So, have I mentioned lately how I’m pretty much a full-on neurotic control freak with OCD tendencies?

Um, yeah, that’s me.

And suddenly, after that statement, all of you are now thinking that you’ve walked out of a blog post and into the beginning of a 12 step program meeting, right? Yeah, thought so. (Cue everybody saying all together in a soothing singsong voice) “Hello Neurotic OCD Control Freak.”

Okay, now that we have that charming interlude out of the way… yes, I am.  And instead of this increasing the amazingness of being around me 24-7-365, it merely make me extremely challenging to live with. Especially for Bob. With all his happy bag of quirks he’s carrying around all the time. Especially for him.

I am not painting a pretty picture here, am I?

No, not at all.

But, to be clear, neither of us misrepresented anything to the other at all. But you can be sure that there are definitely times (more than you’d probably believe) when all the quirks and tics and odd habits we both possess make our house a pretty crowded place.

And the drama… OMG!  The. Drama.

Over really important stuff. You know, like whether the toilet lid should be up or down? (Down is the correct answer – in case you’re wondering) Or whether closet doors should be open or closed? (Closed, with the light off – again, in case you’re wondering.) Or how many rolls of toilet paper are too many? And that answer is – there’s no such thing as too many… just so we’re really clear. So, make a note, in case of the Apocalypse my house has toilet paper. And paper towels too… just sayin’.

Sometimes, though, something big happens that really knocks us past all that petty crap and reminds us both of the really important thing in our lives. The thing that really counts.

Each other.

Yeah, that. The reason we’re together anyway. The reason we’ve endured learning to live together, learned the dance steps that keep us going, learned to have a tolerance for each other that keeps us in this house, making this work, day after day.

Anyway, we had one of those “Aha!” moments a few weekends ago. One of those moments when we were able to see clearly what is most important. After we looked together into a broken mirror. And saw (one more time) exactly why it is that we’re still together. Why it’s all worth it.

One more time.

Because we broke a mirror.

And, of course, when I say we, I mean Bob. And when I say broke, I mean shattered. All over the Whole Foods parking lot. And I saw it about to happen. But I couldn’t stop it. And after it happened, instead of thinking “!@$$#S%^^**$!!!!!!”, all I could do was laugh with relief that Bob was okay, no limbs were laying in the parking lot twitching on their own, and that we were both whole.

Yes, I was annoyed. Mildly. But I was more relieved that he hadn’t made an amputee of himself when he tried to catch the damned thing by the edge, with his foot. That could have gone badly. Very badly. But it didn’t. All we ended up having was a bunch of old broken glass, reflecting up at us in the moonlight. And when you put it like that, it’s not so important after all.

Bob, however, is a different story indeed.

And I guess the funniest part to me was how shocked he was when he finally figured out that I wasn’t angry. That I was joking. That I was laughing. About a broken mirror. But that was because I wasn’t angry at all. Because when I looked down into that pile of broken glass that was scattered all over the parking lot, what I actually saw reflecting back at me was the image of the most important thing in my world. Bob. Quirks and all. And Bob – without question- is irreplaceable. And that’s what I told him. I told him that when you take life down to the barest parts, we both know what’s most important to us, what we can’t replace.

We both saw it all too clearly, in the pieces of that broken mirror.

Us.

Together.

Today and tomorrow.

Forever.

And with all that blah blah, happy third anniversary to the most important thing in my life. Thank you for everything. For making me whole again. For completing my life. For annoying the crap out of me. For expanding my profanity vocabulary. And for making me laugh. You are my everything and I love you more than anything in the world. And I wouldn’t trade any of the aggravation or tears or laughter or joy for anything. Especially a pile of broken glass.

Forever.

Live longer, that is.  Because that’s the question I’m sure Bob is asking himself after we had this early morning chat: 

Him: Are you walking this morning? (as clock is going off at 5am and I’m putting on workout gear)

Me: Yep

Him: (silence)

Me: (in ominous tone) Because one of us is going to live longer.

