if only it could be that simple...

“Let her down easy!” he shouted over the clang of distant church bells. “That’s it….easy.”

I watched closely as the crate came down. Not as easy as the foreman was directing, but no sides blew off the container so I suppose it was considered a good landing. My crate, or actually my car’s crate, who was snugly packed inside, had made its way stateside. It was finally making it’s way home.

Three months prior I had been touring Europe with a friend. When I flew into Amsterdam to begin my adventure, I had no intention of buying a car. I had a large framed backpack and a Europass for the train. I was going to hitch, ride and walk my way across the countries of Europe. One misread train ride and I was ended up at a dealership buying a car as renting one was pretty damn expensive.

My car at home had blown its engine days prior to my departure and I figured I would just ‘deal with that’ when I got back. My ticket was open ended and I wasn’t sure when it might be. It could be a week. It could be two. It might be a month, but ended up as four. Four and a half to be exact. I would’ve stayed longer but I ran out of money and my parents refused to wire more. So home I was now, anxiously watching as my large souvenir from my European vacation arrived on the Dock C.

I remember the sound of the foremans voice as he directed the lift operator to take care with my car. Deep, resonate and slightly hoarse like he’s been smoking a pack or two of cigarettes a day since he was old enough to hold one. It was sexy in that rough worker dude way. I watched him as he moved under the crate, helping guide it to it’s final resting spot on the concrete. I remember the look of his well worn work boots. I remember the tag hanging askew on the pocket of his Levi’s. All strange detailed things to recall for a brief five minute meeting.

But it’s the words he spoke.

“Let her down easy”.

I was thinking about that the other day. Outside of the crate that held my car which made a safe landing, I’ve never been let down easy. It’s always been a big crate crashing ordeal with my heart ending up broken and in pieces.

Even when I’m the one ending a relationship it’s MY heart that is shattered. Why is this? Do I feel too much? Expect too much? Internalize too much? Why is it that others can go through the same process and never, ever look back and yet I do?

One of my co-workers recently ended her engagement. She made the decision and never looked back. She even started dating another seriously immediately while the firsts guy calls and asks her to give him another chance. “Hell. no”, she said. I asked her how she’s able to do this, not have any residual emotions bubbling to the surface especially since she had been so close to going to the alter. I mean, she has a child by this person and yet, she doesn’t look back. “He messed up. I hold grudges. For a long, long time….”

I told her she should hold seminars. There are many of us out there that could learn by her example. Especially me. There have been moments when listening to music that can reduce me to tears. This one gets me thinking about that guy in college. That one for my ex. The next making me think that maybe I was wrong to send my last boyfriend packing.

I used to have a favorite song years ago. The lyrics of this particular XTC song read, Everyone seems to wipe their feet with anything with Welcome written on it. I believe that somehow I have become that pervierbial welcome map.

“Come on by”, it calls to passersby. “There’s still a spot left unmarred on this baby. Spots still clean…wipe away!”

There was the boyfriend in High School that started dating the cheerleader while I was on vacation with my family. And the boyfriend in college that started doing my roommate while I was on spring break. The boyfriend who dated my best friend, the boyfriend who just dated, and the boyfriend that went to a party, brought home another girl and ended up marrying her. It seems that my history with men has not been good. Everyone I have relationships with stay with me for a long time and then leave to marry the next girl that comes along. All this after I’ve helped them with their careers, their school, their wardrobe and their vehicles. Once they’ve gotten everything from me that makes them a complete package…then they move onto the next. The next girl in line has a much better person as their companion than the one that I started with.

Yes girls…you all are very, very welcome.
Not.

I resent having done this over and over again. You’d think that I should see the signs. You’d think that I would know better. But no. I can’t seem to see it when in it. I just let it happen and happen and happen and then end up looking through stacks of correspondence that makes it all crystal clear. That if I could have staid the line I drew in 2004, or 2007, or 2010, then I wouldn’t be where I am now. Feeling betrayed and used yet once again.

But I’m done with that portion of my life. The next person that comes in will have to BE someone on their own merit. Not be-coming one with my help.

I have since 'the breakup' joined some dating sites. Match. eHarmony. OKCupid. It’s been an adventure to say the least, but none I've met has me feeling any emotional connection. Yet. At first I monitored them quite religiously and set up meetings and dates, but lately haven’t been all that keen to even follow up. So far I’ve met a potential companioion that ended up being good looking but not having much of a backbone.

I don’t mind having a bit of control in relationships….but I have decided that in this foray into dating I do not, repeat, do not want to make all the decisions. In choosing a restaurant “I don’t care, wherever you want”, or a day “Anytime is good, you just let me know”, or take the initiative “I was just going to call/text/e-mail you but you beat me to it”. C’mon. Really? Bye-bye Jimbo. Good luck to you.

