Finally Sinking In

In case you haven't heard, October was a doosey. Since my last post, five weeks ago on this wonder of cyberspace called Blogger, I've gotten married, travelled to Japan, quit my current job of fourteen years, and accepted a new job that requires a 2000 plus mile move west to Seattle leaving my new wife behind to sell the condo.

Since returning home from Japan, I've been a scheduling fool. If you are in this state, you've probably heard from me about getting togehter 'One last time.' While a small handful of friends couldn't be squeezed in, I did manage to work up a hectic schedule that saw me attending eleven lunches, twelve dinners, one family going away party, and a breakfast in two weeks. This left me little time to fix up the place for sale or consider what to pack.

Sounds like I'm complaining or that I prefer house work over friends. With the staggering amount of good news in October, I'm just trying to keep a level head and see the potential good alongside the potential bad (as part of my Velvet Murphy approach to life.) So when a friend talks about how awesome the new gig will be, I mention the political quality surrounding the creation of this position. When someone tells me Seattle is awesome, I mention that I'm leaving thirty-seven years of relationships and experiences behind.

Johnny D. is the kind of man guys aspire to be; Easy going, intelligent, funny, and willing to accept a man crush from me. He credits me with saving his kid from certain parking lot death even though I was simply part of the search team, not the hero. John is also part of my poker crew made up of current and ex music industry fellas. We've met at my place a dozen times in the last couple years to experience a constant ebb and flow of nickels and dimes while chatting away like school girls.

At the last poker night ever, this last Friday, John exercised one of his other admirable qualities: Honesty. During our extended goodbyes in the parking lot around one am, there was a lull. John said "Moving is something you're supposed to do when you're twenty. I figured, at our age, we're all here. We're settled. And we'd be growing old and playing poker together." While I'm most certainly paraphrasing, the gist of that statement resonates with me. It struck to the core of my hesitation.

I'm not dying and I'll be back as much as humanly / financially possible. But there is no kidding myself. Relationships will fizzle, become awkward, and perhaps die. I've thrown myself into this situation not fully comprehending the full extent of the consequences. The thought of a single relationship perishing has me second guessing this entire thing.

Like a child who won't look at you when you leave, as if gone unseen you've never left, I'm finding it hard to finish typing this post. If I wrap it up, and make my final poignant point I may crumble teary eyed on the bed. So let's just say, to all of you that I'm troubling with a two-thousand mile gap, you will be missed and the rumored fizzly, awkward, death of our friendship has been greatly exaggerated.

Too Swamped to Post Again

... Busy flying out for last minute interview.

Theraputic Coffee

The lady is in Minneapolis because I was supposed to play poker last night. I use the word poker loosely; We also play baseball, screw your neighbor, and have even played war for money. I also use the word money loosely. Last time I ended the night up over twenty dollars which, considering we play for nickels and dimes, means I had a stellar night. It's hard to get my six music industry guy friends on the same to organize a game, so when I had four on board I wrote the date in my calendar. Mere hours before I was to steal their money with my mad skills, I received three cancellations.

The lady sits in her room whenever I host poker night and is generally a good sport about not disrupting the guy talk with frequent visits. Needless to say it's boring for her so I always let her know as soon as we've settled on a date. This way she can make plans of her own. Hence the trip to Minny. Sometimes we all need time alone. While chilling with my lady has all the appropriate ingredients to provide a pleasant evening, the scarce "me" time is always a welcome occurrence. With no poker, I was going to get all the "me" time I needed.

For numerous reasons these last few weeks have been a mentally dizzying affair and the anxious, agitated state my brain resides reeks of nervous break down. It's brought on from too much and (strangely) too little going on. The list is long: Wedding plans, honeymoon plans, too much to do at work, no word on Seattle, family deaths, and now a financial blunder of sorts: Due to the poor responses for our wedding (Over forty percent of those invited have sent regrets) we are faced with coming in shy of our contractually defined food and beverage minimum to the tune of over two grand. While we were going to spend this money either way, this two grand is now just going to be handed over to the hotel in return for nothing. This hurts my frugal planning heart. My response to pressure varies. I'll rise to the occasion normally but this weekend I crumbled under the weight of it all. Crumbled as in sat in front of the TV, ate too much, and moped around sans lady. Needing a pick me up, I went to breakfast.

