Dungeons and Dragons

The last week has been one of emerging from the dungeon and slaying dragons. Slaying dragons, and moving forward confidently in the direction of my dreams. ("If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours") in the immortal words of Thoreau.

I became sure that leaving the blog behind is a good idea. It served its purpose. Now, I am moving on to other things, the goal being for writing to take up more of my life. It's almost as if so much of what I have been doing in the last 10 years has been an apprenticeship for this next place.

And all of these amazing little circumstances unwound and then tied themselves as a great big bow around what is going to happen next. Even though going forward means leaving a lot behind, I am not sorry to leave it behind because the signposts promise great things ahead. By "great things," I don't mean fame and riches and adoring fans. I mean that feeling when you are driving somewhere you have never been, and you get that assurance from some landmark or other that in spite of your impressive talent for getting lost, you are absolutely traveling in the right direction.

It has meant so much to me to have readers who were willing to walk down this road with me. It made me feel less alone in the world. Thank you.

I am going to leave the blog up for a little while, just in case there are any stragglers, so I can say good-bye, and then--delete. If anyone ever wants to check in or just say hello, feel free to send me an email. (I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it.)

Cutting Off an Arm an Inch at a Time

I read that cutting-off-an-arm metaphor in a book about divorce, I think, when I was in the middle of my divorce. I can't remember the book; I was reading a lot of self-helpy type books just then. The writer said that women especially make this mistake when ending a relationship. It is a mistake to which I am prone.

It's been a few months now that I've been thinking about ending this blog. Not from fatigue--I could write about myself forever, I find myself and all my doings a source of endless fascination, unfortunately. At first, it was because I wanted to stop writing about other people, and so many posts are about others, or at least how I feel about what happens between others and me. Especially the mens. And even though I may resolve to refrain from writing about others--as I have--keeping such a resolution takes an iron will in the face of the temptation of the ready keyboard. I told one gentleman--of whom I don't write--that I don't write about people I care about, but even though I thought I was telling the truth at the time, that is not strictly true. I care very much about some of the people I write about. Very, very much.

Now, a few other reasons have surfaced. One is that it looks as if I may have some professional writing opportunities, opportunities that I think could be compromised or jeopardized by what I write here. Another is that I am feeling overexposed, a feeling I can blame on no one but myself, of course. And one last is that I am also wondering whether the blog may have served its purpose. When I started writing, I felt so alone and heartbroken. The blog gave me a way to write myself out of the heartbreak. I feel as if the blog saved my life. I don't mean that as melodrama. It's not as if I were in any actual danger. But it has helped me see patterns, as I have mentioned before, and it has helped me find my way through different troubles.

I'm writing this to let all few of you know what I am thinking, mostly because of the shock I felt when one of the blogs I read regularly just up and disappeared with no warning. If I don't delete it, I will definitely write in a different direction, although really, I'm not sure I have the willpower to stick to that. Hence my dilemma.

What will happen immediately is that I'm going to delete a lot of posts. A lot. And then, who knows.

This Land

I drove from Las Vegas to Park City today. Just before crossing over into Arizona, the landscape started changing. I was talking to S. Who Is Like a Sister, and I kept interrupting to exclaim at the golden waves of grain! The mossy shrubbery! The green fields! The craggy, tree-dotted hills! The blue sky, filled with cottony clouds! It was just like Wordsworth and the daffodils.

This is what I have been missing so much. This one little drive (about 7 hours) fed my starving soul. I felt so very happy--and I feel so happy now. Not just because of the landscape, but because I didn't realize how much I need time alone. The girls have been home a week, and it has been a lovely week, a week of monstrous indulgence, a week of affection without ceasing and many jokes. But. But. But. I confess that to be driving alone, listening to music, and admiring the landscape gave me great pleasure. And there was great pleasure in making a plan to bring A. and B. to the beautiful Utahan heaven as soon as practicable.