Him: Well, after that I guess I’m walking too.  Don’t think I’ll sleep much thinking about that.

Bliss, it just drips around here! Can’t you feel it?

Yet another conversation yesterday as we sorted, categorized, and alphabetized the DVDs: 

Him: How are you filing this stack?  

Her: Oh, those are all classics, they go together.  

Him: I understand 12 Angry Men & Gone with the Wind but Apocalypse Now? Really?  How do you figure?  

Her: It’s easy, they’re all old.    

Him: Okay, so old equals Classic.  Well then, I’m old, am I a classic?  

Her: No, you’re mostly just weird, with a little Ass Hat thrown in for fun.  I’d definitely file you under Indies.

And yes, in my house all the DVDs are categorized and alphabetized. I know, amazing.  It’s probably one of my more endearing OCD traits.  And he doesn’t share it.  So you can imagine the fun we have with this one…

KABOOM!

(which is the sound my head makes when it explodes after I find The Dark Knight misfiled – again – under either B for "Batman" or D for "Don’t care where it goes" or H for "I’m in a hurry and I’m just stuffing this in wherever, she’ll never notice".)

from 2010.  Yes, indeed we are.  Because the last year, it definitely had quite a few OMGWTFUSUK moments – like most of them? Well, no, not most of them, but a good portion of them anyway. And for those of you keeping score at home- the toteboard shows that 2009 had 4 residences, 5 jobs, and countless hours of second guessing and soul searching between the two of us. So, hey, you? Departing year? Don’t let the door hit you in the ass as you roll on into history. 

But, hey, any day above ground is a pretty good one, right?  And since we’re alive that’s an automatic win I’d think.  Well, one of us is anyway. However, there’s another of us who might soon be on life support if he EVER leaves the lid off the Nyquil when he throws it back in the Medicine basket, in my new linen closet.

JACKASS!

Um, yeah. But that’s just one of the challenges. The other is fitting all our 20 pounds of shiz into a 5.2 pound sack/house, without a basement or an attic. Yeah, that’s working out about as well as you’d expect. IE the car may never see the inside of the garage. Ever.

The high points (undifferentiated order, very stream of consciousness):

• We are back in Florida. Can I just tell you upfront that I really love this place? Yep, it’s weird – unapologetically so in fact, the weather is generally warm to hot as hell and the relative humidity rivals 2 16 year old KY Cousins courtin’ for the first time, and it’s got lots of exotic flora and fauna – most of which is disgusting looking and/or wants to bite/sting/swell you up. But on the flipside- I can wear some form of Flipflop most of the time, it has beaches that are mostly safe to walk on, I don’t have to wear socks very often, and there’s just so much to do here – yeararound! Really, I guess it’s home for me because I feel more at ease in my skin when I’m here, and I really miss it when I’m gone. But this time I’m thinking I’m back for good. No real plans to leave this sandy piece of land ever again. Make a note.
• Santa gave us Disney Annual Passes & I’ve been to Disney twice already – I’ll be there lots more. I know, shocking?! WOOHOO!
• We got to spend a lot of time at the beach last Summer. Very nice. In fact, exceptionally nice. Thanks to my cousin for sharing her lovely home with us!
• I have Wine Wednesday buddies to share the stresses of life with. Like having Group Therapy – with snacks and good red wines. What’s not to like?
• We survived commune living with Thi Thi & Bub for nearly 6 months, and nobody died. Yeah. I know. Amazing. But yes, we survived. And we’re still speaking to each other. That’s the best part. No, actually, the best part is that we’re living 10 min. from each other now. So we’re still very close. And that’s a good thing for all of us. The happy factor is higher when you’ve got at least some family close at hand. For everyone.
• Bob’s Type 2 Diabetes has apparently gone the way of the Dodo. Diet, a combination of multiple supplements, and some exercise appears to have finally done the trick. Oh, and a Doctor that is willing to experiment some with different paths, that’s the other big thing. All that combined is showing him as having average blood sugar readings at around 100, with no medication for 5 months. So we’re over the moon about that one. Yay Bob!
• I’ve lost 23 lbs! Finally got around to reading that “Weight Loss for Dummies” book – all two pages of it. You know, the one where page one says “put down the fork”, and page two says “get off your ass”. Amazingly, that actually works! Who knew? Anyway, it’s working, I’ve been updating you all on that. So that’s enough about that.

