We Are Not Alone

I've come to realise just what a unique position I was in.

My husband travelled for his job, leaving every week before the sun rose on Monday morning and returning usually after midnight on Friday. For nine years, I was 'home alone' for four days each week, and then on Fridays from 7am-7pm while he was in the office. I was alone on birthdays - but thankfully not on birth days. I was alone on holidays. I was alone on anniversaries. And, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary - including my own upbringing, for most of those nine years I thought everyone lived like this.

I thought everyone was vigilant and wakeful at night. Everyone with children, at least. I thought everyone was scheduled and structured and spent their time always on, always busy, unable to relax. I thought everyone kept calm and carried on.

And I knew lots of people had it worse than I did. So I didn't complain. Not overtly. Outgoing introverts seek other outlets.

I busied myself, as you do, with the goings-on of my children. With the forced friendships of 'Mommy-and-Me' classes at the pool. With the friends who hadn't abandoned us when we left the city for the suburbs. With overseeing the maintenance of a first house. With scheduling visits and roadtrips and long walks and meals. And in all of this scheduling, I lost myself. Literally. I lost the ability to see clearly the situation I lived in. The incessant busyness of cleaning and decluttering and surfing the web, and sourcing and researching and volunteering built a wall between my life and 'the rest of the world.'

And so I became a bystander. Where once I had carried giant balloons in festival parades for the World Cup, I was now carrying Red Robin balloons tethered to Vera Bradley bags. Where I once had hopped a plane to Seattle 'just because', I was now drinking 'Pete's Blend' on a bench surrounded by prairie grass. Gloriously, I had turned my life into a role I longed to play but with a script I couldn't read. And I seemed, like a voyeur, to be watching it all happen from the cheap seats.

I remember the day I first thought: "I did this to survive." It was five months after my younger son was born and I was planning the daily 'afternoon outing'. Recalling both the freedom of my own youth and the memories of long days spent in offices with windows that wouldn't open, I wanted my children to spend as much time outdoors as possible regardless the weather. As I was planning where to go on that bitterly cold day, my best friend phoned to cancel her plans to join us. Her oldest was sick the day before and it was travelling through the family at breakneck speed. I made plans with her to get food and drink on her table that night when she said something that threw me: "I keep thinking that I just have to make it until 6pm and then he'll be home and I can relax."

I have no idea how many times she'd uttered this phrase previously. A dozen times? Perhaps a hundred times. But it was like reading a verse or hearing a song that you've heard so many times before and only now really understanding what it means. She only had hours to wait until she could relax. She only had hours. I had days. It was just Tuesday, after all. I had days. Days before I felt like I might be able to relax. Days, actually just a precious 48 hours, that would be chewed up and spit out and then Monday would come again. And then I would have more days. And I realised that not everyone lived like this.

I went through the afternoon focused on getting the meal prepared for her. I piled the children in the station wagon and drove the 30 minutes to her house. After setting the table, getting the oven prepped, and cleaning up what messes I could, I made the reverse trip with both the rush hour traffic and the realization that I was in a new place emotionally closing in on me. Later that night, when the boys had been lovingly sanitized from our trip into that familiar but infected home, I sat on my sofa in front of 'Location, Location, Location' on the DVR and sobbed.

I didn't answer the phone when my husband called that night. I listened to the voice mail he'd left with a numbness spreading through me. I remember ringing him back, cognizant of the distance in both my heart and my voice. I remember thinking how unfair I was being. How removed. How cold. He told me I was. And I remember thinking "I did this to survive. I did it to survive being alone and what it feels like to be alone. I am alone and I don't want to be. You made me be alone."

We are made to be in relationships. We are not made to be alone. That we have to or that we believe that it's OK if we are is a lie. No one earns points for being alone in a world that is full of harmonies and dissonances and complements and contrasts.

Two years ago, I asked to not be alone anymore. He said, "I never meant for you to feel alone. Because you never seemed like you were."



Today's conundrum:
If we pay to have something installed 'within 48 hours', are weekends included in that 48-hour window?

Future conundrum:
Do fish really gotta swim and birds really gotta fly?

Thanks for perusing the blog. Speak again soon.   tIO x

Smooth Operator

"No need to ask." It's Sade: poetry wrapped in dulcet tones and red/hot/blue jazz. Her words carried me through humid summers and frigid winters in my youth. Listening again, I realise there was depth and truth in them that I could not have known then. But I hear it now and it's wonderful. Like a favorite book I've picked-up to read again and found that I'd skipped whole chapters.

