard such a concept existed, even I thought, “That’s crazy talk,” but the idea stuck in my mind and my curiosity grew.

Since COVID-19, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about food, inventorying what we have, what to eat now, what to save for later. We want to be able to stay in for another two weeks if necessary. I’ve got two perishable carrots in the fridge, so they’re a “now” food. Canned goods by and large are “laters”. Two carrots by themselves? Not a meal. Two carrot dogs, now there’s a meal!

Time to begin my recipe search in earnest. Holy Imitation Meats, Batman! What’s with these ingredients? Liquid smoke seems to be essential in nearly all of them. What the heck is it? Turns out it’s basically an essential oil derived from actual smoke. It gives food that smokey goodness flavor without all the setup or time commitment. Super cool! But, alas, I have none and won’t be going shopping anytime soon. Substitutes? A list of other things I don’t have. I Google search for recipes that exclude the word “smoke” and find some others. All contain some variation of equally obscure ingredients like Juniper berries, fennel seeds, whole peppercorns, coconut aminos (never heard of it), Chipotle in adobo (ditto), etc. More things of which I’m fresh out!

Another problem? Soy sauce. It’s in most of these recipes. We have it, but not a lot. With a big ol’ bag of rice in the cupboard, a future of stir fry may be in order; and if things get really dire, just plain rice. Rice is a “now” food if used with fresh vegetables and a “later” food for emergency. I can’t justify using the last of our soy sauce on this project. One, plain rice is just sad. Two, carrot dogs might turn out to be nasty even to me, the only vegetarian in the household. That would be a real waste! Worcestershire sauce is a substitute, but it contains anchovies. I’m not that desperate yet.

Light bulb moment: Steak sauce! Surprisingly, this has no meat-based ingredients. Believe me, I look every time I use it because it just seems like it should. But nope, the ingredients never change no matter how many times I check the bottle. We have a decent amount, and rarely use it. So steak sauce shall be my dual substitute for Liquid Smoke and soy sauce. Now we’re cookin’ with oil! (But not really because we’re kind of low on that and are rationing it for only the really important purposes, like the box of chocolate cake mix we’ve set aside for when we need a real pick-me-up.)

After scouring dozens of recipes for one that best fits my pantry supply, I hit the jackpot here: https://makingmyown.com/recipe/carrot-hot-dogs/ . Using the steak sauce substitute, the only one of nine ingredients I didn’t have was a garlic clove. No matter. I had minced garlic in a jar. Bam!

At this point, it was noon. I’d been up since 6:15 and had not eaten. I began this project hungry, but by now my stomach had given up on the idea. I don’t normally feel okay about going this late in the day without eating. I also don’t get up voluntarily at 6:15 on days when I wouldn’t have had to. I’m a sleeper-inner. But this morning, my legs were cramped with restlessness, my thoughts were urgent with matters of COVID and prayer, and the allure of a fresh cup of coffee was even greater than that of more sleep. Indeed, these are not normal times.

So onward I go! After gathering all the ingredients, I peel and slice the carrots to perfect hot dog length (step one), put them in boiling water (step two), and begin creating the marinade while they boil (step three). I look ever-so-slightly ahead to see, “These need at least four hours to marinate but can be made the day before and left to marinate.” Uh-oh! Four hours?! I did not see that coming. Looks like my lunch plans are shot and the quest for carrot dogs shall carry forth unto a new day! Or at the very least until dinnertime.

On a good note, the marinade smells AMAZING! I also gave the carrots the old “flexibility test” and they’re slightly less bendy than a regular hot dog, but bendy nonetheless. I am hopeful even if they turn out tasting nothing like a hot dog, they will still be delicious!

It’s now 1:30 p.m. and I’m off to scavenge for a new lunch. I keep a good attitude and look forward to trying the fruits of my labor later today or tomorrow. I’ve come this far; I shall persevere.

God help us, so shall we all.

