Six Reasons Why

As often (OK, almost always) happens with the few and far flung New Year resolutions I deign to make, my resolve to post early and often this year seems to have fallen by the wayside. But wait, I do have some valid excuses (note the word choice here—not letting myself off the hook)…

THE HOUSE

So there I was at the holidays, gutted by the collapse of my first real post-divorce relationship. Not having a holly jolly Christmas, not decking the halls, barely managing to get off the couch. The upside of this near paralysis and self-imposed isolation was the inescapable introspection that results from bringing one’s previously frantic existence to a grinding halt. The sadness and disappointment eventually get boring and you begin to wonder about what comes next, who you really are, and what you really want. And just like that, it was past time for me to leave what I affectionately refer to as The Home for the Walking Wounded, the luxury apartment building in the heart of downtown full of people “starting over”. My “must haves” (same neighborhood, outdoor space with a pool, move-in condition) coupled with my price range narrowed my options quickly. Three days after my epiphany, I had a contract accepted on the Key West Cottage that is exactly what I conjured in my wildest dreams. Of course, that is when frantic activity of a different sort began.

THE STAYCATION

A few days after the contract was accepted, I put my just-turned-17-year-old daughter on a train to Tampa for a five day visit with her girlfriend’s family. While this was not remarkable in and of itself, it was a huge milestone in our world. Diagnosed with a chronic illness at 13, another at 14, Asperger’s at 15 and narcolepsy at 16, this trip marked not only her triumph over obstacles but the first time in three years I’d had our living space entirely to myself. I spent at least two full days lounging: reading, wining and dining myself, binge-watching Netflix. I drove nowhere and did whatever I wanted whenever I wanted and it was pure bliss.

THE NEPHEWS

Several days into my staycation, my beloved cousin and childhood best friend informed me that her two thirty-something sons were visiting my town and planning to call me. I hadn’t seen these “nephews” since they were boys, and couldn’t imagine that these half Irish, half Italian, and by all accounts, totally wild, guys would make the time to see their old auntie in Party City. But call they did, and what followed will forever rank as one of my most cherished memories: a week in which we became nearly inseparable; in which I held my own and was pronounced a soldier; in which I laughed so hard and helplessly and constantly that I was frequently in danger of incontinence. I was bereft at their departure.

THE FLU

On the last day of the nephews’ visit, my laughter began morphing into paroxysms of coughing. Given the assault that a week of non-stop partying wreaked on my immune system, it was no surprise that two days later I was under the covers, burning up. Two days of semi-conscious thrashing and misery followed, and ten days later I’m still a shadow of my former self.

CELEBRATIONS

Despite my Oscar-worthy imitation of a consumptive and a new tendency to gag at the thought of ingesting anything, duty called. The matriarch’s 85th birthday and the matriarch-in-waiting’s 60th called for a week-long extravaganza. Naturally, the influx of snowbirds to attend the festivities resulted in additional opportunities to celebrate.

SLOTH

Why is it that I can’t sit my butt in a chair to write, but I can embed it in the couch to watch three seasons of Broadchurch or do Sudoku or, lately, to contemplate the meaning of existence? Seems the therapist who once said to me “For you, right now, doing nothing might be doing something” did not know what she was unleashing.

As my robust health returns and moving day approaches and the vagaries of life continue their sparkly pageant, the reasons not to post will multiply. But so will the reasons to try to understand it all by writing and sharing. Stay tuned.