Or the ego fragile Bradley. Good luck on your search I get in a text at 6am. What? I coyly answer him back How did you know I couldn’t find my matching earring? I get it. I didn’t answer him back in the middle of the night when he texted me. Uh, dude…it’s called ‘sleeping’. I like to do it from time to time. Especially between the hours of 11pm and 5 am. I understand that you are a construction worker and currently on leave so all you have to do is sit around all day and then can stay up all night…but that. Is. Not. My. Life.

Oh, and no. My hair is not long enough to put into pigtails. And no, I do not take random photos of myself doing random things to send via MMS to people that I don’t really know. “ALL girls like taking photos of themselves!” Well Bradley, maybe girls do…but I don’t. I suppose that makes me a woman. Who does not wear pigtails. Good luck in your search too.

Sure the attention has been grand. I love the compliments. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been showered with this much attention. Not that I really have the time to deal, but still…it’s great. It really is.

That and the side effect of not cooking three meals a day for a spouse that’s not really a spouse and the beer drinking and eating deep fried chicken wings that was his ‘fav’…well, I’ve lost a total of nineteen pounds to date. Without doing anything.

Yes.
You read that right. Without doing anything.

I should write a diet book. It’ll be the new hot trend. Just get rid of the number one stress inducer in your life and watch the pounds drop off like magic! Remember the sleep apnea that I was diagnosed with? Gone. Completely. I sleep soundly every night without waking. I wake up refreshed and ready to start the day.

With a good attitude.
Feeling great.

Go figure!

AND I’ve got this whole single thing worked out. I don’t really need the internet. I don’t need networking with my married friends with single friends. I don’t need to join a book club or health club. What I need is to go skiing every week.

Yes. That’s the secret.
My friends daughter told me so.

See…Katlyn’s thirteen.
A tween’er.
And smart, with a the solution to all my woes.

Last week when in Western New York skiing she let me in on the karma of single life on the ski lift. I was actually talking to Kim, but Katlyn chimed in.

I was filling Kim in on what was going on in my life currently. We are great friends, but we don’t see each other as often as we’d like ever since our kids switched to different schools. But one week a year we get together and ski. It’s a blast.

I told her that I had about given up on the eHarmony thing (really? THESE are the people that are my matches by 29 dimensions? I think not) but that I was still engaging in conversation with some people on Match.com.

“Match?”, Katlyn said with exasperation. “Match dot com? Are you kidding me?”

“Yes. Match dot com.”, I responded, “but, why the tone Katlyn?”

I mean sure. Tone is expected from a tween’er, especially a snowboard tween’er that refuses to zip her coat because it lowers the cool factor. But this was the tone of all tones.

“Oh….please, Ms. Mac. Match is for losers. YOU...aren’t a loser.”

First thought was, “Geez! Katlyn thinks I’m cool!” And the second thought was that I wished I were a tween’er again. Her solution to my dating woes were to ‘just ride the singles line’ at the ski resort.

As if it could be so simple.

Single? Need a date? Want a companion for life?

No prob. Just get in the single rider line at the Mardri Gras high speed quad. Three runs and you’re sure to find your soul mate.

Me and my helmeted head are sure to attract all the eligible single dudes. I’m sure of it. Being that you can’t see anything on my body save the tip of my nose from time to time beneath the goggles, the turtle fur, the helmet, the jacket, the pants, the gloves, boots and skiis….yeah, I’m sure that it’d be easy.

I thought, well hey, maybe I should give it a shot. I used to be a member of the Fagowees when I first moved to Cleveland. It was a west side ski club that my boss drug me to once. She was single and didn’t want to go alone. The Fagowees became the weekend home for the lost weekends.

We’re the Fa-go-wees = Where the fuck are we

Yes.
There was alcohol involved.

And skiing. Lots and lots of skiing. Or was it lots and lots of alcohol with a little skiing. I get confused.

Whatever the configuration, it was damn fun in my twenties. Now in my forties, I’m not so sure it’d have the same amount of shine that it did back then. But you never know.

I promised Katlyn that I’d give it a try. I’ll try riding the singles lane a few times to see what conversation pops up. And I have.

So far a young snowboarder from Costa Rica. That was fun. He was hot. Really, really hot. So hot he undid his pants, I kid you not. Not all the way, but to ‘vent himself”. I tried not to fall off the chair lift.

And a retired man skiing on equipment that might be found in the Smithsonian.

A gay gal that wanted to have drinks and then there’s Michael. Who turns out to be a member on Match dot com himself. Actually I recognized him before he recognized me. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. He’s the ‘talldude’ from OKCupid that I’ve seen.

And he’s from Cleveland no less.

