Is it normal to still be thinking about your ex, after being divorced six years?  I don’t think about him in a good way but instead of thanking God that I am free I am beginning to feel something close to compassion when I see his picture at my daughter’s.  The oldest had the pictures from the 4th of July on her computer and I was shocked at the appearance of his new bride.  She looks nothing like I remember.  Then I was over there today and she had a new picture on her table, taken at their wedding on the beach.  They finally had a party at the house last weekend since nobody had been invited to the wedding so I heard from all three girls about how our old friends were doing.  I thought it was odd that only the middle daughter was asked about me.  The oldest and youngest reported no such inquiries.  I never cared much for his friends anyway.

Today I went to Office Max and bought a very large calendar for 2007 and 2008.  In addition, I got some colored markers and some stickers.  Even the new ballpoint pens match.  My thinking was that when I figure out what the Flylady has in mind for each day of the week I will give it a color.  Tomorrow is errands and I made that green for go. 

I can’t quite get into the thing where I am supposed to lay my clothes out the night before.  I don’t even like to get a shower until after the market closes.  And until my hair’s dry I don’t have any idea what I’m wearing.  But I’m not adverse to thinking ahead.  Tomorrow I’m having lunch with my ex-mother-in-law.  I think the last time we went anywhere together was 1996.  I’m not sure what brought this on but I’m looking forward to finding out.

Hip-hip-hooray!  I just went to a belly-dance class, and I think the teacher is going to be okay.  I’d never heard of her but she has quite a following in this neck of the woods.  She said she’s been teaching for 30 years.  She taught us a veil trick that I’ve only seen my teacher (ex) do.  And what’s funny is that it’s the one thing she didn’t teach me.  I didn’t press it because I gathered it was kind of a signature move and since she didn’t do much veil I left it alone.  Now I’ve got it.

I had such a good time in class because, as it turned out, I moved better than the teacher.  I don’t know if she was on antidepressants or if she’s just very mellow or what but her facial expression never changed and she moved very carefully with little range in motion.  I could have done a much better job.  All this time I’ve been teaching my friend every Tues I’ve been glad no money was changing hands because I didn’t know if I was good enough to be teaching.  Now I do.

Flylady certainly sends a lot of emails.  I’m ignoring them tonight because I feel like I have already accomplished lots.  Like today I cleaned out a bunch of clothes and donated them.  That’s huge for me because I don’t part with clothes.  But Flylady has a deal where you weigh the clothes and then go to some site and put down how many pounds you parted with.  I think it’s a precursor to the weight-loss program they have.  It reminded me of Nanowrimo and how every day I’d go report how many words I’d written.  You could see the blue bar fill in with each additional word count.  Just the idea of that made me want to go through my closet.  Really what happened was that the oldest called and she was cleaning her closet out, too, so we took our clothes to a resale shop where they bought hers back and donated mine.

Actually, I’m kind of curious about what I’m supposed to be doing tomorrow.  Today they told me to go to my freezer and take out something for dinner.  Last night I got an email that told me to go to bed.  I don’t know why this appeals to me so much but it does.  And my bedroom looks bigger now because I did like I was told and got everything out of there that didn’t belong.  Who knew I was so receptive to direction.

I’m trying to work on my self, now that I’m another year older.  Like I should step up and be more of a grown-up, not just do what I want all the time.  At recorder today they told me about Flylady.net so I joined and now my sink is clean.  I didn’t go out and buy bleach like I was supposed to but I used some new green product I’d bought and didn’t know what to do with.  That’s half my trouble is that I can never decide which cleaning product to use and, since I am scared of them all, I don’t.

I gave myself extra points for not being so perfectionistic about it and just getting the job done.  But maybe that was the whole point; that it be perfect.  I like that the woman takes a very psychological viewpoint, wanting us to love ourselves in the reflection of the shiny sink.  It’s all about baby steps so it doesn’t seem so scary to sign up.  So far I’ve committed to getting dressed to lace-up shoes I think she calls them.  She thinks it’s important and connected to the disarray, so each morning I must get up and get beautiful, wearing nice shoes.  Then we’re supposed to read two minutes of material on her website and in the next few days I’m to make post-its for my bathroom sink and kitchen sink.  I have no idea what I’ll be writing there.

