Are You There, 2020? It's Me, Mel

In the last hours of 2019, I had a few friends over to my place for drinks before we went forth to conquer Bloomington on New Year's Eve. (How adult-y is that? A cocktail party! I even set out crudites in my grandmother's monkeywood dip bowl.) It was a lovely little gathering, well-oiled with my signature gimlets and jovial conversation. At some point we fell into the habit of bellowing "2019!!!!!" anytime we brought up unpleasant things that happened in the year 2019. And then, of course, as the clock inched closer to midnight, we would occasionally bellow hopefully, 2020!

Well. Fast-forward to 3.5 weeks later...and I am still waiting for 2020 to show up. You see, I am now considering January a "soft opening" for 2020. Dear readers, this month has kicked my ass. What I thought was an ornery little cold quickly devolved into strep pneumonia. What even is that? And how freakin' extra can you get?

To make a short, miserable story even shorter: I spent far more time than I would like laying on my couch, too dizzy and achey and feverish and exhausted to do more than force myself to chug fluids and binge-watch The Crown. It's only been in the last week that I've really started to get on the mend. It's only been in the last few days that I've really started to have honest-to-god energy. It's only been, like, oh, tonight that I started pondering what I want to do with the rest of 2020.

Mind and Body Shit
-I've got a Y membership, and a body that is very much aware of the fact that it is almost 40 years old. You can fill in the blanks.
-Starting, and sticking with, a habit tracker and health log: I'm very interested to see what the correlations are between my lifestyle and my physical body--i.e., how much sleep I get, what I'm eating, how much I'm moving, and how I am feeling.

Work Shit
-This year, I'm due to be re-certified as a librarian here in Indiana. In order to do that, I've got to prove that I've acquired XXX amount of hours of professional development. In a typical case of the cobbler's children never being shod, or something, I've been so wrapped up in other parts of my job that I've neglected this. And so now I've got 11 months left to get my shit together and re-librarian myself.
-Update my resume on LinkedIn. *Disclaimer: I have no specific reason for doing so, other than I think it's a good idea to always have an updated resume.

Fun, Creative, Hobby Shit
-I'd like to do some work with hand-lettering, which is, frankly, all the rage in the Plannerverse. I've got pretty decent handwriting, so I'd like to see what I can do to jazz things up and branch out even more.
-Create a scrapbook of my Bucketlist Trip to Australia or participate in NaNoWriMo.
-Blog at least 3 times per month

Adulting Shit
-Join AAA
-Get my car detailed
-Possibly pay off one of my private student loans
-Reconnect with my Nationwide Retirement account
-Meal plan and ook more

Indiana and Travel Shit
-Plan and have a lovely 40th birthday weekend in Cincinnati with my nearest and dearest
-Try one new restaurant a month here in Bloomington
-Visit my sisters at Thanksgiving (or have them visit me)
-Explore at least 5 new things or events in Indiana

Honestly, in typical overachieving Indygrrl fashion, I've got lots of other hopes and goals and plans and dreams and ideas. These are just the highlights of what I hope to accomplish, if I don't get stricken with Black Plague or Swine Flu or strep-dropsy or whatever the latest thing is. Hope springs eternal, even if my energy and health do not.

2020!

That Went Downhill Fast

2020. It was going to be, if not the Year of Mel, at least a damned good year. And early reports indicated this to be an accurate expectation. No disappointments, dramas, or disasters (at least in my personal life) occurred in the first few days. My first weekend of 2020 was absolutely lovely--relaxing and yet productive, too. Right up through Sunday afternoon. I had my planner layout for the week ahead:

Prepped up and ready for me to jot down my work shifts, the Very Important Board Meeting, my therapy appointment, the program I'm doing on Thursday, the fun social engagements. And then...as I was prepping my smoothie for Monday's breakfast, I sneezed. And became aware, simultaneously, of the scratch in my throat, and my nose feeling stuffy. Ding dong! It's my semi-annual death cold of doom.

Fast forward to now, Thursday evening...I've only been able to go to work yesterday and today. Monday and Tuesday were lost to a black hole of tissues, sleeping, and snotting.  Do you feel guilty taking sick days from work? I know I do. Emotionally, I worry that I am slacking, failing, disappointing the people I work with. Intellectually, I know--this is why we are given sick days. I know that my colleagues would rather I rot away at home rather than give them my creepin' crud. I know that I have to listen to my body and set my boundaries. But that's a lot of meetings I'm not attending, interviews I'm not conducting, schedules I'm not designing, emails I'm not answering, input I'm not giving, information I'm not processing. To say nothing of my own personal goals not being attended to. So, part of this week has crumbled to dust before it even started. 