One of my greatest pleasures is this first meal of the day. The delicious food is partly the reason but it's also because breakfast is usually a mellow, un-rushed occurrence where I can regroup and unwind. For this reason even having breakfast alone is a pleasure. Parking at the counter, reading, and sipping coffee for an hour or two settles my soul. The dish washing station was directly in front of me. When my waitress would clean a few plates, the German gentleman next to me would exclaim "Herr Kaffee!" and answer any English to German translations asked of him. A chatty, coffee guzzling lady was to my left. Without my book, I would have suffered accounts of her grandchildren and perhaps worse.

I loose track of how much coffee I've consumed when the refills / top offs occur constantly. Even so, I'm positive I was working on a fifth cup when I gazed into the rising steam for what seemed like minutes. An answer to my anxious melancholy rose with the steam from the coffee and I broke this beverage stare down with a vision of the lady's smiling face.

Death Had a Busy Summer

I'm so swamped I'm mentally tired. Few loose ends remain with the wedding but there are those few. The honeymoon is slightly planned; Loose clippings are strewn about our living room begging to be scoured and edited down to a casual itinerary. 4th quarter releases have kept the large format printers at work buzzing, my interns busy, and my blogging hat ignored. I've applied for the job four weeks ago now, with only one response from HR and no interviews scheduled. Add to the mix a dead aunt and cousin, and it's not hard to imagine my clouded psyche.

My younger cousin Elizabeth lost her battle with health issues derived from years of anorexia and heroin abuse. She was an energetic, always polite girl who possessed stunning beauty even if she never thought so. Anorexia brought on by body-image induced teenage confusion provided me with an awkward moment where I introduced myself as if a stranger. I knew she was coming to lunch. In fact she was the reason for the lunch. But as I said hello to the various relatives numbering in the double digits, I saved her for last, extended my hand and said "Hi, I'm Tom." Eventually she rebounded, filled out, but still looked to the magazine covers for who she should be and what she should look like. This led to breast implants at eighteen, submissions to Playboy, and five year heroin habit that riddled her with health problems such as seizures, the likes of such ultimately ended her time on Earth.

Sue never forgot to tell me about the time I came to her house, was asked how dinner was, and responded "This beef tastes like rubber." I'm sure it did, she wasn't known for her cooking. Her husband Ken is a despicable sort that never missed an opportunity to belittle even a budding teenage psyche. It's unfortunately a popular club, but I belong to (along with many of my relatives) the "I Don't Really Care for Ken Club." He's a self made millionaire from peddling copy machines coupled with a victorious lawsuit against Xerox that netted him some ungodly amount of dough. His offspring was not invited to the wedding as they are a cackling, self-absorbed duo. Heather, the oldest, shares a profession with yours truly. On the rare occasion she visits you'll be subjected to hour long stories about her trials as a design genius and yet not once has she even acknowledged we share a similar traits. Somehow, amidst all this ugly, Sue was a good egg. Maybe not a bright, shiny light of good egg, but certainly one of the good ones.

Sue had smoked almost her entire life. Watching her mom and dad perish from cigarette induced cancer wasn't enough incentive to quit. For two years now she has been bed ridden and required to sit up in bed so her lungs wouldn't fill with liquid. I haven't spoken to her in quite a while, and it was no surprise to receive a regret to our wedding invite. I sent seventy-five dollars of white daisies and yellow roses to her memorial and can't shake the image of her face or the fact that I never said goodbye.

I've had second thoughts about moving away. While I haven't been offered the job, I still consider it wise to mentally prepare and accept such a huge change as a possibility. If I move away it might not be forever but what's going to bring me back? The need to be around my loved ones, or my attendance at their funeral?

Off the Meat

My friend Greg makes the best chili I've ever had. His graduation from culinary school provided him with a bag of tricks, but he also has a discerning tongue. Food is more than a meal with Greg. When dining together we often talk about the subtleties of a certain plate, and are generally on the same page. Somehow eating with him reminds me to slow down and taste my food. I mean really taste it, savor it.

