Milestones and Mini-Skirts

This photo was taken in 1976, the year I turned 30.

I was starting college for the first time and I enrolled in night classes. I was scared to death. I really had no reason to think I would do well in school, but I wanted to try it.

I was also engaged to be married, (again). I had no reason to suspect the marriage would be successful, but I wanted to try it. I really hoped to give my crazy life some stability and my children some security.

The two things (school and a marriage) collided a little. I unexpectedly fell a little in love with my English professor, (a very soulful and sensitive young Muslim man), about two weeks before I was due to get married. He and I had a "moment" or two, but I did go ahead with the wedding.

(Although my professor and I stopped being an "item" after I was married, surprisingly I still got an "A" in his class.)

I married a man 23 years my senior, and a high-level manager at Chevron. My husband was also a cowboy, a hunter, and a general outdoors-man. I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world despite the fact that I was not an "outdoors-type" woman.

Little did I know that I was perhaps making the biggest mistake of my life. My new husband wanted me to change completely right after the wedding. No more mini-skirts! No more make up! No more high heel shoes! (You can see where this is going, I'm sure.)

I was working full-time, going to school 4 nights a week, and trying to fulfill wildly divergent roles. I was a mother, a new wife, a student and a working woman. Something had to give, and it did. Not only did I continue to dress as I pleased, I also neglected the laundry and cooking because of my heavy load at school.

My husband became a brutal drunken lout. He was also physically abusive enough to land me in the hospital on more than one occasion. I had experienced rocky relationships in the past, but broken ribs were never an issue before.

I quietly arranged for my children to spend the year with their dad and his wife. They were happy to do so. In the meantime, I considered putting an ax through my husband's head when he was sleeping, or shooting him with one of the many guns he kept around the house. (I could always claim I thought he was a prowler.) Instead, with the help of a dear new friend, (who happened to be a lawyer), I filed for divorce.

My husband did not take this well. I had to get a restraining order to keep him from getting anywhere near me. I was actually afraid that he would kill me as he had threatened numerous times.

The good news is, I finished my first full year of college with a 3.8 GPA. I sold my wedding ring and got enough money to take my children to Disneyland for a week, and I got a promotion at work.

My dear new friend turned into a boyfriend, and yes, I am playing around a bit with the timing of this relationship transformation. My new boyfriend did not mind my mini-skirts and high heels in the slightest.

Imagine that.

I Cannot Look At Train Wrecks

I cannot look at train wrecks.

If I see an ambulance and a police car, or paramedics at my neighbor's house, I move away from the window. I will call later to see if I can help in some way. But I won't watch someone in distress being carried from their home.

If I see a twisted wrecked car along the side of the highway, I immediately avert my eyes. I am not drawn to tragedy. Actually, I go to great lengths to avoid the "unpleasant".

The news is full of images of damaged bodies. I can't stand looking at them. I feel just as strongly about gazing at damaged souls. When I caught a glimpse of Britney Spears wildly chopping off her hair, I had to turn away. When I saw Anna Nicole Smith at an awards ceremony and obviously drugged, I couldn't look at her. I can't watch Lindsey Lohan and her exploits. Charlie Sheen is the latest poster child for troubled souls. I can't bear to watch him being interviewed because it's too sad.

I think I'm afraid of these horrifying and humiliating things and that's why I can't take part in watching. I know all too well what it feels like being carried on a gurney to an ambulance after an injury. I hated seeing faces at the windows watching me.

I also know what it's like to "lose it". I've screamed and cried and thrown things in rage, and in despair. I hate that there were witnesses to my degradation, but relieved I wasn't doing it on camera.

I've also been drunk. I'm just glad there were no cameras to record my behavior, or maybe I should call it "misbehavior". Nobody is at their best after too much to drink.

I had a boyfriend once who was drawn to my "crazy". He had a dark soul and loved the darkness in me. The worse I got, the more he loved me. In the end, he would have destroyed us both.

I do not love darkness nor do I embrace it. I love the light. So I really cannot look at train wrecks.

At Least Once In A Lifetime

We should all experience snow at least once.

My dogs have been to the ocean, to the desert, to the mountains, to the country and the city many times. But they had never experienced snow.

I'm not a fan of snow, but it's something we should all encounter at least once. There is a cold, crunchy purity to it. It actually looks pretty magical, but of course, that's a facade and it fades to dirty wet stuff eventually.

The illusion of this pristine substance is enough to make it worthwhile to see. We took the dogs up into the mountains about two hours from home last weekend to let them judge for themselves.

