Sunday, October 28, 2018

Dear 15-year-old me...

Hey, you. I know you're upset right now. Your first experience with a boyfriend just ended, and you're disappointed. I'm sorry. It really does suck. But before you start high school and before you begin a journey that will eat up so much of the next three decades of your life, I want to intervene. I want to assure you that there is another way. And, mostly, I want you to understand how much you can accomplish if you are willing to try to throw off the false messages with which our culture has been bombarding you since the day you were born.

I know something about you that maybe no one else knows. You hate your body. You feel monstrous and huge, completely "other" from even your closest friends. When you sit on the floor, cross-legged, reading notes at a sleepover, you notice how the flesh on your friend's leg doesn't round up at the calves like yours does. You see another friend wearing clothes that you think would look like a clown costume on you, and you're jealous that she can get away with picking anything from the thrift store shelves and it will look nice. You stand in front of your parents' vanity mirror and extend your belly as far as it will go. "I hate you," you tell yourself. "You're disgusting."

That, you will learn, many, MANY years from now, is called "internalized fatphobia." You have bought into the idea that fat people are lazy and gross. You are neither. Your self-talk is making it worse. First of all, isn't true; your future self will look at pictures of you at this time and be shocked at how someone so beautiful could feel so ugly. Secondly, even if it were true that you were exceptionally corpulent, science will bear out that genetics and puberty are the culprits and not your lack of motivation or appreciation of good food or any moral failure on your own part.

But every time you reinforce to yourself the message that you are somehow "less" because you do not meet some arbitrary standard of beauty, you make life worse for yourself.

You do not owe thinness to anyone. Not even yourself. You have believed a lie, and you will waste so much time and emotional energy powering this machine. Please don't. Please try to find the better way.

You don't realize it, but every time you indulge in self-hating fatphobia, you also make life worse for other women. Every time you judge yourself, you judge them, too. Either they're "thinner" than you and therefore an object of envy and resentment, or they're "fatter" than you and a source of judgmental feelings of relief and maybe even superiority.

Other women are not your competition. You don't have competition. This isn't a race or a game to be won. Living that way is isolating. Other women are your comrades. Don't you see how damaging this is to you all? You should all be on the same side. You should be about dismantling this world view, not continuing to prop it up.

Let me give this to you straight: Purposeful weight loss (through dieting and/or exercise) does not work in the long-term. Science has borne this out time and time again. Any program or study that promises or shows weight-loss only follows participants for two years. Within 5 years, 95% of people who lose weight have gained most if not all of it back. I'd cite multiple sources, but you do not have the internet like we do yet. Trust me, the future is great in this regard. You'll have access to so much information and so much validation. I just wish you could believe me in 1987.

Not only does purposeful weight loss not work, it backfires. Your body's metabolism slows down when you lose weight, and it stays slower. This means that the ultra-low-fat diet you will engage in from the time you're 20 until you're 23 will affect your ability to manage weight for the rest of your life. And again when you're 30 and lose weight "healthier." And 33. Every time, it will be harder. Every time, it will require more work. Every time, you'll have to expend more energy to work out and eat fewer and fewer calories. And you'll always gain it back. Always. Even when you keep it off for almost 7 years.

Health-wise, weight cycling like this puts a huge burden on your cardiovascular system. And repeated dieting interferes with your ability to listen to your body's hunger and satiety signals. It will further separate you from your social contacts, when you don't allow yourself to eat after a certain time of day, or when you check out of a conversation early because you cannot miss a workout or terror will ensue.

You're not going to believe this, but this is the most important thing: The best thing you can do for yourself at 15 is to rid yourself of the fatphobic attitudes the culture has given you, and then work on helping everyone else do it, too.

This is actually easier, and much more fulfilling, than hating and berating yourself. It's more productive than engaging in a mental and physical illness to make your body more appealing to yourself and others.

So... what if you do it? What if you manage to chip away at every lie you've ever believed about yourself and your body and decide to dedicate your energy to things like pursuing your passions? There is a two-pronged problem here, and you'll have addressed only one.

