Monday, October 12, 2009

But I Want to be a Moustache!

No. You read that correctly. And no. I don't want to be a moustache. But my 4 year old daughter does. For Halloween, I should add, not as a life goal. As she was on her way home from school last week, Randy (my delightfully accommodating and perpetually wonderful "boyfriend") asked both girls what they wanted to be for Halloween. Halloween is one of our very favorite holidays in the Salvatori-Lambert house. Salvatori comes before Lambert because there are more Salvatori named individuals than Lamberts. Just in case you wondered...But I digress. Halloween has always been a favorite holiday for my girls, fueled solely by the promise of an entire years worth of candy, garnered all in one night. But no matter the reason, they look forward to Halloween all year long. So when Randy asked Izzy what she wanted to be for Halloween, she had already set her mind to, yep...A moustache. Just what every Mother dreams their daughter will be. A moustache. So, after nearly careening off the road in a fit of laughter, Randy calls me at work. He says, "do you know what your daughter wants to be for Halloween"? "Uh, I dunno", I say. "A princess"? "NO"! Randy is nearly in tears at this point, and I can hear the squeal of the tires as he is yet again struggling to maintain control of the car under the duress of laughing til it hurts. "She wants to be a MOUSTACHE"!

Silence.

"I'm sorry, do what"? I ask. At this point, Randy is pleading with me not to make him say it again, because it is just too much...And so, more silence from me. Then, I begin to wonder. Does she want to be a handlebar mustache, or something more along the lines of Groucho Marx or Hitler? How does one make a moustache costume? And as if knowing that breaking the silence is just the right thing to do, Randy asks me if he should go as a razor. Really? I'm so sorry. I can only conceptualize one complex costume at a time. And I am still working on moustache! Get in line, Gillette! Suddenly, I am reminded of last year...My oldest daughter wanted to be something complicated too...What was it again? I know she ended up dressing as Hannah Montana, and that was a piece of cake. She already has the blond hair, and the costume came in a plastic bag. I did spend a little more than intended on the fancy Hannah Montana boots, but I did say NO to the cutting of Amelia's bangs (you know, to make the look more "authentic"). So what was it she wanted to be again...Hmmm.

I had momentarily forgotten that I was on the phone, then something pulled me back from daydreaming...It's the sound of more laughter...squeeling...this time not from the tires, but from my oldest and youngest laughing in delight. So I ask Randy, "what is going on in that car"? To which he replies, "do you know what Amelia wants to be for Halloween"? Cautiously, I say "nooooo"...And in between convulsing he manages to say "a coral reef"!

Suddenly, I remember just what it was Amelia wanted to be last year. And I guess it is making an encore. Great. When I visualized my time on this planet as a Mommy, it never once included the vision of me, walking down the street on Halloween night, telling the Moustache and the Coral Reef to hurry the hell up, cause this Mommy needs a cocktail. Well, here's to visualization, and I am having that cocktail now. I need it. I still have a Coral Reef costume and a mustache to build.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

9/11

Tomorrow is a day that will forever be remembered by all peoples old enough to actually remember what happened 8 years ago, in all countries...everyone, everywhere.

I remember that morning. I remember it like stock footage from a B-rated, film noir, memory montage. I was pregnant with Amelia. I was sleeping in my bed, next to my husband. My neighbor called and told me to get up and turn on the T.V. My Mom was in town. I sat, transfixed, for the next 4 hours - holding my enormous belly - watching all of the streaming news footage in numb disbelief. I remember looking over to my Mom and asking, "should I cancel the reservation"? I remember her saying, "we still need to eat". So we went out to eat. We were only one of two parties in the restaurant that night. Under normal circumstances, we could have passed on the dinner. It wouldn't have mattered. But on that particular day, My Mom had come into town to take my husband and I out to dinner, to our favorite restaurant, for our third wedding anniversary. We all ate, in silence. I don't even remember if there was a gift. After that year, our anniversary lost some of it's allure. Maybe it was because of the absolute horror of the events of that day in 2001. Maybe it's because our marriage lost some of it's allure. Not really sure.

