Tuesday, December 28, 2010

rambling thoughts

I'm writing this to remind myself why I enjoyed blogging in the first place. I'm terrible at keeping a journal, but I love to write. To record silly details. To bitch and whine. To hear myself talk. I wish I had every little journal that I ever started, way back to the one with the tiny little lock. I know I've never kept one going for more than a few weeks. Last night I sat here with the girls and we read some of the moments that I captured in my little blogdom. They loved it. The stories of their antics and silly little quotes and adventures. It makes me sad that I didn't keep it going... but let's not go on the I-had-to-go-to-work-fulltime-sob-story. I can start again here and now. Which reminds me that I haven't put my thoughts down about my time in France. And being such a big event in my life - I think I should. So, here's what I've come up with - after 5 weeks of giving this not much thought... I think I didn't love Paris because I wasn't with someone that I love. Don't get me wrong - my co-worker is nice enough. If not a bit bossy ;) well, she used to be my boss. And I think she's her husband's boss. And I kept having a little dialogue in my head as we stumbled around Gard Nor train station that perhaps I was playing part the part of her hubby on this little trip. So, yes. I wasn't with someone that I loved. And I think first and foremost, you should experience Paris with someone you love enough to tell them to shut up and quit being such a know-it-all if need be. But also, with someone with whom you can lean into and navigate cobblestone and the harsh November wind. And be silent with. And marvel with. That said, I haven't met a person who would be that partner in Paris. Probably just a shadowy character that I created after too much poorly written romantic fiction. So there... first off, I was experiencing the City of Light, of awe, of romance, totally alone in my little life. You have to be totally and utterly single to have the understanding of which I speak. You have to have the fleeting thoughts that there is no one that you can wish were standing at your side... 'cept a few friends and that is just awkward because they do have a person who they would more prefer to share a significant event. So, perhaps the loneliness that I keep at bay by the busy-ness of my daily life was my travel companion on this journey. I was not alone, almost not at all... And I didn't feel any of this at the time. I just felt like I was missing something. And that perhaps is the letdown - I was in PARIS. ME. Little old me. And it is grand. But it was as thought I had obtained something unobtainable. And I think the thought of Paris was better than Paris. I think I've bought into the American dream of Paris. And the love of all things French. Don't get me wrong, I am amazed by their pastries. Their figs. Their wine. Their exquisite doors. But I'd brought this idea along of France that is an American version. Our modeling of French decor and lifestyle is perhaps an Americanization of the beauty of France, the history, the architecture, the lavendar, the exquisite elegance... The France I found was formal and stiff and the beauty was brittle and sharp. Not worn linen and watercolor sketches. Maybe I was in there the wrong days of my life. I simply could not appreciate Paris for what it was because I could not get past what it wasn't. Like someone you meet online in a one dimensional portrayal but in real life you realize that they are also smelly and old and rather unpleasant and dirty. Maybe next time, if I shall go again, I will enjoy it more as my expectations are not so high... we'll see.


my girls have been playing dolls for 2 days straight. no tv. no DS. no DSiXL. no friends calling on the cell. just their imaginations like the good old days. I'd have killed for this set-up. the American Girl doll stuff is sooo nice. noticed my gals both have bedhead but the dolls are all looking snazzy!
enjoying this quiet vacation week. hope you and yours are doing the same.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

the part of the Grinch will be played by yours truly

so, this is the year that I decided do the deed - after 12 years I admitted defeat and decided that an unhappy marriage wasn't getting any better with someone else's decision not to seek employment after 2, yes, T-W-O long years of odd jobs (you may have noticed that my blog shriveled up and died aboout that time...

so we're being adults for the sake of the kids. and really I don't think I have as much drama left for him. KWIM?

But, we survived the 1st major holiday - luckily I had jetlag and slept through most of it. In that marriage was the continual fight over the volume of my STUFF, KWIM? I know you do. Especially when Christmas means a ladder, 17 totes and an entire week of mayhem. When we met, he had 1, yes O-N-E, ornament - a goof ball delivery guy one. I have every single Christmas ornament that I've ever glanced at, plus all my grandparent's stuff, and just about every stranger's grandparent's stuff that was donated at my local thift store. I have a weakness. (many but this is the one we'll ponder now).

Imagine my surprise that he'd kept some of the holiday stuff. Yep, he'd hauled totes off to my storage unit b/c he was sick and tired of it and he enjoyed me paying to store my stuff. Vindictive type. So, on a recent stop over to do my laundry and let his dog out (told you we are mature), I notice that he has made a nice attempt at holiday decorating thanks to years of being subject to whilst I junqued up the place. But, he has kept some of MY stuff. Yep, and now I am the Grinch who must insist that the houses that Vince and my dad painted are mine. And the entire tote of the glass glitter ornaments - my most recent! - are mine. There really was enough to have shared. He crossed the line - back away from the glittered ornaments buddy!

Pretty in pink...

Cotton shirts.  Love 'em. Usually can't wear 'em.  Too tight. Pull at the boobs.  Or, shrink in the first wash.  And being a plu...