Who Am I?

I'm Andrea Buford, that's who I am. I no longer want my ex-husband's last name. It makes me sad every time I see "Rusin" written anywhere with "Andrea" attached to the front. Who IS that person, I wonder.

Like any change, it's been a little more complicated than I would have liked. I'm working on it, though -one step at a time. A small thing has been to change the name and e-mail account that is associated with this blog, without losing all the content associated with the old name. I needed space, time, and patience to figure it out, but apparently I finally did -and without moving the blog to another server. So, I THINK that from the reader's point of view, nothing has changed, except that you'll see my new name attached to posts from here on out. If that's not true, please let me know. From my point of view, this is now one more place where the new-me (the old me?) is fully present.

Whew! That feels good!

HowManyOfMe.com

There are 17 people with the name Andrea Buford in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Vacationing in Andrea-world:

1)Definitely, go to a week-long workshop that has three yoga sessions a day, when the longest yoga session you've done in 2 years is probably 45 minutes. Yeah, that's a good idea. Oh my lands, I hurt everywhere.

2)Since this is a "girl's weekend" for you, pack all your girly face products, which will then spill on the clothes in your suitcase, doing what face masque does -become rock hard. So now you have two outfits.

3)Get asked out by a very interesting Italian man, and then realize type-wise, he IS your ex-husband. And you don't have any clothes to wear that don't have green goo solidified on them, anyway.

4) And definitely, definitely, when you know full-well that you are the kind of person who can get lost in her own bathroom, leave your GPS in the car.

5)And forget the cord for the camera. I have pictures, but no way to upload them. I'll take care of that when I get home.

I'm having fun, and I'm very glad that I took this time for myself. But that thing I say "wherever you go, there you are" -it turns out to be true.

Academic Arrogance

Ummmmm.... you guys, am I arrogant??? (Don't answer that, please; I think I don't want that answer.)

I know those of you who know the in-real-life me are probably expecting a different post. You'll get the yoga and knitting and travel and Tuscany posts, I promise, but I don't want to lose this germ-cell of a thought.

Here's the back story. (You knew THAT was coming.) It doesn't take long hanging around the ivory tower before you notice that there's a certain amount of pomposity; about 5 minutes will do it. Well, probably you noticed in the first minute. It just took you another 4 minutes to realize that some of it is unmerited posturing. That nonsense depends for its success on the innocents among us (and I usually count myself in this camp -maybe it's time for a facebook quiz on this question) believing that arrogance is the same as aptitude.

Yet, some people do have just flat-out jaw-dropping intellect. Through a series of youthful misadventures that involved accidentally (I still believe) getting admitted to a world-class college, I have had the privilege of hanging around with some of these people for a good bit of my adult life. I think it's false to say that the best minds don't need arrogance and can just be relaxed good-natured folks. Some are, but even then... a certain kind of idiotic questioning and challenging can bring out arrogance that is a SIGHT to behold. It's there all right. And it does what it's designed to do -put idiots in their place. This arrogance is just the certainty that very VERY few people play in their playground and that there's work to be done to get an invitation to this party. OK, there's a little bit of smackdown going on, too.

And academics aren't the only ones I don't understand. What gives people the audacity to challenge someone they don't even know, simply assuming they are on equal footing given the subject-at-hand? Say, hypothetically, you're on an airplane and someone sits next to you and asks what you do. So you try to describe it. OK, so it's not all that hypothetical. For the record, I stuck with social worker and described my research a little; it's true, and way easier than describing the whole story. This person had already told me his life story. He probably took one course in psychology in high school (because it was an easy A, he reveals), 15 or so years ago. He remembers THAT imperfectly, and has certainly not followed the research and the literature. But he knows my research plan is flawed in the following million ways, and that homeless people are all mentally ill and deserve their fate, and won't change, and....

A year ago, I would have rolled my eyes (possibly visibly), but not gone for the smackdown. I would have thought it, right enough, but I wouldn't actually have said anything. And then I would have been upset for hours. I think, though, it's possible that there is something in between the arrogance earned by those with jaw-dropping intellect and foolish preening (which is just a measure of a lack of self-confidence, when you get right down to it.)

Before I go any further, there are things that need to be clarified. I don't think a PhD is the only thing in the world worth wanting. I don't think an academic life is the only life worth living. I know plenty of people without advanced degrees, and some of them are brilliant.