So tomorrow, I will spend a few moments in remembrance. I will remember all of those lives lost on September 11, 2001...I will remember people I didn't even know, but feel as though I did. I will remember that I was pregnant, wondering how to bring a child into a world full of so much hate. I will remember that people are still dying for tomorrow. But I will also remember that ten years ago, on September 11, 1999, before the day would forever be marked as one of the worst days in American history, I got married. So, I will spend just a few moments in remembrance of the death of that marriage.

But do you know what? I still believe in marriage. I still believe that it is a beautiful thing, and can be full of happiness and bliss. Do I think everyday is like that? No. I'm not a fool. I also believe in America. I believe it is a beautiful country, and can be full of happiness and bliss. And no, everyday is not like that. And that's okay, because we are alive to look forward to those kinds of days. And I am alive to look forward to that kind of marriage. So, even though September 11th will always be a bit of a dark day for me, for more than just the historical reason, there is always September 12th.

Friday, August 28, 2009

It Matters to Me

I find myself regularly torn between two lovers. The lover that wants to do what I want to do, and the lover that wants me to do what he/she/it wants to do. I often find myself highly motivated to follow the lead of the latter lover, and do what he/she/it wants me to do. Maybe it will be fun, maybe it will be exciting, maybe I will feel free. However, more often than not, I settle for the lover that just wants to do what I want to do...Sit on the couch. NOT work out. Eat ice cream. I think that this lover is good to me...Tonight, I wonder, maybe not so much?

When I was younger (read, college), I used to feel a little - let's just say depressed - when I was alone. I craved the company of another. Could be a friend, a lover, an instantly discovered and just as easily lost soul mate, it could be anyone. I just needed the company. I didn't really care about what I wanted to do. I wanted the lover that could promise me good times, good drinks, good friends, even if followed by hazy memories and less than good digestive results. Somewhere along the way that changed. On the road to adulthood I took a side street to hermit-ville and decided to stay. Once I arrived in this new found place, I lost the desire to take a lover who wanted me to "party like a rock star"...The lover who was proud of us if we came home as the garbage men picked up our trash...The lover who probably didn't really care about me, but cared that I was fun. I just wanted to be alone. I still took the ex-lover's calls, still listened as he/she/it romanced the potential night that awaited us, but would always find a reason to say no. And so I sat alone. Until I met my other lover. This one promised me solace, quiet, unrecognizable depression. And I fell deeply in love. To me, the promise of nothing was better then the promise of it all.

As I grew older (read, now), I began to realize that my new, albeit long term, lover didn't really have my best interests at heart. I wasn't so sure that sitting on the couch, watching SoapNet, playing on the computer, drinking one glass of wine after another, was really what I needed, after all. Maybe I needed a lover who could give me both...Not only what I need, but helps me to see what others around me need from me...And is there really such a lover? I think that there is not. And really, that's okay. Because more than anything, I need to learn that I do not need to take a lover to know who I am. I need to learn that I am the only one who should say, "Get up, girl. Go get your piece of life". Because I want to be that girl. I want to get up and get my piece of life. I want to not only do the things that matter to me, but the things that matter to you. Isn't that what makes me my very best me? When I can and will do both? Cause, honey...It does matter to me. The things that are important to you, can also be important to me. And the things that are important to me can be important to only me. That's okay too.

To all my former lovers...Well, I have finally put you all to bed. I have found the "beds in boat world". I finally realize that it's okay. It's okay that it matters to me.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Still Missing You...

Sheesh. If you had asked me, say, two years ago (give or take) if I was capable of "missing" someone, I'm not sure how I might have replied. Sure, I missed my children if I travelled away from them, but not really. I seldom left my children behind in my travels, and when I did, it was because I desperately needed the break. A break from the whining, the crying, the exhaustion that comes with being a Mommy...I finally had someone validate this for me...And I must say, I had been waiting--so very long--to exhale. A friend, that I have had since high school, confessed to me that parenting was hard for her. I was floored. She was then, and quite frankly, still is, perfect. Perfect in a real way. A successful career. An amazing spouse. Beautiful children. A great nose. Christian, and proud...Ever trying to lead me away from the "dark side"...Just perfect. But hearing this "perfect" woman talk about her struggles with parenting, infanthood, toddler years, and then some...Made me feel real. It made me feel closer to perfect (and if you really know me, you know that is my ultimate goal). And it made me miss my children. See, I am out of town this week. My beautiful heathen spawn are with their Daddy (my ex-husband, in case you needed a refresher). They aren't entirely thrilled with the arrangement, but they are resilient beings, and are rolling with it just the same. And, oh...How I miss them. I even had a stranger give me a dollar so I could have my picture taken with Elmo tonight(Look for this post later this week when I get a chance to upload). I miss them in a way that I am unfamiliar with. The last time that I left them for more than a day my parents were with them. Prior to that, I was still married, and didn't feel as "off-put" over the whole thing. Odd really. There was a time, pre-Zoloft, that I couldn't get away from my family quickly enough. Now, all I want to do is be a better contributor to my family, even as that dynamic changes...And no, I'm not taking my vitamin Z anymore, thanks for wondering...