The second part is that, yeah, pretty much everyone in our culture has co-opted bigotry toward fat people. This will include men in whom you are interested, and who you want to be interested in you.

I wish you could just forget about dating for the next ten years, but I know you won't, so maybe you'll just take this to heart:

If any man claims to care about you but shows disdain toward your body, HE DOES NOT LOVE YOU. Love is not conditional. He might like your personality. He might find you humorous or think you have a beautiful face or feel like you might make a good partner. However, ultimately, he is selfish and foolish.

Your body is not a shell that holds you. Your body IS you. You are your body. Everything you do -- sleeping, talking, walking, laughing, watching a movie, singing -- EVERYTHING you do is enabled by your amazing body. It's not a shirt you can change to please someone else (though, for what it's worth, if someone doesn't like your shirt and thinks he can tell you to change it, he's probably not great for you, either).

If someone shows disdain for your body, END THE RELATIONSHIP. That might sound drastic, but it is absolutely necessary. There is no getting around or over it. If someone's feelings of affection for you are predicated on your body looking a certain way, that is not unconditional love, and you need to remove yourself from it.

I heard a podcast once (kind of like a radio program) where a woman was saying that she'd realized something about a man she was living with when she was engaging in disordered eating and exercise: He was probably the only person who knew how unraveled her life was, and not only did he not stop it, he encouraged her. He encouraged a woman he alleged to love to continually sacrifice her pleasure and ease (by passing up food she liked, by spending hours doing work-outs she hated, etc.) because her thinness was social currency to him. To put a finer point on it: He shows up with a hottie on his arm, and it make him look like a big deal. So she's doing all of this horrible labor just for him to glean the benefits. That's definitely not love. It's dysfunctional.

And if any man says, "I can't help it; I'm just not attracted to bigger women," then whatever. Good luck to him. He is a bigot, and you don't need that kind of person in your life.

Not at all incidentally, you, too, have that bigotry. It is death, and you need to cut it out immediately. Everyone, including yourself, yes, but EVERY SINGLE PERSON, deserves respect and the freedom to move and exist in the world without harassment regardless of how they look, of their size, of their abilities, of their health, or of anything. Every single person deserves to eat what they want, go where they want, wear what they want, and be who they are without anyone else's opinions being foisted on them. You have to take your thoughts captive and excise them. The phrase, "Do they even own a mirror?" should die on the vine long before it becomes a conscious thought. No one should do this to you. You cannot do it to others. Or yourself.

I'm writing you because I don't want you to look around at the great life you have 30 years from now and wonder how much further along you might be if you could trade those 300,000+ minutes (that's more than half a year!) you spent working out and the countless hours you meal-planned and obsessed over what you were going to eat, and how many calories it had, and how much fat, and when was your next free day, and how many candy corn could you manage in one day when you otherwise ate only dry spinach for doing something that would have made your life or the world at large a better place.

You will get to this place of freedom. It will be a hard-won battle, and, actually, it will be ongoing, as some of these dogmas die more slowly than others. But if you could just start on it now instead of after your second divorce (*wince* I KNOW), you could save yourself a lot of heartache and wasted time.

I know you don't cuss. I wish, just a little bit, that you did. Because instead of responding with silent and hidden hurt when someone judges you as unworthy due to your body type, I really wish you could just happily respond, "F*(4 that" and get on with your life without a second thought. Before you're middle-aged.

In retrospect,
46-year-old me

Sunday, October 21, 2018

Random Observations

1) We missed quite the drama while we were on our little trip to Dallas to the State Fair of Texas! "Our" lake filled up so fast, beginning on the day we left, that it is now 146% full, ergo flooded. It has started abating this morning, and I'm sure the home- and business-owners are eager to get to cleanup. The lake has been more than 20 feet below full for the entire summer. It crested at 23 feet above full, most of it  in about three days. To put it into perspective, an NPR headline read that Lake Travis had taken on more water in one week than the city of Austin uses in FOUR years. Further, a gentleman on NextDoor said that, not accounting for the water lost via Mansfield Dam (which was releasing 11 millionish gallons of water PER MINUTE last night), the lake had taken on a gross of 253,433,873,760 gallons of water last week (just based on levels retained in the lake).