How has COVID-19 social distancing changed your eating habits or attitudes about food? Have you tried any new recipes while Staying at Home? Feel free to share!

carrot dog with mustard and ketchup, carrot dog with sauerkraut and bbq sauce

UPDATE: Since I had to wait to enjoy the carrot dogs anyway, I thought I’d give them the extra time of a whole day to marinate and soak up the goodness. Then I fried them for 10 minutes before placing on whole grain white bread with my chosen toppings. (A week and one day post our last grocery run, we are now a bunless household.) On a scale of “Nasty” to “Freakin’ Awesome”, I give these a “Pretty Darn Good.” The only other person in my household willing to try them was my husband, who gave them an “All Right.” I actually prefer them to the veggie dogs from the store and are probably a lot healthier. They were really tangy due to the steak sauce. I would definitely try them again, even with this modified recipe, but when things get back to “normal” I will also try the Liquid Smoke and soy sauce version. Two thumbs up!

Matthew 6:9-13

January 7, 2019January 7, 2019

Now, What Did I Come In Here For?

My daughter’s eyeglasses had been missing for a while. Her prescription isn’t strong and it was not unusual for her go without wearing them for stretches of time, so neither of us had been too concerned at first, figuring they’d turn up in relatively short order. But after she’d checked the usual places, plus the school office, with every teacher, her locker (twice for good measure), and the car, we were becoming increasingly perplexed, and I was realizing this might actually be a “thing.” A thing that would require scheduling an appointment and ponying up for a new pair. Can I just tell you at this particular moment in my life more adulting, even just one more telephone call on top of the gazillion other tasks already on my mind, was enough to send me straight to diva town. Location? My bed. Invitees? Me, myself, and I, and hot tea, possibly booze. It was about then I noticed my own eyeglasses case on my nightstand. I picked up the case, opened it, and inside were…my daughter’s glasses!

I have no memory of putting her glasses in my case. I rarely use it, opting instead to live dangerously, leaving my own specs out naked and exposed. Yet there they lay. I had a good hard laugh at my own expense about this. Plus I was relieved to have evaded the extra adulting. My daughter was less amused, the careful soul that she is, having spent considerable time looking and anxiously wondering. But she was glad to have her glasses back, and I dare say has not much taken them off since!

So should I be worried I mistook my daughter’s glasses for mine, stuck them in my case, and then forgot about the incident entirely? A solid maybe. But more likely, it’s just me being me, someone who’s always been rather forgetful of the “little things”, and sometimes even the big things, and while my hands were in motion cleaning, my mind was wandering distractedly. Perhaps about the cat that needed to go to the vet, or the child that needed picked up after practice, or the prescription needing filled, or the insurance company needing called, or that email needing returned, or that remark so-and-such said the other day, or any other number of monkey mind thoughts jumping around in my head.

Monkey mind. I first encountered that term in a book I was reading some years back. I can’t remember the title, or the author. I tried to look it up to cite here, but to no avail; the topic is just too vast and my memory of the particulars too vague. What I know is it was part memoir, part self-help. You know, one of those books I alluded to in an earlier blog post that my daughter included in her school-assigned Mother’s Day booklet. “My mom likes to read!” Complete with drawings of anxiety and panic-related book titles. Anyway, this author learned from some Buddhist monk (whose name was given, but – you guessed it – I can’t recall) that monkey mind is where your thoughts jumble and skip all over the place, leaving one feeling out of control and scattered. Mindfulness and meditation were techniques offered to overcome the “monkey mind.” To be honest, the book was not a home run for me, but it had a couple golden nuggets, and those are the things I held onto. Monkey mind, now that resonated. That stuck.

It saddens me that my memory, frankly, sucks. There’s so much cool stuff in there, and I just can’t reach it. I wish I could remember every cute mispronunciation my kids ever made, and all the times they made me belly laugh. One evening when my kids were about 2 and 5 years old, I was having a ladies dinner out with a handful of friends. The mothers of the bunch, one by one, started recalling the most darlingest things their little darlings had done over the past month since we’d last seen each other. I was listening and delighting in their stories, and then someone asked, “How about you? Have any cute stories to share?” I couldn’t think of a single one. And my kids delight the pants off me practically every single day! Yet my mind was blank.