Tall, dark, handsome, funny and nice. He’s even a good skier. And got the voice (sans smoking) of the guy directing my crate from years and years ago.

Very nice…..

Hmmm, I wonder if he can golf?

But let’s get through the first few dates to see if this guy has backbone. And likes women that don’t wear pigtails.

Tomorrow I’ve got to go shopping. For some new shades.
All of a sudden my future looks mighty, mighty bright.
:-)

go west...

Lately, I’ve been conducting an experiment.


No. I’m not a scientist. I’ve not been following any rules or guidelines and I’ve not been writing down the results.

But I DO have them stored away in my mental data base. And today? Today, I’m going to share them with you….


You are so very lucky.

I've found that when driving, there are basically two kinds of people. Those that will not, for any reason allow another to pass them or let another car in if merging. And those that will.

The first group, for the sake of argument, we’ll just call them rude. Or imbeciles. Or rude imbeciles. Take your pick. I’ve got a couple of other monikers that come to mind, but those I won’t share with you. At least here, for now.

These people intentionally pass on the right in order to get one lousy car ahead. They are menaces on the road. They should all be ticketed and forced to take their driving tests again, which I would assume they would fail. Miserably.

Then there are the second group. They are courteous drivers that allow others to merge. They follow the rules of the road and aren’t menaces. They don’t create accidents. They aren’t involved in road rage. They make their driving school instructors proud.

We’ll call these people kind.

These kind people will wave in another car trying to get on the road from the gas station. “Go ahead…c’mon in.” As you might imagine, I fall into this category. I wave and smile and they usually wave back in return.

Mankind helping other mankind. Being polite. Helping out. Pay it forward. Whatever you want to call it….It’s a good thing.

But mankind seems to be really, really bad of late. Is it the holiday stress? Or are people just being less polite? Are people just focused more on themselves and not about the big picture?

I’ve encountered more and more of those from the first rude imbecile category. My commute is longer with this new position and I’ve been traveling over to the ‘East Side’ a lot. In Cleveland they have a joke about crossing the river. Eastsiders don’t come west and westsiders don’t go east. No one crosses the mighty Cuyahoga River and mingles. It just isn’t done.

Now, I’m not a native Clevelander, although I’ve lived here most of my adult life, so these rules don’t necessarily apply to me.

I go where I want to, damnit.

I’ve friends that live on the Eastside. But they used to live west. Then they lost their minds and moved back across the river. Funny thing is that once they’ve moved, I don’t see them as much as I used to. And it’s only 12 miles away…

Fact is, when I interviewed for this job that is taking me into the forbidden land, Patti said with a wry look on her face, “The position is on the East side. Is that okay?” Patti’s a westsider as well. She understands that this might have been a deal breaker.

But it wasn’t. Isn’t. At least so far. However, if this bad manner road rage rude imbecile behavior continues….I might need to reassess.

On the west side, things seem to be a bit more relaxed. A little less frantic. There are seemingly less cars! Maybe because things aren’t as congested on the west side….a little more sprawling, that it just appears to be…less. There are so many damn cars on the east side, traffic is always a mess. Add to it the holiday shopping and you've got yourself one huge cluster f...well, you know. Just trying to leave the stores complex it takes ten minutes to get through the light. Another ten minutes to make it to the next light. And then fifteen more minutes to go the two miles to the highway. God help you if you are trying to leave a gas station. Your headlamps could be shining directly into the passenger window of someone on the road and they won’t even turn to look at you.

Like what happened a few days ago.

I was running low on gas and after that several hour commute when the winter storm hit the northwest a few weeks ago, I don’t like to let my car go less than a quarter tank. During that 3 hour trek home I saw several cars just ditched where they were because in the gridlock of traffic they just had no more juice.

So I decided to stop onmy way home. Not a big deal. There WAS a lot of traffic. But the gas station was on the right hand side of the street, it shouldn’t be a hard thing to slip off, fill up and slip back into the line of traffic.

Right?
Wrong.

I had to wait for the pump to open.

No problem. I’ve got patience. I didn't have any particular deadline to be home at a certain time. I watched as he filled up his car. Then he went inside to get some wiper fluid. Okay, no problem. Good idea really, but it was sleeting and not today. Note to self…maybe tomorrow, or when you get home check the wiper fluid levels. Then he went back into the station to get a beverage, checked his pockets on the way back to the car and went back into the store again. This time he was carrying a candy bar as well.

C’mon already. MOVE YOUR CAR and THEN go and buy supplies. Can’t you see there are people waiting for the pump? Geez.