2) We go to the fair for a couple of main reasons: a) fair food, b) Little Hands on the Farm and the animals, and c) the butter sculpture. None of these disappointed, though a slight change in LHotF made it less kid-friendly, as far as I'm concerned. First, the food:

A cotton candy taco. The cotton candy was marshmallow-flavored. Waffle cone shell, plus marshmallow drizzle and crumbled cookies, with two Pocky-stick-kind of things

Fried Hill Country: mozzarella with basil, green tomato slices, battered and fried.
Field greens below, Texas honey/balsamic vinegar on top.

Fried shepherds pie with gravy, and fried green beans.

These were hearty and delicious, especially on the chilly, rainy day. But I enjoyed the beans even more.

Fried s'more. Pretty self-explanatory.
But it's not just the million dollars you spend on fair food that's awesome. The State Fair of Texas has a Go Texan! pavilion with samples. Among them are:



"I can keep this?!"

Toffee!

Ice cream float with choice of root beer or Dr. Pepper. Hmm, Texans are weird. #teamrootbeer
There was also beef jerky and cheese, local honey, and coated nuts, among others. Man, I love "free" food.

Okay, yes, you pay an admission to get into the fair, and that includes all of the shows and exhibitions. But there is never any reason to pay full price. During the week, there are daily discounts (don't go on the weekends; just don't). We chose the day to support the North Texas Food Bank. We each took 4 cans of food, and got in for $4 each (as opposed to $16). Seniors are free on Thursdays. There are some food specials on Thursday, too, but you're limited to the offers, and we like to select our treats.

This was Mal's first year to do Little Hands, and he enjoyed it.


In the past, you'd get paid at the farmer's market and immediately trade your "money" for something like a granola bar or packet of crackers. This time, it was a coupon for free ice cream that was outside of the building and around the corner, plus Mal didn't want ice cream, so there was no way to get his treat and save it for later.

They've moved the farm indoors, along with putting the animals in the same building. I thought the change was a positive one, overall.

That baby, though!

Ce-boooooooooo!



We'd picked a hotel that was close to a Dart light rail stop in Irving, so we were able to take public transportation down for cheaper than it would have cost to park. So it was a great little trip to take on a budget.

Oh, and butter.


I've never noticed it before, but the sculpture had a few blooms of mold on it. I think today is the last day of the fair, anyway, so it'll all probably get fed to pigs or something now. I just Googled it. I didn't find it, but in Ohio, it gets recycled into things from tires to soap. Also, I learned that a vegan is the sculptor for Texas, and has been for several years. Interesting.

3) I think my son is on a 25-hour schedule. Every day, he goes to sleep a bit later. Last night/this morning it was 1 AM. I DON'T LOVE IT.

4) We have tried A LOT of the meal prep delivery services, and after the initial welcome discount, I cancel because it's too expensive. Most are around $10 per serving, and, I'm sorry, I'll just go eat at a restaurant if I want to spend that kind of money. We've been doing Every Plate for a few weeks now, though, and really enjoy it. It's only $5 per serving, which is closer to what I spend on groceries, especially if you account for the unfortunate food waste which makes me wish we had animals or a compost heap.

If you try it, and you should because you can save $20 off of the first couple of deliveries, which means the cost is more like $3.50 per serving, just know that their average 10 minute prep time is only accurate if you have a cooking companion or if you have expert-level knife skills and a really good set of cutlery. I cook full meals at home 4-5 times per week, and it takes me about 25 minutes to slice and dice the produce. The finished product is awesome, though, and I like that I didn't even have to do active ordering and arrange for delivery. Also, it's refrigerated, so you don't have to be home. Oh, also, they do charge something like $7.99 shipping, whereas other companies ship for "free," but the cost per serving is still a LOT lower with Every Plate.