All ready it has spilled over into other areas like instead of the holding pattern I have for clothes that I’ve worn once, either hanging on cupboard doors to air the smoke out or folded on top of the hamper in case I want to wear them for yardwork, I just put them in the hamper because they are dirty.  Duh.

I’m going to be 57 in a matter of minutes.  That sounds so very old to me but I don’t fret about age.  Every birthday now I count back to 2000.  I’m seven years out on the left side and ten years out on the right; pretty good odds I’m going to live a long time. 

I’m supposed to meet Teresa for coffee at 8:30 so I shouldn’t be writing but I’m feeling lonely and it always helps to check in here.  I just got back from having dinner with my oldest — It’s her birthday, too, along with her boyfriend’s whose was the 17th — and after dinner the three of us went to my blues bar to hear a group that had performed at the blues festival last month (at the beach).  This little old man with a big voice plays the harmonica like you can’t believe.  The guys and I all went over to the after-hours jam — I’m talking about the beach — and this little man played a song that we danced to then and I listened to tonight.

I’m waiting for my friend, the one I drove to Flagstaff with to deliver the car to my daughter.  He’s on his way from the airport, will spend the night and then drive to his beach house in the morning.  I love having him because he doesn’t want me cooking a big meal, he likes the same food, has the same habits, and I don’t have to entertain him because after we catch up I go off to bed and he calls his girlfriend.  Though he might want to go out for a glass of wine or something.

Tomorrow I am going to the beach for a few days.  Not his, I’m going to stay down the road from my old beach house, the one Henry and his new bride are going to knock down so they can build something — I won’t go there except to say there is much speculation about this project, even if the kids don’t talk about in front of me.  I’m taking a girlfriend I haven’t traveled with before. She’s never been on a trip with anyone but her husband so she’s more excited and maybe worried.  She’s very easy to get along with and I know we’re going to have a great time. 

The band leader I usually swing dance with had surgery and was back to do the jam last night.  We danced to a slow song for the first time — He’s engaged — and he taught me how to do ballroom dancing or at least I think that’s what was going on.  He held me at arm’s length and stood very erect, so I tried to mimic him.  I felt like we were in a movie.  I could see everyone staring, as not much ballroom dancing goes on there.  In fact I feel safe in saying that no one in the last 40 years had ever done what we were doing on their dance floor.  I hope we do it again.

I just remembered I never responded to some of your questions about what a rally girl was.  A cheerleader.

Yeah, I’m definitely forming the nighttime habit again; checking in at the end of the day.  Pretty soon I’ll be writing earlier in the day in and commenting at night.  I’m still not quite there so I apologize if it feels onesided but you know how I get.  I’ll be leaving all those comments in no time.

I’m still walking around in this funny space where I’ve never been before.  It feels like it could possibly be transitional, like I feel very open to change.  Maybe because I have this whole routine going.  It’s Tues so I volunteered at the hospital and then taught bellydance.  Sam has nixed the dinner thing so now I am trying out new restaurants which feels odd since I don’t know that part of town.  I am fairly picky, in terms of price and freshness and how much grease it involves.  So to pick a place feels like a hassle instead of an adventure.  When I look at that behavior now it seems silly.  I am approaching it all wrong.  I should put some effort into reading about good places over there and have an address in mind.  And I should put it on some sort of calendar so that I am actually reminded before it’s next Tues night and I am driving up Sandy Blvd looking for food. 