Sadly Greg doesn't own a restaurant I can frequent. Not sure if his dreams involve such an idea, but I'd design his logo and menu for free. Receiving an invitation to a meal at his house is a welcome treat. Besides having a kick-ass wife, an adorable string bean daughter, and a remarkably verdant back yard, the seemingly effortlessly prepared meal always satisfies. And there isn't a scrap of meat in his house.

For a long time now, I've been contemplating going veggie. The reasons are obvious and somewhat endless. At the core of the reasons are that I don't enjoy the idea of killing something and then benefiting from it. I'm not a spiritual man but I subscribe to the idea that everything affects everything. A calf restricted from sitting or turning in their cage that also can't avoid standing in their own fecal matter doesn't scream yummy to me. Or humane. The rancher that deals with this sort of thing has to become desensitized to it or suffer mentally. In their desensitization they bury simple / basic traits of kindness which eventually will be expressed to other humans on or off the ranch. And so on.

There is no way I'm swearing off fish however. Which makes me a Pescetarian. How was this line determined? Not sure, but with Tokyo around the corner, I'd be foolish to go hardcore. I've had dreams about Japanese sushi. I will be skipping the chicken and horse shashimi.

It's only been a week and I can't say I'll never have meat again. I feel better, am sleeping better, and haven't really missed it all that much. Next thing you know I'll be protesting naked outside a fur store. Don't worry, I won't share photos of that.

Velvet Murphy

I've had only a few moments of self enlightenment in life. One was inspired by a Velvet Underground song in my teens. "And everything was all right" might seem like a throw away lyric spewed forth by a hippie laying in the middle of a field, but taken to heart and applied generously, you'd be surprised at how comforting those five words are. Everything is all right turned into everything will go on. Letting one small thing ruin your day is setting you up for a big tumble when something big actually happens. How you react to life's daily trials affects your mood, the moods of those you encounter, and can / should ultimately set a mellow, relaxed pace for your entire life.

Murphy's Law provided me with the other moment. In it's original dismal verse, it paints a picture of an unlucky soul that the world is set on destroying. Take from that the basic message, with none of the depressed self loathing, and you get: Anything that can happen will. A phrase that, in it's preparatory sense, allows someone to consider every possible outcome in any situation. Coupled with the Velvet lyrics, I'm provided caution and comfort simultaneously.

Driving down the highway I am both worried about getting cut off and all right with it. When a loved one passes, I'm never surprised because sometimes people die. When they're gone, Lou's words level me out and push fond memories of the deceased into consciousness. I'm often one of the few at a funeral with a smile.

A few days ago the job was posted. I've waitied over two months for the post and have been trying to get to Seattle for nearly six. I've always known that things might not go my way. In prep, I've attempted to think of every possibility so, if confronted by bad news, I would be only mildly depressed as opposed to homicidal. For all the attention and thought I've given this job quest, I neglected considering one possibility.

The Seattle company had lay-offs just prior to the job being posted. Instead of walking papers, open positions were offered to the newly jobless. I hadn't considered this as a possibility, which is fine because I can't think of everything. But had the position been handed to someone with one foot out the door, my fragile kitten self would have been sent spiraling. Or maybe I would have been happy for them to get the position. After all, I still have a job. Even if I hate it.

Too Swamped to Post ...

... Busy applying for job.

Gift Guilt

Our third wedding shower was this weekend, which is good because we desperately needed a new ice cream scooper. Some of our household items are comprised of a mismatched, hand me down mess. Not wanting my divorce to linger, I succumbed to material requests in an attempt to get the ex out of my hair quickly. Mom provided me with spare cookware and plates that met my low maintenance needs for nearly a decade. Getting new stuff, especially since I asked for new stuff from some of you the first time, upsets what little etiquette I have. No matter, because all of this if for the lady.

At first the lady wanted to elope. The idea of a fairytale wedding never appealed to her. As preliminary plans were laid for our secret nuptials, the lady decided she wanted her sisters there. Once they were added, she couldn't get married without having a few of her close friends there. Inviting a few friends and sisters would upset the uninvited mom, and if mom was coming dad would surely be upset if not asked.

Even though our invite list expanded to include close to two-hundred people, remnants of that initial plan remained. Making our wedding bigger, we had only one rule we never comprised: Make sure everyone had a good time. Beyond that, every tradition we could break has been tossed aside. We will not be lighting a unity candle, I won't be fishing out a garter with my teeth, and having desert and wedding cake seemed redundant, so we opted for a cheese cake ending to your meal.

