Nine Years Ago

It’s our 9-year wedding anniversary today and it’s been tough. I had hoped to be out at a fancy restaurant, sipping a glass of wine. I was REALLY looking forward to our 10th anniversary because I figured 10-years was worthy of taking a big trip — Hawaii, Ireland, Spain, a Mediterranean cruise — I shouldn’t have put it off.

My friend B sends me a number of encouraging cards. One of the recent ones had a quote from Zora Neale Hurston,

“There are years that ask the questions and years that answer.”

To that I would add,

“There are years to try on new things and see how they fit.”


I promise, I won’t really try this new hairstyle…

I could come up with a long list of things I’d like to do, and actually I have done exactly that. But I read it and it feels empty. Such a bunch of on-the-surface, goals, dreams, and happiness malarky.

Ya know what I really want? I want to spread love. Oh, now I sound like a hippy. But really, in March I had been having this epiphany and was feeling overwhelming love for people, people I previously didn’t even like, annoying people.

I don’t know where this feeling came from, but I was looking forward to a summer of loving everybody. I was planning on having family, old friends, new friends, maybe people on the street out to our house. And I was going to entertain and cook and bake and there’d be music and dancing.

You have to understand, this is not like me. I’m shy and reserved.

Shy girl
But I was bubbling over and overflowing with feelings of generosity and luv. It was crazy! And kind of scary!

But then the floor dropped out from under me and here I am. The problem now, is re-lighting the spark. And wondering what I have to give. There won’t be a pool. Or horses in the back yard. Or all the other stuff I have now that I wanted to share. There’s just me and that doesn’t seem like much.

But it’s something. I know it is. I know what it is to hurt. I know what it is to be lonely. I know what it is to lose hope. And with that understanding and compassion, perhaps I can do something to make a difference, not a huge, save-the-world difference, but a little difference anyway.

So how’s this for an “About Me”?

My Dad was a real cowboy. But not me. I was given up for adoption and raised in the suburbs. But what makes a person a real cowboy or a real cowgirl? Guts, that what! And I have plenty of those.

I am on my own again, after nine years of marriage. I’m breakin new trails, riding my trusty steed, with my sidekick, Java at my side. I thank God for friends and family and all the blessings in my life.

I hope you’ll settle back with a good cup of coffee (or tea for you healthy, calm types) and enjoy the story as it unfolds. It’s a mystery, sure to be full of drama, surprises, a few tears, new experiences, and lotsa laughter.

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  1. I had to read back through your blog to catch up on events. Hang in there! I don’t have a trusty steed, but maybe I can ride along on my bicycle!

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