You see where this is going, right? If part of this week is ruined, then all of this week has been ruined. And so, it's a logical next step that the rest of the month is a lost cause, too, right? And if January is up in flames--welp, there goes 2020. Dead in the water. 

Once again: intellectually and logically, I know that's not the case. But when I'm sick and miserable, it's hard not to feel that that's my reality. 

Interestingly, my Eldest Sister, the Ghoul Next Door, is going through her own rough time right now--some rough workdays that are taking a lot out of her. She and I are discussing how one crappy day can kickstart you down the path to Self-Loathing City, home to the towering skyscrapers that line the avenues of angst, the boulevards of broken dreams, and the address that my negative self-talk calls home: Everything You Ever Touch Turns to Shit Street. Population: all of us. Or at least those of us who constantly wrestle a certain part of ourselves which is our own worst enemy. 

My sister, wise woman that she is, has gotten better about salvaging a day--a week, a month, hell, maybe even a life--from the spiraling shitstorm that a crappy disappointment can provoke. She says she lets herself have an "oh well, that could have gone better moment," and then simply does better at the first opportunity. So, in other words: acknowledge the failure or the disappointment, but don't let the failure/disappointment live past its own moment in time. Move on to the next moment, the next opportunity, hell, the next day if we have to, but don't wallow in what's happened or let it determine what happens next. 

But. She also thinks that a Bad Day Emergency Plan is a good idea. And in theory, I agree. In practice, though, what does that look like? Stay tuned. Once the Death Cold of Doom has moved onto its next victim, I am going to explore this more. In the meantime, I'm going to go try to stay hydrated, and I will call that Doing Better. 

Do you have a Bad Day Emergency Plan? What does it look like?

52 Lists for Happiness: Week 1

Someone I knew said recently that I am "a woman of deep irony," which I think is probably pretty true. One of the ironies of my life is that when I am experiencing happiness, I usually simultaneously am filled with conflicting thoughts which potentially undermine this happinessAm I worthy of this happiness? It's fleeting, therefore it's not real. At the very least, it won't last. It's just my privilege that affords me this happiness. Etc.

(Aside: even if it is my privilege that affords me this happiness, does it make it any less genuine? Also, should I be more obligated to appreciate and experience this happiness, so that I am not wasting this opportunity and privilege?)

(See what I mean?)

Anyway, to cut this rambling short: I struggle with the concept of happiness. I also struggle with online shopping right after Christmas, which means, that this year, I ended up with this book:

So, I'll bite. Let's see what we can see.

Week 1's Project was to List What Makes You Happy Right Now. So I did: 

Looking back over my list, I'm struck by how much on that list is sensation- or productivity-based. The sound of the wind howling, of my cats purring; the feel of my warm feet on a cold night; the sight of a brightly and neatly-polished nail (preferably mine). The sense of accomplishment at the end of a productive day, knowing I've helped someone at work or been useful to a friend, feeling as though I am needed. Just as there are languages of love, I wonder, are there languages oI f happiness?

Week 1's  Challenge was to Take action. How often do you actually get to experience these things? How can you take one item on this list and turn it into a daily practice of happiness?

Upon honest reflection, I think it's possible-likely, even-that many of these things do happen on a daily basis. I call one of my sisters frequently (I'd bug the other one more if she didn't hate the phone so much); I try to have productive days every day; I often ponder old, happy memories. So perhaps in those sorts of situations, it's a question of permitting myself to relish the residual emotion (hopefully, happiness) that comes from these things. But then, does it become a situation of being hyper-aware of my thoughts and feelings and analyzing them as they happen, and then getting to the point where I am over-thinking it...

(Ugh, there I go again. For fuck's sake, brain, SHUT UP.) 

In other cases, I think there are certainly things I could do, mindfully, each day, to provoke happiness, or at least contentment. Taking 5 minutes to pet Austen and Indiana up into a purr; shooting off texts to my nearest and dearest; even tidying up my purse before I turn in each night. (Seriously, so many of the stresses and ills of my life are provoked by a messy purse which never yields up the whatever-it-is I need in that moment. Do you have the same issue?) 