So finally, he moves his car. I start to pull forward and bam! Another car zips around from the left and into my space! The one I've been waiting for! Are you kidding me? She won’t look at me. I'm practically glaring at her. I pull as far forward as I can so there is no way that she CAN’T see me. I want her to know and feel badly about taking my place in the queue for the pump. When she finishes she waves me off as if I will back up to let her out. No way chicky. Back her back there, Virgil. Let’s see if you even can. Hahahaha. Who's inconvienced now!

Even this little incident isn’t going to get to me. I’m humming as I fill up my car. I’ve the next 3 days off. Life is good. I finish up and approach the road. Traffic is rather heavy and it is snowing pretty hard now, but as I sit there waiting for a chance or break in traffic to reenter on the roadway….no one will let me out.

No one will stop and leave enough room for me to merge.

I drive a Jeep Commander. It’s rather big. There is no way that I can’t be seen.

It’s big, but it’s not menacing like a Hummer. It garners respect without the heavy Moxi of “Hey! Look at me!!”

I sat, again patiently, and watched forty five cars in three different light sequences and not a single person would let pause or stop to me out onto the road.

45.

These cars would stop and my headlights would illuminate the interior of their car. Would they turn and look? No. They wouldn’t even acknowledge that I was there! Amazing! “I won’t look, because if I do, then even I will know that I’m a selfish jerk…so no, don’t look at the car waiting. Don’t look. Don’t look….”

So finally I was forced into doing what any eastsider would do. I just pulled out anyway and MADE them make room for me. My Jeep is the biggest one they make and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let your little Nissan or Mazda block my way any longer. I’m bigger and so you better damn well stop or move!

Of course, as expected, there were many hand gestures. Some that I didn't even recognize. There was much movement on mouths of those rude eastsiders. Their lips forming choice words that young children shouldn’t hear and most sailors know. There is nothing incriminating on my car that would let anyone know that I was indeed from the Westside.

Nothing, that is, except for my nice driving etiquette.

I stopped several times to let others out. Much to the chagrin of those driving behind me. By this time, their horns sounded like Christmas bells. Which brought an even bigger smile to my face as I knew I had gotten their Christmas goat.

As I was on my way to work the other day, accompanying me the entire commute was a woman in a white Cadillac Escalade. She looked more the part of a Texas Oil mans wife than someone living up in Cleveland….big blond tresses that she kept flipping. She had enormous black Chanel sunglasses taking up the majority of her face. At several intervals she would check the rear view mirror, not for traffic, but to make sure her lipstick and makeup was ‘just so’.

I got a kick out of watching Ms. Texas driving the shoreway. Zipping from the far left lane to the far right in order to pass two cars and get back over into the far left lane again.

I’m a pretty 'steady as she goes' good driver. Ask anyone. When I learned how to drive I was taught to always look ahead, plan your route, know your perimeters…like playing chess. I see where cars are moving and what lane to be in or not to be in. Several times Ms Texas would get stuck behind slow movers and I’d be then in front of her again only to see her zip by once she finagled herself out of the jam.

I looked at her license plate. It read HYM8NX.

I pondered this for a time. What did that mean? I wasn’t surprised by the vanity plate in and of itself…but what did it say? Surely it wasn’t cryptic enough or clever enough that I couldn’t figure it out.

High Maintenance.

The plate read High Maintenance.

I laughed and laughed and thought ‘How fucking perfect is that!”

I see Ms High Maintenance every so often on my drive over to the east side. She obviously has been doing it longer than I have and has taken on the driving style of the east. I’m starting to learn myself…but it’s not easy.

I still let people in and those behind me honk their horns and wave their arms. It’s not a happy wave. Even those that I let out over on the east side don’t acknowledge the courtesy. They just expect it. They don’t wave or smile.

It has started a whole ‘nuther study for me.

I now smile at people in other cars to see what their reaction will be. So far I get nothing back. Pretty soon they might just have me committed.

Not to an asylum…

But committed to staying on the Westside where the people are kinder. More forgiving and they smile and let people in.

Yeah.
I’m definitely a westsider...

:-)

it's soooooo me...

“Oh My God! Look at this! You MUST buy it!” my friend exclaimed, “It’s soooooooooo you!”


I was out doing some good ol’ multi tasking. Social interaction with friends and Christmas shopping. Popping in and out of stores not really task oriented, just getting ideas. And picking up some things, mostly for myself, along the way.

The sweater that my friend held up was cute. But not for me. There were several things standing in the way of it ‘being for me’. One was it was pink. I don’t do pink. Secondly, cascading down the front was a plethora of sparkly sequins. I don’t do sequins. And third, it was cropped. I don’t do cropped.

As she stood three exclaiming how purrrrfect this would be to wear to a holiday party “with grey straight leg jeans tucked into over the knee boots” I wondered how well my friend really knew me. I mean, I’ve known her for years, but did she really know me?

Grey jeans? Me?
Tucked into boots? Over the knee high boots at that.