I’d be curious to know how you all keep your calendars.  I have one in the kitchen where I write all my appts.  But I always make them for Wed so I don’t look at that calendar every day.  I have another calendar above my desk which is for stock market stuff.  I write down the days when companies report their quarterlies but unless it’s earning season I don’t look up there.  I guess I could start using it for a to-do list, since I’m not actively trading these days.  I want to turn CNBC off, get up, and do some chores.  Next year I’m going to sit in this chair less.  I want to start working on this place.  I drove around today because I wasn’t comfortable in the restaurant and to kill time I looked at people’s paint jobs on their houses, trying to pick out a color.  I favor blue-grey, either light or dark, with white trim.  Sounds boring, I know.

My dance partner said something really interesting.  He was talking about remodeling his kitchen and he corrected me by saying, “it’s not hard, it just takes time.”  I have been thinking about that statement and so much of what I put off because it seems too difficult is just an issue of time.  And when I look at it that way it changes my approach.  It makes me think that if I just commit to an hour, say during the time Wall Street goes to lunch, and that’s Eastern time, I could get some of these jobs done around here.  Because it was luxurious to have tea on the front porch and feel good about the boards being all protected now.  Also the grout is drying and not so shiny.  I wonder if the people who keep up and have clean windows, I wonder if they are happier because when they look around they don’t have that hanging over them.  I say I don’t see the dirt but I must and on some level it must be a constant source of guilt. 

I have the feeling, tonight, that this post is approaching the turning point where I get sucked back into Xanga.  It’s good to reconnect with people.  It’s good to write down what happened in a day and what you thought about it.  I remember hearing that one of the daily exercises holy men practiced — And that may have been something I heard from a Taoist master — was a nightly review.  They looked back on the conversations and actions of the day to inspect their motivation and see if there might be places for improvement. 

Maybe I’m becoming holy because I seem to be bogged down lately by these thoughts.  When I take a second look, say at the last sentence of the previous blog — Sorry, but I’m embarrassed by it now so you’ll have to go back and look if you’re curious  – suffice it to say that it was unholy behavior. 

Also, I’m feeling less than confident about my abilities to navigate Home Depot and Parr Lumber.  I guess I could wrassle with those 26 pressure-treated 2 X 6 X 16s in order to find and load 6 good ones.   I did manage to find the sprayers and decide on one but neither place had the cedar siding for the house.  Taking apart this deck is like doing a lumpectomy.  There were no clear margins because all the bottoms of the boards are rotting.  Last year they bought 6 or 7 of these boards that I was used to using as posts for the fences.  But I guess once I paint the “PT” boards it won’t look so weird to have them on the deck. 

I  find it unnerving to have these two guys around all day.  In a thick Spanish accent the father tells me he hopes I win at this game I play [ the stock market ] when I explain I can’t afford to replace the whole deck and do it right with the sand and everything.  If he was so worried about doing things right, why didn’t we paint the bottoms of these new boards?  Duh.  All day they are having me run here and there to pick up more boards and screws or whatever.  Then they tell me I bought the wrong sprayer when two of my guy friends now have told me they love their Wagner.  I bought the sprayer having no idea what brand to get.  It just had the features I wanted. 

Anyway, it throws me off, all these quick decisions and mistakes.  The caulking is drying up some, on the front porch, and not as tacky anymore but it’s still quite visible through the paint.  I stopped a guy in front of one of the mansions where I play recorder.  He had painter pants on and was getting something out of his truck.  It looked like he was in the middle of a job there.  He said he suspected they used the type of grout that wasn’t paintable.  Great. 

The stock market crack and just the way I think the father and son might perceive me makes me take a more objective look at myself.  I wonder how insane it is to have all my money in the stock market.  Granted a good portion of my money is tied up in this house, and that’s a good investment.  Also, I’m looking at my inability to get anything done.  I read all these daily guru messages and they get me somewhat motivated to look at goals but I don’t seem to want anything badly enough to do something different.

queenoscots  put it just right in her last post about a sort of lazzei faire summer, if that’s the right word.  I strolled through the back yard after the guys had gone home and went back to see the fire pit.  I haven’t had one fire this summer.  I’ve weeded exactly once.  I only picked half the plums.  I stood there wondering what I HAD been doing this summer and why it was different this year. 