But, and oh dear, here come the truly obnoxious question. Are brilliant and untrained people qualified to question and challenge? OK, of course they are. The knowledge that professional researchers come up with is pointless if it can't be explained -and knowledge isn't the same thing as wisdom, anyway. But what if their questions are just flat-out dumb? (Another falsehood is that there are no dumb questions. I think Fox TV and Rush Limbaugh have pretty much proven that one.) And some questions reveal by their word choice and the questioner's tone a political agenda and its attendant assumption that there can only be one right known-in-advance answer. I am a smart-enough person, but I wouldn't go up to a chemist and suggest that he's misunderstood the subtleties of the polymerase chain reaction. I wouldn't do that, because I know that I don't have the first freakin' clue if he's done that or not. I don't even know what the polymerase chain reaction IS. I might have made it up.

When you're questioning from a position of fundamental ignorance, you should probably shut up and listen instead. Being smart IS NOT ENOUGH. There is work to be done, reading and thinking and making connections between this body of work and that one, and extending and nudging theory. Then you can play in the sandbox.

Yeah, I went for the lady-like smackdown. "My goodness, that might have been more effective as a question rather than an assertion." But now, of course, I'm upset about having done that. And I am wondering if I've taken a path that just leads to trouble.

Sigh.

Second star to the right

...and straight on til morning. That's how you get to Neverland, if you'll remember.

I'm off to Italy. Me??!!! We're deeply into the melting down phase of our program. WHERE are my yoga clothes? What knitting do I take? Should I take my rock climbing gear? WHY didn't I remember to charge my phone last night?

But I always do this. I know that. I can't quite get past the "who do I think I am to be doing this" question. I wonder if I'll be sad not to be sharing it with another person. And I'm irritated that every darn thing still makes me afraid. But I'm doing it anyway, and that's not nothing.

I'll send you pictures.

New Garage

It's not here yet, but we have plans. The people door and the car door will switch places, the trim will be white, there will be carriage lights, the garage doors will have windows... and I think those are the only changes. I'm just taking a little break while my bank account recovers, and then we'll get back to work on this project.

And then, I'm finished with big projects for the year. The new furnace and central air will have to wait until next year.

The Twirly Skirt

Knitter Notes: I got the pattern off Ravelry. It's knit with 4 colors (pretty much all the pinks) of Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece. The pattern is written in two pieces. WHY???? I disregarded that entirely, and it caused no trouble at all.

Now... It's knit for this little peanut....

Meet Nina, my one and only niece. She's a little older than this now. She can't twirl yet, but I remain steadfast that she needs a twirly skirt. Moreover, in spite of the fact that she has red hair and her mother is probably going to want to bop me over the head with a skein of cotton fleece, she needs a PINK twirly skirt. (Aunties have privileges, and I exercise them all!)

Do you remember that? Twirling and twirling, just to watch things spin and to see your beautiful skirt move like a dancer's? And then you fell down in the grass, laughing, just from the joy of the spinning?

Yeah, we pretty much all need a bit of that. How can we teach the little ones to twirl, if we don't do it ourselves? OK, so now that I'm not a toddler, literal twirling makes me queasy. Metaphorical twirling, that's more like it. Today will be a twirly day! We'll see how it goes.

At Least it Leaned to the Left (???)

My big house project for the year is underway. Can you see the problem?



Yeah, it leaned a little bit. And it was being held up by a house jack in the center. And the doors were ugly, and weren't even the fold-able garage doors, like they've made for, oh, about the last 75 years. It was unsafe and ugly, and had no redeeming historical value. It had to go.

I knew the demolition guys were coming this morning, so I acknowledged that I'd seen the garage for the last time. They've been doing preparatory work for days, but the weather has been so rainy, they couldn't actually get the thing done. But the task was scheduled -again- for today, and the weather was lovely. I knew the garage had reached the end of its days. Even so, when the girl-child called me and said that they'd started, I felt a little gasp of fear. This is a HUGE thing to have undertaken. Who do I think I AM? Someone who knows how to do all this???? Who am I kidding?

I'm glad I missed this:










I was breathing into a paper bag at work, as it was. And then I got home and saw this: Okay, they'll come back for their equipment, and they didn't leave a bill. So, I'm thinking they're not done. But it's not as though the view has been improved, exactly.

Next up, pouring a new foundation and pad for the new garage. One step at a time.... the path is the goal....

Pass another brown paper bag, could you?

Our Capacity for Self-Deception

It's huge. The only thing to do today is laugh about it.

