Merde Revisited

The most wonderful little thing happened yesterday. I just have to share it. But I'll have to back up a little first, to a remnant of a not-so-wonderful and not-so-little thing. I'll try to be brief so I can get to the good part. Bear with me.


It's been 4 years and 2 months since my ex-pectorant moved out in order to "figure out what was going on in his head". It's been 4 years and 1 month since I figured out he wasn't coming back. It's been a few weeks less than that that since I found out he had been sleeping with his saxophone player (and a friend of mine) for at least 6 months. It's been one week less than that is since I filed for divorce. It's been 4 years since I found most of the bank accounts, the retirement funds, the kids' college funds and my inheritance were gone.


Needless to say. In the months following, I was a train wreck. Really. 

I was despondent. At the same time that I had a legion of great people surrounding me and helping me along, I felt so alone. I truly thought that I might never feel like myself again. But as with all things...time healed. Not only that, I found out that, in fact, I hadn't been myself for 25 years. And the real me came back...with a vengeance. And I had forgotten how much I liked her!

So enough of that story. I just needed to set the stage.  On to the cool thing.

Yesterday, as I was studying my imperfect French verb conjugations,  a reminder popped up on my Blackberry (a workhorse telephone that I've had for at least 3 1/2 years). You know, the kind of message that you put in to remind yourself of a birthday or an appointment.  The message said,

"Meet with Jennie for a laughing session about life's shit four 4 years before"

Apparently, my darling little sister had put this message in my phone  3 years ago, probably right after the divorce, and dated it for yesterday. Because she KNEW I'd be okay. And she KNEW that I was already returning to my former, former self. And because she's my darling little sister.

I began to laugh. I mean REALLY laugh. And I called her right away. And we laughed together. About life's shit 4 years before. About how much better than just "okay" I am now. And what good fertilizer shit really is.

Tuning In

I began blogging (do you suppose that is now an actual verb in the dictionary?) in January of this year. I was scared of the idea, wary of making my life so public, reluctant to make a commitment and worried that no one would care. But as with many things that frighten me, I did it anyway. And as with so many other things, like skydiving, having babies, working on commission, and moving to France (and oh so many more), the THING that scared the wits out of me, in the end presented me with unexpected rewards.

One of the many rewards of writing this blog and one which I never imagined, is the people I have met in the process. People who have somehow stumbled upon my blog or vice versa and have become regular readers and now, people I truly consider friends. I read about their lives, their thoughts, their art, their business, their whatever, and I feel as if we could meet for coffee every Monday morning and have a wee of a time!

 

There are so many of you and I think you know who you are. But one I want to mention today (because...yes....this is sort of a shameless plug) is Michelle Craft who writes Manifesting. Michelle ended up on my blog and I on hers through a mutual friend. She is a teacher...a guide...for the idea of manifesting your life and the things you want in your life. If any of you have ever read the book The Secret, it's basically that idea.

And that idea is, your destiny is in your hands but you must expect it...want it...ask for it...and visualize it. The idea is not new to me. This has always been basically my philosophy but often, and at different periods in my life, I've "fallen off the wagon".  And although I didn't see it during those times, afterwards it was very clear that my mind and my self-talk had directed me down a much darker road than was necessary.

Several years ago,  just after my ex-pectorant took off,  I was really very sick in both mind and body. At the time, I cleaned a small, private gym on Saturdays, for the opportunity to have a private work-out twice each week with a wonderful trainer named Kim. Kim turned out not to be just a trainer of my body but a sort of spiritual teacher for my cloudy mind. One day as she was pushing me to lift a few more pounds and we were talking (okay, I was whining),  I expressed, once again, my fear of the day (there were so many). The ex-pec had made off with all the cash and I was frightened of how I was going to make ends meet.  I lived in the dark with one light on because I was afraid I wouldn't have the money (and I had no job) to pay the light bill. Kim finally said to me "if you live as if you have nothing, you will have nothing. You need to live as if you have everything you need and it will come to you".

I know that sounds so simple...perhaps too simple...but when she said that to me, the switch turned back on. It was something I already knew but I had forgotten to live it. And at that moment, one which I will never forget, my life began to turn around. No, I didn't win a million dollars and go sailing off into the sunset. But a new job fell in my lap. I unexpectedly found renters to live in my extra bedrooms and catch me up on cash. I began the process of dating again (now there's something scary) and discovered that, in fact, I had lost the real me for many years and the old Delana could and would rise up from the ashes (oh my...how dramatic is that?).  And....eventually, the new/old Delana, decided that she wanted to move to France.

All this personal nonsense aside and back to the subject at hand, Michelle has also become a sort of trainer for my mind. I read her posts and she helps me stay on track. I ask her questions and sometimes challenge something she has said. And now I consider her a friend. How great is that?