I keep a wooden chest full of various keepsakes, including decades-old letters and cards, mementos of a past self, some of which I’ve many years later held in my hands bewildered, as if I were seeing them for the first time that very moment. Had my name not been on them I might have believed they belonged to someone else. There were traces of friendships that, although I’d never forgotten we’d been friends, I forgot the depths that the letters evidenced. Others were cards from family, some now passed on, my eyes stuck on the handwriting. I pictured them writing my name, and theirs, using their very-alive hand to wish me well and send me love. I appreciated it all over again, probably now more than the first. So as I sat bewildered, I also felt nostalgic and loved, but sad, as well. Once packed away, the mementos will lay dormant in the chest waiting for their next resurrection, at which time – who knows? – they may again seem brand new. But many of the relationships themselves will never reappear. They exist only in my memory now, my wholly holey memory.

In talking to other 40-somethings (and up), I know I’m not alone. We worry about our memory, or lapses thereof. Usually these brain farts are funny, often centering around, “Now what did I just come in here for?” But sometimes they’re startling and worrisome. Raise your hand if you’ve ever taken a Free Online Alzheimer’s Test. Raise them both if you’ve done it more than once just to be sure! Since my memory has never been that great anyway, I’m hoping to just maintain; the rest of you can come to my level.

The good news is I don’t know that a bad memory is altogether a bad thing. You can’t dwell on a past you can’t grab hold of. Some memories hurt. I don’t know all the painful past experiences I’ve forgotten. If I did they wouldn’t be forgotten! But I know I must have. And I’m glad they’re gone.

I sure hope I remember the “glasses incident” for the rest of my life, though; bringing it up occasionally with my by-then-adult daughter, laughing about it all over again. I think by then enough time will have passed that she’ll find it funny, too, or at least endearing as one of “mom’s quirks.” But in the end I have to accept I have no control over that. I can try to stay healthy, keep my brain engaged and exercised (blogging counts, right?), but the Journey takes what the Journey wants. We may go through it all completely spry, or we may lose every bit of who we think we are piece by piece along the way. It brings to mind the popular phrase, “The past is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.” That’s part of the point of this blog site. Looking back can be tough, though we do, even if through brimmed eyes. Looking ahead can be scary, though we must, even while the breath catches in our throat. Standing steady and soaking in the right now, finding the adventure in just being, really is a gift. One that I can hopefully remember to appreciate!

If you’d like to share your thoughts about this blog post, or your own experience with memory issues, please leave a comment! As always, thanks for reading!

September 7, 2018September 7, 2018

Top Ten Insights on Working From Home (and Being Your Own Boss)

My debut into the workforce involved peddling oversized cinnamon buns at the mall. Have you ever tried scraping hardened pecan roll syrup off of deep dish metal pans? It’s on there like cement, I tell ya! The pay was minimum wage, which at the time was three dollars and some odd cents an hour; but, hey, I could take home any uneaten goodies at the end of the night so to my teenage brain that was a pretty sweet deal. A slew of entry-level jobs followed: a restaurant here, a bar there, a number of various call centers (I’m sorry if I cold-called you in 1997 about siding and windows.) Finally, I got serious, gaining my degree and becoming a court reporter, later transitioning that skill into CART captioning for a “major” university. In each instance of my employment journey, I was working onsite for this boss or that boss, which was just fine by me.

Today, I’m still a CART captioner, but working remotely from home, as my own boss. This was out of necessity more than ambition. Turns out no one was hiring captioners in my new hometown. I didn’t want to give up my career that I enjoy and have worked many years to build, so here I am, being the boss of me! Admittedly, the prospect was daunting. I didn’t know about tax rules, or finding clients, or creating invoices, or any of that jazz. I can’t even negotiate a price at a yard sale; how was I going to pull this off?

But you know what? I love it! And it’s really not so difficult. A lot of people seem curious about all this, and seeing as I am an expert work-from-homer of just over one year now, I thought I’d dedicate this post to sharing my experience via a Late Night with David Letterman style “Top Ten List” (cue the Paul Shaffer keyboard intro and punchline rimshots.)