Knitting....
What we say: This will probably start to look smaller when I decrease for the armholes.
Truth: Unless you're having a fling with the Jolly Green Giant, that sweater's not fitting anybody you know.

Biking:
What we say: Wow, I must be getting stronger. Yay me!
Truth: There's a big ol' reality check waiting for you when you turn around and the wind is now in your face.

Rock Climbing:
What we say: "Check me out. I climbed a 5.8. Hey, I wonder if my belayer is getting sick; he's breathing awfully hard."
Truth: He's not sick. He's worn out from hauling you up the rock face.

Oh well. I had fun in the process.

About this Yoga Thing

That's not me, it need hardly be said. What it is, is a slightly imperfect triangle pose (really, her top hip could roll back a smidge), and it's one of my favorites. And it was lost in the great life-changing debacle. I'm too old to be sedentary for two years, apparently. Bad things happen -and losing triangle pose isn't the worst of it, of course. But it bugged me.

You would think this posture would be simple, to look at it, but there's a lot to think about and explore. It's one of those postures that is available to most yoga practitioners (possibly modified, but still an authentic pose)on day one, and remains interesting across a lifetime's practice. And it feels really good, to boot.

It's a yoga belief (in some schools of yoga, anyway) that there is always a modification to make many postures available to everyone. Believe me when I tell you that the modification of triangle pose that I was doing is the one reserved for little old ladies in the nursing home. My knees were the problem -which seems a little odd. Your hips, or back, or neck, or balance.... those are the obvious challenge points in this posture; but for me it was my knees. I lock them, and it hurts.

So, ummmm, "stop locking your knees" comes to mind as a solution.

Therapeutically, locked joints are a (potential) indicator of over-discipline and a distorted need for control. Believe me when I tell you that knowing this doesn't help. Ceding control got me where I was 18 months ago, and that will never again happen to me. Heartache may well be out there for me again, but it won't be because I turned my life over to someone else.

But there's power and a certain kind of healthy mastery -and there's grasping control. As usual, I'm seeking a balance that is elusive. This morning, I gave triangle pose another shot -and fell over backwards. Given my current weight and fitness level, the thud shook the entire house; I wasn't sure the roof wasn't going to cave in ;) The situation was so ridiculous, the only available path was to laugh. Do you suppose the right path through this grasping-letting go quagmire is to let go, laughing?

Women in Black

In an on-line support group I'm in (all women, but not by design), we have a running joke about donning our black pants, black turtlenecks and black sunglasses, grabbing absurdly large and destructive armaments of some kind, and avenging any wrongs perpetrated on one of our members. We are the Women in Black, setting out to make a more perfect universe, and Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones should quake at the mention of our name. Hell hath no fury, indeed.

The thing is.... it's hard not to notice that most of the wrongs are perpetrated against women by men. I am not a man-hating feminist. Moreover, I think that's largely a myth. All feminists come with fathers, most with brothers (I imagine), and certainly some with male partners. Some feminists ARE men, forcryingoutloud. But, for the love of Mike, it's sort of hard not to notice the pattern.

Certainly, you all know that I believe I was treated very ill by a man I trusted. I imagine that trust issues will now haunt me for a good long while, possibly forever. His actions were brutal. He knows that. He knew that when he was doing it, but felt entitled to act that way anyway.

FOUR women who are dear to me are in relationship-drama. The drama ranges from dire to worrying-but-probably-nothing. And it is all perpetrated by men thinking (apparently) that they can have bloody well whatever they want. I've had it.

Men who are dear to me and men who are not, these are the rules.

You don't have to go all Promise Keepers on me, but if you made a promise, keep it. If you must break a promise because the keeping of it is more destructive than the breaking of it, do that with as much gentleness and integrity as you can find.

YOU are not the center of the universe. Sorry. Your mother didn't lie, exactly. You were the center of HER universe, but she sort of thought you'd figure out that you weren't the center of the whole bloody thing. Work on that for me, would you?

Treating your wife as a partner and a friend is not some post-apocalyptic violation of all that is true and holy. Grow up. You can't be all things to all people. Honor your wife's giftedness. Respect that she can do plenty of things you can't do -and let's discount the obvious stuff like have a baby. She has talents and gifts and wisdom you don't have. This fact does not threaten your virility.

And about that virilty. We like it, true enough. But it's not the only reason we love you. Seducing a 22-year-old won't help you relocate it. She doesn't think you're hot; she wants a father figure. Give it up and come home.