Michelle hosts a radio show and has asked me, along with the friend that introduced us (an old high school classmate), to be her guests for today's segment. I consider this an honor. So here's the shameless plug:  The show is Tuesday, June 8 (today) at 8 pm French time and 1pm central time. You can follow the link here: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/uvisualeyes

If you can't catch the show live, I believe you can listen at a later time by clicking on the link to previous shows. We'll see what happens.  It's scary... but not as scary as dating or having babies, and though it makes me a little nervous, I'm going to do it anyway!  

 

Long Term Effects

GEY84MF792BM (please ignore)

The question was innocent enough. I mean, I realize that it’s something people want to know. But I’ve actually never been asked this question point blank…. up front…. in my face. And I was completely stymied. And a little bit freaked out.

 

The question was: “what is your long-term plan?”

The husband of a friend made this query as we were talking on Skype. They are coming to visit France this summer and we were talking rental cars, train schedules, and hotels. She had to leave the computer for a minute and he and I started talking. That’s when he dropped the bomb.

And it felt like a bomb. Really. My girlfriends and family have asked this question before, but in a much more roundabout way. And when such a question is asked that way, it’s easy to contemplate and answer in an equally roundabout fashion. Such is not the case with “what is your long-term plan?”. Geez, leave it to a man!

And he really expected an answer. How do I reply to a question like that?

“No, but eventually I’ll think of something’? Or…..

Kick Him to the Curb

I couldn’t suppress the giggle as I put the finishing touches on my Thrift Sale advertisement and the giggle erupted into a full-fledged belly laugh as I re-read the copy.

“Threw my husband to the curb and now I’m selling his stuff”.  I do believe I’m a marketing genius! This is not just any advertisement. This is the title page to the next chapter of my life!

It is May 2008 and I have been officially divorced for 8 months… now separated from my ex-husband for almost 2 years. Twenty-five years is a very long time to invest in another person and the life you build together. It's a very long time from the dating/mating dance to birthing and raising babies, from struggles with teenagers and his alcoholism ... to, ultimately, infidelity, abandonment, and divorce.

Anybody who has been through a similar situation understands the excruciating pain, both physical and mental that such a situation causes. It invades your waking moments and saps your strength and your health. It creeps into and hijacks your dreams…a place where you once felt safe. It mugs you, by surprise and in the dark, and you wonder if you’ll ever be yourself again and not the victim of what feels like a violent crime. It causes you to question everything you have always known to be true and to wonder if truth, in fact, really exists at all.

Yes, 25 years is a very long time… on the other hand, 25 years is not all that long. If we live to be a hundred, it's only a quarter of our life… Yikes! A quarter of my life! If you add that to the first quarter, that means half of my life is gone and we’re still working on the premise that I’ll actually get to that 100-year-old mark. I’ve got to get over this nonsense because I’m sure that girl I left 25 years ago is still in there somewhere and she’s got a life to lead!

The Gift

Two years ago, during a telephone conversation with a friend that involved a lot of discussion about the twists and turns both of our lives had taken during the previous year, he said, in frustration, “Screw it…let’s just move to France!” Yeah, wouldn’t that be great? We’ll begin every day with a tiny cup of espresso and a croissant, we’ll finish each glorious day with a bottle of Bordeaux and some fabulous stinky cheese and bask in the absolute beauty of the language that will land on our ears like music. We will spend our days exploring the countryside, learning the history and reveling in our good fortune. We will……we will….we will…..! Don’t you just love a good pipe dream?

Our conversational game was very similar to another familiar sport we all play called “What Would I Do If I Won the Lottery?”. 

This morning I opened my terrace doors to find, once again, the amazing blue of the Mediterranean sky and sat down to a tiny cup of espresso and a baguette (no, not a croissant…too many of those and the terrace won’t hold me). Last night I finished the glorious day with a bottle of Cotes du Rhone (not Bordeaux tonight) and a bit of Camembert as I listened to the passers-by below my window speaking in one of the world’s most delicious languages.

My friend remains in Minnesota, his life still twisting and turning, as lives tend to do. But I am here….YES, I AM HERE!.... in a city in the south of France called Aix en Provence. Living the pipe dream…on a shoestring… but living it nonetheless.  

I have always said that I am the luckiest person alive and always have been. I just keep getting presents; some beautifully wrapped in heavy paper with intricate bows and decorations, some wrapped in the comic section of the Sunday newspaper, and some wrapped in some smelly piece of paper that likely stored fish or liver and has come out of a dumpster that’s been sitting in the sun for at least a week. But all are gifts nonetheless. They just have to be unwrapped with a certain expectation. This is what I’ve learned.  

This dream began with one of those aforementioned gifts wrapped in putrid paper from the dumpster. It smelled of disappointment, broken promises, angst and anger. It was slimy and greasy and it held no promise of being anything good. But I opened it…because, heck, who doesn’t want a present? 

And now we get to continue opening it together.