I don’t think so. The only thing that was me about that sweater was that it was a cardigan. I do do cardigans. But they must be rather classic in style and usually in shades of gray or black. Pink? Um, no.

Over the years I’ve met many a person that has claimed “Oh Nancy, I know you.” Some really do and some might think they do, but they really don’t. Perhaps my friend saw in that sweater a Nancy that she thinks that I should be. Pink sequins? In her eyes am I really a pink sequin donning girl?

I have a friend who wears color well. Everything that I’ve ever seen her in is brightly colored or printed. And it looks great on her. The more embellishment the better. She can pull it off. I on the other hand would feel as if that embellishment was wearing me. My style is low key, laid back, no color and classic. Delving into the dating world I question the good sense given by magazines for ‘date night dressing.’ Is this where I’m going wrong? Do I need to take their advice and wear a red dress when out on a first date as opposed to my black turtleneck or white non-iron French cuff shirt?

Is that what is expected of me? Is that what men want?

I find reading such things as I wait for my manicure to dry ridiculous. Maybe it might be good advice for some young girl who hasn’t quite found her own sense of style yet, but I find dressing in a manner unlike you to be somewhat absurd. What if I did show up for a first date in a red dress. Perhaps my date would like that kind of low cut style and color. But that’s not who I really am. So who have I fooled? Myself? Him? Would I now need to change my entire wardrobe and outlook on clothing in order to dress to impress? Do I really wish to attract a man with said red dress as opposed to the real me?

I like red dresses, don't get me wrong. Just in magazines or on other people. It’s not who I am. Or at least the me who I have always thought I was.

I’ve been trying in these past few months to do things outside of my norm. I went out to eat the other night just by myself. I used to travel to Cincinnati quite often for work. I would stay in a hotel downtown. Once the store closed I would go to one of the nice restaurants in the square and enjoy a good meal before retiring for the night. There were groups of men after work, groups of females finished with their shopping and romantic couples at most of the tables. At the bar would be men on business sitting alone having a bite to eat. I would always ask for a table. It made me uncomfortable to saddle up to the bar by myself. Like I was there to pick someone up or something. Blame it on the movies I’ve seen, but my sitting at the bar alone all Sharon Stone-esque just isn’t quite my bag.

As I sat, alone, waiting for my meal I would hear others coming in. “A table for two, please” a man said with a girl hanging on his arm. Bah. She was wearing a red dress. Go figure.

I signed up for an internet dating site. They send daily ‘matches’. I read some of the profiles and then archive them. Some of the guys I don’t even read their profiles. One look at the picture they’ve uploaded to ‘attract their mate’ turns me off to the extent that I almost feel compelled to message them to let them know it’s not working. Really? That’s the best picture you can find or get your hands on of yourself? Tell me it isn’t so.

These poor souls. These saps. These losers…and I hate to say that, but it’s true. The main profile picture of one guy standing in his garden (ok, he works for a greenhouse…so I get the garden thing) in an ill-fitting t-shirt that shows off nothing except his beer gut. Or the guy that obviously set up his camera on his dresser in his bedroom to self timer, ran in front and put his leg up on the bed, elbow on his knee. Did he realize that his shoes were on the bed and he was in his socks? Did he take into consideration that the old floral bedspread that his wife or past girlfriend bought for him might not give off the ‘strong masculine’ ideal that his pose is trying so hard to present? Did he take into consideration that there was a cheap oval mirror in the corner of the room that reflected both his flat ass and the camera on the dresser that still held his wedding photo?

I don’t think so.
These aren't the men for me. How would I got 'matched' with them in the first place amazes me.

I didn’t message him. Although I should. Just to let him know. I figure that many people might not see all the detail in his photo, but I did. Can you say ‘archive’? Yup. As fast as my fingers could manage it.

I have met a couple of people through the site. A nice New Zealand man who plays professional squash. In Cleveland? Who knew such a creature existed? He’s got a nice smile and a tremendous accent. Is it a match made in heaven? No. I don’t see myself smiling in the photos of the log-in page with a ‘Nancy and Ray ~ matched November 2, 2010’ anytime soon. But to share a pint or two…sure thing. Larry was a nice man. Really nice man. But I just wasn’t attracted to him. And his familiarity in conversation wanting to make me dinner and rub my feet just kindof weirded me out. I mean if we were IN a relationship, sure. But I met you once for pizza. I don’t want to come to your home for a second date. His stories of others he’s met online were interesting, but they all made references to sex in some form or another. There was one where the woman posted photos of herself that turned out to be at least 20 years ago. When he told her he felt duped, that he didn’t want to date her because he thought he was meeting the woman with the red hair, not gray…she said, “so do you just want to have sex then?”

