Romantic ramblings

Another Valentine's Day, come and gone. Once again, again being the 30th year in a row, I have had no reason to celebrate what I have come to refer to as "yet another Hallmark holiday," meant solely to guilt us into keeping the specialty gift industry in the black.

But secretly, I'm always a little sad to spend Valentine's Day without a sweetheart to call my own.

Everyone always tells me that true love will find me when I'm not looking. But truth be told, I rarely search for it. Oh, I've done the eHarmony thing, which has elicited some rather strange exchanges but not a single date (note to self - remember to cancel subscription the next time it's up for renewal), but I'll go months without even checking my matches, the current backlog of which would take me the rest of 2010 to review. Though I'm ever hopeful of finding a true romance - I do write the stuff, after all - I've grown used to not having romance directed at me.

This morning at church, to celebrate the pseudo-holiday, a Marriage Vow Renewal Service was done at the end of our worship. Twenty-five couples stood before their friends and families and rededicated themselves to the love of their spouse. And while several couples had been married a relatively short two years, they were vastly outnumbered by couples rededicating themselves after 20 or 30, even 58 years! Even as I applauded and genuinely congratulated my fellow parishioners, I felt an ache in my heart. I want that to be me, looking into the eyes of the man I love after fifty years and still knowing that he's the one for me.

After the service, I had the chance to talk to an older couple, who reminded me of my grandparents, about their participation. Surprisingly, they'd only been married seven years. A second marriage for two widowed individuals who had never expected to find love again, they met on a dance floor and lightning struck. Three weeks later, they were engaged.

What must it be like to experience that instant connection? That sudden awareness that you've found the missing half of your soul? Or, for others, to have that blossoming awareness over time that you've found the person you're meant to spend the rest of your life with?

I've never even come close to knowing what that must feel like, so I must rely solely on my imagination, spurred by the testimony of friends and scores of romance novels. I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but I've never even felt the strength of affection that could be mistaken for romantic love. Is there something inherently wrong with me?

Even if there is, I haven't given up hope yet. It may be an effort in futility, but I find that I'm still a die hard romantic at heart. And until this heart stops beating, I don't think I'll ever give up hope that I'll find someone to take care of that heart.

Lessons Learned - Month 1

I had great plans for what home ownership was going to be like. I had ideas for projects and ideas for decorating. I knew what paint colors I wanted and what kind of furniture I planned to get. I had my housewarming party halfway planned, certain that a month was plenty of time to get my ducks in a row and have the house presentable for guests.

Well, let's look at what I've learned in one month of home ownership:

1. Things never move as quickly as you think they're going to. Ready for a house warming? Heck no! I haven't even painted yet, because I'm still taking down wallpaper.


2. Wallpaper is the enemy. And I have the scraped knuckles to prove it.


3. If something can go wrong, it will. And if it can go wrong in a big way, like, say, the transmission on your car dying the same week your first mortgage payment is due, it definitely will.


4. The key to meeting neighbors is to do yard work. They'll ignore your existence until you're mowing your postage stamp front yard, then come up and want to shake your hand while you're trying to keep your lawn mower from rolling into the street.


5. Mortgage lenders sell your information to everyone. EVERYONE. Expect to be bombarded by mailings offering mortgage protection plans. Invest in a hefty recycling bin to compensate.


6. If you think you have enough furniture to fill a whole house, think again. Empty space will abound until further notice.


7. All that quiet you said you wanted as an excuse to move? It's really quiet. You can tell you miss the sounds of other people in the house when you start conversing with Billy Bush on the radio. Very sad, indeed.

I could go on and on, but you get my drift. Homeownership is a lot harder, and a lot more complicated, than I thought. Do I regret it? Not in the least. Do I want to have another month like the last one?

Hell no.

Times, they are a-changin'

I know, I know. Three months in this latest absence from my blog. Is anyone still reading this thing?

There have been moments when I've debated the wisdom of even keeping it active. But then I get inspired to write something that won't fit in a novel and usually when it isn't my turn to blog over at RRT. So I think I'll keep it around a while yet.

So ... what's new with y'all? Any news? Updates? Complaints?

Seriously, nothing?

Well, I don't know about you, but I haven't just been resting on my laurels since May. No sir, I have been Doing Stuff. Like driving halfway (okay, not quite, but close) across the country. And buying a house. And attending writing conventions. And joining dating sites.

Oh wait, what was that thing in the middle, you ask? Yeah, I bought a house. My first house. At least that's mine. And the bank's. Right now the bank owns more of it than I do. But still, it's mine. You see that corner of the deck over there? I think that's what belongs to me.

And then I moved into said house. About a week and a half ago. My clothes are still in boxes, my TV is sitting on the floor for lack of a taller flat surface to rest upon, and the wallpaper is mocking me, telling me I can't rip it down and re-paint until I get my crap, er, belongings stowed away.

But it's mine (and the bank's). And despite all of the challenges - the empty spaces where furniture would go if I had some, the lack of internet and cable, the horrific crown molding THAT MUST COME DOWN in the master bedroom, the rain that falls every time I plan to mow the jungle that is my front yard - I'm loving it.

In the Belly of the Beast

On Monday, I was eaten alive by one of the elevators in my office building. A simple trip down to the Subway on the first floor for a late afternoon jolt of caffeine very nearly turned into a Drama with a capital “D”.

After spending most of the day, including the drive in this morning, trying desperately not to fall asleep, I finally caved and headed downstairs in search of Diet Coke. I’ve been trying to cut back on the amount of caffeine I’ve been consuming – Diet Coke, Frappucinos, hot chocolate – because I desperately need to lose weight before Nationals in two months. I can hardly fit into my work clothes, much less what I’m considering taking with me to the conference.