Thus ends Week 1 of the 52 Lists for Happiness Project. 

Let's Review! January

Well and so! We've finished January, the first chapter of 2019. We've had a month with our plans and goals and resolutions, whatever you want to call 'em; a month to set our intentions and buy the various equipment we thought we need to support us; a month to spend a few days leaning into those goals and a lot more days resenting them. Some of us set ourselves up with the "one word" idea--one word to encapsulate how we want to conduct our lives in the year to come. I don't fall in with this notion, myself--limit myself to one word? Poppycock! Like that will ever happen--But I have kind of fallen into line with the concept, "Be proactive."

I suppose it's similar to what a lot of people say about "Intentional" being their word. What it boils down to is this: I'm turning 39 this year. If I'm lucky, my life is only about half over. But there's a lot left I want to do with my remaining time left--a lot I want to do, see, read, experience, watch, learn. I know I need to be deliberate, strategic, and intentional with all of these things that I want to put into motion; I know I need to be proactive in bringing these goals and dreams about. Some of them are simple (build up more self-care habits), some of them are bigger (go to Australia this year), some of them are seemingly insurmountable (get around to losing that 60 pounds), some of them are simply pleasant but profoundly important (invest more time in my family and friends, read so many of the books that are piling up on my nightstand, work on my scrapbooks and memory keeping), but I suppose they all boil down to how I can proactively live my best life.

So! How did I fare in the first chapter of 2019?

Let's look at the good, for a moment:

Australia-For a while now, my friend, North Star, and I have been talking about going to the Great Barrier Reef. Part of the reason why I worked so many jobs last fall was so that I could put away money for this to happen. And then, in January, we came across round-trip tickets to Cairns for less than $800 per person, so...we bought them. We're going to the Great Barrier Reef this November! We've already booked most of our accommodations, as well, and I've sent in my passport application.

Spending More Time with My Family and Friends: The drawback to the whole working-three-jobs thing is pretty apparent, I should think: I wasn't able to spend as much time with my people as I would have liked. So, in 2019, I'm trying to be more proactive in planning things and spending time with my favorite people: Skype dates with my sisters far away, letters to my college pen pal, after work drinks with one of my work comrades, regular meetup events, Taco Tuesdays, and so on. It drives a couple of my more spontaneous friends a little barmy, dealing with me and my plann-y ways, and I think I maybe need to try to be a bit more spontaneous myself, but I supposed, just start where I'm at.

Build Up More Self Care Habits: Okay, brace yourselves for something that is really, truly sad. I never wake up on time. I never drink enough water. I usually skip breakfast. I make lists and promptly lose them. I come home and play Angry Birds or re-read a book I've read 10 times before rather than read something new, or exercise. These are not the best ways to live another 39 years on this earth, and I'm well aware of that, so I have been deliberately trying to build up better habits. In January, I drank a lot of water and ate breakfast about half the month, so hey...baby steps, right?

You know what? Let's not ponder the bad or the ugly. I made some tiny steps in my goals, and while I don't think I moved forward a lot, I don't think I lost any ground, either. So...small victories, yes?

What were your victories, big and small, in January?

And Now, December

Now, December. It's a morning with a lowering grey sky, a morning with just enough chill to allow my breath to linger in a little puff. As a child in Florida, walking with my sisters to our school bus stop, I would huff away continuously, delighted by that rare (for Florida) reminder of cold weather. I'd be lying if I said I didn't prounce and puff about in these chilly mornings, even now, as I push into middle age. I've still not acclimated to the delight and gratitude that surge through me whenever I realize that I'm here, home, and able to experience the progression of life, happening in cycle with the season.

Fourteen years ago, around this time I hopped on the bus and rode it into campus for my last classes of my first semester of grad school. Then, I was 24--so young, although silly me, I didn't feel like it at the time. So certain about so much. That certainty is one of the things that dies with youth, I think--thank goodness. I knew I was loved and that I had a life partner who would stick by my side through thick and thin; I knew I was surrounded by fun, young, smart people, each of us enduring a similar grad school experience. I knew that there was so much still ahead of me, if only I could survive grad school.