So without further ado, allow me to present:

Top Ten Insights on Working From Home (and Being Your Own Boss)

10. You’re better than you think. By the time I embarked on this adventure, I had already been CART captioning for six years, plus court reporting for ten years before that, always as an employee. Still, I wasn’t sure I had the skills necessary to be successful on my own. Those who were already out there doing it seemed like rock stars and enigmas. So imagine my surprise when it only took reaching out to a handful of industry contacts to get my foot in the door, and the skills and work ethic I already had were more than sufficient to keep clients satisfied. There’s really no magic to it. Just say “yes” to opportunity, and see where it leads!

9. Isolation is necessary. You’ll want an office with its own walls and a door. Taking up residence at the kitchen table or similar area for convenience sake or to be nearer the family “action” may sound nice, but when you’re trying to work and people are talking, or the TV is blaring, or the dog starts barking, it’s not cute. You won’t want to hear all that, and nobody likes to be shushed. I literally put myself in the closet. It was the only space left in my small home that was unoccupied! Luckily, it’s a walk-in closet, so there’s just enough room for a wraparound desk (thanks to my hubby for installing that) and a chair. It’s cozy, I can decorate it however I want, and the only person I have to worry about coming by and accidentally spilling their drink on my papers or laptop is me!

8. Dress-down Friday is every day. By dress-down, I mean way down. Pants may be optional. Not only pants, but shoes, makeup, really the whole shebang. This is assuming you’re home alone all day and not video conferencing. (Tip: cover up your computer’s webcam when not in use, just in case.) Even so, there’s always the possibility of a pop-in visitor, so I do recommend staying fully clothed.

7. The refrigerator is a frenemy. Food is very important to me. I can be planning my next meal while eating my current meal. So to be within 25 feet of my kitchen at all times is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, your only options will be whatever you bought from the grocery and prepare yourself. No unhealthy fast food here! On the other hand, there is no reason to skip a meal, ever. You could easily throw some snacks into the mix, as well. Suffice it to say, this relationship will need some ironing out.

6. You get used to the silence. For the first few months of work-from-homedom, be prepared to talk to yourself…a lot. It may even progress to places outside the home, like the department store or city park. This can be a bit frightening, to yourself and bystanders! But have no fear. It is simply your vocal cords’ muscle memory dying. Where there was once much conversation among and around you at the office, there is now a party of one. At around the nine-month mark, I began to keep my thoughts thunk and not said, for the most part anyway. If the silence ever does get weird, just throw on some Pandora. If Lisa in the third cubicle down doesn’t appreciate the Milli Vanilli station, well who cares? Because she does not exist.

5. Pets help. If you have pets, you will love them even more after working from home. They are the best coworkers, even though they get hair in your keyboard. A stress break is no further away than a stroke of a cat’s fur. A doggie walk is perfect for some exercise and fresh air, and most importantly a reason to get out of the house. They’ll provide you humor and love and help keep things in perspective on a tough day. They keep you from feeling lonely.

4. The dishes won’t get done. Or perhaps the laundry, or the floors. Whatever it is around the house you might think, “Oh, I’ll have more time for that,” you won’t. Because you will be busy doing work for which you get paid. Allow yourself to accept this, and make sure your family does, too. True, your schedule will likely be more flexible, so some things you may previously have done in the evening after work you might now get done in the afternoon, but that normally just means you’ll be spending time in your home office in the evening when you would previously have been off the clock. It all evens out in the wash.

3. FedEx is magic. And not in a good way. Really you could insert any delivery service here. How in the world can I be home 90% of every day, yet still miss my packages being delivered? It’s just one of those quirky mysteries of life that nobody knows. Or magic.

2. Your family will still miss you. When the time comes when you do have to work when your family is around (as will surely happen), you will still see that disappointed look on your children’s faces. Your significant other will still kiss you goodbye. All will still ask with anticipation when you’ll be done. Even your furbabies will attempt to sneak in your office for reassurance and pets (remember the necessity for a door.) That moment of pain that tugged on your heartstrings when you left for your commute to work? It still happens! The fact is you will still be physically and mentally separated during the time you’re “on the job” even though you’re in the same building. Even so, I much prefer having ditched the commute, and knowing I’m only a few steps away in case of emergency.