But what does this have to do with "still missing you"...Obviously, missing my children isn't new to me. I'm not a monster. I love and cherish my babies, I'm just not that kinda Mommy...You know, the one that can't seperate who she is from who her children are. I have no problem with that. But I miss now in increasingly different ways. Back in "the day", I viewed travel as my escape...Escape from the toxic environment that was developing in my home. Now, travel is taking me away from something I have grown quite dependant on. My spot. I miss my spot. I miss what my spot represents. I miss the way I fit in my spot. My spot is more than just the crook of an arm, the feeling of warm skin, the smell of a man that I love more than I can express...It's my spot. It's all I have ever wanted. It's the family that I am rebuilding. Yeah, so maybe the players have changed somewhat, but the goal never does...And that ultimate goal is Happiness. For my children, for me, for the people in my life that are non-negotiable...And I miss my spot, and all that it represents. And I miss the man that gave this all to me. You may shake your little head all you want, and declare to your empty room that "no man/woman can make or break your happiness, it's all in you". But you, me and your empty space all know that's bullshit. A single person can change your life. Maybe it's a child, maybe it's two (as it was for me), maybe it's the introduction of an outsider who becomes an insider, and shows you just what it means to be a family...And so, I am really missing my family right now. My girls, my man, my dog and the guinea pig and the African frogs and the cat...

I can look at the pictures, I can talk on the phone. I can text, I can Facebook, I can Tweet and I can blog. But I am still missing you. And I am certain that I always will. When I am not in my spot, I am still missing you.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

When It All Comes Together

So. Here we are. A long time has passed since I have spent any time with you, and for that, I am sorry. I have had many months of trials, many months of stresses, and many months of the very scenarios that would have once sent me running to my computer, burning to turn out the next great literary masterpiece via blogger...And yet, here we are. Nothing for months, and here I am, expecting you to take me back. But as I have dutifully pointed out to you before, disappointment is my shadow, and it follows me everywhere, inflicting it's wrath upon all those who should fall under it's cast...So you should have been prepared for this from the beginning.

While I have been away from you, I have learned a few things. I have also forgotten a few things, and even remembered a few things that I didn't know I knew. That last one is always exciting...But I digress. Primarily, I have learned that sometimes, even in the very face of adversity, things can go well. What the bulk of my random readers don't know, is that through all of the drama, trauma, and overall chaos of last year, I had a great deal of emotional help (well, let's just call it what it is, shall we...it's love). And it was that love that kept everything together, even when I was the one trying to tear it all apart. It was that love that showed me how real love can be when it is done right, that real love doesn't involve angry words or disdainful looks or cold shoulders...In fact, it is all quite the opposite. Things in my life began to change completely...I felt better about myself. I treated those around me with more kindness, more generosity. I played more with my children and spoke to them more lovingly. I involved myself more in the lives of my friends, took the time to let them know that I am still here for them in spite of what is going on with me. I began to become the woman I had always wanted to be...And although it seems so very, very trite...All it took was the right kind of love. And when it all comes together like that, it's amazing.