We will warn you a few times when you break these rules. But there is an end-point. After that, I'm calling my friends. We're getting our black turtlenecks out of the laundry basket and getting to work. Don't say I didn't warn you.

This is America

Let me preface this by saying that I am emphatically a patriot. The thing is, there's a slight difference of opinion about that. Many of the people who are out there describing themselves as patriots wouldn't consider me to be one. I think dissent can be patriotic. I don't think waving a flag around is enough. And I really, really don't think either of the wars we are involved in has anything whatever to do with patriotism. I think they are monstrous disasters.

So that's the background.

Yesterday was an amazing day. I got called to serve on a jury. As with many people, when the time came for me to put my patriotic beliefs into actual, inconvenient action, I had to heave a sigh and make myself act appropriately. But I got through it and drove to Sycamore to our beautiful old courthouse (last seen by our heroine on the day of her divorce).

I hadn't realized that on that very same morning, a Sycamore-based unit of the National Guard was scheduled to return from Afghanistan. There was to be a parade in their honor at the exact time court was supposed to start. Instead, the courthouse was (temporarily) closed, and the streets were lined with flags and people. The Boy Scouts were out. The high school band was there. People I know -at least one whose son was in the unit- and people I didn't. One little girl on a teensy pink bicycle was riding next to the soldiers, yelling "Look Daddy, I can ride my bike!!" There were babies and strollers and old people in wheel chairs. Judges and jurors and police officers lined the streets.

And there was not a a dry eye to be seen. Seriously, it was a picture right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Or a country music song. Honestly, if it were in a movie, you would have thought it was too sweet to be believable. But there it was.

I hate these wars. But it's also true that I have a brother who is in the Air Force. He's safely state-side at the moment, but I want it to be true that there are parades in his honor and people saying thank you, and (rather dreadful) bands doing their best to celebrate his heroism. I want the town to temporarily stop to say "oh my goodness, we are so glad you're back," and to take a moment of silence for the ones who can't come back. He deserves it; he really does.

And so... I'll stand with the other patriots. For a minute, we'll make room for each other, and celebrate other patriots who express their beliefs differently. They'll go home and, God willing, watch their children ride pink bicycles for a while. I went to the courthouse and did a different kind of duty.

Lucky, Happy Mom

That would be me. This is a photo from Mothers' Day. We went rock climbing and then out for beer and chicken wings. Flowers are for other moms. This is what I wanted. I am lucky and blessed. (And aren't they just the most gorgeous kids ever???)

Return to Sender

A while back I posted about returning Dave's mail and trying to stop acting like his wife. So, I returned some mail. I marked the letter "not at this address" and tossed it back in my mailbox.

You know the old kid's song "the cat came back"? Yeah. The next day, the mail was back, marked with a question mark by the letter carrier. So, on the same letter, I wrote "Really. He's not here." And I put it back into the mail box. You guessed it. It came back. So today, I wrote "Honest. I've looked everywhere. I'm pretty sure he's not here."

We'll see what happens next.

Wanna See?

Progress. I'm making progress.

I didn't get the chairs or the rug. They're just not right for my dining room. And no way my dining room is that airy and light; I wish it were. But that's my table. It'll be delivered in a few days.

If you're not scared, you're not paying attention

Is that even true? It's something I'm thinking about lately.

The last semester -particularly the last month- has been difficult. It's not Math-Fink's doing this time. No, this time, it was all me. This semester was pretty close to grace-less. I stumbled and bumbled and dropped balls I was trying to juggle, and generally made a mess.

Yes, I can come up with rational explanations as to WHY that happened. Yes, I know I can get better at all the things I screwed up. Yes, I know I'm being impatient with myself and expecting quite a lot.

The thing is.... other people expect quite a lot of me, too. And they have no reason or inclination to cut me any slack. In fact, for them to do so would be inappropriate. Employers, children, people whose job it is to enforce standards.... those people. They have very right to expect me to step up and get it done. Whatever "it" is, in their particular case.

So, I face again -anew- more things that scare me. Resentment builds up that I have to do this alone. And then I think, no... I GET to do this alone. What do I want? How will I organize this? And I cycle back and forth -like a person with a particularly rapid-cycling bipolar disorder- between panic and courage. So, is everybody afraid, and some people just figure out a path through the fear? Maybe some people are too naive or too young to be afraid. Maybe it's only smart adults who are afraid. Great.

Or maybe those people who seem to be serene AND high-achieving really are both. How do they do that? I have learned that I can't muscle my way through this. Rock climbing should have told me that. Muscle power never gets me anywhere; I have to rely on flexibility and coordination.