Funny? Yeah…no, weird. Why do all your stories have sexual inneuendos to them. Sorry Larry, I don’t want to have sex with you. You’re a really, really nice guy and all, but no nookie from Nancy. Sorry.

I’ll keep looking. At least until my subscription runs out. I highly doubt I will renew. Although the photos and profiles thus presented have been highly entertaining. One guy in Strongsville seemed promising. We went through the question process. He was complimentary. He seemed to have his shit together and then when it came time for ‘open communication’ he just phoofed. Nothing. Gone. I could see that he would check my profile every few days or so…but I couldn’t mail him. I had to wait for his response and none was forthcoming. Every three days he would look at my profile, but he wouldn’t send a message. I found that odd. And slightly troubling. It made me feel sort of angry in a way as well. What kind of game was he playing? And if fact he was playing games…then would I want to meet him anyway? Perhaps he was in communication with someone else and waiting to see if that match panned out. That’s fine. That’s even cool for you Steven of Strongsville…but you know what, let me know! Just send a message stating that and guess what, I’d probably wait to see fi it worked out between you and if not, then lets have a glass of wine. Or coffee. But nope. Just lurking my profile page. So I closed him. Take that. Good luck to you, buddy.

Maybe I will buy that sweater after all.
But in black.

Maybe it’s time to break out some sequins and sparkle on my next pint with Ray. Who knows, maybe that hidden me that my friend seems to know should come out and play.

But I am not buying gray jeans.
Or tucking them into boots. Especially over the knee high ones.

I’ll save those for when I wear red.
:-)

wrong place, wrong time...

I see it everyday. Every single day as I drive to work I see it. Sitting there in the middle of the Shoreway, just inches from the center lane white lines it lays. Each day getting a little smaller. A little flatter. A little less noticeable as to what it might have been originally. But it’s there. I see it. I wonder if anyone else sees it? Does anyone else know what it is?

And it makes me sad.

My drive to work takes me through a really pretty area of Cleveland. Being a port city for Lake Erie, our forefathers were thinking accessibility. Not profitability. The coastline near downtown isn’t full of high-rises like Chicago. Nor hotels like California. Or casinos like Atlantic City. It’s a port town. And there’s a port.

The city itself is on the lake, but separated from it with a freeway. The Shoreway runs from the Westside, where I live, all the way down the lakefront. Curving with the lakes shore it winds past the large beach and park, multiple yacht clubs, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Browns football stadium and the Great Lakes Science Center.

It’s a beautiful drive actually. It’s uplifting to watch the waves and how the light plays on them as I drive. Except for my seeing this item that lies in the road. Two weeks now its been there and probably will remain there until a snow plow this winter sweeps it away.

My ‘To-Do’ list was staring me in the face. Having woken up in the middle of the night I grabbed a pen and pad of paper and wrote down all the things that I’d like to get accomplished once I woke up. For real. I had lists of things running in my head. I was slightly anxious about starting my new job and wanted to make sure all the household ducks were lined up before dropping Bear off at school. I suppose my anxiety is what was keeping me up. I figured if I at least wrote it down it might empty my head for a bit. At least an hour or two, that’s all I was asking for…another two hours of sleep.

Which worked. But the first thing my eyes focused on upon opening was “the list“.

I sat up and looked it over. Miss Queen of Procrastination residing on my left shoulder was already mentally marking things off. “That can wait. That can wait, too. Even that. Don’t even start that task…please.”

I usually try to tune the Queen out. I rest better when my list gets attended to. But looking out the window at the sun streaming in, I thought she might be right. At least for today.

“Boo Bear…time to get up doll.” I said quietly upon creeping into my daughters room. Boo sleeps like a log. She tumbles in her sleep and ties herself up in her blankets. Four Ugly Dolls were looking at me from under the blankets and another was tucked under her arm. “Bear?”

The blankets were pulled up high and I could see her feet and the top of her head…but nothing else. “Boo?”

“Huuuhhhhhhhhhhh?” came a soft reply. “Do I have to go to school today?”

“Um. No darlin’…it’s Sunday. Do you want to rake leaves or do something fun?”

“Sunday!” she bounced straight up in bed. “Cool! Let’s go to the science center and see the Imax.”

The Great Lakes Science Center is just a few miles from our home. We’re members and go quite regularly, but hadn’t been in awhile. The usually have three different Imax movies running and I love the feeling of being IN the screen.

“Great idea! Let me see what movies are playing.”

But when pulling up the web sight it notified me although the center is fully open, the Browns were playing today. They let fans use the parking garage on home games. The stadium is located right next door. Parking would be a hassle, the center probably packed…yeah, that idea was no looking so stellar right now.

“How about the art museum? I haven’t been since they reopened.”