1. There’s no place like home…to poop! In the words of Kanye, “Sorry for the realness.” It’s just plain truth. The only 100% indisputable reason to work from home is the unfettered access to your own private toilet. And that in and of itself is reason enough. My digestive cycle used to be a major point of consternation. If I couldn’t avail myself of the opportunity before leaving for work in the morning, by midday I was in a heap of trouble, and suffered all the way through until returning home in the evening. Either that or take my chances in the public restroom; that is, public enough that there was usually more than one person in there at a time, but private enough that mostly everyone going in or out knew one another so it was extra awkward. Much misery occurred in favor of decorum! That is so not an issue anymore, and I couldn’t be happier.

I could go on and on about this topic. Not only the pooping, but from office equipment, to time management, to tips of the trade, etc., etc. Frankly, I’m learning as I go. Becoming self-employed was not an easy leap for me because it meant giving up a certain sense of security. There is really no more apt phrase than “security blanket” because I prefer to be all wrapped up in it! But looking back I realize that’s really all it was: a sense. There’s no telling whether my employer would have laid me off at any time, just as I can’t know whether the good fortune I’ve enjoyed to this point will continue. But I can choose to enjoy the journey, in prayerful thanksgiving, planning for tomorrow and living for today. At which time I may or may not be sitting in a closet, wearing sweatpants and last night’s pajama top, listening to the Top Hits of the ‘80s while editing transcripts and responding to emails. Who’s to say really?

July 16, 2018July 16, 2018

Lake Magic

Maybe it was a midlife crisis. A year ago, my husband and I took the family on vacation and simply never returned. At least that’s how it feels. We sold our cookie-cutter subdivision home in the city, quit both of our jobs with no guarantee of future gainful employment (I’m still wondering how the mortgage loan went through under such circumstances), moved across state lines and into a modest lake house being sold by a friend of a friend. We always wanted a lake house but never thought we’d actually be able to afford one of our own. This was probably a once-in-a-lifetime chance! We could seize the opportunity now and leave our safe and carefully constructed harbor for, literally, unknown waters with no idea if we would sink or swim, or we could let it pass by and continue with life as we’d known it.

My hubby is a forty-something like me. We’ve been a couple since 1996, when we were both young and beautiful and free. We had grown a wonderful life together up until this point, but we were no longer any of those things. And it was starting to show, on our bodies and in our spirit. My husband had been a displaced Michigander, working laboriously to help support his family for the past 20 years. He’s got lake blood in his veins (kinda like tiger blood but calmer and without the drug-fueled crazy) and most ills he has in life can be cured with a fishing pole in hand. But there was no space for that in the life we’d built. Along with our own competing work schedules, the kids were always busy with band, baseball, taekwondo, or some other such thing, which meant we parents were always busy with one activity or another. I would watch him day after day come home grouchy from work and head straight to the recliner, exhausted. The gusto was gone.

On the other hand, I was doing so wonderfully that I’d developed a panic disorder. My biggest trigger was driving, which was extremely convenient. But I’m no one-trick pony, mind you! I could also suddenly panic in a store, at work, in a crowd, while alone, and even in my own home. I was functional (most people probably wouldn’t notice that it was taking all I had just to breath in rhythm and not flee from the room) but worried that if things kept on this path, someday I might not be.

Aside: I remember being so proud one Mother’s Day my daughter made me this lovely storybook “All About Mom.” One page said, “My mom likes to read!” I thought what a great example I was setting by modeling reading to my children! I looked closer at the titles of the books on the page she had drawn: Overcoming Anxiety!, How to Cope with Panic Attacks! Your children will humble you. Oh, yes, they will humble you.