I was pretty sure Honey, my older female, would take a look, sniff and want back in the car (something like her owner), but I was very surprised. While she did not opt to wallow in the snow, she did enjoy the texture, the smell, and the taste and the new experience.

Harry, the younger male dog encountered his first experience with snow with abandon and excitement. He dug in it, ate it, and raced around seeing if it was real or a figment of canine imagination!

I was really happy that the pups got to see snow in their lifetime. Everyone should.

I thought about getting out of the car and into it myself, but then decided not to. I've seen snow before and it's cold and crunchy and pure but only for a moment in time.

Stilettos

I like a high heeled shoe.

I've been criticized for years because that is all I wear. People have walked up to me on the street and said "Oh you're the lady who always wears high heels!" This is generally followed with "How on earth do you walk in them?"

Actually, I walk just fine in them. In fact, from my lifetime of wearing nothing else, my tendons have shortened and it causes me great pain to walk any distance in a flat shoe.

In the summer, I usually wear more of a "wedge" type sandal, but they are still high heels. Friends sidle up to my husband and ask him in confidence, "Does she really wear those all the time?" Alex assures them that I do.

I wear them to vacuum. I wear them to the grocery store. I wear them to garden. I've climbed ladders in them and I can even run (if I need to) in high heel shoes.

As a (semi) joke, a friend gave me a gift of sensible shoes. She was sure I would learn to love them. Alas, I have not because they are ugly as sin and not comfortable either.

As long as I walk, I fully intend to keep wearing stilettos. In fact, if I can't walk, I will wear them anyway. They are so much prettier than sensible shoes.

How You Can Tell When My Husband Is Away

This is how I will be dressed.

Yes, I will wear the stilettos with my robe. And I will wear the diamond earrings with the jade bits. And I will put on lipstick and mascara.

I might even comb my hair. Oh, you know I'm lying about that. Why comb it? It's almost a crew cut!

I wait until after dark to get the mail. I wait until after dark to cart the recycle cans to the curb. I wait until after dark to drag the cans back in.

Because my back yard is fairly private, I can go outside anytime I want. Of course, since it has rained day and night now for 8 days and 8 nights, I am not spending that long out there either.

I only have visitors who do not care if I dress. I had an anxiety attack the other evening and a male friend brought over some booze. After a couple of drinks, I was calmer and he went home.

Nobody seems to think it's strange that I don't dress for weeks at a time. The right shoes and earrings make up for that. When I was very young and living in an apartment, my landlord never saw me in anything but a nightgown and robe in 4 years. He never said "That's strange." (Not to me, anyway.) My landlord's name was Marvin. I named my fish after him. He was truly a great guy. I loved Marvin. He and his wife Bernice were a couple of the sweetest people I've ever known. Bernice was an artist. I adored her too.

I have four identical white robes and I alternate them to allow for washing. I usually skip the nightgown because, well, frankly, what for? Just one more thing that needs washing and who needs that!

I can order groceries online and the delivery boys could care less what I am wearing. I do go out to get the packages from the mailman, but he likes me this way.

Bad Romance

Yes, that is a long cigarette holder in my hand.

Yes, there is a highball glass full of ice and old scotch in my other hand.

You might also note there is a gardenia pinned in my hair. And I am suitably attired in a black nightgown.

What you might not know is that this photo was taken about 8 AM by a friend who kept my cigarettes lit, my drink full, my orchid fresh, and my kids fed. Oh, he also took the photos to document. He thought I was very interesting.

One weekend of this, and the romance is history. You do it your way, I'll do it mine.

The Children's Room

We moved into this 130 year old Victorian house ten years ago.

The upper level is actually converted attic space. When we bought the house, we decided to have the upstairs remodeled a little.

There had been four small bedrooms and an open family room arrangement. We converted one of the bedrooms to a closet for me, and took out a wall between two bedrooms to make a larger bedroom for ourselves.

One little weird shaped bedroom was perfect for "children's room". The room has a slanted peaked ceiling and a charming porthole of a window. There is a toy chest in one corner and a small television with video games. I found an old child's rocking chair buried under the house and cleaned it up and painted it blue. Perfect! Every child who comes into our home makes a beeline for this room.

Keep in mind, ten years ago, my grandson Cyrus was 8, his sister was 4. I still have 2 grandchildren who are younger, Aidan turned 10 yesterday and his sister Abbey is 6.

It makes me sad to think in the future, we may have to re-purpose this charming little room.