So the art museum it was. She invited a friend and we commenced on our adventure.

The best way to get there is taking the Shoreway. It’s quite curvy at points following the inlet of the Cuyahoga River. Today as we made our second turn just past the beach, there was a police cruiser parked on the right side of the road, flashers going. The officer was standing in front of his car. I looked in my rear view mirror and there was another police car coming up fast. I pulled over to the far left and checked my speed.

I hate rubberneckers. You know the type. They slow down when they see emergency vehicles or an accident to crane their neck to see what’s up. It’s human nature I suppose, to look at accidents. It’s sometimes gruesome. Sometimes not. But always it messes up the traffic pattern for no real reason.

Today I was that rubbernecker. I looked over as I passed by and there in the road was a young buck. He was down with his legs tucked under him, head upright and proud but obviously hurt and in shock. The officer stood with his arms down by his sides just looking at the buck about three feet from it. It seemed surreal.

I wondered how did it get here? Where did it come from? There isn’t a park or woods any where close by. How did he get in the highway? What if he tries to get up? Someone must have hit him coming around that turn. Someone rushing down to tailgait for the Browns game. They obviously didn't even stop. I wonder if they knew they hit it at all? They were probably already tailgaiting and couldn't risk stopping for fear of a DUI slapped on them. All these thoughts running in my head as I drove by watching the scene as if in slow motion.

I even saw the bucks eyes.

Shock. Definitely in shock. There was blood all down his left side. The legs were at an unnatural angle.

“Mom, why are you going so slow?” The girls were singing along at top volume watching some music video on my phone in the backseat oblivious to what was going on beside the road.

“There’s a buck. In the road.” I was now twenty or thirty feet beyond the accident sight. I could see them in my mirror but I had picked up speed. It was then that I saw it. A large chuck of flesh in the center lane of the highway. Whatever car or truck that had hit the buck the flesh dropped off their bumper as they drove on.

Right there. In the road. I started to weep.

Everything inside of me that needed to cry itself out came out right then. That piece of flesh in the road was the trigger. I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop. I just...cried.

I cried for the buck.
I cried for me.

I thought they’ll have to send someone to put him down. That proud beast. Poor thing. My mind rushed back to when I was 16 and hit a rabbit scurrying across the road. I had looked in the rear view mirror then and saw it spinning in the road. I remember going home and the sinking feeling that I had killed this little bunny. My mom made me some hot chocolate and sang to me to calm me down.

I felt the same way looking at this buck in my rear view mirror now. But there wasn’t anything that I could do about it…so I drove on.

We had a great time at the art museum. There were some special exhibits going on with people dressed in medieval costumes and teaching us to dance. We got to try on armor and helmets from that period. We made our own helmets of craft paper and feathers and engaged in sword play. It was a fine day.

I forgot about the buck.
I didn’t even look for him when driving back home.

But I remember him now each and every morning.
As I drive to work and that chunk of fur and flesh is still in the road.

I’d like to stop and get it out of the road so I won’t have to look at it each time. But running across a busy highway to remove this part left behind of the buck wounded on the Shoreway would probably end up with my own flesh being torn off and deposited another twenty or thirty feet beyond.

But there it is. Right on the line in the second lane.

Living in Cleveland where we get hit with lots of snow fall, I never thought I would pray for an early snow. But I am now. Chances are it will remain there until that dreaded fluffy stuff does fall. Then and only then will my drive be weep free.

Because with the snow brings the plows. And then the plows will get it.
That poor piece of buck left in the roadway.

How many people drive over it each and every day and don’t even know what it is. Oblivious to that poor bucks peril two Sundays ago.

But I do. I saw it.
I saw him.

Poor thing.
He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now all that's left is the sad reminder left on the Shoreway....

on a roll...

I’ve been busy.
I am on the proverbial roll.

I’ve been cleaning the house of the big items…i.e.-boyfriend. And cleaning the small items as well… i.e.-lazy suzanne and pantry.

The recent change of relationship status in my life has spurred on a cleaning frenzy unlike any I’ve ever experienced in the past. Oh sure, I’ve seen in movies where women are scrubbing toilets with their ex’s t-shirts or toothbrushes and laughed at the thought. I’ve not gone down that road, but boy, the house is looking quite orderly and clean in the aftermath!

It started with my scouring the house looking for remnants of life with the boyfriend. All of it had to go. I didn’t care where, as long as it was not within the confines of my personal space. Boxes upon boxes of his fathers books had been brought to my house for future perusal when his parents recently moved. Lots of treasures from their attic that they didn’t want to mess with were brought here and stashed. And when I say boxes, I mean boxes. Plural to the 14th power. Maybe more. There were some in the garage, some in the spare room, some in the basement. His dad was a professor of history and books were his thing. Some interesting titles and some not so interesting titles. But I’m a book lover, so for me, all books are treated with care and respect.

