So I’m counting Goats…
I visited last night with my cousin’s incredible baby, who I rarely get to see because they live in Vancouver. He’s unbelievable. It’s like he just knows me. Meeting this child for the first time totally rocked my world. He was a nudge in the right direction for taking pro-active steps to get my life on track. Suffice to say, I’d like one of my own some day soon.
And so I make lists. I’m a big list maker. I’ve made lists about the type of apartment I wanted to find, the kind of qualities I look for in a new job, the type of friends I want in my life, the sorts of things I would like to spend my time focusing on, and of course the very obvious – the type of mate I want to attract. These are like offering up secret wishes to the universe, by putting pen to paper and drawing them out of the ether and into my life.
Without further ado:
Sense of Humour
Playfulness/Sense of Adventure
A love of sex
A sense of love and respect for women
A love of dogs
A desire for children
A love of travel
A love of music
Appreciation for the arts
A love of nature
Supportive of my work and my dreams
Financial security and responsibility
Loves to cook
Serious health issues
Issues with his mom
Everyone at my house had a shitty day today, and clear across the board it was stress, exhaustion, and high emotion. All three of us ladies shed a tear at one point or another, and so you know what we did? We did what any red-blooded woman would do. We made cupcakes.
Now, they weren’t prize-winning. They lacked form and finesse, they were right out of a box, and they kind of stuck in the muffin tins. But they were chocolate, people, and isn’t that all that matters at the end of the day?
When the cupcakes reached the frosting coolness, we piled on the couch and watched Juno while it began to storm outside, and you know what? I don’t care that I have a bathtub sitting in my living room, a toilet in my bedroom, and a sink in my hallway. I don’t care that one entire wall of my bedroom and half of my ceiling has been ripped down. I don’t care that my new apartment is an utter shambles, and I will have to use half of it as storage until it’s habitable again, because none of that really matters. I am loved, and I have amazing family, and this summer is full of possibility. And when things start to get crazy, there’s always Duncan Hines.
o.k. I do care a little that my toilet is in my bedroom. C’mon already people!!!
I just woke up. Not a tossing and turning, and I guess I can’t sleep, but an ok, there’s the sun and another fresh new day kind of wake up. Except it’s three am.
It occurs to me that I seem to be a harbinger. In the last several relationships that I’ve had, I’ve been the closest thing that the other person has had to a real, lasting, meaningful adult relationship. I’ve been their brush with the domestic, and their taste of things like family, and settling down. Even in rather casual encounters, I seem to be the person who makes other people think about getting serious. The thing about this that seems to have ripped me out of my sleeping state is that all of these people have felt, for me, like brief stop-overs. I came close to feeling like I could stay forever once, but then that old restlessness set in again, and soon I began to feel like it too was temporary. I feel, in relationships, that I have to deliver a message, extract some information of my own, and then move on. What if that never, ever goes away?
I have tried most of my adult life to reconcile my bohemian thirst for experience and adventure with my biological impulse to find one solid mate with whom I can settle down and make babies. Now, the vastness of the universe seems to unfurl before me, and the possibilities are incalculable, but I feel like there is one more big piece that needs to click together before I can hope to get this right. Those of you who know me, probably can clearly see what that is, so if you feel inclined to send me a private note with your two cents, you are most welcome.
I’ve un-learned selfishness in the most masochistic fashion, I really have a firm grasp on compromise, I think I’ve sorted out fidelity, my grip on reality feels pretty tight now, I know when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em, and I think for sure I know when to walk away and when to run.
Is it that I just now need to know that I can spend several warm summer evenings on a train bound for nowhere, with only myself as company, and that it’s still a great ride?
I am never having beer and chicken wings for dinner on a school night again.
Today is happy with a chance of grinning. Increased sunny outlook with a high of plus positive and zero chance of precipitation. Even if it rains, our guaranteed low is snuggling with a good book and a doggie.
When I grow up, I want a cottage on a lake where I can invite my friends to take care of them for a little while. I want a haven filled with old quilts, a lot of great books, ridiculous board games, fishing equipment, a fire pit, an incredible kitchen, and really comfortable beds. Skinny dipping, and acoustic guitars, and good wine, and arts and crafts with things found in the woods. No power boats, no television, no loud neighbors.
If you came to visit, you would be greeted with great music, and a nice glass of whatever you like. You would unload your bags, and there would be pretty little snacks for grazing. Something would be chilling in the fridge near the dock, and your chair and towel would be set up. I’d have a stack of books and magazines selected with you in mind, and something delicious would be marinating for the grill later.
There would also be chocolate fondue.
After supper, there would be a huge fire, and quiet time counting the stars, and you would be full of peace. The air would be crisp and cool, and I would have extra sweaters if you needed one. They would all smell like lavender.
I’d sing you songs under the stars, and if you knew the words you could join in.
We’d each make a few wishes.
You would sleep better than you have in years, listening to all of the magical sounds that the woods make, and you would wake up with the sun to the smell of coffee and bacon. And loons. The sound of loons makes my heart sing.