In the interim, I have grown older (certainly) and wiser (thankfully). And I have lived. True, I may not have been to Somalia; but in my own way I have collected pearls by the side of the road. I have cherished the day. I have felt like the king of sorrows, experienced the sweetest taboo, and been implored to hang on to my love. And all-the-while wondering how I was going to make a living. It may sound all heart-break and loneliness, but I hear hope and courage. Optimism. With undertones of soundness of spirit. Perhaps I naturally inject a bit more humor into things, but still...  My heart warms when I hear that first song again:


Good Tuesday, blogfriends. Thanks for perusing this blog; blog you again soon.   tIO x

PS: Could I leave Sade alone without Spandau Ballet? No. My girlish memories forbid it.

"Dear Diary..."

It will soon be a 'New Year' - which means it's time for a new diary. Perhaps given (or received) as a present? Regardless, here are some of my favorites to write down all of your appointments (and disappointments, if you're not an optimist):


1. 2.  3.
4.  5.
6.  7.
8.   9. 
10.11.


1.Liberty of London Turquoise Leather Slim Memo Diary, 2.Moleskine 12months Daily Planner, 3.Bird Applique Diary by tailormade on Etsy, 4.German Page-a-Day Calendar available at amazon.com, 5.Zenbelly Planner by zenbelly on Etsy, 6.Puzzle Calendar from V&A Museum Shop, 7.Keep Calm Spoof Printable by littlebrownpen on Etsy, 8.Neverending Adhesive-Tape Calendar at V&A Museum Shop, 9.Monet Pocket Diary, available at amazon.com, 10.Filofax Diary Refills, and 11.Emma Bridgewater Polka Dot Diary


If you carry your diary electronically, as many of us do now, why not reminisce a bit and read one of these diaries this year? Perhaps on your Kindle.
a.b.
c.d.
e.


a.The Country Diary of An Edwardian Lady, by Edith Holden, b.The Year of Living Biblically, by A.J.Jacobs, c.When Wanderers Cease to Roam by Vivian Swift, d.Bridget Jones' Diary by Helen Fielding, and e.Diary of a Nobody by George Grossmith

Now time to get scheduling! But not too much; don't forget to be a Ferdinand every once in a while. (Better schedule that, too, right? *grins*)

Happy Christmas! And happiest of new diaries -and comfortable schedules- to you.  tIO x

Smell Ya Later

I was thinking about scents. I smelled something the other day and for a flash I was 10, stepping out of the Green Room and into the hallway leading to the auditorium to perform in the end-of-piano-camp recital. It was a combination of coconut oil, sweat, air conditioning, polished wood, fresh carpet, and Lauren (by Ralph Lauren) perfume. Quite a combination, no?

And so many, many years later - with not a drop of either coconut oil or Lauren in site - it came back.

Fascinating.

I have been thinking about scent memory ever since. And while thinking, I was trying to remember all of the fragrances I've worn over the years. Can I even remember all of them, would be a better question.

So, I'm going to try. Right here and now. Here goes: (and feel free to comment openly about what you remember about each of these, too)

Love's Baby Soft - my first and I will always remember it

Bill Blass - thought this was v high brow as a teenager; back when I started reading Seventeen and Town&Country

Alyssa Ashley Musk - the smell of my summer holidays in Arizona

Lauren - my 'I'm-not-going-to-wear-Liz-Claiborne-too-no-matter-how-cute-the-bottle-is' scent

Samsara - first perfume chosen for me; happily abandoned when a wonderful friend declared her love of it (we literally swapped scents and I got...)

Shalimar- my scent of choice - still; like a comfortable sweater on a cool night and a mug of Earl Grey, perhaps because of my memories of that great friend

Obsession - my second scent of choice; my bold, 'you-can-smell-me-coming' scent

Kiehl's No 1 - this became my 'I-want-to-love-this-but' scent

L'eau d'ambre - close cousin (to my nose) of Shalimar; just lovely

The par un ete - LOVE this; so wildly different from anything I'd ever worn or do wear

Paul&Joe Bleu - light and powdery (imagine that); perfect for summertime or a scent pick-me-up in winter

Hypnose - another cousin to my beloved Shalimar; reminds me of how royalty smells - perhaps due to color as have no idea how 'royalty' smells

Also, I always wanted to wear "White Shoulders". It's too flower-y for me. And the girls who wore it were as well. Same with "Amazing Grace".

Ten-O-Six and Noxema were hard to keep off the list, but I had to - strictly speaking. You understand.

Now, I seem to be a soap-and-water girl. And I get swept-up in the scents of moisturizers instead of perfumes. Some of them I want to eat! But isn't it interesting to sit and ponder about such things as scents. They really do make a lasting impression.

And when I grow old, I will try to wear Chanel #5 with grace and aplomb. My grandmother did, and it always seemed to be the perfect 'grandmother-ly' smell. That and pie crust and lemon wood polish.


No conundrums today, kids. Let's just breathe deeply and reminisce.

Thanks for perusing this blog; blog you again soon!