I’m doing just what I want every day, that’s the problem.  Or is it?  I have had the BEST summer ever it feels like.  I’ve danced at least twice a week to live music.  I’ve cooked all the produce I’ve gotten from the organic farm, making up lots of new recipes.  I’ve gone camping a couple times and taken two vacations.  But the most pleasant thing about this summer was the weekly routine of my Spanish class and teaching bellydance to my friend and the recorder playing and even the crazy stock market which has kept me glued to the television to see WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON.  This has been very exciting and confusing to me.  But at least once a week I meet a girlfriend for coffee and my daughters for something.  It’s kind of boring doing the same stuff every week but on the other hand there’s a nice continuity to the weeks. 

I meet the same two women at the same two coffee shops for weekend visits.  I take my dog to the same spot on the river most mornings.  I think this is what it’s like getting older.  I’m turning 57 next week and I think this is what it feels like to get old.  It’s nice, really.  Pleasant but uneventful.

I called my broker yesterday, to ask if my IRA was insured by the FDIC or someone, since it’s in cash now.  It is not.  If you follow the market, you’ll know why that gave me pause.

I thought of snowshowers50 when I was trying to figure out how to handle the front porch.  Of course she did all her own work, but I was so unsure of how to go about the sanding and filling and whether I should have boards replaced that I called the father-son team, who do a lot of work for me.  There are big divots where the son sanded through the layers of paint a 100-year-old porch accumulates, and the caulking material he used is now visible through the paint.  I hadn’t realized at first that because the porch is so old I couldn’t just have them rent a sander.  You would have to sand each board separately, as over time the boards have not worn uniformly.  

This manly stuff is such a struggle for me.  I was both brought up by and married to someone who thought there was only one way to do things.  So I always feel paralyzed by the fear of not knowing the correct way to do something.  I’m a huge procrastinator but now that summer is over I have to get these outdoor things done, things I have no idea how to do.  Home Depot didn’t have any twine and suggested I buy these horrible orange straps to secure the boards onto my car.  This was a previous job, and they were happy to tie the wood onto my rack at Home Depot, but when I got to the lumberyard yesterday they said I would have to secure the wood, myself, as they could not be liable.  The problem with those orange ties is that they have these clamps which are terribly complicated.  I have made two runs for lumber and each time I HATED it.  Driving home with those boards bouncing around on top of the car because I didn’t know the right knot — I couldn’t figure out the clams so just tied the orange ribbons in knots — I was missing my old neighbor who used to come to the lumberyard with me and take care of all that stuff. 

I decided today, when I looked at the finished job in the daylight, that I was going to strike up a conversation with the next guy in painter’s pants I come across and ask him how the job should have been done.  I suspect the caulking material was to be covered with an oil-based paint which would have had a slight sheen so that you wouldn’t notice the caulking.

Lately, I have been very lonely for the men I have loved.  Not that I want to be with any of them but I have that ache in my heart that I get sometimes when I am not close to anybody.  There is no one in my life I would like to be any closer to so for now I just enjoy my friends but I hope someone turns up someday. 

My latest dance partner, who is actually taking lessons with another woman but we share him on the dance floor and all sit together, his old girlfriend wants him back.  We went to dinner last night, just the two of us, and he explained that if he went back to her he wouldn’t be dancing with us anymore.  The problem is they started having sex after the dance lesson, even though he is not that into her.  She’s really into him, though.  I am promoting the dance partner for obvious reasons but also because it sounds like his old girlfriend is just jealous and doesn’t want him with someone else. 

After dinner we went to our blues bar to check out the new band they hired to do the jam on Tues.  He surprised me by ordering my fave Jack and Coke, with two straws  — I had said I didn’t want anything — and then I bought one so after a while I got friendlier than I usually am when it’s just the two of us and we are walking the dog or something.  I sincerely was enjoying his company and his dance partner wasn’t there to see me lean into him.  It’s so loud you have to talk into each other’s ear.  He’s smart enough to know what was going on, though.