***I have other random thoughts that I'll share soon, but I'm going to get ready for church and just pull Mal into the car and go, because we need a bedtime closer to 10 than 1, so it's time to start the pain of waking that kid up earlier!

Friday, October 5, 2018

J + L : A long, drawn-out love story

(NOTE: I began this post in August 2017 and just finished it. So this first bit isn't entirely accurate, but it's why I started it.)

Everyone's kids are starting back to school, and I realized recently that it was exactly thirty years ago that I was gearing up to start a public high school after three years in a private junior high. The only people I knew at Van Buren High School were two girls I'd met candy-striping at St. Edwards that summer - cousins Tam Nguyen and Jan Nguyen - and a guy with whom I'd gone to elementary school, and who had moved across the river into our neighborhood over the summer.

I wish I could tell you about how the clouds parted and the sun shone down and lit up my heart the first time I laid eyes on James, but that's just not how it happened. We were in proximity for a long time before he really registered on my radar.

Our school wasn't tiny, but not nearly as big as it is today. We moved in pretty similar academic circles, and had multiple classes together. The one I remember most from sophomore years was French. James sat beside me, either in front of or behind his girlfriend. They held hands under the desks a lot, and were generally disgusting.

By the end of the year, I considered James a friend, that I know. For some reason, I wasn't really close with his girlfriend. Then in junior year, James and I had even more classes together, and by the time summer rolled around, James was no longer in a relationship. And I was interested.

For the life of me, I can't remember how this happened, but at some point, I was invited to play Dungeons and Dragons at James's house several times over the summer. I'd never played before, but totally wanted to hang out, so I jumped at the chance. I also sucked really badly at it. I couldn't keep the races straight, or remember what my strengths were, or anything fun like that. I got killed every dang week, early, but I kept coming back because... well, I wasn't exactly having fun, but I enjoyed the company.

You'll have to forgive my foggy memory here. I think I discarded a lot of this to make more room in my brain during the years that history pertaining to James didn't feel like it would be important to my future life. But something happened during this time wherein James and I discussed my job at Harvest Foods (Safeway) and he had told me he'd drop in and say "hi" on this one particular day.

Oh. My. Goodness.

Although I can't recall exactly how that came about, I do remember being extremely excited and nervous. Suddenly all of the "gross" stuff I'd thought about James when he was in a relationship with someone else seemed like it'd be sweet... you know, if I were on the receiving end of it. How great a boyfriend would he be?!

My co-worker and great friend Danielle shared my excitement with me, and kept an eagle eye on the door while I bagged my groceries. She kept telling me how awesome my hair looked, and generally being my hype man.

Finally, I registered the glint in her eyes and looked over my shoulder. There he was! He walked in, kind of looked around a moment, then before he saw me, a curly-haired blonde I'd never seen before trotted in, caught up with James, and took his hand in hers.

What?

Danielle looked almost as deflated as I felt.

Once again, this memory fades into obscurity. I'm sure James and I exchanged niceties. I was just stunned. I'd never seen that girl before, never heard that there was someone James was interested in. Where had she come from?

I know now.

Apparently, James was driving home from work one day and thought he saw someone he knew at a mailbox in his neighborhood. He waved at her, then realized it was not who he thought it was. It was a new person. This girl. And that's their meet cute. (Which, as I've stated, we did not have.)

I went back to Dungeons and Dragons one time. James's new girlfriend was there, sitting in his lap, as I remember. I couldn't after that. I was done.

Right before school started, my friend and I decided that senior year would be a cool time to join the band, in which neither of us had ever played. My friend had the advantage of being able to sight-read music and play a couple of instruments. I could read rhythm charts, so I ended up in auxiliary percussion.

We started practice during the summer. Long, hot mornings in the wide open practice field. The percussion section was fun, though, and I loved it. One particular break, we were standing in line for the water fountain when James, who was right behind me with his girlfriend, said to me, "Laura, I know it gets you all excited to see me so hot and sweaty like this. I get it." I cannot for the life of me explain why I had a double-edged response to this. It was half, "Eww, get over yourself + how can your girlfriend stand you" and half, "That guy has zero confidence issues. That's appealing."