And then this morning, I hopped on the bus and rode it into campus for my last class of the semester. Perhaps because it's cold and early, perhaps because we have become a population absorbed with our phones, the crowd on the bus was silent, each rider wrapped up in their own thoughts and world. Normally I'd be happy to immerse myself into social media, but this morning, I gazed out the window at the bare trees, the students and faculty hustling about, the grey limestone of the university buildings, the endless rhythms of academia expanding and contracting. I'm no longer 24 or even particularly young; the partner and friends I had have all moved on, although we are all, more or less, in touch. Graduations, jobs and careers, cross-country moves, marriages, divorces, even death have been our lot. Climate change, hope and change, recession and recovery, making America great again which made it worse again. It's like a Billy Joel song, without the music.

I'm older but not wiser, sadder, yet strangely, happier. Certainly more content. Hopefully able to keep things in perspective, to know when to fight, when to give something up as a bad show, when to stop when I'm ahead. Hopefully able to appreciate this fleeting life and its countless privileges, and hopefully able to embrace opportunities and adventures.

Today is the last class of the semester. Somehow, I survived (I mean, really, there was no somehow about it; it's not like I was actually going to not make it through)--at the expense of my social life, perhaps, but I'm enough of a natural hermit to put that shit on hold for a while. But three jobs simply require too much of my mental resources; it's difficult to devote all of my mental energy to one particular job at a time, to say nothing of the other facets of my life. It's not fair to anyone, so at the end of this semester, I'm indefinitely giving up teaching. I'm no longer in the first flush of youth, but I ain't old, either, and it doesn't make sense to me to keep plugging away, working so much, when there are places to go, people to meet, things to create, lessons to learn, winters to wallow in.

Now, December, for a moment.  But not forever.

The Month Ahead: August

Okay, folks. It's August. We are deep in the throes of the dog days of summer, but the end is getting closer. The other day, I saw a few leaves that were a rusty brown, standing out against the green of the trees surrounding them. And the day after tomorrow, school starts.

There haven't been too many lazy summer days for me this summer, but whatever leisure I enjoyed is about to become a distant memory...

Top Three Things I'm Focusing On This Month

1. Main Hustle
My boss retired yesterday. I'd only worked under her directly for a few months, and we worked hard and closely to make sure I got all the training she could impart, but the nature of our work meant that plans and schedules changed fast and often, and we didn't always have a chance to work together. She was phenomenal--and now she's gone. While I always want to be present and supportive to my team, I feel like it's very important in the weeks ahead for me to lean into those responsibilities, since my boss's replacement is not yet in place. And there's so much work to do!

2. Side Hustles 
When it rains, it pours. And right at the same time that my Main Hustle is experiencing big changes and opportunities, my side hustles of caregiving and instructing a graduate-level class are starting back up again. I'm not sure I will be able to teach again after this fall...while I am by no means long in the tooth, I am getting to a point where I need to be willing to pause and assess and focus on what's most important. But in the meantime, I'm organizing and reviewing my notes, reading pedagogical articles and books, and maaaaaaaaybe indulging in a little bot of back-to-school supply shopping. But no lie, my schedule is going to be very demanding this fall, and I've only got a couple more weeks before that schedule starts.

3. Me (Duh)
Since there's so much going on in my work life, and so many demands on my time, I know I need to be vigilant in self-care and boundaries. This means trying to be mindful about some things, like setting alarms to remind me to drink water, and saying no to other things, like extra social plans when there are too many other things still to tend to. It means forcing myself to do things that I don't wanna do, like the dreaded exercise thing, and not cancelling counseling appointments, and eating things that maybe have at least some pretentions to nutrition.

If I am not taking care of myself, I'm not going to be able to take care of others.

There is some fun stuff coming up this month, though. My North Star, Brian, is flying for a long weekend just before classes start, and we're going to have an action-packed weekend up in Indy. There's a Smashing Pumpkins concert, and a day at the State Fair (I think this is becoming an annual tradition), and another day meandering around rural Southern Indiana, and maybe something special will be happening to my tattoo. 

So, that's an overview of the the big stuff happening in my life this August. There are a lot of smaller goals and ideas that I want to tackle--getting drapes hung in my apartment, and making some meals to freeze, and getting my car detailed, and reading some books, but those are the details that will eventually, hopefully fill in the big picture. We'll see how that picture looks at the end of this month.

Onward!

Nothing Gold Can Stay...But It Can Return

Nothing gold can stay...