Nevertheless, desperate times call for desperate measures, and lest I wanted to be seriously reprimanded for sleeping at my desk and have my boss regret bringing me into the company in the first place, some sort of energy boost had become a necessity.

The elevator shot me down to the first floor in no time at all, where I counted out change (what, you thought I’d break a perfectly good fiver when I had the prime opportunity to clean out my change purse?) to the baffled looking cashier. I think he’s fairly new – hence the bafflement.

The elevator was waiting for me when I came back around the corner. I should have taken this as a bad omen – the elevator is never where you need it to be, no matter what time of the day or night you’re trying to use it. I climbed aboard the same car that had delivered me safely not 5 minutes before, scanned my card and pressed the button for my floor. The doors closed …

… and immediately opened again.

Ooookay. No big deal, right? Probably someone hit the button after the doors closed. Except, no one got on. The doors closed again, and we rocketed up to my floor.

Where the doors did NOT open, and the elevator starting making a rapid, whiny dinging which sounded not unlike some kind of robotic goldfinch, and which indicated to me that something was Very Wrong.

Was the elevator stuck between floors? In need of maintenance? The fire department? The jaws of life? Would they have to pry the doors open? Peel my flatten carcass from the crushed remains of the elevator after it plummeted to the ground? Holy cable cars, Batman, this could be bad!

Then the doors finally opened. And by finally, I mean about 10-15 seconds later. Not wasting any time, lest the beast change its fickle mind, I rushed out onto my floor, shaking my Diet Coke to useless foam in my haste.

I’m amazed by the number of dire thoughts that ran through my head in such quick succession. It’s not as though I were trapped for hours and had time to ponder my situation and how little I’ve done with my relatively short life thus far. And it’s not as though I’ve ever had a credible fear of elevators before. Normally, my biggest concern about being trapped in an elevator would be that I didn’t have my purse book handy to pass the time until rescue.

I’m not sure what made me so uneasy today at the prospect of being trapped. But one thing is for sure.

Next time, I’m going to give serious thought to taking the stairs.

Setting Myself Up For Disaster

It's hardly a secret that I'm not a big fan of making New Year's resolutions. Really, making resolutions just serves as a reminder of how weak willed I can be.

To my way of thinking, resolutions equate to promises to oneself to be something or do something. And while that is, in theory, a noble venture - to vow that one will stop smoking, or start exercising, or give 10 percent of every paycheck to charity - it is easier said than done. And when we break those promises to ourselves, as the overwhelming majority of us will, it does nothing helpful for our self image, and the cycle perpetuates.

Cynical? Perhaps, but I prefer to think of it as a realistic view of human nature.

But, while I'm not one for making resolutions - my will power isn't that strong - I am completely in favor of setting goals for the year. Goals may be reached or missed, but they are a tangible end to work towards. Whether or not we achieve our ends, having goals allows us to make forward progress. With a goal, we get a little further down that long and winding road towards what we want to achieve with our lives.

So here goes, my 2009 goals:

• Complete a draft of my Work In Progress. I haven't updated my progress meter in ages. Not because there's been no progress, but because much of it is handwritten, and I just don't have the patience to count out each and every word.


• Buy a home - townhouse, condo, farm - it doesn't really matter, as long as it's mine.


• Have a social life. I've never been much of a dater, but, as I would prefer not to spend my life alone, it seems logical to get out there and at least meet people.


• Travel to Ireland. This one is *going* to happen, if Dad and I can ever get our acts together and plan the trip.


• Attend RWA Nationals. Again, this *is* happening this year. With the convention practically in my backyard, it would be silly not to go.

I have many other smaller or more private goals, but those are the big ones. Not too ambitious, but plenty to keep me busy for the next twelve months, don't you think?

And the winner is ...

... Janet S, who provided the following photo of a prime example of an over-the-top Christmas bonanza:



Just look at all of those lights, figurines, and inflatable lawn decorations! It's madness!

Congratulations, Janet (who will receive the $30 gift certificate from Amazon.com as soon as I wind it up here), and thanks to all who submitted pictures for consideration!

Gaaaahhh!

Yes, I know. Bad blogger. December is always a busy month for me, what with the myriad of Christmas programs, concerts, performances, and other obligations that seem to sprout up like weeds. This December, in particular, has seemed full past brimming, as I've been in the midst of work turmoil.

For the last six months or so, I've been splitting my time pretty much evenly between my homebase office in Wilmington and our office in Baltimore. When my boss, who is also the man who created my job and hired me, became The Boss of the Baltimore office, The Powers That Be decided that my eventual transfer was a foregone conclusion.

It wasn't. Not exactly.

After more than six months of corporate politicking and basically being a human ping pong ball, arrangments were finally made, and as of Saturday, I officially belong to the Baltimore office.

However, the ping-ponging will continue for the foreseeable future.

Still, it's a step in the right direction. In an effort to not spend half of my life in my car, I'm starting to house hunt. It's a bit frightening, knowing that in buying a home, I'll be committing myself to decades of debt. But it's exhilarating at the same time, because I feel as though I'll finally get to put my stamp on a miniscule corner of the world.

So if you don't see updates here too often, know that it's not that I don't have anyting to tell you. I'm just running back and forth like a chicken with an ax-wielding banker hard on her heels.

***Only 2 more days to get your Christmas Vomit submissions in!!! All entries must be emailed to krardon@yahoo.com by midnight Wednesday in order to be considered. I know some of you out there have promised photos, but haven't delivered yet. It's NOT TOO LATE!!!!***