Nothing Compares to You

I'm a mess, I admit it.  

The road trip is over.  I'm about to board a plane and fly back to L.A. where I will be "home" for 36 hours before I board a plane to Greece. I've left my daughter M. in St. Paul for what we are calling her first "grown-up summer." She's almost 2o and she will live in my condo, drive the car her dad has handed down to her and work a  9-5 internship tutoring inner city kids. For the next few days she will be hosting her brother, his wife and their 3 kids and putting her first household in order.

Meanwhile, I feel like I've come almost full circle. I became a blogger after my trip to Greece last fall--when I left the country to be as far away as I could manage when Mr. Ex got re-married. I'm returning for a writing workshop + hiking with the author Meredith Hall  http://meredithhall.org/  and I have fallen completely in love with the man I've been dating since December.

Here's how I know:

M. found little to appreciate on my ipod during our long drive from California to St. Paul EXCEPT for Sinead O'Connor's hit Nothing Compares to You. We played it a couple of times every few hundred miles. Mr. Ex liked this song and when the two of us were driving in the car together when it came on the radio in the 80s or 90s or whenever that was, he'd sing along and put his hand on my knee.

On this trip, I remembered that and there was an interesting pang, but I didn't really care.  All I could think of was the man I'm going home to.

I am very, very lucky. 

And a mess.

The Check is in the Mail

Dear Officer Jorgensen,

I apologize for this picture.  It's not you. Not even close. But it's the only photo of a Wyoming highway patrolman that I could find.  It was a weirdly entertaining experience to be stopped for speeding just outside of Rock Springs.  You were very professional and it was nice of you to give us a discount for wearing our seat belts. We always wear our seat belts, and found it interesting that Wyoming puts a lot of effort into getting the word out about seat belts. What's up with Wyoming folks that they don't buckle up?

I'm imagining a cowboy getting into a dusty pick-up truck  and grumbling, "I don't buckle up when I ride my horse, do I?!"

Anyhow, we've made it all the way to Iowa safe and sound.  And I'm really glad my new name didn't confuse you when you checked my license & registration.  I was worried that you might think I stole Mr. Ex's car.  That would have been a big adventure...and that was why I couldn't stop laughing.

ROAD TRIP

I'm traveling again.  Driving from California to the Midwest, and it feels good.  I made this drive with Mr. Ex many times in the years before we had our daughters and those memories feel almost sweet. It's a strange feeling. But that young guy in the flannel shirt & jeans & work boots I'm remembering isn't the guy I was married to for the last ten or twelve years and I wonder if I've changed into a completely different person, too.

Rock Springs, Wyoming has changed a lot. From a historic western town to an i-could-be-anywhere big-box, chain-store, strip-mall characterless place. Now they're trying to bring the historic downtown back and my daughter, M. & I are doing our part to help. Last night we had dinner at a brew pub that's staked a claim in an old building and is serving up delectable local beer. A perfect mix of the old and the new. 

Our trunk is full of that liquid gold now.

I don't know that I'm ready to call those old memories  of me & Mr. Ex golden, but there's something about there that's worth thinking about.

Thinking Inside the Box

These are the divorce documents that I have been collecting over the past seventeen months and stashing in this lovely hand-decorated box. It's quite full and I'm really hoping I don't have to start a second box. Tomorrow I'll mail off the latest bit of information I was requested to compile by my attorneys and presto I should have some permanent alimony locked in. 

Ya think?

Meanwhile, I'm going to begin re-reading Bleak House.