So, I tried will power, and I didn't have enough. I tried brute force, and I guess I'm insufficiently brutish because that didn't work either. But I have a life to get organized here. What is going to work? Is there a way to lead with MY strengths -flexibility and coordination and maybe a smidge of creativity? Would that work? Would that keep the fear at bay?

Or is fear just part of the human condition?

Mothers' Day Declaration

I know I post this every year, but I'll just keep doing it until people start paying attention.... Oh wait, that's a different "momily". Read this one instead.

Arise, then, women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts,
Whether our baptism be of water or of tears!


Say firmly:
"We will not have great questions decided by irrelevant agencies,
Our husbands will not come to us, reeking with carnage, for caresses and applause.
Our sons shall not be taken from us to unlearn
All that we have been able to teach them of charity, mercy and patience.
We, the women of one country, will be too tender of those of another country
To allow our sons to be trained to injure theirs."


From the bosom of the devastated Earth a voice goes up with our own.
It says: "Disarm! Disarm! The sword of murder is not the balance of justice."
Blood does not wipe out dishonor, nor violence indicate possession.
As men have often forsaken the plough and the anvil at the summons of war,
Let women now leave all that may be left of home for a great and earnest day of counsel.


Let them meet first, as women, to bewail and commemorate the dead.
Let them solemnly take counsel with each other as to the means
Whereby the great human family can live in peace,
Each bearing after his own time the sacred impress, not of Caesar,
But of God.


In the name of womanhood and humanity, I earnestly ask
That a general congress of women without limit of nationality
May be appointed and held at someplace deemed most convenient
And at the earliest period consistent with its objects,
To promote the alliance of the different nationalities,
The amicable settlement of international questions,
The great and general interests of peace.

Written by Julia Ward Howe in 1870

Does this just say it all???

For well over a week now, my glasses have been lost. I knew they had to be in the house because I got home;I wouldn't drive without them. But darn if I could find them. What's worse is that I remembered that tragic thought of "You're putting your glasses somewhere weird. This is gonna come back to bite you in the patootie." Did I actually act on that thought? Don't be silly.

And, being me, I had paid-for contacts. At the eye doctor's office. For six months, because he's never open when I'm available. Literally, they've been there for six months. No exaggerating, for once. It's time for my next appointment, and I haven't picked up the contacts from the last appointment.

So I had no glasses or contacts at all for a few days. Then I snuck out of work for a "lunch hour" at about 10:00 one morning (because the eye doctor is closed over the noon hour) and got my contacts. I was about ready to figure that I'd find my glasses one day a year from now when I rearrange the furniture, or clean out the freezer, or who knows what.

Today, I stumbled into my little workout area, thinking I'd blow off a little steam by doing some cardio, and .... there they are. If I'd been exercising the way I should, I would have found them 10 days ago. So I'm blind AND fat AND disorganized.

Forcryingoutloud. Pull yourself together, woman.

Meet Elite Mature Singles

I love facebook. I think it's not much shy of world-changing, this social networking stuff. I'll probably write about that at some point. But for now, I'm just frustrated at what happens every time I sign on to facebook.

I'm greeted by this handsome man, about my age, under the caption "meet elite mature singles." Doubtless this is because I've indicated that I'm single. I've ALSO indicated that I am interested in friendship and networking, rather than -I suppose- trolling for a new partner. Yet that seems not to matter quite so much.

First of all, who are the guys who sign up to have their picture splashed around on facebook? It's either narcissistic or desperate, I can't decide which. And WHAT is an elite single? It's probably meant to imply wealth. Or maybe it's code for "we know there are loser single guys our age out there, but we are not those guys." And I should believe this why? You're the one who paid to have your picture on facebook, after all. And "mature" is surely code for "old", in this case, and that kind of stinks. I certainly don't want an immature partner. Been there; done that. But jsut ick, that I'm in that category where it's considered impolite -or unmarketable- to use the accurate word. And how do we REALLY know that they are single at all? Math-Fink was playing around on matchmaking sites long before he was single. I've had women he was "dating" contact me through this blog, for heaven's sake.

I know plenty of people who've found partners -life-long (apparently) as well as just-for-now- - on social networking sites. To me, it feels soul-stealing. How can it be true that I feel this way, when I increasingly make no distinction between cyberspace and "real" space? My cyber-friends ARE my friends. I've "met" them in that loopy, roundabout way that we meet anyone. Someone knows someone who invites them into a group and we click -or not. We take care of each other. We challenge each other. We worry. We celebrate. It's real friendship.