Both the Minneapolis and Chicago showers were well attended, featured our favorite drinks / snacks, and were lovingly planned by our friends and family. Thinking about this planning, we are overwhelmed. When thanked for all this attention, our families and friends respond similarly with earnest sincerity about how much they love both of us. Friends have said that an evening dealing with my ex was not offset by the pleasure of my company, resulting in sparse invitations to social engagements. In contrast, everyone likes the lady. So much so that everyone, no matter how much they like us on an individual basis, like the combination of us even better.

I'm at a loss as to why the lady went thirty-two years without getting hitched. I'd like to take this moment to thank all those less than perfect practice dudes for leaving her alone. I've never been happier. I've never been more myself, with no filters, and I've never smiled as much as when I see her face after a long day. The gifts you give are an expression of how you feel about the lady and I. They are given freely because you are happy for us. Every time I guiltily think about getting gifts from you, I'm reminded of the lady's smile; The only gift I really want.

My Life On Hold

Summer is typically a tough time to make plans. Mostly because so many plans hit the table, without enough empty slots to accommodate them. While most of these plans are social and welcome, it's the downtime that gives pause for my mind to wander and obsess about the Seattle gig. I've been lying to myself. Tricking myself to believe this is not taking so long. Once I realized the self inflicted denial, I started to feel exhausted from the anxious, excited feelings. There's nothing I think about more.

You should see my closets. Considering a possible move, I've been boxing up non-essentials for months. I love organizing, so even if I don't get the gig, I'll be happy to have things tidy. Five garbage bags later, I can see the back of several cabinets, have consolidated plastic tubs, and have separated myself from so many "One day" items. Cleaning and organizing is a welcome side effect to having anxious feelings.

I should be painting the molding, fixing the closet door, putting some wood putty where the dog chewed the cabinet, and caulking the tub. These were the first chores I considered when first applying for the job, since selling the place would go smoother after tended to. When was that first interview? April? Let me check ... March 18th was my first phone interview. That's over four months ago. Or eighteen weeks, or one-hundred-twenty-six days, or three-thousand-twenty-four hours, or one-hundred-eighty-one-thousand-four-hundred-forty minutes, or ten-million-eight-hundred-eighty-six-thousand-four-hundred seconds.

Considering this, it's excusable that I've found premature preparatory chores to keep my brain busy. Especially since I haven't even applied for the job yet.

You're Not Helping

We sent your wedding invite this week. The lady and I had a nice moment taking turns throwing clumps of invites into that big blue box before going out to breakfast. I'll never be able to forget the smile on the lady's face as the last of the marital mailing slipped from her fingers.

We're both in our mid thirties and have some money saved for the wedding. Having it completely paid for by the parents is tempting, but it makes us feel icky. The parents are helping and it's understood any money received is our wedding gift as well to help pay for it all; Whatever we need it for: Wedding bills, honeymoon, or a new iPhone, it's our gift. Grandma's friend Karen, visiting from Germany this October, wants to know what special German flavored gift we'd like for our wedding. A fancy, German born gift is not going to mollify our planning hearts into forgetting that Grandma invited a woman we've never met without asking.

We've been forced to make a few tough decisions about who to invite. There are a few friends we would love to invite, but space does not allow. The capacity of the room is so tight that a single person over one-hundred-sixty will require tables to spill onto the dance floor in a connecting room. That awkward moment when the bus boys come to take your table really makes you feel wanted.

Asked if Karen from Germany could attend, room might have been made but we've decided to put our foot down in an attempt to squash any further discourteous maneuvers from grandma. With my backing and assurances, the lady made an awkward, uncharacteristic, and lengthy phone call to a woman who has manipulated, lied, and belittled her for thirty-seven years. Not going to say the lady and I feel good about buttin' heads with grandma, but it is an accomplishment of sorts for the lady.

The lady and I have wedding plans under control. The invites we lovingly dumped into the mail box had been stamped and ready for months. Almost everything is done and the level of stress is minimal. Sure a move across the country might escalate the stress, but my money is on grandma being responsible for at least some of the escalation.