And thus, I have become the kind of woman that people want to hit. I am so full of this incredible love that I am on regular bliss-overload. When I talk about the source of my love, I ooze like so much puss from an infected wound. When asked about the source of my love, I can prattle on for hours like an escapee from Pendleton Asylum. It's nauseating, I know. And I love it. I had a conversation with my Mom a while back, and she expressed concern for my overall well being. It is a Mother's job to do this on a regular basis, I understand, but I still find it annoying...I know that one day, I will do it to my children too. During that conversation I revealed something to her that I had not verbalized to anyone (other than my beloved, and I think that was in e-mail form) was this: I have been fortunate enough to experience the kind of love that overwhelms a heart. It's so much for the poor heart muscle, that it expands to the lungs, to the nerves, to the brain...It fills you up. It fills you up in a way that is almost uncomfortable. And not uncomfortable in a painful sense, but uncomfortable in the sense that you are experiencing something you have never experienced before...And it's amazing. But this wasn't what put my Mom at ease...it was what I said next. I explained to her that the love that I have been given, and the love that I have returned, was so remarkable, that if it were taken from me tomorrow, I would be okay. I would be okay because I was able to just have the love at all. Because for me, it was the realization that this was what love was supposed to be, and it was mine...and everything else came together. And now, all the pieces of the puzzle have been laid into place, and some cosmic force came by and sprayed the puzzle with that crazy spray glue shit, and now it's a fixed piece. The same could be said for my heart. It is a fixed piece. It has all come together and I am whole. And although I never, ever want to lose this love, should it disappear, I will never feel like a loser. I won a long time ago, and the glue that holds this heart together is the strongest I have ever known.

So. Here we are. I hope that you still aren't upset with me for having neglected you for so long. I will strive to find new and exciting things to blog about very, very soon. In fact, I have a great topic for me next post! Let me tell you about this man I know...(Oozing begins)

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

I haven't blogged in such a long time. There are so many reasons. Some I can't even really blog about, and I hate that...Blogging, for me, has been about providing me with an outlet for disclosure. Of course, a good 98% of my blog readers don't really know what a good 98% of my blogs are actually about. And that's okay...they don't need to. It would be too much for people to process, I think. But recently, I haven't had the time, or the inclination to blog. However, I had an experience the other day that I feel compelled to share. Something happened to me that has happened to everyone in one way or another. So many people have said to me, when one door closes, a window opens...I used to think this was pretty much total crap, but am feeling it's true, now more strongly than I ever thought possible. You see, this week I walked out of the home I shared with my ex-husband for almost 10 years, for the very last time.

I have known for over a month that I would be moving out. My ex-husband moved out on November 1st. I stayed, wanting to keep the girls in the only home they have ever known. I wasn't happy there and I was ready to move on...But there is so much to moving. So much packing, so much trashing, so much everything. Putting it off seemed easier. Then, the time came. With a LOT of help, I was out of the house in just two days. The girls were happy, the pets were happy and I was happy. Kinda.

I didn't feel alone in the old house. Everything I have ever known as an adult was all around me. Now, well...Now I am surrounded by emptiness. There are no pictures on the walls, so memories made...And yes, of course I know these things will happen, the pictures will appear and the memories will be created. But as I sit here, alone, while my children are spending a few days with their Daddy, I feel cold.

If you know me, you know that I can be impatient. I want things to happen when I want them to happen. I want things done on my time frame, my schedule. I don't need you to tell me that's unrealistic...In my life, it hasn't always been such an unrealistic expectation. Maybe that is why I always find myself in this place, where I am cold and alone. Because I want what I want when I want it. And when I don't get it, I shut down, push away and move on. Am am tetering on the brink of this shut down. I don't like to feel alone, and I don't like to be cold. Yet here I am...Feeling very much by myself and very chilly. But like all of the things that have happened over the course of the past three months, I will make it though this, too. I have to learn that my time frames don't always gel with the cosmos, and there really isn't a damn thing I can do to change that. So, I will grab my blanket, read my blog to my sister (cause she can't work a computer - yeah, she's 34...there is no excuse), and I won't feel so alone. And maybe one day I will open up the Pandora's Box that contains all of the mysteries and secrets that are hidden between the lines of this blog. And I will never have to feel alone again, because the whole world will know me. I think I will like that.

So before I shut down my computer for the night, I want to say "goodbye" to my old house. Goodbye to the life that was created there. Goodbye to the sadness that permeated the drywall and most certainly goodbye to the rancid stench of dog pee that seemed to be lingereing in the air. I definitely wont miss that.

Friday, January 30, 2009

Signed, Sealed, Delivered. I'm Not Yours.