Also, it was very clear that, whatever else he might have said or done, he treated his girlfriends with overt admiration and care. Um, he also did stupid stuff that got him suspended from school for days at a time, but I wasn't aware of those things until much, much later.

At some point I started dating... well, honestly, the first of two gay guys I dated that year. He definitely had some confidence issues, as a closeted man in 1989 small-town Arkansas likely would. But one time stands out. I think we might even have broken up by then. Whatever, we were all heading over to the football stadium for a game, and for whatever reason, the band bus wasn't available. They had a van for the bigger instruments, but told us all to get a ride with people who had cars. (I'd wrecked mine, so didn't.)

I ended up in my friend Tim's vehicle, with some other guy riding shotgun, and James and me in the back seat. It was a totally forgettable 4 minutes in the car, except for what happened when we got to the field.

I got out of the car and was hauling some gear to the bandstands when my boyfriend (wink wink) marched up to me, livid. He said, "You be careful around that James Gates. He only cares about one thing." Seriously, he was shaking. I will never understand that, but... he was kind of right.

So we graduated. We were good enough friends that my mom took a picture of him receiving his diploma, an honor reserved for only about a dozen of my closest buddies. The next fall, I headed off to college near Little Rock, and James went to Kansas. By the end of the semester, we both returned "home."

James's parents had moved, so he and a friend ended up living in a "swanky" bachelor pad near the fairgrounds in Fort Smith. I was going to the community college, and maybe he was, too. At some point, we ended up hanging out again. He was single, and I, once again, was VERY INTERESTED.

Interested enough to hang out at the aforementioned anti-frat-house and listen to a bunch of self-entertained young men recite "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" in its entirety. We also went to see "Dances with Wolves" at the theater (yes, first run; we are not young people) together. James complained afterwards about the inclusion of Kevin Costner butt with no balance of lady butt. At this point, you might be wondering WHY I was so interested. I can't explain it. There was a lot more to James than his juvenile male shtick, but for some reason, that WAS a part of it. I think it still is.

And then James decided to join the Navy. He was going to go to Colorado to be with his family for a bit first, then he was enlisting. I wanted one real live date before he left, so, in my characteristically understated way, I asked him out on a legitimate date... By drawing a short comic book called "Middle-Aged Deformed Kung-Fu Lizards," about some super anti-heroes who end up trapped in a book until they successfully convince James to go on a date with me. Because I like to play things cool.

It worked, though. He agreed. I don't remember this at all, but James said that I asked him to write down everything he'd never done, so I could plan something totally new for him. Not sure he ever completed that assignment, but what I picked was a day trip down to Hot Springs to go to Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum, then lunch, then finishing off at the Midamerica Science Museum.

I picked James up and maybe 20 minutes into a three-hour drive, he fell asleep in my car. I was super irritated! Now I realize he might have been playing possum just to avoid anxiety over my frightening teenage driving habits.

Back in the day Midamerica Museum had an underground viewing room so you could see into the pond that butted up against the main building. As we stood watching the fish swim around, I told James, "When I was little, I'd stand here and pretend I lived in the water. I wanted to be able to breathe underwater so much." Quietly, James said, "I still do." I seriously felt like Cupid had just shot a freaking arrow into my heart and that I might drop dead right then and there.

Spoiler alert: I did not.

As an aside, if you ever have a chance to go to the Midamerica Science Museum, do! It's really fun. We should plan another trip there soon.

So, after a fun day out, I drove us back to northwest Arkansas. And that was it.

Except.

I'd left something at James's house. I'm thinking maybe it was lipstick? Something. Anyway. I needed to pick it up before James left town for good. The night I did so, I was going out with some girlfriends. I believe it was Danielle and Laurie. They sat in the car as I hopped out to meet James in the front yard. We said goodbye and hugged as my heart raced, hoping maybe, just maybe, he would kiss me goodbye. He did not.

When I got back into the car, Laurie said, "That was a very passionate hug." She was wrong, but it was a sweet consolation gesture.