(Also, I created a road trip playlist:
1. All Right Now--Paul Rodgers and Queen
2. Fat-Bottomed Girls--Queen
3. I Ain't the One--Lynyrd Skynyrd
4. Go Your Own Way--Fleetwood Mac
5. Doctor My Eyes--Jackson Browne
6. Spirit in the Sky--Norman Greenbaum
7. Suite-Judy Blue Eyes--Crosby, Stills, & Nash
8. Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood--The Animals
9. American Pie--Don MacLean
10. Mother and Child Reunion--Paul Simon (I like this cover, in spite of the mean YouTube comments. And here is Ziggy's.)
11. Sister Golden Hair--America
12. You've Made Me So Very Happy--Blood, Sweat, & Tears
13. And When I Die----Blood, Sweat, & Tears
14. Silver, Blue, and Gold--Bad Company
15. Knockin' on Heaven's Door--Eric Clapton
16. No Sugar Tonight--The Guess Who
17. All Day and All of the Night--The Kinks
18. Feel Like Makin' Love--Paul Rodgers and Queen

Sometimes, one must return to one's roots. Heheheheheheh.)

P.S. I still have that Obama sign in the rear window of my car. Utahans in general do not seem to be big Obama supporters. Just observing.

It's All Information

There's a Mediterranean restaurant where we spend a lot of time. When we first moved, we ate there at least once or twice a week. During my classes, the routine was for B. to call in our take-out order, and I would pick it up on my way home. Either the owner or the guy who seems like the second-in-command would be manning the register. We chat while I am waiting for my order. They are both very nice, and always seem happy to see us, which is no small thing in my book.

Yesterday, I was chatting with the owner. We talked of many things, beginning with the abominable weather (go on, take a look):

Me: We're just not used to the weather yet.
He: [shaking his head with a resigned expression on his face] You will never get used to it. Never.
Me: Some people seem to like it.
He: [still shaking his head] You have to be some kind of Not Human to be able to get used to it. Some kind of lizard creature.

We agreed that although neither of us can abide the weather (truly, when I go outside, I feel as if my eyeballs are melting), we like our little neighborhood. He lives nearby, too. He told me of his plan to rent a summer place in California next year, and I was appropriately envious. I asked if he'd always been in the restaurant business, and he said he had worked in restaurants and hotels for many years, and had been with the Four Seasons. When I mentioned sommelier school, he said he had hired many sommeliers over the years, so of course I wanted to know how he made his decision.

Not only did he give me a useful brief answer ("their sales ability and techniques"), but he went on to describe restaurant management, and to explain the need to balance service with profitability. He said he'd had at least half a million dollars tied up in wine inventory, and so he needed sommeliers who could move the bottles.

You never know where you might learn something useful.

P.S. I told him I find it difficult to meet people and make friends. He shook his head again and said, "I have no friends here. I have many, many acquaintances, but no friends." He has lived here three years.

Life as a Cactus

I feel restless and ill at ease. Do you ever have that, a feeling of not seeming altogether connected to yourself or the world? It makes me brittle and, I regret to say, a little spiky. I am comfortable only with A. and B., or with complete strangers--because I have no need to protect myself from either. I experience relief from the disconnectedness only when I am utterly absorbed in the mysteries I have taken to reading (Walter Mosley, Gar Anthony Haywood) or in some kind of work, whether it be vacuuming or actually working. As a result, the house is spotless, and last night, I worked until after midnight.

Neither is altogether bad, especially the latter, as yesterday I took the girls to the orthodontist for the evaluation. (I am still reeling from the sticker shock.) As with our dentist's office, everyone--from the receptionist to the office manager to the doctor himself--was so nice that I was tempted to pitch a tent and make a home for myself in the waiting room (where there is an aquarium with a big wide-eyed puffer fish that has such a charming expression, if it can be said that a face is capable of having an expression) for the rest of my life. A more cynical person might remark that if you want someone to be courteous and kind to you, paying that someone more than I paid for my car is a big incentive.