There were plastic bins of Naval uniforms, medals and photographs from the boyfriends time spent in the Navy. Some really cool items that I was tempted to keep just for future costuming (we’re big on dress up here at my house) but that didn’t seem quite right to keep. So out they went. Rubbermaids of high school trophies and little league photographs. School photos of girls with 80’s hair with loopy handwriting of “Great to know you! Keep in touch!“ Bins of his past life that ended up in my basement.

Pictures of his brother found buried in the attic of his parents house. High school portraits, wedding portraits, football portraits. He hasn't seen his brother in years. Both boyfriend and boyfriends parents are estranged from the brother. It was my idea was to bring them here to someday, hopefully give back to him. But obviously that's not going to happen. The boyfriend can figure out what to do with them now.

There are the large items like the treadmill, the heavy bag, the snow blower and the miter saw. His big leather chair that somehow I managed remove from the house all by myself, leaves a vacant spot in the living room. All things belonging to him are now gone. All the clothes and shoes and stuff that took up space in the dressing room. Gone. No reminders. No photographs. No nostalgia. All gone.

But surprisingly, it doesn't look empty. It looks...good.

One of the most noticable changes for me, is the television gone from the bedroom. That was his as well. The wooden stand remained with the cords jutting out from the back of an unhooked up dvd player and cable box. A silent reminder of whats missing. It would be easy to purchase another in its place but I’ve made the decision to NOT replace the TV. I’ve been reading more of late without the box in there. So out the stand went. Although I couldn't do that one onmy own like the chair. Had I tried to negotiate that down from the third flloor master I be presently typing this from the confines of a hospital bed.

I used to like to snuggle deep in the down comforters and pillows nursing a glass of wine or cup of green tea and watch movies. I had a membership online with Blockbuster that would automatically rotate 3 movies delivered to my door. I canceled the subscription the day after the split. Somehow it seemed sad to continue to open movies that I had obviously put in the queue with boyfriends interests in mind. We used to watch a lot of movies. That was our thing. Movies of action, movies of horror, movies with an oriental theme, movies of suspense. I never added chick flicks, he didn't like them. No Indie or foreign films, he didn't care for those either. I know I could keep the subscription and change the titles to those I’ve denied myself of watching over the years, but I’ll just keep that extra twenty bucks in my checking account each month instead.

I’ve been curling up in my big chair in the living room with the fireplace blazing, dogs at my feet, reading. Finally getting to the ever growing stack of literature that I had not taken the time to read. I’ve been enjoying my time alone.

Bear and I have been enjoying all this time as well. Not having a third person to add to the mix we don’t have to think about anyone else’s schedule. Before we had a routine, but no longer. I don’t have to worry about having meals ready at any certain time. Some evenings Boo and I will eat early. Some nights we go out. One night neither of us were really hungry so we went and got ice cream instead. It’s been fun approaching our evenings with a “ So....what’dya want to do tonight?” careless approach.

This purging of all things boyfriend has spurred on more organization throughout the rest of the house. The bookshelf in my office, just to the right of my desk becomes a catch-all. It gets piled high with papers that I need to attend to, to file or to mail at a later date. Even the cleaning people have been bypassing this disorganized mess for fear of messing up my ‘filing’ system. The dust bunnies were turning into dust creatures. Well guess what…it’s now nice and clean and organized and dusted.

My tool chest in the basement was getting extremely unorganized. It started by taking a tool and then not returning it to where it SHOULD go, but just lazily laying it on the top. In theory putting things away where they should go is fine, but didn't happen. But hey now… I’ve got that all organized, and labeled as well. And the garage? Let's talk about the garage. All the seeds, the fertilizers, the leaf bags…all put where they are supposed to go. All these little projects that I would think about, but never quite found the time to get around to do…amazingly enough, without boyfriend, I now can complete them all.

I’ve more time.

More time for myself. More time to do what I want and not what I felt I needed to do. Unhindered by someone else’s schedule (which I did to myself…I know) I’m now able to get more things accomplished.

Bah! To putting another’s schedule before mine.
Bah! To putting myself last on the to do list.
Bah! To all of it.

I’m reveling in the fact that it is ME that I now have to answer to. If I want to get up in the middle of the night and read….I’ll do it. Or if I want to go for a walk late in the evening, I’ll do that too. If I don't want to make dinner, of coffee, or do laundry...I won't do it.

My time is my time.
And damn, if it doesn’t feel good.

But in retrospect, after all the things on the back deck were picked up and long gone, I have but one remorse. I should’ve kept the white navy uniform with the Dixie cup hat.

I would’ve looked hot in that for next years Halloween party.
:-)