Forgiveness Heals.

New Road. Different Bumps.

Feel free not to answer

he said

but do you mind me asking

would you ever get married again?

We're dear friends.

Like,

the best ever.

Have been for years.

We've rolled up and down

plenty of lifes hills

on parallel roads.

Would you?

After all those years

and after all these years alone

knowing what you know now

would you?

Oh heck yeah.

I didn't even have to think

about my answer.

Absolutely.

My sweet daughter

who is also a dear friend

and of the 

sworn-never-to-marry mind

expressed incredulity

when I told her the same thing?

WHAT?

You would?

Even after going through a divorce

and all the tough stuff 

you've been through?

People change, mom.

You know you can't ever predict

how people change.

You'd do it again?

And then she thought about it for a minute.

Her older and wiser thought process

kicking into gear.

Or is it because you feel like

you've learned some things

along the way.

Yep.

That's it.

And yeah

to my lifelong buddy

the one who is less-than-happy

and occasionally envies me just a bit

in my aloneness

even as I occasionally

envy him a bit

in his marriedness.

I'd do it again.

In a heart beat.

Because I've learned some things.

About me.

About life.

About others.

I'm older.

Wiser.

I've learned a few lessons.

Tough ones.

My ex-husband and I
were together for over 25 years.

We remain great friends.

He's been happily remarried

for many years.

I liked being married.
I'm ok single.

But everything is just better
when you share it with someone
you love.

Again?
Oh yes.
In a heartbeat.

The Coveted Medallion

The meticulous and oft-tedious nature

of sorting through a lifetime of another persons stuff

will grey the hair and melt the shoes right off

the most determined

most organized

most prepared.

Guaranteed.

Perhaps your parents

unlike ours

realized they would not live forever.

Perhaps they sorted through their own

accumulations

and lightened up their lives

so you wouldn't have to do it after they were gone.

Not mine.

No, the only way I can make sense of the 

flotsam and lifetime of accumulation my parents left

to be addressed by my sisters and myself

is to believe they just figured

they were never going to die.

In which case

someday, yes

they would have possibly needed those 85 baby food jars again.

They'd wear the faded, threadbare short-sleeve shirts again;

or the flannel ones with the elbows worn through;

the ones still brilliant in color on one pocket

because the vinyl pocket-protector

did...well....

exactly that.

Orange plaid is still

after all those years

and just on that one pocket,

orange plaid. 

If your parents were pack rats

and mine were among the pack rattiest of them all

(so I know something of which I speak)

you will find beyond the grief of their passing

challenges

which will

at various times

If you're anything like me

the wonder and mystery of

diving into the closets and drawers

and garage attics

of people you thought you knew so well

will very quickly find you calling your local

dumpster guy

and having him deliver 

the biggest empty box 

he can fit into the driveway.

And you'll fill it.

Three times, maybe.

You'll fill it

with all that wonder

and mystery

and those fabric napkins, too..

(the ones with the big cherries on them)

still in their plastic packages

from when your mom purchased them

in 19-something-or-other

for a special occasion

that apparently never happened.

It'll all be piled there under the old lamps with rotted cords

the sixty-three pairs of black socks

all alike

and woven picnic baskets

non-working vaporizers

and half-used jars of Icy Hot.

If old issues of

Good Housekeeping and 

Readers Digest and

Family Circle and

the Farmers Almanac

were worth a nickel

on EBay

you'd be planning an exotic vacation.

But they're not.

So you'll likely just be dreaming

of the day the dumpster is filled

for the last time

and vacation will simply be

never having to look at any of the stuff

again.

When it's finished

it's a big day.

A very big day.

Ice cream

or your particular vice of choice

will be

on this day

entirely appropriate.

Then comes the paperwork.

If you're lucky

like me

you'll have a sister

who dives in

elbows deep

and takes responsibility

to make sure all the

i's are dotted

and t's are crossed.

She'll call you

and tell you 

we must all meet at the bank

and we must all sign papers.

Important papers.

They'll tell you

papers of this sort require

more than a notary.

They require something

called

a medallion guarantee.

We've never heard of this before

but visions of such important

medallion kind of things

will dance in our heads.

A medallion, huh? 