Like my grandfather who lived through the Depression and who always paid cash for everything (including every car he ever bought and every house he ever owned), I have a horror of debt. Which means to put braces on the girls' teeth, I will just work more. A lot more. At least one friend has suggested that I let the girls grow up and get their own damn braces, paying out of their own grown-up pockets when they have such pockets. My spirit rebels. According to my way of thinking, I am their mother, and so it is my job to provide for their needs.

In other news, after all my gloating, I am disheartened and a little disappointed by my performance on my final exam way back when. Though I took the test in May, I just got my transcript:

100 multiple choice questions: 79%
4 essays: 91.7 %
4 blind tastings: 77.5 %

I truly believed I had done better, so my lack of awareness shocks me. I guess you really don't know what you don't know when you don't know it. If I had not already registered for the certification program, I would probably reconsider. The instructor gave us to understand that the certification program is much more rigorous than the prerequisite classes, and the tests more difficult. I guess I could have studied more, but I would have been very tired and cranky. Cranky like I am now, but with better reason.

Reserve All Judgment

As dangerous as it may be to reserve judgment ("In consequence, I’m inclined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person"), I am committed to the attempt, and today, the reason is an interview Tavis Smiley did with Prince aka The Artist Formerly Known As.

When asked about all the crazy things people say about him, Prince said he didn't believe in retaliating: "It's a hurtful place, the world, in and of itself--we don't need to add to it."

It's a remarkable interview. You have to love someone who talks like that. As Cornel West says, "Break it down, Brother Prince."

(That being said, I don't subscribe to all his views. For one thing, he doesn't vote. At all. Ever. Also, I believe our beliefs about religion differ considerably.)

Subject to Change Without Warning

Last night, I felt a little unhappy. I stubbed my feelings on a friend--not that she intended it, but I felt it. And I'd spent maybe 12 hours trying to figure out the computer mess. And I was alone. And. And. And. Yet I told Myself that who knows how quickly my feelings might change, I could not even guess at what might happen to change them, life bes like that sometimes.

Today, a big manly friend came to my aid with the computer problem. Though I had solved the virus, I had not managed to rid my life of its effects, and my friend did so. I am grateful, and grateful for his good nature in so doing.

Then I received an unexpected email from a kindly stranger who requested some of my writing in order to consider reprinting said writing, which means--if it happens--unexpected money. Which would be wonderful, as one of my worries was that I had spent all day yesterday not earning money.

And then I took Myself out to dinner tonight. We went to Lucille's and ate in the bar, and our server, Kim, was so attentive and welcoming that we considered spending the rest of the evening there. While we waited for our dinner, we read a terrific book, Black Noir, which Chicago C. had sent to us. Not what we usually read, but the writing is so good.

(Unfortunately, we did happen to overhear the conversation of three middle-aged men who were also dining in the bar. One regaled the other two with a charming story about how he'd met a woman in a bar, and she'd asked if he could sing, so he launched into a rendition of a song he insists was called "Let's Get Drunk and Screw." It got worse than that. I was seated very near to them, so they must have known I could hear everything they said. I think it gave them an extra little thrill to be extra disgusting, as they spoke loudly and self-consciously, and kept looking around to see if anyone was looking at them. I did not look at them, nor did I allow my face to betray my feelings. I am a rock. I am an i-i-i-i-i-i-island.)

Then we walked around with a cup of tea and looked in shop windows and bought a corkscrew and thought about how nice it was to walk around at night in the warm summer air.

Also, we met a big handsome man, but when he asked for our business card, we thought he literally wanted our business card, and we truthfully said that we didn't have one, only to realize later that he had been asking for our telephone number. Oh, well. Missed again, eh. We are sometimes a little slow on the uptake.

(Why am I referring to ourselves in the second-person plural, you may ask. I think because tonight I was very much enjoying my own company. Especially with the contrast seated in triplicate at the table next to me.)