James moved to Colorado a bit before Christmas 1991. I thought it'd be neat to make him a Christmas video, so a new friend I'd made in the local community theater and I drove all over Fort Smith and Van Buren for days, getting footage. In the end, my dad and I edited it using his work editing hardware, which allowed us to lay down a separate audio track, meaning the Christmas parades I filmed were played over Mannheim Steamroller music instead of just street noise. It sounds simple enough now, but at the time, I thought James would have to be super impressed by my technological prowess.

At the beginning of 1992, I moved to Fayetteville to attend the University of Arkansas. James headed off to basic training. We corresponded for some time. I would write him in the third person, as though the person about whom I was writing (myself) were a princess. I related everything as an allegory, rather than the actual boring recounting of going to classes, going to work, etc.

James told me that he would spend hours every night writing letters to people, after days full of working out and studying. He was only getting about two hours of sleep per night, according to his recollections.

Our correspondence died off in time, as we both got busy with separate lives. Somehow, though, over the years, we managed to keep up, even before the internet was much of a "thing." James got out of the Navy fairly quickly. If you know him, you know that the kind of structure and authoritarian nature of the military is just not a great fit for my husband.

The next time we really connected, he was living in Stillwater, Oklahoma, and I was in Las Vegas. As we exchanged a couple of letters, I met D's dad. I wrote James: "To be perfectly honest, I got in touch with you to see if the time was right for us to try to get together. But now I've met someone and we're engaged." James's characteristic response to that news was, "That's nice. But what does your engagement have to do with us?" It was comforting to know that his charm had remained so consistent across the span of time.

We still managed to keep up, exchanging updates every few years, until we connected on Facebook in maybe 2009 or so. James was never extremely active on Facebook, but I caught him online every once in a while, and we chatted. After my divorce in 2011, we started talking a lot. For once, I wasn't interested in him romantically. We were both trying to date people, and we'd commiserate about the frustrating stuff.

In October 2011, I went up to Tulsa for the Oklahoma Sugar Arts Festival and saw James at a contra dance to which he'd invited me. He was there with a girl he was dating, and I didn't realize it at the time, but they were in the process of breaking up. It was the first time I'd seen James in person in twenty years. He hardly looked different; his hair was longer, but that was about it.

In time, I learned that James and this girl weren't seeing each other anymore. He seemed a little less communicative than usual, so a couple of times, I invited him to come down to Dallas on one of the weekends I didn't have D. On one of those occasions, he said, "That sounds like fun. A lot more fun than watching my dad die."

James had gotten laid off of his job just in time for his family to contact him and tell him that his dad was very ill and he needed to get there as soon as possible. James spent about six weeks in a hotel with his stepmom as his father received whatever care they were able to administer, then he passed away.

I agonized over attending the funeral. I tried to figure out a way to make it work. I calculated driving up to Kansas the day of the funeral and driving back immediately afterward. I couldn't make it work.

Then James disappeared.

Months later, I happened to see him online when I was down in Temple for an insurance thing. I told him I'd be home over the weekend and asked if he wanted to visit. He said he had no means to get there, so I offered to come see him. I asked him his address. He wrote back something to the extent of "Listen, I wish I could be what you need for me to be right now, but I can't." I said, "I'm coming to Tulsa. You can send me your address, if you want." For some reason, that broke through some wall, and he said, "I suppose I could hock a guitar for gas money." I told him no need; I'd just head up to Tulsa after driving home, feeding the cats, and repacking.

I didn't actually get a response from him until after I'd gotten home, regrouped, and headed north supposing I could enjoy the city if I didn't hear back from him. I did. He warned me to stay in my car until I saw him, because he lived in a dangerous apartment complex. He also warned me that his place looked like a train hit both a bookstore and a liquor store. He wasn't kidding.