Shiny?

Sort of Presidential.

Ohhh, we'll feel so important!!!!

Great Job! In Gold!

Well heck yeah,

plowing through 60 years of accumulated stuff??

I'd call that a GREAT JOB!!!!

We've EARNED the medallion!!!

Sounds fancy!

Frankly, we couldn't wait to see it.

It seemed sort of appropriate

the piles of paperwork

endless phone calls

dotting ALL those i's

and crossing ALL those t's

would end up being the

yellow brick road

that led us to our reward,

this elusive medallion.

So.

You can imagine

our collective disappointment when

all lined up

like dutiful little chipmunks

across the desk

from

The Important Bank Person

that she pulls from her desk

a little ink stamp

like something your

librarian

might have used to check out books

back in the day.

No gold.

No glitter.

Green ink.

Not shiny.

No GREAT JOB, LADIES!

Not even

a little hurrah.

The Medallion Guarantee

turns out to be

a very important exercise

but very

unexciting.

Kind of like

the fourth week

of hauling your folks

hoarded mysteries

to the dumpster.

Life Events Stress

It's been stressful. Mildly.

You know how it is.

Life happens.

Sometimes it happens fun and sometimes it happens not-so-fun.

But my house didn't collapse under a mudslide after an earthquake.

Neither did my family disappear in the brilliant explosion of a terrorist bomb.

My business wasn't looted by thugs during an uprising.

I'm not worried about being dragged from my home in the night by rebels.

I've never had reason for a chemo needle.

Life is

by most of the worlds standards

very

very good.

I have access to clean water.

I've never gone hungry for lack of food.

I can carry my Bible and read it anywhere, any time I please.

I take walks along safe sidewalks around pretty parks and lakes.

My kids are all healthy, happy and gainfully employed.

My grandchildren are brilliant sparks of possibilities, kindness and talent.

There is music.

There are good books.

And I have a long list of friends

who reach out to me when I need them.

So it is with clear perspective I even agreed to take the Life Events stress test 

suggested to me by a friend.

"You've been through some stuff...."

"Well who hasn't. I'm fine."

"I know you're fine. You're always fine. But I'm worried about you anyway."

So I took the test.

Because I love my friends and I know they love me.

The test is a run down of a whole bunch of life events....not necessarily negative events, either....but events which are purported to have an effect on the level of stress a person is bearing....and how that level of stress may be correlated to the possibility of serious illness.

It is by no means an indication of surety

rather one of those little tools

which can be effectively used

as Oprah would say

for perhaps

an Ahhh-Haaa moment.

Well.

I have no health insurance.

That's one heck of an ahhh-haaa right there.

I guess, if for no other reason, I should at least see whether the 

statisticians think I'm going to stroke before Christmas.

It's the debilitating genetic gift of choice.

My people end up in hospitals

with half their face not working.

We're still quite loveable.

We just don't talk well at the end.

Which, if you know me

is going to be a serious problem.

So I took the test.

There are just a little under a zillion life events listed.

Loss of Spouse?

Fired From Job?

Serious Illness?

Time Spent in Jail?

And to each life event is attributed a point value.

I skated through on the events hovering around drug addiction and incarceration.

Feeling pretty confident, having never been fired from a job.

But then I hit MY life events

and my points started to add up.

Rather than detail it all out 

in all it's yawn-worthy glory

I'll just say my test

looks a little something like this.

I'm not that brunette anymore

other than in my memories

and old photos.

But those are sort of my shoulders.

And just a few of my life events.

Here's how it all adds up.

There you have it.

Apparently I've got one foot down in the ground

for a dirt nap.

Stay tuned.

If my posts all of a sudden stop.

And you see a sickly-sweet smelling

bouquet of gladiolas appear in the 

header of my page.

And you hear my kids arguing about

who gets my Buzz Lightyear lamp.

Well.

I guess I'd suggest you

take the test

and figure out how to get rid of all the stress.

Or I'll save a seat for ya up there

and we can finally relax and just sit back and chat about it all.

I'll be the one with a bottle of Baileys

a glass of ice

and a straw.

And I'll be laughing and grinning

thinking back

and telling everyone

I wouldn't have changed a thing.