At this point, we’d been 15 years into our “starter home” that we’d initially only planned to keep for three to five years. It was a fine home, to which we’d done pretty much every major and most minor renovations possible over the years, and the only home our kids had ever known. Every corner was a memory. Anyone who has left not just a house, but a home, knows it’s not an easy decision. You know your heart will break when that door closes. We drove ourselves silly weighing pros and cons and trying to decipher every possible outcome of what life might be like were we to stay versus if we were to go, along with prayer – lots of prayer – for direction. While we had a chance to achieve a dream of living on a lake, it meant giving up stable employment with good benefits, displacing our kids from their schools and friends, leaving our Ohio family and our own friends, and starting completely anew. Only now we’re older and want to be in bed by 10:00 p.m.

My husband and I had the discussion, “On your deathbed, would you be okay knowing you had this chance and never took it?” In the end, that was it. We were going to throw caution and responsibility to the wind, and we were going for it! We earnestly hoped and fervently prayed it would be a good decision for everyone, but admittedly, it was ultimately for my husband, and it was for me.

Those first few weeks in the home were, first of all, a lot of work. I never want to see a paintbrush again! But it was also like flying, and falling, and flying up again, and not knowing if up ahead was a gentle landing or a free fall. It was an adventure! I felt like the heroine in Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On A Prayer”! I wore my hair up, walked around sans makeup and shoes, listening to loud music out of a boombox that the previous owner left behind. I swam in the lake, kayaked for the first of many times, and sat in a hot tub sipping on Coronas or wine. I really had no clue what the next year was going to bring, good or bad, but I fully released myself to the fact I didn’t have much control over the matter at this point, and we really never do in life anyway. I floated along and let any sadness or grief I’d been storing up mix with any peace and joy and hope I had still within me without judgment and, sometimes, without much thought at all. There was a kind of magic, a refreshing feeling that whispered, “You are young and beautiful and free. Still.”

Lake sunset

A year later, things are looking promising. For one, we haven’t been foreclosed on yet! I am now among the ranks of the self-employed (another new adventure, more to come on that in a future blog) which has allowed me to support the family and have much less stress and less panic. The hubby still enjoys his recliner daily, but the call of the lake just past our back yard puts a renewed spring in his step. He smiles more. The kids are adjusting and seem to be happy. A happy teenager can be elusive, but it’s a wonderful thing when you catch sight of it. Teens experience their own kind of crisis; the “coming of age crisis”, perhaps?

If midlife crises do exist, maybe it’s a preemptive strike against possible regrets, knowing that you – that I – have a finite time on this earth, and the clock is ticking. And then taking chances! Even if it means doing something completely out of character for your previous self. It’s going to vary from person to person. For me, there was no brightly-colored convertible sports car involved. Instead, I traded life as I knew it in for a simpler one. Less is the new more. The beauty of the lake and her creatures within and near makes everyday different, everyday beautiful, and I’m so glad I got this chance and that I took it, for however long it lasts.

Maybe while in the throes of midlife is not the best time to veer abruptly off the course you’ve faithfully tread for roundabout 20 years. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the perfect time.

June 14, 2018June 15, 2018

Silly Little Adventure

When an optimist gets an idea, he or she assumes it’ll be just fine. These are the same people who might begin an event by saying:

Hold my beer.
I could wrestle that.
I could eat that.
Let’s take the cat for a walk.

I was one of these people this week. I swear it all made perfect sense when I ordered the leash and harness. Our dog loves his walks, and our house cat Pootie (I didn’t name her and accept no responsibility) is pretty much like a dog. She’s very easygoing. She runs to greet us at the door. She loves having her belly rubbed. Plus, she’s quite tubby and could use the exercise. The next logical step is to take her for a trek around the neighborhood.

Now hear me out. Some cats do love going walking, hiking, busking, even rock-climbing with their “personal attendants” (not “owners” or “masters,” mind you – we are talking about cats here). I don’t personally know any cats like this, but I’ve read about it and seen it in videos, so it is totally possible. I felt confident my Pootie would be among them!

When the contraption first arrived, I had the foresight to let her get used to it by wearing it around the house before venturing outdoors. The harness consisted of one piece of mesh-like material with appendages that Velcro’d and safety-clasped around the neck, and larger appendages that Velcro’d around the midsection. On the top were two metal rings for which to attach the leash. I was a bit embarrassed on her behalf that the harness barely fit around her midsection. Good thing we were about to add a healthy walk into her normal daily routine of grooming, blocking the bathroom sink while her personal attendants tried to brush their teeth, and alternating between napping spots.