But the downside? Yeah, there’s a downside, there always is, isn’t there? 2009 offered up a delicious poop-pourri of challenges for us – both individually and as a couple. Actually I consider it a testimony to either our tenacity or ignorance that we are a) still married, b) not dead with CSI investigating, and c) both of us are still relatively sane. Shut up! I said relatively. Actually I consider that to be huge. HUGE! Because, for Bob, going through 2 layoffs and 3 jobs and more change than any change-averse person should ever have to see in one lifetime let alone one year without having a mental “episode” is some sort of record I think. In fact I’m surprised he hasn’t been rocking in the corner for the past 5 months. Oh, wait, there was that week last month… nevermind. But anyway, huge kudos to him for not giving up, for getting right back in the market, and for landing a new gig in just over a month – both times. Yeah, I know… in this work environment that’s just, like, wow! A miracle wrapped in ridiculous amounts of luck, swirled with creamy goodness. As for the new gig… even though it isn’t the best paying position he’s ever had, it really is a very good fit for him. In fact it may be the best fit he’s had yet in his odyssey thru corporate America.

As for me? Well, let’s see, I’ve been keeping busy dodging life’s boulders. Yeah, dodging. And ducking. And dealing with the occasional glancing blow. Nothing major, only a flesh wound, but it does make things challenging. Apparently I’m training for an agility trial or something. Who knew? The biggest boulder of all? Oh that would be the reality that even though I’m really glad to be back home in Florida, the reasons for the move back really pissed me off. In fact they still do, and they probably always will. Even though I know that being angry at circumstances beyond your control is a gigantic waste of mental energy. And let’s face it, at my advanced age I need to conserve that. It’s in short supply. Seriously, even though I know very well that even with everything we’ve had to handle we’re still so much luckier than the majority of folks who’ve been caught up in this same maelstrom, I’m still very angry at the Gods, Fate, the Magic 8-Ball, or whatever the hell it was that threw our lives into total uproar. And, BTW, it still is. In uproar that is. And I guess it will be as long as we still live two places – in a lovely rental in FL and still owning our own home in TN.

Pssst! Know anybody who wants a nice little bungalow in Island Home? I can hook ‘em up!

But anyway, I guess I’ll eventually get over it. Maybe. But it’s been very hard. And I have to state for the record that I resent the crap out of 2009 for having the temerity to suck this bad. Seriously. Who signed off on that anyway? You better hope I don’t find out your name. Bad karma doesn’t even begin to describe your lot in life.

But now we’re in 2010. Both of us are happily gainfully employed. We’re settling into our new temporary home and laying plans for our long-term future here. We’re through with looking backward, we’re looking forward to a bright future and we’ve got on our shades. 2009 ain’t nothin’ but a thing we lived thru. And, yes, we lived thru it. It was what it was. And I guess by surviving together, we’ve proven the rule “that which does not kill us shall make us stronger”. Again and again and again.  But, more importantly, we’ll continue to do just that. Survive.  Because that’s who I am. And today that’s who Bob is. We survive.  Albeit fussing and quarreling and carrying on like we do. Just plain Missy & Ira. Survivors.

Yay us! Happy New Year!

On our own.  And I guess this is where I have to ask the cosmos if this is some sort of never-ending learning game we’re playing, or if it’s just a really bad sitcom.  The Truman Show – with us instead of Jim Carrey.   As for what I’m mumbling about tonight, if you follow my Twitter then you already know.  If not, then here’s the cliffnotes.  Bob got laid off, again. Today. While I was out looking at houses so we could start moving forward in earnest with this new life we are trying to build for ourselves here in Florida.  Ironic timing that, eh?

