Anywhere but Here

When I was sixteen, I saw California for the first time. I remember being blown away by the mountains, the climate, the ocean. After a week in la-la-land, I was convinced that someday it would be my home; that I would hightail it out of flat, frigid Illinois as soon as I was able. California had palm trees, movie stars, sandy beaches. In my teenage eyes, it was paradise. And I was determined I would one day take up residence.

Decades later, I'm still in the state of my birth and I can't explain why.

Don't get me wrong. Chicago is a great town - beautiful skyline, cultural opportunities up the wazoo and, despite Jon Stewart's tirade to the contrary, the best pizza this side of Naples. I love it. . .from April through October. After that, it slides down to Number 182 on my list of places in which I actually want to live, falling somewhere in between India and Iraq.

Today, the schools are closed for the third time this month, not for a snow day (although there's a ton of that on the ground) but for sub-zero temperatures. I believe the high will top out at -4 and the low will be a fit-for-polar-bears only -18. And like a bear, all I want to do is hibernate.  I put on my three sweaters and long underwear (even if I do not intend to venture out, it's the only think that keeps me warm) and spend as much time as I can huddled under a down comforter, pulling my hands out from under the covers only to change the channel on the remote or sip my hot chocolate.

This is no way to live - except for the hot chocolate.

After being lucky enough to have spent a week in Mexico, I know January doesn't have to look like this. There are places in this world whose residents never have to dig their way out of a two foot snow drift. I want to live in one of them. There are people in this world who get to wear shorts and walk on the beach almost every day of the year. I want to be one of them (except for the shorts thing - with my varicose veins, I should make it capris). There are better things to do than trying to figure out a way to get feeling back in my fingertips after walking to the mailbox. And I want to do them.

I know my California dream is dead - I refuse to spend $650,000 for a two bedroom bungalow that needs some TLC anyway. I know moving west was a foolish, young girl's dream. But this foolish, old girl still dreams. She dreams of escape - from December 26 until somewhere around April 1.

Spring, Summer, Fall. Escape. Those are four seasons I think I can live with.

Not Fearing the Worst

I've never been what you might call a brave person. I watch in awe as people schuss down mountains at warp speed, jump off bridges with nothing separating them from certain death but a giant rubber band, and get behind the wheel of a vehicle going three times the legal speed limit. After a lifetime of walking on the safe side of the street, it's a pretty safe bet that I'm not going to morph into some kind of risk-taking daredevil just because I have fewer years ahead of me than behind me. That would be too much to ask. No, all I can reasonably hope for is that I will stop giving fear the power to keep me from doing something I really want to do.

It's funny how many of those "getting out of your comfort zone" moments come while you're on vacation. Stepping away from your daily routine presents you with a boatload of opportunities to push yourself into uncomfortable territory. All of a sudden para-sailing sounds like a great idea and dining on grilled octopus sounds preferable to a perfectly seared New York Strip.  Oh, sure, you can grab a Big Mac while walking down the Champs E'lysee or hire a driver with an air-conditioned car to show you the sights you could explore on your own but chances are you'll regret it if you do.

On the fabulous winter getaway I wrote about last week, I went snorkeling. A non-swimmer and fearful of deep water, I was determined not to let that stop me from joining my friends on their afternoon excursion. Seeing the tiny boat that was going to transport us out to the reef, I almost bailed. Learning that I would have to jump off the side of said boat into the open sea was almost a deal breaker (I don't know how else I thought I was going to get in with those damn fins on my feet) but, with the help of my very supportive friends and an amazingly patient guide, I did it.  I freaked out a few times and swallowed enough sea water to earn a set of gills but when it was all over, the rush of having conquered one of my most deep-seeded fears stayed with me for the rest of the day and even now is helping to convince me I'm not quite the wuss I thought I was.

So, what now? What scary activity will my new-found maturity and wisdom enable me to cross off my "To Don't" list next? Sky-diving? White-water rafting? Bungee jumping?

If I were you, I wouldn't bet on any of the above. I may be trying to conquer a few fears but I'm not crazy.