Her reaction to the harness was to meander around as if she’d just imbibed several stiff drinks. She seemed incapable of walking a straight line at this point, and instead would step awkwardly sideways until reaching the nearest object, at which point she’d flop down onto her side and remain there awhile. It was both humorous and sad, but I knew I must keep my resolve if she were to ever have a chance to safely enjoy time together outdoors. The good news is, within a fairly short time, she seemed to have accepted wearing the harness and was acting like her usual self. It was a bit disappointing she didn’t take to the harness right away, but hope was still alive!

I tried acclimating her to the harness a few times throughout the next couple of days. Finally, the Big Day arrived. I hooked up the leash attachment and we were going to head outdoors.

It might be prudent to mention here we have three house cats altogether – all rescues. Two were a bonded pair who really needed a home. I have two children, so one for each. Perfect. Pootie came along a year and a half later, and as much as we love her, I wish she’d never come to be ours, because she was my dad’s companion. Gaining her meant we’d lost him. There was never a second thought as to she’d come to live with us after he passed unexpectedly. I would take care of her, as Dad would have wanted. I helped her, and she helped me, as we each grieved in our own way. He always sung her praises, and as I’ve gotten to know her better, he was so right. She’s very special. It was he who actually first mentioned he’d like to get her a little harness and leash and thought she might enjoy walking with him. Since he had no car, his main mode of transportation was walking. Sadly, he never got the chance to try.

So here we are, Pootie and I, at the door, about to embark on a new adventure! My kids are here, too. And my dog. I didn’t want to break the old guy’s heart by taking the cat for a walk and leaving him behind. What an insult that would be! We’re all just so excited. Well, we three humans are, at least. The dog is, too, but for his own reasons. He doesn’t care about the cat. Pootie shows no emotion. She’s got an astounding poker face.

The door is open. Pootie is not interested. Thankfully, none of our cats have ever tried to run outside, which in most circumstances would be a really bad and scary thing for them and for us. They’re not equipped for the wild life! But because Pootie is safe in her harness and carefully being watched over by three personal attendants, it’s okay. She doesn’t know that yet. We decide to carry her outside and then set her down on the deck. She starts meowing nervously. We give her lots of pets and reassuring words.

Eventually, we all move down to the lawn. More meowing, more petting and soothing talk. She doesn’t try to dart away or resist against the harness. She just stays nearby to us, trepidatious. At one point she notices an empty space beneath our porch and heads for cover to hide. We hold her back from escaping into its darkness. We do make it one whole voyage around the perimeter of our home, and decide that’s enough for today. Pootie is relieved to be back in the safety and familiarity of the indoors, and I’m left to face reality that my happy vision of a family casually walking their cat is not going to happen. At least not today. Maybe not ever. Too bad. I was really looking forward to baffling the neighbors once again.

June 3, 2018June 15, 2018

Breaking Up Is Hard to Do

In the living room, the TV broadcasts Cleveland Cavaliers at Golden State Warriors 2018 NBA Finals, Game 1. As far as I can tell, literally no one alive has given the Cavaliers a chance to win the best-of-seven series, and many predict a clean sweep. As a long-time Cleveland sports fan, I’m used to the heartbreak. In fact, I’m not even watching. I’m hanging out with my daughter in her room watching YouTube videos, while my son and husband cheer and groan against the grain of the exuberant Golden State home crowd piping through the speakers.

As time goes on, I notice I’m hearing a good bit of cheering from the guys, and much less-than-anticipated groaning. So I get lured in. Nearly halftime – and tied! That’s a moral victory. Okay, let’s watch this thing!

It’s a nail biter the next two quarters. My heart starts racing. There is hope! James is playing lights out. (He’ll end the game with 51 points.) We’re cheering every Cavs advance and bemoaning every setback. It’s getting pretty darn loud in da house. The score is going back and forth. The Cavs shouldn’t be hanging with the collectively deeper and more talented Warriors, but they are! Throwing caution to the wind, I start to believe.