Today I got a phone call at work. I get a lot of phone calls at work. So many, in fact, that if I see on my caller ID window that it is from an outside line, and not coming from somewhere inside the store, I will often let it go to voicemail. Today, however, I answered the phone. It was Sharon, my lovely, if somewhat grammatically inarticulate, paralegal. She had called to tell me that my final "Marital Settlement Agreement" had been signed off on by the Judge. I was officially divorced. I could hear papers rustling in the background, as she informed my that my formal copy was going into the mail at that very moment. I started to cry...And suddenly I stopped. My heart started to speed up its rhythm, and I smiled. It was a fleeting moment, but in that moment, I felt every emotion that I have felt during the 10 years spent with my now ex-husband. I felt nervousness, sadness, anxiety...then joy, elation, and finally, peace.

Several months back, when I knew for certain that this day was coming, I debated whether or not I would blog about this actual day. Whether or not it was in good taste. What would people think...Then it occurred to me, nobody is forced to read this blog. It is my free therapy. Mine and mine alone. Yes, I am pleased that people have enjoyed reading this blog, and I am pleased that people have been able to use my voice to find their own, when they have felt muted. So I have decided, tonight, to write. And for the first time, in a long time, I don't have much to say. But I do know that it is important to chronicle this day. So years from now, when this is all a monochromatic memory, I can be reminded of just how real, and how painful this has all been. Not because I am a masochist, but because I believe the memory of pain can help to make you stronger, to help you heal, and to make you whole. I am on my way to healing, but I have a long way to go. I am happy with the direction my life is taking. More than happy, in fact. But I know that I am not whole yet...I am still broken, and searching for all the missing pieces. Some I will never find. Some pieces of me I gave away 10 years ago and I don't want them back. I know he probably doesn't want them either, but they will always and forever be his. I have taken everything else that has mattered away from him, I don't have to snatch these shards of me, too. And he may try to throw them away, but I know that they will always be embedded in his brain in the form of memories; a song, a smell, a shadow...And I know this because those same slivers of someone else's life will live within me, too. And for me, that's okay.

My new life is beginning. It is rising up like a phoenix from the ashes of my past. There was a time, before I set fire to my life, when I would wake up everyday and felt like I was just waiting for the day to pass so I could go back to bed...And that's just sad. But those days are gone. Now I will wake up, each day, grateful for whatever goodness is in store for me. I may not know what it will be from one day to the next, but I know that it will be there in some form. And that, my friends, is a very good thing. A very good thing indeed. So...As I stated previously, I don't have much to say. So I guess I will just say "good night". Tomorrow is a new day, and the first day of my new life. I should try to get a good nights sleep.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Engrish!! Cause You Asked So Nice!!

Do wha?
engrish-funny-the-ralnables
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This could be said about my heart...
engrish-funny-threat-of-broken1
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I know a few people who might really benefit from this service!
engrish-funny-brain-location
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Uh...So, I may be ugly, but can I borrow your ninja? Please?
engrish-funny-nija-bird
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Hello, Space Flyman! My number is...
engrish-funny-space-man
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Oh, hello Mr. Pizza...Space Flyman who?
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Monday, January 5, 2009

Preparing for D-Day

Many years ago, in what seems like another life, I sat on the couch in my soon-to-be husband's "bachelor pad", and watched what has to be one of the most depressing movies of all time. We watched What Dreams May Come with Robin Williams. If you have never seen it, you should consider renting it, downloading it, YouTubing it, or whatever method you prefer, and set aside two hours. An hour and a half to watch the movie, and another half hour to sop up the pool of tears that will collect at your feet after you have watched the movie. The basic premise is, there is a happy couple with two children (and a dog, I think) and through a series of sad and somewhat violent events, they all die. They go to Heaven (except for the wife, who gets stuck in purgatory because she offed herself in a period of deep depression) and have different forms and different struggles than they did on Earth. Through the struggles, they learn about who they really are, and that the undying love of a family can overcome anything...Even the physical limitations of the body. In the movie, the husband and wife refer to an anniversary as "D-Day". It is the anniversary of the day their children died. Yeah, I know that's absurdly morbid, but as I prepare for my own "D-Day" of sorts, I can totally get the need to anniversary the macabre. My divorce is almost final. All of my dreams that I had for this family that I have created, have died, or are dying. Even the last vestiges of hope are all but gone. And even though this is what I have wanted, I cannot help but feel sad. Although I know that nothing can erase the past, make things better or worse, I feel like somehow I have failed at this segment of my life. I have decided that, for me, divorce is a lot like death. It seems akin to the death of someone who has been gravely ill: Even though everybody knows it is better that the ill person passed away...no more pain, no more suffering...it is still sad. Deeply sad. And I have been saddened by the end of my marriage, the death of it, as it were, and I am still mourning it. If you see me on the street, I look perfectly calm and at ease, but in my heart I am still mourning.

