It Was a Good Week

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My sailor and I Skyped Saturday and talked on the phone Sunday. Although we email every day, it’s not as immediate or intimate as our conversations so I treasure our weekend communication.

I’ve noticed a funny thing happening during our weekly conversations. I’m not complaining as much as usual. It’s certainly not because I’m happier than normal so what’s the deal? For years our relationship dynamic has been me analyzing everything and whining about most aspects of my life while my sailor talks me down from the mild levels of anxiety that seem to be my norm.

I’m still complaining–a quick read through previous posts confirms this–just not to my sailor. Instead we’ve been reminiscing about past events (like the two naughty dogs that ate our wedding cake) and planning things we’ll do when he returns. It feels good to be positive and upbeat.

Will this be a permanent change? Probably not. I’ve been a glass half empty kind of girl too long to switch at this point.

Another positive event: I had the opportunity to visit the West Coast of Vancouver Island this week.

I couldn’t take many photos because it was raining and I don’t think my iphone is waterproof. Long Beach isn’t a place that can be captured by a cell phone camera, anyway. It’s too big, too elemental for that.

A visit to this beach is a multi-sensory experience. The surf actually roars–so loud, it’s difficult to have a conversation here during the wild winter months. The air is heavy with humidity and the battleship grey water stretches over the horizon.

It’s a good place to think because stale old thoughts are almost literally blasted away by the stiff breeze.

Maybe I am turning over a new leaf. The old me would have worried about cougars and bears prowling the sand looking for lunch and moaned about my frizzy hair.

Recovering From the Weekend

016It doesn’t seem long ago that recovering from the weekend meant drinking lots of orange juice and vowing never to drink again or at least not until the next weekend.

These days, although the weekends are never as fun as they used to be, it takes considerably longer to recover from an especially challenging one.

On Friday after work when all I wanted was a glass of wine and a half hour to myself, I discovered (shudder) a flea on Penny’s tummy.

On Friday evening I gave the poor dog a toxic flea bath, hoping only the fleas would succumb to the poison and the dog would emerge unharmed by this traumatic experience. Not one dead flea dropped off her when I rinsed her and neither my boy nor I have been bitten, so hopefully it was just a lone vermin and not a full-blown infestation. Just in case, I stripped the beds and washed all the bed clothes in hot water. Then I vacuumed the entire house, including everything upholstered to catch any malingering fleas hoping for a free meal from the delicious mammals in our home.

Then I had to scrub the tub because we humans probably shouldn’t bathe in flea shampoo residue.

On Saturday morning when all I wanted was to bring a mug of coffee back to bed so I could lounge and read for a while, my boy woke up extra early with a stuffy nose, a sore throat and a nagging head ache. (Oh the joys of back to school and exposure to the cocktail of germs and viruses to which our children are exposed!) At least the house was clean, so after grocery shopping and an assortment of other really fun errands, I could devote myself to waiting on him hand and foot while worrying that I’m going to get whatever he has.

Since I need some joy in my miserable life, on Sunday I accessed some much-needed mall therapy. Yes, I know I’ve vowed to limit shopping, but I exercised admirable restraint given current challenging conditions: a couple of books, a scented candle, lip gloss (for medicinal purposes) and a pretty robin’s egg blue notebook.

What I saw, loved and didn’t buy even though it called my name: a supple leather Kate Spade handbag at Winners.

Even my sailor was impressed when I told him.

His reply to the news: I can’t believe you left without the Kate Spade bag!

How many sailors understand the allure of a Kate Spade purse? Clearly we were meant for each other.