And yet, I don't want to find a partner that way. More to the point, I don't want a life partner at all right now. Among other things, it's a time management problem. There are no minutes in my day into which to put a partner -which tells me I'm not ready to work very hard at it. There's no particular sadness in considering the possibility that I might always feel this way. It's not that a partner is not coming to me; it's that I'm not interested.

So, stop offering me "elite mature singles" for heaven's sake.

Safe Haven? Shipwreck Cove??

I'm not sure what the right metaphor is. But here's my thinking....

My 27 year old daughter lives with me. Neither of us ever thought this would happen, but it is so very working -for both of us, I think.

My thinking goes like this. When I was in college, many of my friends were told by their parents that from this point forward they were visitors in their parents' home. This wasn't seen as harsh, at all. It was more of a statement that they were fully launched now. Then, a few years later, kids were coming home after college to re-group and think. Parents -those parents who themselves had been told that to come home was only for emergencies- didn't know quite what to make of this. They certainly didn't want to define their children to be failing, but this situation wasn't good. The economy was hard. Suddenly a Master's degree was essential where before a Bachelor's degree had been sufficient.... A rationale for this situation was created.

But now, I think we're in a different place yet again. I really do. I'm not rationalizing here, at all. I think we're redefining family and adulthood to be less about independence and more about inter-dependence. This house, this big old falling-down barn, was a place of respite when I needed one. It's weird to think that a place -nothing more than boards and nails when you get right down to it- could be a sanctuary. Don't people, after all, consecrate a people to make it a sanctuary?? But... whatever the reason, I needed to be here while I healed and regrouped.

So, what's the problem if I share that space? Isn't there something wonderful happening if I can share that space with someone else, and have it offer that same sanctuary? Or the sanctuary they need? Family can look different at different times. I am so grateful to have another person in the house -another person whose life occasionally intersects with mine. In a real way, she's babysitting me. But it's not only that. I have space and resources and mom-stuff that she needs right now, too. And together, we can do things that we can't do alone.

I don't think this is a forever-type situation. I think she ought to live independently before (or whether or not) she lives with a family of her own making. For that matter, I think I ought to have done that. But, I also think we're re-conceiving family. On so many levels, we've defined it too narrowly for too long. It's so much more than a mommy and a daddy and a baby and a puppy. That can be a wonderful family. But it's also a middle-aged mom and an adult daughter and maybe a friend who needs a little more care and structure. Or a mom and several children and no daddy. Or two mommies and a baby. Those might all be wonderful families too.

We all need a safe haven.

Rumors of my demise, and all that...

My inbox is full of concerned messages. Bless your hearts, the dear ones in my life are afraid I may have fallen back into the black pit of despair. No, it's not that.

I've been thinking of all of you -worried that you might be worried. Every once in a while, a blog post would pop into my head. There was the one about being an ally to my gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered friends, family, and co-inhabitors of the planet. It was going to be brilliant, I'm quite sure. See? I even had a picture.






Then there was the one about the ongoing home repairs, trying to make this house into the functional, warm, welcoming place I know it could be. I'm not quite sure how I was going to make fixing the toilet brilliant, but funny was probably within reach. If Victoria and I can't figure it out -which we couldn't quite- then she invites people over to help her. They are apparently so smitten with her that they will even do this. There must be a joke here somewhere.












Then there are dear friends who dropped by and seem not to worry too much that I still don't have furniture. That one was going to be touching and heart-warming. Trust me.



And in other news.... I'm going to tear down the garage. Well, I'm going to have the garage torn down. And rebuilt. And I have a new personal trainer. Something has to be done about my physical health. I think this is going to be good. She's very gentle and attentive and supportive -with no tone of "For crying out loud, how did you let this happen???!". What else? Well, maybe I shouldn't tell you everything in one post. There could be more blogging left to be done.

Of course, none of those posts made it from fleeting thought to the keyboard. Work, research, writing, trying to keep myself pulled together... it's taking all I have and a little more. So, every day I get a smidge more behind. It's not a pretty sight around here, but it's not darkness and despair. Very far from that.

I think at some point I may have publicly said that I wanted to be really, really busy, because I didn't want to sit home alone and brood. OK, be very careful what you tell the universe you want. This is perhaps just a smidge more than I had in mind. Perhaps balance is the next lesson in the queue.