Same Time Next Year

The rest of the world thinks we're nuts. That's right. Nuts. Countries from Austria to Zambia shake their collective heads in disbelief at a lot of stuff they see us do but one of the things that dumbfound them the most is the limited vacation time allotted to American employees. While other workers on this planet start their employment with three to four weeks vacation time and work their way up to as many as six, we settle for one measly week until that magical one year anniversary at which time we're lucky enough to get handed one more.

This is something our fellow Earthlings can not understand. And I can't say I blame them.

Yesterday, I was walking on the beach in my shorts, sipping a Pina Colada. Today, I'm back to temperatures in the teens, putting away the last of the Christmas decorations. I had seven days to get away. And while it sucks to be back, I know how lucky I am to have had the week I had.

For the first time, my husband and I got the chance to spend seven mostly sunny, laugh-filled, tropical drink-laced days with our six closest friends. The eight of us have shared everything from our own engagements to the weddings of our children. We've been there to support each other through job changes, miscarriages, marital struggles and the losses of parents. This week was a long time coming. And we were going to savor every minute of those seven days.

So maybe that's how we do it. Since we don't have the luxury of three or four weeks off at a time like our European counterparts, we have to be creative about making our time off count. And if you have a group of friends like I do, it's easy. It really wouldn't have mattered if we had hunkered down for a week at the Springfield Holiday Inn (although I have to say that Mexico was a lot prettier and a whole lot warmer). We would have had a blast wherever we went and we would have come back relaxed, recharged and eternally grateful to be blessed with people in our lives that always have had and always will have your back.

And if any of my fellow Earthlings want to see what one puny week away can accomplish, head south of the border next year around this time (oh, yeah, we're doing this again) and watch us in action.

We'll be floating together somewhere in the vicinity of the swim-up bar.

Christmas Past

Another Christmas has come and gone. This was a particularly special one as it included a great day spent with extended family a few days before Christmas and a full day with my immediate family (including a brand new son-in-law) on the 25th. There was time for an inspirational church service, a couple of amazing dinners, one highly-competitive, entertaining cookie contest, Secret Santa deliveries, and one miserable football game whose pain was dulled with several glasses of Cabernet. Yes, Virginia, it was a good Christmas but that doesn't mean I'm not happy it's over. Here's a few reasons I'm grateful that I have 360 days to get ready for the next one:

- I can stop eating 3000 calories a day

- My credit card can retreat to my wallet for longer than forty-five minute intervals

- I will no longer be tortured by Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time. (I used to love you
  Paul McCartney)

- I won't have to scroll through 125 pages of Etsy looking for Zelda memorabilia

- I can spend one entire day at home enjoying my new slippers, cozy blanket, and Teavana teapot (Santa obviously thinks I'm 103)

- I can stop baking (see reason number one)

- I can stop looking for a comfortable position to wrap presents. Next year may have to be done
  standing up at a very high table.

- Lifetime and The Hallmark Channel can go back to chick flicks that don't include disillusioned
  Christmas tree sellers who fall in love with the fake Santa hired by their long-lost son or daughter  but who's really a multi-millionaire coming to town to save it from being torn down to build a ski resort.

- I won't have to set foot in the post office. Oh, wait, yes, I will. I still have one package to mail.

And finally, without the pressure and chaos of shopping, baking, wrapping, and eating, I can sit back and appreciate the glory and beauty of Winter as it settles in for its open-ended Midwestern run. Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Now that Christmas is over, I can get the heck out of here, lose the fuzzy slippers and start sipping a Pina Colada on a beach somewhere.

Who's with me?


 

Merry Wedding, Happy Vacation

I would like to tell you that I'm one of those people who has their Christmas shopping done by October 1st. On second thought, maybe I wouldn't want to tell you that as those kind of people aren't usually looked on with a whole lot of fondness. But you get my drift. It must be nice to have all that craziness out of the way before the snow starts falling and be able to sit around and watch the rest of us lose our minds trying to find something to throw in a box for Aunt Minnie.