This has been a lesson that I have learned (or at least been reminded of), over and over, in the last eight years of my life. Any sense of contentment, of amusement, of relief, of pleasure, of simple joy in my home and work and friends, is accompanied by a shadow of knowledge that restlessness, disillusionment, anxiety, frustration, and abandonment (whether real or perceived) will also have their day. In the face of illness and old age and death and our own human frailties, the work and sacrifices and laughter and hopes will wither on the vine and seem trivial.

What if our hard work ends in despair? 
What if the road won't take me there?
Oh, I wish for once, we could stay gold.
What if to love and be loved's not enough?
What if I fall and can't bear to get up?
Oh I wish for once, we could stay gold.

This song, by First Aid Kit, is one that I've found immense comfort in over the years. These words remind me to keep a sense of balance and proportion. I've been given so much privilege in my lifethat even the days and weeks and months of sharp disappointments and worries do seem to be tempered by many good days, and weeks, and months. "Ebbs and flows," as my Middle Sister so often reminds me, and so it is in my life.

Thus far, it's been a rather golden kind of year--definitely since compared with last year, which, looking back now, seems layered in a thick coating of the ashes of many hopes, many plans, many castles in the air which came tumbling down. And so I've been relishing this golden yeara..because nothing gold can stay...

To this end, I threw a birthday party for myself at the end of May, as I leveled up to Adulting Level 38. Normally I'm not big on my birthday--I'm all about others' birthdays, but for me, I always worried that it would seem egotisitcal of me to throw a party and say "Hey everyone! Let's celebrate me!"

But this year, I made an exception. And on a golden evening in late May, I opened my home to a goodly number of people. It's been a long time since I've thrown a party of any significance--and as it turns out, while my little Haggery Home feels spacious for one feme sole, when you cram 20 people into a 2 bedroom flat, things can get cozy! But most folks stayed to the very end, and honestly, I don't even care if they didn't come to celebrate with me. They were there, laughing and having a good time, and that makes my heart happy. It's a golden memory that I will keep with me so long as my memory endures.

One of my sisters flew up from Florida. One of my oldest friends from grad school drove down to Chicago with her dog for the weekend. It was a golden night, with love and laughter and silly toasts and heartfelt words (and Cards Against Humanity, too.)

But there is only forward, no other way
Tomorrow was your hope at the end of the day
And gold turns grey...

All so very true, but if I can bathe in the glow of the gold as it is here, I will count this as worth the grey.

My Second Indianaversary

Two years.

2 years.

Two. 2. Two. 2.

Two years ago, I moved home.

How has it been two years? The more I repeat those words, the less sense they make, and the less profundity they have. They are just words that don't at all encompass the fact that somehow, so much time has passed since I made that journey away across deserts and prairies and through fields and forests, from California to Indiana.

So much of my life is completely different.

The magic and wonder that came with, "Oh my god, I really did make it back home" have worn off, of course. Just like with a new relationship, there's no way that bliss could sustain itself. Not when things like perpetual 'flu, an incredibly fucked-up election, an unstable living situation with an unpleasant person, and just all the quotidian things that come with living life, are all crowding in. So yes, in that sense, the euphoria has worn off. But my happiness, my contentment, my sense of rightness, those have not faded in these two years, only grown ever more lush, like a never-ending Indiana June.

Lots of people say, "You can't outrun your problems. Run away, move to a new place, you'll still be you.You won't be any happier. New city, same you."

Well...yes, and no.

I did move to a new place, start a new life. And I was still me. I still had some of my problems; I was still the same person that created and/or attracted and/or permitted those problems. But I was still--and am still--happier. Because, as it turns out, there were some problems that I could leave behind. My biggest problems were where I was living (it felt completely alien and wrong for me); my marriage (it was an absolute failure); and my job (I had outgrown it.) So, I moved to a place that I loved, that felt right; I ended my marriage; and I took a new job, at a different organization, doing something very different. I was the same person, but I liked my life so much more. Even during this last year, which was simply a nightmare year, I still liked my life.

2 years in, and I am still me. Still liking my life, and still aware of my flaws, my choices, my habits, my thought processes, my insecurities, all of which are still a part of me, and still have the potential to bring me unhappiness. All I can do, every day, is try embrace this new chance at life that I've been given, to try to fall more in love with my lovely, backward state, to simultaneously improve my faults and yet accept that "All we can be is who we are...failures and all."

I'm still me. I'm home. And I'm happy.