And for those of you keeping score at home… yes, this is just a little over a month after we uprooted our lives, left parts of our family behind, and moved our household down here for this job.  This excellent opportunity for growth.  Because it was the best opportunity we had.  Because we didn’t see that there was a future or any opportunity for us in Knoxville. 

Well, apparently there wasn’t much down here either.  And, really, I wish I could say that we were prepared for this to happen, but we weren’t.  There was no handwriting on the wall or anything, no secret decoder message we missed.  No.  There wasn’t.  It was totally out of the blue.  "It’s the economy" and "sales aren’t where they need to be" and "you’re a great guy and we’re sorry" are all wonderful words to hear.  All true.  As long as it’s somebody else hearing them this time.  Not us.  Not him.  But he did.  Again.  And that was it. 

Life, upended, and interrupted.  Twice in one year is just about once too much I think. Don’t you think? Really?  Hmmm.

And, of course, since we’re still in both places in a way, the question of the day was "what the hell do we do now?" And after some discussion, the immediate answer is that we go forward, from here.  Backward isn’t an option, not anymore.  So we move forward.  To the next opportunity. For whichever one of us is lucky enough to find it.  To the next position that may or may not be a really good opportunity. But we will still move forward.  Yes, we’re both upset.  Terribly upset, in fact.  And we’re both silently wondering how we’ll survive this new test.  This fresh Hell.  And the answer is the same as it has always been since we built this little boat of Bob & Missy.  With the help of God, and each other, and our families.  Those are things we know we have.  Things nobody can take away.  And we’ll have to believe in ourselves enough so that we can trust the next opportunity just like we did this one, blindly. 

Because we have no choice.

We have no choice.

But this still sucks.

Being blindsided.

I know, normally the premise is that you wouldn’t even start looking for a house until you know exactly what you want, right?  Right?  Um, wrong.  So very wrong indeed, if you’re unlucky enough to be our realtor anyway.  Because that poor woman is slowly being driven nuts by us.  Us and our indecisiveness.  And our waffling.  And our general lack of enthusiasm toward this hunt for THE PERFECT HOUSE.

And yes, since we’re of a certain age, once is all we’re buying.  Just this one time.  For good.  So whatever we buy? Of course, it must be perfect.  Must be the right size – not too big, not too small.  Must have the right upgrades – because, of course, nothing plain vanilla appeals to either of us.  And, naturally, it must be in the right neighborhood – the suburbs and all the many gated cow pastures contained therein have never appealed to us.  So, for us, finding a house is, to be blunt, somewhat less fun than Waterboarding.  Um, yeah.  Actually I think our realtor is going to volunteer for Waterboarding, after we finally close on something (if that ever happens), as a spa treatment.  Maybe we should give her that as a gift?   

But anyway, back to the story.  We started this hunt in March, the weekend that Bob moved down here, and we concentrated only on south Lakeland.  Because that’s where I grew up.  That’s where I was comfortable in this town.  However, in the 20 years since I left here, I’ve done a lot of growing up and changing.  And so has Lakeland, but it’s not the town’s fault.  Because, being the idiots we are, we ignored all that knowledge and started the hunt in the south suburbs.  Home of plastic, shiny, new.  Even though we hate suburbs. Even though we don’t like plastic, shiny, new.  I guess because we thought as soon as we crossed the state line that we’d become radically different people and our tastes would change from quality to… oh… how do I say it kindly? Not so much?  Well, after four months of looking but not finding a house we like, we have finally found one thing.  What we’re attempting to do is not going to happen.  We cannot change our housing style as easily as we changed our zip code.  Our real estate personality is pretty ingrained, it turns out.  It’s old, it’s established, it’s got lots of very large trees, and it’s never been a part of a suburb.  It’s in-town, with a porch and lots of windows.  Not 10 miles outside of town, with a sparkling (ha ha – another story for another day) pool and a garage door as its major architectural feature.  It’s historic, with a few creaky floors and a (hopefully) checkered past.  And thus, for us to look at new = teh epic fail.  Of all time. 

