Lake Girl

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On Saturdays I Weep

Saturdays have become so difficult for me.  Maybe it's the slow start, the silence, the stillness of the house that allows my thoughts to consume me.  Every Saturday since I've been back in my normal routine, I have experienced such great sadness.   I'm not boarding a plane, or picking up a rental, driving down 37 South and pulling into your driveway like I used to when I was in college, kicking up sand because I drove in too fast.  "One of these days you're going to hit one of those poles." I would laugh and say, "No I'm not mom."   I never did hit one of the poles, not physically anyway.  But metaphorically, I hit one every Saturday morning.  It takes me most of the day to come out of it.  Today, I actually thought cleaning the bathrooms would be a good idea.  Who the hell thinks that?  But then my mind fills with memories of our house on Glen Garden and how we used to clean on Saturday mornings and then to recent times when ...
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Prom and Other Things

Today is the Little One's prom.  Not sure how we got here so fast, but here we are.  Why didn't anyone warn me about Pre Prom meltdowns?  They are a real thing.  Well, maybe I heard rumors about nail fiascos and hair disasters but those things only happened to other people.  Like exaggerators and cry babies.   Nope, they happen to real people, people like me that claim to have their shit together and people like my kid who is one of the strongest, most dynamic forces I know.   And let me tell you, they are not pretty.  And they come on fast and out of freakin nowhere.  I'm pretty sure I had a mini one in the car as I was running Pre Prom errands and listening to Bizarre Love Triangle on repeat.   I was looking for last minute things and I wanted to call my mom and talk shit with her.  And then I remembered she was gone.  I couldn't call her.  But I remembered aunt Mary said I could talk to my mom whenever I ...
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Happy Caliversary

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Five years ago, on this very day, a very worn out Honda Pilot pulled up to the Rosewood Tavern (the nickname of the house we live in) filled with the most precious and essential belongings.  The driver, a tired, single mom of two, the copilot, a strong, caring 8th grade boy and the backseat passenger, a courageous, 7th grade spitfire too much like her mama.   We arrived late that evening, unloaded as much as we could and settled in for the night as quickly as possible because the next day, I would begin "new" teacher orientation at a school district that had offered me a job just 10 days earlier.   We really did hit the ground running when we arrived and California came for us, hard.  I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach.  For the first few months, the punches kept coming and for a brief moment I thought I had made a terrible mistake.  I had left behind friends, family, a great job and my cat.  I had relocated this tight triad for a b...
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