How to Live (and Wear) a Feme Sole Thanksgiving

Now that our grandparents and mother are dead, Thanksgiving is a lot different. A lot quieter, and so, a little weirder. For literally decades, we would gather at my grandparents' overheated, tiny house, which was filled to bursting with family, partners, friends, and orphans. Our increasingly deaf grandparents would blare Judge Judy and sportsball and the Macy's Day Parade; my grandmother and mother would holler at Eldest to add more broth to the stuffing, soupiness be damned. But as the years marched on, and people divorced and moved away and died, our numbers dwindled. And now, for the first time in 31 years, we aren't having dinner at the grandparents' house. That house stands silent and mostly empty and thoroughly abandoned, patiently waiting for a realtor to march people through and choose to buy it so they can have their own decades of family dinners there. And those few who remain--my sisters and partners, all childless, and myself--now gather in my sister's kitchen to break bread, give thanks, and all the rest.

This is also my first Thanksgiving as an officially divorced woman--a feme sole. This is what my beloved Oxford English Dictionary has to say about this:

feme sole, n.
Origin: A borrowing from French. Etymon: French feme sole. Law French feme sole, femme sole unmarried woman (1302 or earlier in Anglo-Norman) < feme , femme feme n. + sole soleadj. Compare post-classical Latin femina sola (1396 in a British source, in legal context). 

An unmarried woman; (sometimes) spec. one who is divorced or widowed. Also in the English and other common law legal systems: a married woman whose legal status, esp. with regard to her right to own property or to carry on a business, is that of an unmarried woman.

In other words? Fuck yes. It's funny, I was so uncomfortable in my 20s about being single, unpartnered, unclaimed, yet I had to become all those things to become comfortable with not being those things. And so now I wear this title with pride and joy and relief; it was a hell of a long road to get here, both legally and emotionally, and now that I am here, I am pretty ready to dig in, put down roots, and look down at all you other chumps with some smugness. Just kidding. Kind of.

I'm having a damned good Thanksgiving, despite the lack of family, and because of my feme sole state. Here's how I do it:

I decide I'm going to look good--look damned good. Wash my hair dammit, and choose an outfit that gets me a lot of compliments even if I think secretly it makes me look pregnant. (I'm not, and thankfully never will be.) I wear it with my best smile.

 Tunic from Rue 21; leggings from Meijer's because omg I wear leggings now!

I put on as much makeup as I want. Here's my view on makeup--it conceals what doesn't need to be seen and enhances what should be seen. It helps make me be the most radiant me that I want to be.

Couples at family holiday dinners are happily inevitable. When I was younger and the single odd duck, I felt self-conscious, unpaired, unloved. I'm older now, and now it doesn't bother me one jot, and if you're single, I hope it won't bother you either. The (let's hope) happiness of the couples at family gatherings are not a reflection on us single folk; not an indication of some sort of fatal flaw, and we can make our own happiness and freedom without a partner by our sides. And as I learned through my own bitter experiences, having a partner at your side at a family dinner is no indication of a satisfied, secure existence. I smile and laugh and talk and joke with the couples, admire the camaraderie that they share, and then I carry on being me.

I adhere to family traditions. With my people, this consists of

• Eldest Sister slaves away in the kitchen, as she has done since Time Immemorial (she is now both the Matriarch and the Martyr of the Family) 

• Middle Sister sits on the couch and peruses the Black Friday ads (although we aren't dummies, we don't go out into that brouhaha) 

• The Little Odd Duck stays as much out of the way as possible and watches X-Files. This is a tradition that stems back to my teens, when I worked at a toy store and had to be to work at 3 AM the day after Thanksgiving, literally ducking toys flying overhead, so during Turkey Day I would hunker down, rest up, eat food, and drool over Scully. 

 Me, Pre-Drool

• Occasionally I holler at Eldest Sister to add more broth to the stuffing. I don't care about stuffing, but it's what our mom and grandmother did. And what was good enough for them is good enough for us, dammit. 

So there we go--how I lived my  2017 Thanksgiving. It was chill but not chilly, lovely and cozy and filled with laughter and memories of people and days gone by. I lived it genuinely, as I have tried to do every day since taking the leap into Life After Marriage--as a sister, a friend, the Indy Grrl, the Odd Duck, Crazy Aunt Mel, and feme sole. It's a good life, and it's one I am grateful I had the courage to grab on to.