This year has been a whole new kind of crazy. After hosting my niece's baby shower in late November, our daughter's DIY wedding in early December and planning for our first cold weather vacation in ten years, I have to admit that Christmas has only recently shown up on my radar screen. Not one present was purchased before last Friday. I'll bet you all feel a lot better now, huh? But, you know what, it's all going to be okay. Much to my surprise, one very productive shopping day at local retailers and a couple of visits to a few favorite online sites have brought me to the happy conclusion that I'm going to make it. Everyone is going to have something under the tree. It may not be fancily wrapped, it may not be exactly what they wanted but there will be something there.

The Christmas cards may have to wait until next year. (Does anyone mind getting my long-winded update letter late anyway?) The Christmas cookies may not get made (unless my extra sessions on the treadmill actually help me get that bathing suit on and I have something to celebrate). And we might have to settle for that sad Charlie Brown tabletop tree that might manage to hold five or six of our most treasured ornaments. But there will be a Christmas.

For a horse that left the gate as late as I did, that feels like a win.

Period of Adjustment

You would think that someone who has been writing a blog about moving out of the motherhood for four years would be welcoming the permanent exit of one her children with relief and gratitude. And such a person might be out there. It just isn't me.

I miss her.

And while I know she hasn't shipped off to Siberia or chosen to live her life without the benefit of electronic communication, she has packed up the last of her belongings and left the nest to move in with some guy she keeps referring to as her "husband".

Okay, I know this guy is something special but where was he when she was throwing up spaghetti at 2 am, huh? Where was he when she had a science project that was due in twenty-four hours? Where was he during those awkward middle school years? Or rebellious high school days? That's right. Nowhere in sight. And now, after we've done all the hard work, he comes along and snatches the finished product right out from under our noses.

I miss her.

Their new apartment is adorable, decorated with wedding gifts and pilfered items from both of their previous places of residence. She calls me regularly with questions about cooking. She sends me funny e-mails about Breaking Bad. She posts her latest photos on Facebook. It's all wonderful and I'm honestly beyond thrilled that she's found someone to share her life with; someone who makes her happier than I've seen her in a very, very long time.

But I still miss her.

One Beautiful Bride

I am now a mother-in-law. Yesterday, my little girl, the one who used to dress up in Belle's ball gown and Dorothy's ruby slippers, stepped into her own fairytale dress and walked down the aisle to say yes to her Prince Charming.

It wasn't your typical wedding. The "church" was a multi-purpose room decorated by the hands and hearts of family and friends. The "after party" was held at the church center and included a homemade cake and champagne followed by a little dancing and fellowship. The "reception" was an intimate dinner for thirty-five at a local Italian restaurant instead of an over-the-top banquet hall extravaganza for 250.

It was nothing like I once envisioned and so much more than I could have ever imagined.

Our girl didn't need all that other stuff. She got exactly the day she wanted, simple and personal and every bit as special as she is. She walked down the makeshift aisle with a smile that wouldn't quit. She glowed as she promised to forever love and honor the grinning young man at her side. She sat at the piano (yes, she did) and sang a love song she had written for her new husband and brought the entire room to tears.

My husband and I could do nothing but look on with pride and more than a few sniffles. After a rough couple of years, our daughter was happy; truly and completely happy. She sailed through the rest of her big day with ease and grace. Through it all, I never saw one minute of doubt; one shred of nerves; one iota of stress. Unlike a lot of brides, she enjoyed every minute of the day and she did her best to make sure that everyone else did too.

While she and our new son-in-law are off on a well-deserved honeymoon in the Mexican sunshine, my husband and I are trying to catch our breath. But it's going to take more than a day or two to get used to this new reality - the one where our child is gone for good. Oh, we know she'll be back for dinner on a regular basis; we know she'll be back to "borrow" that black sweater with the silver buttons but it won't ever be the same. This is it. After years of teaching, caring, and worrying we've finally arrived at the day that we knew was coming; the day we have to relinquish our child to someone else.

The only thing that makes it easier is knowing that she just may have found someone who actually deserves her.