But we did.  In fact, I think we’ve looked at every house between $150000 and $300000, that is on the market in 33812 and 33813.  And I’d be lying if I said that anything we’ve looked at out there was "the house".  None of them were.  Well, except for the ginormous custom home with the (supposedly) gawdawful wallpaper in the kitchen.   I actually liked that wallpaper, just so you know.  But other than that, none of the buhjillion eyesores new homes we’ve looked at said anything to us.  Other than yawn.  There’s lots of sameness.  A tone of majorly boring.  And a nice topping of Ho hum.  Which made me finally realize that most people out there in the ‘burbs are truly the Vanilla of our world.  Plain old Vanilla, just trying to blend in, with no place for anything different, like Rocky Road.  And don’t even ask for mix-ins… you’ll kill the property values with that shiz. 

So, after 3 months of looking, we were no closer to finding our perfect fit than we were in March.  But we were getting closer to living in that box we talk about all the time.  Which really isn’t our desired outcome to this.  Really.  Because it’s the rainy season and all, you know? And boxes aren’t exactly conducive to our needs at this time.  So we changed things up.  Started looking in-town.  In neighborhoods that look like our old neighborhood in Knoxville.  Old, established, historic, INTERESTING! And, lo, the Angels sang.  But, to be sure, we’ve seen some real mistakes that are dressed up as restored historic construction.  Some real dogs with fleas, and dry rot.  Some rather odd ideas on how to repurpose rooms, and some places that should be listed as "knock’er-downers" instead of "fixer-uppers".  We found a spider residing in a FSBO who thinks he’s already gone thru closing and is in Escrow.  He’s not planning on leaving.  We did.  But we’ve also found some jewels. And most importantly, we’ve found places that we could actually see ourselves living.  Forever.  Happily.  And that’s made all the difference.  Because now we’re excited about this search.  Now we’ve become excited about living here. Finally.  And it’s about time, don’cha think?

So the moral to my tale? And there is one, after all this.  Don’t try to change who you are.  And don’t try to change your real estate profile just because the best deals are something different from what you like.  A good deal is only good if you like the results.  If the house isn’t what you want and like, no matter how cheap it is you won’t ever be happy.  Really.  But, of course, the search continues, this time in the right place though.  We really can’t wait to post "We found it!" Hopefully soon… hopefully.  Meanwhile, send our realtor a sympathy note.  She’s a saint.  With crazy customers. 

God bless us every one? 

Have I mentioned lately how very much I absolutely adore my husband? No? Well I do. And yes, I know, frackin’ bizarre that I don’t say anything for a very long time and finally I do write something and it’s “l lurve him” drivel. I know, shocking.

Anyway, back to my topic at hand, my wonderful husband. And yes, he is. Completely. Amazing. We celebrated his birthday yesterday. Just the two of us. And it was nice. He really missed having his other girl with him too. But it was good enough that we had each other. And as we sat at dinner (Louie Mack’s – another post for another blog, but it was really yummy!) he told me how much our life really means to him. And he told the story about how, in his previous life, he spent hours on time-wasting hobbies like his many Fantasy Teams for all sports. Hours spent escaping his life. And hating the feeling of needing to escape it. And then he went on to tell me that now he doesn’t need all those time-wasting activities. No reason for that hobby. Because he doesn’t want to escape anymore. Not from his life with me. Because it’s so good, so full, and I’ve helped him to become the man he is today. The man who has that life. A life he always dreamed of but never could have. Because there was just too much in the way.

And then I cried. And then I told him again that I believe in him. I trust him. I love him. And I told him that I would always do that. Love him. Forever. And there are days when that seems like a much longer time than I ever bargained for, but then there are the days when it seems like that isn’t nearly long enough. And that, my dear readers, is why I think we keep being okay. No matter what happens. We survive. Because of love. Simply, I love him.

And he loves me.

And that, my friends, makes all the difference.

I am angry.