My first thought, when I saw James come around the corner of the building was, "He looks like a little kid." He'd lost a significant amount of weight since I'd seen him the previous year. I'd been worried that James was depressed, and I think he was. But he genuinely likes a "pleasantly" cluttered space. His apartment was that on steroids. Plus, his complex had bedbugs. And roaches. And... you get the idea. I had no idea how to make sure he was going to take better care of himself.

We went out to dinner to catch up. The next day, James took me to the Philbrook Museum of Art, where we rescued a bright blue and green lizard. Then we went to the grocery store and I bought stuff to make beef and broccoli, brownies, and several other dishes he could freeze to eat later.

While we cooked (at my hotel, as his counters were covered with dishes, boxes, paperwork, etc.), we showed each other videos that were meaningful to us. We talked about politics. About religion. About friends. About what we were doing.

It was a great weekend, and I returned home hopeful that he'd been cheered up at least a little bit. For once, I wasn't hoping anything. I hadn't had ulterior motives in visiting. I had no expectations. But James was already messaging me when I returned. He knew I was planning to move to Austin and wanted to see me again before I left, if that wasn't too much to ask.

And, I don't know, we ended up falling in love.

There was a lot more to it. Like, I helped hook him up with a job in Dallas, and he moved there several weeks before I moved to Austin. Yes, I could have changed my plans. But I'd learned from a previous experience not to change my life's trajectory because of a new relationship, no matter how promising it seemed.

Then I moved to Austin while he worked in Dallas, from August until February. The long distance thing sucked. But when he moved to Austin and got a job here, it was worse. At least we'd spent weekends together when we were in separate towns. Once he lived in town ,we'd manage an hour or two here and there, but he was otherwise exhausted from the new grind, or I had things going on with D.

It was wearing on me and putting strain on our relationship when one night in the middle of March, James had come over for dinner and said, "I think we should get married on April 1. That seems appropriate."

The rest, as they say, is history.

I'm going to tell you the truth: James and I were both super hot messes when we got together. We were both 40ish, but when I think back to some of the things we were doing or thinking or saying to each other, I feel like we were still babies. The fact is, we were both still reeling from a lot of emotional damage. We probably should have waited longer before pursuing a relationship.

On the other hand, we've both been very, very good for each other. I think we balance each other out in so many ways. I've never been as content, hopeful, and secure with myself and my life as I am with James. I think he gets something good out of this, too... Like the fact that I check the mail and make sure bills get paid and minutiae like that.

James has also made me a better parent, also because of the balancing factor. He's chill and has perspective and patience when I'm freaking out. He also provides for us so I can stay home with both kiddos, even the one who doesn't really need me too much anymore (sniff... but not really).

I have told James, and continue to believe, that whatever I might have fantasized being in a relationship with him might be like, the reality has surpassed it.

A funny side product of this is that things I used to LLLLUUUUUHHHHHHHHVVVVVVE, I now still enjoy, but not nearly as much, because my actual life is so enjoyable. Examples: Back when Rockapella was verboten (don't ask; I couldn't explain it), I extracted so much happiness from their music and seeing them perform. When they came to Austin a few years ago, James and D went with me to the concert. And it was so good. But it wasn't the super-bright mark in a pretty dark existence that it had been in the past.

Another one: We just got back from vacation, and we had a lot of fun and delicious meals while we were there. In the past, I would have poured over menus ahead of the trip, and decided on what to order long in advance. I deprived myself of so many foods that I loved, except on special occasions, that I was just obsessed with meal planning, especially on vacation. Now, I eat what I want when I want whenever it's available. So I had fun getting "free" food on vacation, and things I don't normally eat because we don't eat out a whole lot. But it wasn't the luxurious break from a monotonous relationship with food that I've had in the past.

This is, of course, a vast improvement over what my life was before. When your life is so pleasant that it's hard to make it MORE pleasant, that's pretty amazing. And James has given me that. Finally. (!!!!)

Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Saying Goodbye

I met Rob when we were two of half a dozen second-graders put into a first/second grade "split" classroom at Morrison Elementary school in Fort Smith, Arkansas, in 1979.

