In Between

I am not a fan of in-between. I like to be either here or there. I am currently neither here nor there, however; I'm en route from here to there.

I'm spending a couple here-nor-there days in Taos, which has the perfect mystical quality to absorb in-between angst. I like to describe it as "all the magic of my hometown, minus the baggage and obligation."

Casita Montoya, home for 2 nights. 

The fantasticness of Taos is making my pictures blurry.

This morning I went for a walk to see if the "within walking distance to the Plaza!" claim made for my casita was an exaggeration. 

It wasn't. 

It's like they knew I was coming...

God, I love it here. I hate repeating myself, but it is so magical. I'm excited for a new life in Colorado, but even more excited for the tides to turn again and lead us here to stay. Someday. Once I move fully from here to there.


The Last Time Game

When something big is about to happen-- like, say, a move-- I start playing the Last Time Game. You know the one.

This is the last time I'll ever scrub this toilet or vacuum this floor. This is the last time eating at our favorite little Greek place. This is the last time I'll be able to buy Trader Joe's brand... well, anything, I guess. (Till those guys get it together in Colorado, anyway.) This is the last time I'll write a blog post from this house. 

Along with the Last Time Game, you can play the No More Game.

No more 114 degree weather. No more sleeping in the hottest room of the house. No more Bermuda grass. No more constant exposure to the armpit of humanity and its horrible driving. No more miles upon miles of nothing but stark brown landscape.

The goat is cute, but can't make this view less brown. 

And then there's the "At Least for a While" game.

No more waking up to someone who makes me laugh even before I leave the bed. At least, for a while.
No more family pancake mornings. At least, for a while.
No more Battlestar Galactica marathons with Miss G. At least, for a while.

That last game, I can't play very long because I'm a crier.

The best game, though, is the uncovering of new things in a new place. New Greek restaurants. Family pancake breakfasts in a new dining room. New scenery: greens and mountains and trees. New weather: thunderheads and blizzards and everything in between. Better people. A better future.

Next stop: Colorado.

I don't know how to photoshop anything so this image is totally legit. 


Finally Finished

Although I have an absurd amount of intriguing things going on in my life, I'm not talking about any of them today. Today's topic instead: I FINISHED PAINTING THE BATHROOM.

Okay, this may not sound like a big thing, and definitely not an ALL CAPS kind of thing. But seriously. If you knew how long this project has haunted me, you'd put it in all caps too.

I promised Miss G an underwater bathroom around um, age 7 I think. She's turning 14 this year. (PS, see how I typed that without throwing up? Awesome!) Granted, most of those years were spent as apartment dwellers where I didn't want to paint, then repaint any bathrooms. However, we've been in this house for four (4) years now. You'd think that'd be ample time to paint a bathroom.

Turns out it was just barely enough.

Oh, and I could not have finished this without my amazing artist friend Carolyn. You know those projects that sit so long they grow impenetrable skins across them? The bathroom was one of them. Carolyn helped me finally breach it by showing up with reference books, know-how, her paints and brushes, and her always-cheerful attitude.

So, on to the pics.

We call this "Seahorse Corner."

Carolyn's awesome clown fish. 

My very first octopus!

An octopus close-up, because I love him so much. 

The "cave."

A close-up of Carolyn's happiest-moray-eel-in-the-world 

Some jellyfish... possibly the most fun thing to paint EVER. 

So, there you go, Miss G. You are probably way beyond the age where an underwater bathroom is remotely interesting, but at least I finally finished the damned thing. Love you! xoxo


Everything always works out.

In three weeks, I leave for Colorado.

I don't have a job. I don't have a place to live. My husband doesn't have permission from his ex-wife to leave the state and move with me, unless he agrees to give up even more time with his daughter.

Oh. And as of last week, I don't have a car to leave in, because my engine blew up out of nowhere.

That's okay though.

Because remember that fluke job I applied for last year? Those third-world country wages are turning into an actual, full-time job this month. A full-time job paying enough to support us, with paid holidays and time off that I can take with me wherever I want to live. Including Colorado.

And the housing? I have an amazing sister who can't wait for me to overstay my welcome with her. And she's got this awesome basement guest room that's one of those magical places, like you breathe more deeply there or something. So that's perfect for now, and something else will work out when I get up there.

The car? Married a guy who is able to say "No problem, honey. We'll just put in a new engine." So that's set. Thanks, Husband. And thanks, tax returns.

The custody crap? Irritating, but hardly the worst blow we've had come from that direction. Dan can't leave until he finishes remodeling his parents' house anyway, so we'll hope that some people become more reasonable before he pounds the last nail. Dan says that'll be before Thanksgiving; I say next summer. Will I miss him? Yep. But that'll work itself out somehow too.

Everything is uncertain, and yet it hardly matters. Everything always works out. Always. Never once have I leapt and not landed somewhere solid, so I've decided to stop worrying. Even the stupid crap ends up being for the best somehow, no matter how much you'd like to slap the idiots who say that to you in your darkest moments.

Damned optimists. They're right every damned time.

It makes me smile.