Bob is laid off.  If you follow my Twitter you already know that.  And if you don’t, well shame on you, and here’s the address: www.twitter.com/missybw64.  So, anyway, this layoff situation now means that he’s in the same boat I’ve been riding in for quite a while.  The SS Can’t find a Job that’s sailing along on an empty job pool, headed toward the rocks with a strong tailwind.  Because, sadly, there’s nothing here for him employment-wise either, any more than there is for me.  That is, unless he wants to go to work at Pilot or join the Army.   Um, yeah Skippy, those are the largest employers advertising on monster.com in around these parts.  No, I’m not kidding.  Of course, as all of you well know, the only thing I’ve been able to find employment-wise in our 18 fun-filled months here is a temp clerical position that pays me a fraction of what I am worth and allows me the opportunity to hold the title of the most overqualified mail clerk in Knoxpatch.  But anyway, for those of you keeping score at home, this means our household is now 0 for 2 in the category of real jobs obtained in Knoxvegas.  And this means we aren’t going to be able to stay here much longer.  Okay, not long at all.  In fact, he’s in Tampa today, interviewing with two different companies, because he can get a call from down there.  From the 40 plus resumes he’s sent out here? Crickets.  Silent night.  And yes, this means that we’re enacting once-unthinkable scenarios that we previously would not have even considered.    But that was before.  Before our world ended. 

But, before I pack any boxes,  I just have to say, here and now, that I am mad.  Okay, maybe mad isn’t strong enough.  Pissed off?  Okay, even that probably that doesn’t begin to plumb the depths of rage I’m living in now.  I just want to scream.  All the time.  Forever.  Again. 

And I think I can be honest and say that we knew this whole east Tennessee settlement wasn’t forever.  We had already accepted that eventually we’d leave here, due in no small part to my sock allergy and hatred of the cold if for no other reason.  But not now.  Not this soon.  Because, if you haven’t kept up, this is where I’ll tell you that we came back here for a reason.  And that reason is 17.  She is a Senior.  She graduates in three months.  She turns 18 in five months.  And we planned to stay here until we had her successfully launched into adulthood.  All we needed was 5 more measly months.  That’s all.  150 frackin’ days.  That’s not too much to ask, now is it?  Well apparently it was.  Because it now appears that we won’t get that luxury.  Because at least one of us will be gone, probably very soon.  Because our world blew up.  Because an irresponsible employer overhired in 2008 and now has decided to start performing surgery on their staff in 2009, because it’s the fashionable thing to do.  And that surgery resulted in a Bob-ectomy. 

And, to be clear, I don’t have any problems with the concept or idea of relocation.  I’ve done it quite a few times.  Relocating isn’t the part of this equation that’s got me wailing and gnashing.  The part that’s got me melting down and screaming is the feeling that we don’t have very many viable choices.  That we are being forced to make this decision in order to survive.  Conversion at gunpoint is the best description I have.  And relocation isn’t supposed to be like this.  It should only be chosen if it’s to better our situation, if it’s well-thought-out, and if we want to do it.  This isn’t our choice right now.  In fact, this makes me feel a whole lot like the Joads, fleeing our own personal dustbowl, with hopes of something better in our minds.  Although, truth be told, east Tennessee is actually closer to my own personal Brokeback Mtn.  Because I keep saying that I can’t quit it, and I keep leaving.  But then I come back, once again seduced by the hope that “this time it will be different.”  But it never is.  And I leave again, because I cannot settle for a half portion.  Cannot settle for simply okay.  For less than I am capable of.  To do that would be the worst thing I could do.  The worst for both of us.

  But that doesn’t mitigate the anger.  The rage.  Because I like our life here.  Because in moving back here we knew that finally at last we were both making a difference in a child’s life.  Our child’s life.  And, more amazing to me than anybody, I wanted to be a difference in that child’s life.  Because that child didn’t choose me.  I didn’t choose her.  But that child and I have gotten to a very good place together.  And I don’t want to ever lose that.  I don’t want us to miss out on anything.  And yes, we have quite a lot of other family here that we’ll miss too.  But she’s our world.  Our north star.  And not being here with her will mean our sky is darker.  There will be an empty space in our lives that is shaped like her, that we’ll feel all the time.   