The mistakes that I have made over the past decade continue to haunt me like so many lost souls...The spirits of the dreams that I have had a hand in slaying. Their time for exorcism is drawing ever closer, but it is not here quite yet. So I will continue to mourn and give the death of my marriage a proper and respectful burial. But like all things that grieve the heart, this too shall pass. Time will continue to push me forward into a new life. I am older, perhaps wiser (although the Jury is still out on that), and definitively more sure of who I am and who I want to be. One day, I will wake up and the anniversary of my "D-Day" will come and go with out so much as the flicker of a candle on a carrot-cake cupcake. For an anniversary like this is not one to celebrate...Better to allow it to remind you of all the reasons you celebrated in the first place: The first kiss. The first date. The first child. The first time you said goodbye, and then, the last. Because even though I am sad and I am mourning, even in this death I can still celebrate all of the beautiful things that made up this life. And that, my friends, makes me happy.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Chasing Happiness

I have some friends...crazy friends...that are preparing to run a marathon in just a few weeks. They have been training for months. I never gave too much thought to why they ran, I just knew that they did, and that they were crazy. Running has given them nothing but grief. One of them has pulled a groin muscle so severely, she will sit on her couch in front of her family, and massage it with her electric "back massager"...While her are kids in the room for Christ's sake! Another has actually run herself into such a state of physical degeneration, that she limps everywhere she goes, hand on hip, moaning "oh, my aching hip". She is only 31. There are twisted ankles and collapsing arches and increasingly large thigh and calf muscles (although a very enviable reduction in body fat is also quite apparent). So, why, then? Of all the fun things you could be doing with your time (like poking out your own eye, shopping for shoes, or eating bacon), why run?

But I get it now. They run because it frees them from their lives. When they run, although they may have pain and suffering and anguish and loss, they are free. They focus on the thing that forced them to get up at an ungodly hour, lace up the Nikes, and run. For 12 freaking miles, no less. Sometimes it is easy to look at the life of someone else and think that everything is easy for them. "Oh, look", we think...Look at how pretty her hair is, look at how clean her house is, look how well behaved her kids are...What we fail to see is that nothing is easy for them. Nothing is easy for anyone. My crazy running friends have all had hardships in their lives. Some will talk about it, some wont. Both are okay. I have subjected them all to sharply contrasting periods of verbal diarrhea followed by stone cold silence...no e-mails, no texts, no calls. It's all pain, just the same, like a great equalizer between myself and my crazy, running friends. It may be death of a loved one, loss of a career, or the end of a marriage. And to run...to run as fast as you can, away from the pain...the things that are hard...even if it's only temporary, sounds like freedom to me. And later on, the physical pain is just another row to hoe in the eventual harvesting of happiness. We all have to run after happiness, it simply does not run to you.

I had dinner the other night with one of my crazy running friends. It was such a wonderful evening, very simple, very needed. And as I sat at the table and looked around at our two families, I thought, "this is easy, this is happiness". To look at my friend, with her pretty hair, her clean house, her well behaved children, you might think that her life is easy. But I know better. I know that she has pain and loss heaped upon her in ways that can be too much for one woman to take...Maybe that's why she runs, but we don't really talk about it. And that's okay, cause when I am with her, we don't have to talk about any of the things that are hard or any of the things that caused us pain. Sometimes we do, and that's okay too. As I scroll through the mental inventory of all the various and sundry things we talked that night, the thing that stands out the most was the moment when she asked me very simply, "how are you doing"? It was dark and I was tipsy, but I could see in her eyes that she really, really wanted to know. And it occurs to me just now that sometimes you don't have to chase after happiness. Sometimes it does run to you. Even if it has a severe groin pull...It still runs to you.