My blog has become more of a diary of late, as opposed to writing about feelings or emotions or my thoughts on various subjects. I suspect that we all go through phases like this. I kept a diary for a long time as a girl, until I learned that my mother was reading it. I was absolutely livid. Horrified. I got very brave and wrote a final entry that said something to the effect of, you can stop reading now, I won’t be writing in here anymore, and I will never trust you again. I’m very surprised I didn’t get the strap for that; maybe she was embarrassed that I spoiled her fun. On second thought, nah, I doubt she’s capable of embarrassment.
Saturday we attended a wedding of a girl that used to march in the band that D and I taught together in 1989 (that’s how we met). We hadn’t seen her in a long time and we felt slightly out of place, overdressed for one, and not knowing more than a handful of people. To be kind, let’s just say there were some interesting fashion and hair choices. The men of the party were in kilts, which were an unexpected surprise; although we should have been tipped off by the exceedingly Scottish last name of the groom.
We also found out that my California Dad, the father of our best friends, is in the hospital. He’s had heart trouble for a while now and it’s gotten to the point where they are going to put in a pacemaker. I know that he will be fine, but having two people you love in the hospital is not a good feeling.
After the wedding we visited D’s Mom at the skilled nursing facility, which is a lively and often noisy place. The buzz of the call button at the nurse’s station right outside her room is incessant; she says it goes on day and night. There’s a woman down the hall from her that can’t speak very well but is very vocal. I hate to be unkind, but she sounds like a goat. A very cranky goat. The family hasn’t gotten very far in making a decision about What’s Next, I’m staying out of it as much as possible, but I’m supportive of D’s thoughts on the issue. At this point it’s hard to tell what her immediate needs will be once she leaves, but it’s clear to everyone that there is no way she can continue to live on her own without someone checking in on her.
Sunday we dropped the dogs off at the groomer for their summer haircuts and enjoyed a leisurely brunch and a wonder-filled hour at a combination antique and flower establishment. I don’t even know what to call this place. There are several outbuildings and an old house on the property, filled to the brim with French country antiques, textiles, books on gardening and pottery, encased in every flowering plant imaginable, in pot groupings set up to look like small gardens. I saw fuchsias in color combinations and flower-shape that I’d never seen before, as well as a rose that smelled like lemon. I believe it was a Johann Strauss.
Today was riding lesson #2, and we worked a bit on a posting trot. For those of you non-equestrians, that means rising out the saddle for one beat of the trot and sitting down for one beat, up and down, up and down, matching the horse’s rhythm. As you might expect, this is more comfortable for both horse and rider than the sitting trot, which they make you learn first. Willow said I got the hang of it much faster than most of her students, and praised my straight back and “soft knees”. They don’t feel soft to me, especially now, but that’s nothing a few Advil can’t fix.
I went to the gym after my lesson, I’ve been feeling quite fat lately. On a small frame like mine 5 extra pounds can really make a difference, and I’ve easily put that on in the last few months. For some reason we’ve been eating a lot of sweets lately – pie, cake of various kinds (birthday, wedding), ice cream, pastries. I’ve also not been able to get to the gym as much as I’d like, damn work schedule! I bought a new bikini for our houseboat trip in September, so I have a little time to undo my bad habits.
So…things are good. Despite his mother’s failing health, D has been upbeat and extremely loving of late (not that he isn’t usually); I’m finally taking riding lessons, the financial consulting company made a decision on software so I can get started on several clients next week…and yet…I’m not happy. I’m not unhappy, I just can’t shake that feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I know it’s the PTSD, I just don’t know what to do with it. I probably read too many infertility blogs, there has been so much bad news lately, and I empathize so much with what they are going through. Dare I say it, part of me feels guilty that I got off the train when there are others older than me still fighting. Like I said before, sometimes I wish I could skip forward a few more years so I could be clear of the general childbearing years. Is that a copout? I know Julianna is struggling with this right now too, how to be happy with the lot you have while you are still in pain from the failure. I don’t know if time will heal this wound; I have open sores from 20, 30, 40 years ago that are still fresh and raw.