So I’m angry.  Because this economic downturn isn’t something far-removed for us.  This is personal.  This is physically tearing us apart.  Because all we have here is love, but unfortunately we can’t eat love.  Love doesn’t pay the bills.  Love might keep us together, as the Capt. & Tennielle warbled lo those many years ago, but not physically and financially together.  I see the very real picture of a family, separated, and that family is mine.

And I am angry.   

That you cannot find a Divorce Attorney at 10 o’clock at night.  After your loving spouse has just flushed a wad of paper towel down the finicky low flow toilet.  Yes, the one that you just spent an inordinate amount of effort getting unstopped two weeks ago.  Yes, the one that chokes on anything heavier than 4 kleenex.  Yes, the only toilet we have..

So, because you can’t find an attorney, I got a plunger instead.  And a huge-mongous bottle of Rotor Rooter, and then I yelled, alot.  And after all that, the toilet was fixed.  Again. 

It’s a good thing.  For him.  For me.  And most importantly, for that damned toilet!

Don’t mind me, I’m just getting all sentimental today, over frackin’ Halloween.  I know, WTF?  Crazy!

But there’s a reason for my sniffling.  And it’s not a hormone imbalance or mentalpause.  No, it’s because I realized today how much my life is moving on.  How I’ve grown older, in spite of my best intentions, and life is so different now. 

And Halloween tells the tale with this timeline:

1969 – I was 5.  My earliest Halloween memory.  My parents took me to selected houses to trick or treat.  But the big treat was finally getting to go to downtown Dandridge to see the outhouse that the wise-ass teen boys always stole and placed in the middle of the main intersection at the courthouse. There was an old man trying to use it, I remember his whiskery face peeping out as we drove by.

1972-1980 – Growing up years – trick or treated entire blocks of city neighborhoods, lived for huge candy haul.  Never knew what Almond Joy or Mounds tasted like because our Mom told us they were poison and she threw them away.  Did I mention that my Mom sometimes was less than honest?  Or that her breath always smelled suspiciously like coconut all the way through Thanksgiving?

1982-1995 – The Single Years – Halloween meant drinking, bars, walk of shame costumes (Posterboard Life Saver, Lick Me written on it), and lots of single fun.  Halloween isn’t the same without fluorescent shooters, is it?

1995-2004 – The First Marriage Years – Halloween meant parties with our friends, still costumed, but a little calmer, and nobody woke up with fluorescent paint in strange places.  Sometimes the holiday even meant kids too, even though we had none of our own.  But we did enjoy seeing the kids and handing out candy.  Even if we preferred Halloween Horror Nights over Mickey’s Not-So-Scary Halloween.

And that gets us to today… and my tears over the witch hats… because today, as we get ready for another Halloween, I realized that Halloween for me has changed yet again.  It’s about the kids.  Yes, I confess, I really love to see the little ghosts and goblins, the Princesses and Incredible Hulks, and the occasional sullen Teen dressed as himself, on a walk of shame with his younger siblings as they come to my house.  I love decorating outside, being the house that the kids are staring at, because they just know that anybody that decorates like that has to give out good candy. 

But this year will be different.  This year on Halloween I’ll have to miss out on all that preciousness because this year we’ll be in Chattanooga, watching Miss C cheer in her last high school football game ever.  Because Webb closes their season that night and we wouldn’t miss it for the world.  The witches and goblins will be okay without me this year.  This is the end of an era.  And that realization also showed me the next evolution of Halloween that’s waiting for me right around the circle of life.  Today I realized that within the next ten years or so I’ll probably be watching my grandchild trick or treat.  I’ll be GrandMissy and that’ll be my little witch or ghost that I’ll be watching march up the sidewalk.  And that’s when I cried.  From joy.  From thanks.  Because life is so full and it’s moving so fast.  It’s so good but so bittersweet.

Grab it tight with both hands!  It’s one hell of a ride!