It’s a beautiful summer’s day, mid 80’s, sunny and low humidity and I have decided to give myself a break. I’m usually all set with a list in hand of things I need to accomplish on my day off and an addendum list of all the things I hope to accomplish before I die, like finishing those photo albums, but instead I decided to take a nap. Well, actually I did do the things on my master list and then I treated myself to some local BBQ for lunch and decided that a nice cold beer was the perfect accompaniment to that meal. The beer made me sleepy, so I took a nap, a much needed nap. When I got up, I decided to have another beer. I’m a grownup, I can do things like that and not feel guilty about it…okay a little guilty, but enjoyable nonetheless.
I’m known for being hard on myself and as of late, I’ve been even more so. However, being hard on myself has allowed me to raise two kids without their father’s help, build a sustainable career and get my debt under control. Pushing myself to the limit has also allowed me to improve my store’s look, morale and sales. It has allowed me to push through my depression and turn my challenges into blog stories that I am proud of and hope to nurture into a podcast as well. Being hard on myself has its benefits, but in the classic words of Joel from the movie Risky Business sometimes you need to say, “What the fuck.” and that is what I am doing today.
I look at the clock and note that I have 4 hours to play, to do whatever I want before I need to get to bed so I don’t mess up my sleep, which is very easy for me to do and not wanted. What do I want to do with these 4 precious hours? I could lay on the sofa and watch TV. One of my best days ever was when my kids were young and in school. I left work early because I wasn’t feeling well and when I got home, my dad was out. I had the house to myself so I grabbed a bag of nacho flavored Doritos, a 2 liter of Coke, laid on the sofa and watched I love the 80’s in blissful solitude. I could do something like that, but it’s been done.
I could sit in my backyard and enjoy the serenity of my garden, listening to the wind chime dancing in the background and the trickle of my little water fountain, but the squirrels (my arch enemies), the airplanes and the hum of my neighbor’s AC unit would ruin my zen moment. I can still hear the chimes, fountain and unfortunately the hum of my neighbor’s AC unit from my office window, so I have decided to stay inside and write instead. Accompanied by a bag of Barbara’s Jalapeno Cheese Puffs, my new snack indulgence I can slip into a mindset of blissful summer memories and crack open a third beer.
Earlier today, I took a little walk to the mailbox to drop off a belated birthday card to a friend. Walking through the neighborhood, I passed a house I used to frequent as a small child. There had been a tree house way up in a mulberry tree that I used to hang out with my friend Gordy and eat mulberries. I have always admired that house and its gardens and today I realized that I believe I have been attempting to copy my childhood memories of that yard in my own. I haven’t done a very good job, but I suppose I have used it as a guide instead of a template and I’m good with that. After all, I can never recreate that time or place, but I can try to capture the feel of it, a time in my life where all I had to worry about was sitting in a tree house eating mulberries and be certain to get home before the streetlights came on.
With all that’s been going on, I have been seriously thinking about making my escape. I have been researching other states to move to, cost of living, job opportunities and interestingly enough, tiny houses. Could I do it? Could I find someplace to run to and find a good job that I enjoy as well as a home I could pay for outright? Maybe. I suppose I could do that, if I really, really wanted to. Do I want to? Not really, really. I love my home, I love my neighborhood, even if it is not what it used to be. I love my memories that flood my mind as I walk to the mailbox to send a birthday card to someone who lives a few blocks away because I know how special if feels to receive a real piece of snail mail that isn’t a bill or junk. I don’t want to lose that, ever, but I may not have a choice in the future.
I hear a bird chirp outside my office window, the familiar humming of my neighbor’s AC unit and the chimes, the chimes that bring me back time and time again to my happy place. I suppose I could take the chimes with me as well as my furnishings and memories. I can recreate the color schemes I have lovingly chosen for this home. I can find another home with wooden floors or have them put in, but they won’t creak in the same spots they do now as a rock in a chair, use my rowing machine or get dressed for the day. I could recreate the scene, but not the moments.
Maybe a third beer was a bad idea, maybe not. All I know is that I love this house, I love my life and I love my memories. I have no idea where I’m headed, but I do know that I will take my memories with me wherever I go as well as my wind chimes, fake palm trees, pink flamingos and pineapples, but not the neighbor’s humming AC unit. I can write this blog from anywhere and given the finances and willingness, I suppose I could start a podcast with my friend from anyway as well, though it would be a shame not to be in the same room as her.
As I wash down another handful of Barbara’s Jalapeno Cheese Puffs with the third beer I realize how fortunate I am. I have a good home and a plethora of memories, good and bad that have been formative. I have friends and family that are supportive of my dreams and comfort me when I have nightmares. I also have the means to share my thoughts and feelings with people near and far and that’s pretty darn cool.
I hope, for the most part you can say the same and have the means to raise a beverage or two or three, of your choice and occasionally say, “What the fuck.” It’s good to be alive…cheers!
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