Claymation angry women with arms and fists raised. — Darn them refs!

Then the ol’ Cleveland curse starts seeping in. Bad breaks by the refs – VERY bad – at pivotal moments down the stretch really change the momentum of the game. My daddy always said it’s all fixed anyway, and this feels purposeful. It feels one-sided. It feels unfair. I’m getting mad. VERY mad.

Long story short, the Cavs lose in overtime. Another heartbreaker. At the end of that two hours’ investment of my life, I feel cheated, defeated, sad, and disgusted. Seeing the Warriors and their fans cheering, I want their smiles wiped off their ugly faces. Now mind you, they aren’t actually ugly! They are ordinary people who, taken as a whole, I’m sure are perfectly lovely folks. My rational brain knows this. They have every right to be happy and cheer. But, man, do I really dislike them in this moment! There is something ugly in the room, and it’s within myself.

That’s when I knew. Sports and I had to break up. This relationship had become toxic. I didn’t like feeling or acting this way. I mean, I’m in my 40s! Time to be a better person. The person I want to be reads more; writes more; works out, well, at all – things I never seem to have enough time to do. So, perfect. I’m breaking up with Sports to hook up with My Best Self. I’m so okay with this decision. I’m perfectly at peace.

Fast forward two days. It’s the morning of Game 2. I have big plans for gametime. Instead of working myself into a tizzy over grown men I don’t know fighting over a ball, I’m going to write my FIRST EVER blog about turning 40, looking forward not back, experiencing life anew every day, and living your Best Self, blah, blah, blah. (No, it would’ve been good, I promise.)

Then I think of one person who will be watching: my son. He’s a 16-year-old nearly-man, three days shy of completing his junior year in high school. He grew up on the Cleveland Browns, the Cleveland Cavaliers, the Columbus Bluejackets, and The Ohio State University everything. He gets it honest, and will most definitely be watching.

He mentions, “Game 2 is on tonight.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to watch. I just get too frustrated. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you.”

“It’s okay, Mom. Don’t watch just for my sake. I want you to do what’s best for you.” He genuinely means it. Be still my heart.

How much longer do I have him at home? One year for sure, God willing. After that? College is the plan, a really good plan. The fact is he may leave for college, and just never return except for visits. Who knows? How many more casual moments do we have, just hanging out? And the thing is he actually likes my company during the games. I mean it’s not like he can’t do without me, but my presence while watching sports together doesn’t embarrass him or make him cringe. When your child is a teen, that’s a parenting win! When our team does well, we cheer, together. When they don’t, we gripe, together. He hadn’t heard about the breakup yet. My resolve starts to waiver.

Later that evening, I say, “You know, I am going to watch the game after all. I’m ready to give up on sports, but I’m not ready to give up on you.”

“Aw, thanks, Mom.” It could just be my wishful thinking, but he seems pleased.

Fast forward. It’s halftime, Game 2. My Cavs are losing… by quite a bit. It’s a gut punch. My son is simultaneously checking his phone and watching the game over glitchy reception (#nocablehousehold) and holding out hope against the odds that his team just might pull it off. We talk about the glitchy reception. He moves the antennae here, then there, then back again. Reception stays the same – barely good enough to watch without going completely nuts. We chuckle. We talk about the game – it’s frustrating! They’re hanging in there, but still down six. “They just can’t break loose!”

Out of nowhere, a cheer! “Yeahhh, Kevin Love! He just made a three!” We celebrate.

Will he remember that I was here for Game 2? Eh, maybe not. Will he remember on the collective that I was here, for him? I sure hope so. Right now, I’m soaking this in. Because a year goes by so fast. And I want to remember.

Update: The Cavs don’t win the game. I don’t get upset. I shared time and space with my family, and I wrote my FIRST EVER blog. I never expected it to be about sports, of all things. But it fits. There’s a major transition looming that many 40-somethings face for the first time: the senior year and graduation of a child. In my case, that child happens to like sports. A lot. Watching the game together is like experiencing a part of who he is. That is the treasure.