Me: Gentlemanly haircut courtesy my barber grandfather; second to the end on the left in the back row of kids.
Actually, Rob's hair is not unsimilar. He's 2nd to the end on the right, same row.
When we were seven years old, 46 sounded old. So very old. Even older than our parents! Of course, at the time, we had zero thoughts of what our lives might look like after school, after families... it all seemed like much MUCH later. Too much later even to consider.

Since Morrison only had one of each grade, we were in school together. Our little sisters were best friends. Our parents were in the PTA together. We spent a lot of time in the same space until we started junior high, at which point I went to a private school and then we moved across the river, one town over. Coincidentally, Rob's family moved to Van Buren the summer before we started high school, and once again, we were in school together.

We had some mutual friends, and a couple of my good friends dated Rob. But mostly, we were in separate social circles throughout high school. Rob was in ROTC and ended up serving in the Navy. He got married the year after we graduated, and and next time I heard from him, it was thanks to the internet.

I don't remember whether it was Yahoo! or AOL, but I remember chatting with Rob when he was living in Hawaii and I was in Las Vegas. It made the world feel extremely small. Two kids from small-town Arkansas had made their ways across the country and were still very far apart, but able to catch up in real time over a computer screen whenever it was convenient.

Later, we became friends on Facebook. Rob and his growing family had moved to the Austin area. I was living in North Texas. And, as you know, I ended up in Austin, as well.

James and I went to the Hayeses' for dinner once shortly after we got here. It was long enough ago that D was still hanging out and went with us, spending the entire night playing Minecraft with Rob's older child, Mak. Even though we were in the same basic metro area, it was almost an hour from the Nuthaus to Rob and Sarah's.

We invited them down once, but Rob got a migraine so just Sarah and Peyton, their younger daughter, came. Sarah told me about Austin's moonlight towers, which gave me something fun to research downtown. It's pretty cool history, and I was glad to know about them.

Later, we moved WAY further south, then, almost two years ago, we moved to a tiny town about 6 minutes from Rob and Sarah's house. We kept talking about getting together. Sometimes, when they'd visit "our" park to kayak, Sarah would ping me on Instagram, but I never noticed in a timely manner.

But today, after having grown up neighbors, lived all over the place, and once again being neighbors in a totally different place, I saw Rob. I wish I hadn't.

Because 46 doesn't seem so old anymore. It's downright youthful, isn't it? And it's much, much too young to say goodbye to a spouse.

Hearing so many people speak of Sarah today inspired me on a couple of levels.

For one thing, I tried to pinpoint the first memory I have of her. You know what it was? That she showed up at prom my junior year with a senior who was probably the first guy I was ever truly in love with. I thought he and I had all the same friends, but I'd never seen Sarah before. Then that was basically all I remember until, right around her graduation (which was the year after mine), Sarah and Rob got married. Babies in love.

Sarah had a history with cancer. You can (and should, really) hear about it from her in this video she made four years ago. When we had dinner with them, she spoke about some of her experiences... but not much. Mostly, we talked about family and our common histories and jobs and normal "grown-up" stuff. She had an easy, hospitable way.

And everyone who spoke at her funeral today spoke of being loved, and seeing Sarah love others so tangibly. Rob's aunt said that, having known Sarah since shortly after the wedding, she'd never seen her raise her voice or say a mean word about anyone. Now, I realize no one is perfect and likely Sarah did both of these things at some point, but no one who knows me could say that about me... on any given single day of my life, honestly.

So the other way I was inspired by Sarah's funeral was just to be better. To live a joyful, hopeful, outward-facing life that will leave everyone I touch better off than before they knew me. My track record so far is not great.

As Rob and the girls try to figure out a new way to live, I am confident that the love and goodwill Sarah put out into the world will enfold the family. He joked today (yes, he spoke at his wife's funeral) about how Sarah was basically The Energizer Bunny and that he certainly couldn't have stopped her... but I hope he knows the person he is, and the partner he was, gave her the space to do the things she did. I wish every possible ease and comfort for the whole family. And I'm grateful I got to know Sarah, if only briefly and somewhat distantly. Rest in peace.