Your Rules

I was in a rut. A decorating rut, that is. I hadn't changed decorations in a while. My normal "rule" is that fall starts with Halloween stuff, and that doesn't go out until October.

But the other day, I needed something from the pile of junk that used to be my garage. When I was moving boxes, I came across my Halloween decorations. How fortuitous, since I'll be needing these in a few days.

Then I thought - why am I waiting? I'm sick of my rut now, darn it! My house, my decorations - my rules. So, I put jack o' lanterns (plastic; I don't carve) on my front steps. Then I put out some fun, Halloween-y things inside - and added a few harvest items. It took me a while to get everything the way I wanted - I kept moving things from one shelf to the next, up a step, down a step, more to the right, etc. Finally, it was done; I set my timers, and ordered my dinner (I don't cook, either).  

They look super-cool at night...

It made me smile. For a couple of hours, I forgot my stress. Lately, there's been too much of that - stress, I mean. I have a lot on my mind: Things I'd like to say, questions I'd like to ask and changes I'd like to make. The placement of my power strips and ceramic ghosts was a welcome distraction. 

It would be nice if we could plan our worries, the way we plan holiday decorations. If I could, I would spread my worries out more. My savings wouldn't be nearly empty at the exact same time that I've become completely burnt out at my job. I would have paid more attention to my pants getting snug before it was time to cover up with jeans and sweaters and plan holiday meals. My questions would have been asked before I had so much to lose. 

Go Yankees!

But that's life. It happens on its own - usually, while you're planning. So now what? Well, I guess I regroup. Figure out where I am, and where I want to be. Then decide how to get there from this starting point.

That's the thing with improvement. It can start whenever you're ready. You decide when - your rules.

Home Run

Tough not to like, though.

I like baseball; and I'm a Yankee fan (but not an A-Rod fan). The first time I ever visited (old) Yankee Stadium, my heart skipped a beat when I stepped through the tunnel out onto the field level. 

Is it because I love sports? No. I'm not competitive, and there's a lot of rules (rules aren't really my thing). Is it because I like guys. Well... Wait, no that's a different post. Focus. 

I love the energy. Baseball is played everyday, and the real, true champions (see right) take the field hurt, tired or just plain frustrated. I love the history. When you visit a stadium, even if it's new, you can feel the history everywhere you go. I love the style. They stick with what works. Progress is great, but some things were meant to be left alone. Baseball is like that - classic and elegant. 

I love that when you go to a ballpark, everyone is on the same team (unless you're  a Red Sox or Mets fan, which is also another post). I once sat in the upper deck at Yankee Stadium when they were playing the Indians. Some poor soul was sitting in our section wearing her Indians gear proudly - even though they were losing. Big time. I believe the final score was 21-2. She took the loss well and never once stopped cheering. At the end of the game, her biggest hecklers walked over and shook her hand. That's baseball.



Not That kind of sharing - Ouch!



The other thing I love about baseball? Sharing. Sports like football are fun to watch, but everything happens so fast. If I don't pay attention, I miss something - so I'm forced to wear my tunnel vision glasses, and not interact with anyone. Baseball's not like that (well, not always). Sure, some plays happen lightening-fast, but it's usually more relaxed. It gives me time to catch up. (Which I need; I confuse easily. I still don't get the infield-fly rule and I can never remember all three save situations.) It also gives me time to people-watch. (Which may contribute to the confusion. Don't judge.)



$18 worth of stadium dining.
On the plus side? Mountain Dew.


Last week, I shared a game with my Dad. I had two tickets to a Yankee game. My Dad is a fan, and he hadn't been to the new stadium, so I invited him to join me.

We got there early, and had our pick of yummy, over-priced ballpark food (I tweeted endlessly about our choices, which included Johnny Rockets, BBQ, Sushi, Chinese, Italian, Carvel - and, of course, hot dogs.) We ate, and the my dad got busy taking photos with his phone in one hand and his camera in the other (that may be genetic). Even though they lost, we still had fun. We laughed, talked - and made some good memories that we'll always share.

That's what I love most about baseball. It's timeless fun, made up of memories, sharing and hopes for the future. What's better than that?     

Ghost of baseball future?

Just Before the Light

Most people would probably assume that the darkest point in my life happened during my separation. A few might think it was during childhood. A couple really close friends might think it was when things went south with my first post-separation relationship.   

There were some pretty bad moments - but none were my darkest.

The first date I had after getting separated was with a guy we'll call D. We went on one date - Starbucks, for coffee/hot chocolate. Over the next couple of weeks, he called a lot, but if I tried to make plans, he was "busy." Eventually, I gave up asking, and he stopped calling. I figured he wasn't interested, and I moved on. 

Oh, boy (or girl?). 

A few months later I "ran into him" online. I said hi and asked how he was doing. He responded with:

I got 

I figured he was going to say he got a new job, a new car...something. Seconds pass, and then this:

a girl pregnant. Life is a mess. Can't really talk.

Well, this was unexpected. Hallmark and Emily Post don't really have guidelines, so I responded as best I could. I said I was sorry things weren't going well, I hoped everything turned out for the best and told him to take care. [What would you have done?]

Fast forward three months...

I was having a pretty bad week. I'd just celebrated my 35th birthday alone with my bffs Ben & Jerry. I'd gotten some pretty harsh news via facebook and was just not happy in general. I opened up my email to find a message from D:

Subject: Great News!
Body: The kid's not mine! How are you doing?

I laugh now, but at the time, all I could think was: Seriously? I'm 35, soon-to-be-divorced, with a job and a house I don't really want, I've just been dumped via facebook and now I'm getting emails from guys that are happy about mistaken paternity. How is this my life?

I remember slumping on my bed. I think I fell asleep; the next thing I knew, it was light out. I'm not sure how much I actually slept that night, but when I woke up, I started thinking.  

If this stupid email - this ridiculous guy - was the worst thing that could happen to me, then I'd come a long way. I thought about how lost I was just one year before, and what I'd gone through to find my way back. That's the thing about hitting your lowest point - there's no where to go but up. Suddenly, you know there's not much left you can't survive.

That was my darkest point. I know because it came just before the light.