Burlap & Satin

There was a time when I honestly thought I would have the baggage under control. In my young 20-year-old naivete, I thought by the time I was 30, I would be fully reconciled with my past, fully healed from every wound I ever suffered and that I would be the happy and confident women of my dreams. It was easy then to believe that I would never love someone that wasn't worth my love, that I would never lose myself many times from trying to make other people happy, that I would never be close with old friends from high school, that I not be anything but famous and successful, that I would not be anything short of shining and brilliant.

It was so easy then. It was so blissfully easy because I had no idea what being an adult was even about. I imagined myself being young, thin and beautiful forever. I imagined myself clearing a path that others would follow. I imagined myself never growing old and never losing the ideals I had when I was eighteen. Most of all, I never imagined that for the incredibly abusive life I had survived, I would go and give myself even more baggage by making consistently horrible decisions.

It's so easy to sit here and tell you all the reasons I am the way I am, all the reasons I've lived the way I've lived. It's so easy to simply say, "I was abused, I was never good enough, I grew up being told I was a nuisance, I was ignored." Yes, all those things are true. But the real truth now, the painful truth, is that I am now the only one that can fix it.

The reason I bring this up is that I find myself incredibly melancholy lately, but in a quiet and introspective way. Not a general sense of sadness, but more a need for a friendship that is lost. Some of you may be familiar with the entire fallout between me and my Maid of Honor / Best Friend last year. It wasn't pretty, but I at least try to maintain the fact that I handled it in a dignified manner and I didn't stab anyone in the back, as she did with me. I was honest and inquisitive, I wasn't bitter. I didn't send emails laced with hatred and I honestly did everything I could to understand without just pointing angry fingers. Some of you may have read the emails she sent me (they were password protected, but if you want a refresher, just let me know and I'll send you over there). There were more exchanges after that, but I mostly just ignored them because I honestly didn't know how to respond. The last thing I told her was not to worry about me and the wedding, because she had too much on her plate. I told her to go be with her family and that I loved her. That was it. Then... I walked away.

I never told her as much (because it wouldn't have mattered), but I knew it would become apparent over time when she didn't hear from me. I knew that our friendship as I had once known it, was done. Her birthday is on Tuesday. I still have her birthday present from last year wrapped and sitting in my basement. I never got the chance to give it to her because every time I was in my hometown, she couldn't take the five minutes to come and see me. I've lived less than three hours away for the past 12 years and she's come to see me once. Yet every single time that I was home, I made a special effort to not only go see her, but spend good quality time with her. We would go out to dinner and talk and catch up. For the past few years though, our dinners out were never about our lives anymore and they certainly weren't about catching up. They were about her problems, her crises, her boyfriends, her wild partying stories, her need for my advice. It got to a point that I began dreading her phone calls, began finding ways to not have to visit her when I was home. It's sad and I'm nearly in tears having to write this. Watching a beloved friendship fall apart isn't easy for anyone and I don't like that I have to face it at all. Sure, I could have discussed it with her and I often tried, but how do you reason with a martyr? Simple, you don't. The very night that I asked her to be my maid of honor in 2005, I knew right then that she wasn't going to be at my wedding. I knew she would find an excuse, she would come up with a million reasons that she couldn't care or help or be there for me. Yet she would continue to phone me for advice and I would be expected to drop everything for her current crisis. I knew this the moment I asked her, but I held out hope. I dreamed of having her there and I desperately tried to be positive and thought she would find a way, she would come through.

We had to postpone the date of our wedding by an entire year because of my horrible knee injury. It crushed me. It made me cry myself to sleep for weeks. When I was on crutches and unable to leave our condo, she didn't call once. She didn't bother to ask how I was doing. (Though she did call to tell me all about her current health problems and ask what she should do about them.) But when I had completed physical therapy and we had a final date, we sent out Save the Date cards nearly 10 months in advance. We created a website and updated it regularly. We talked of nothing but our 40s style wedding plans with anyone that would listen. We had living proof of our wedding everywhere - it was actually happening and we were ecstatic. I made it as easy as possible for her, I bought her dress, I arranged for my family to give her a ride in order to save gas (to which they were eager to oblige), I told her she didn't even need to be at the rehearsal if she couldn't make it, I asked nothing of her but her presence and time for one day. I tried not to let her lack of interest or involvement bother me, but it did. I didn't expect a lavish bachelorette party, but I would've at least liked a phone call or an email that asked how I was doing or how the planning was going. That really just would've made all the difference really, now that I think about it.

Needless to say, she wasn't at my wedding in 2007 nor was she even in my life, just as I had predicted. After the entire blowup happened, my aunt bumped into her at a department store in my hometown. When asked very tactfully about what had happened and why she couldn't be in the wedding, her response was, "well, you know, Staz kept changing the dates." The day after the wedding (while sitting at a cookout with the family and friends that had celebrated with us the night before) I heard from her for the first time in two months - a single paragraph email full of martyr-style apologies and even more sob stories about why she couldn't be there. Not a single congratulatory wish to be found. I realized then that I had a choice to make. I could continue to bend over backwards for a one-sided friendship that would never pay me back, or I could drastically change the way I defined "friendship" and move on forever.

It has taken me a year to decide what I want and to be honest, I'm still deciding every day. It's incredibly hard to walk away from someone that basically defines your adolescent and young adulthood memories. It's like mourning the death of a relative. There's a history there, there's a person there that understands you on a fundamental level, and then they're just gone and you're left with nothing but old memories and new pain. However, in this case, that person continues to live, just without your input or any concern for how you're doing. It's like someone ripping a band-aid off you repeatedly while laughing. I want to tell her that I wish her all the best in life, but I know it wouldn't matter. I want to tell her that I love her endlessly, but I know she wouldn't hear me. I want to tell her that I hope she gets everything she ever wanted in life, but I know she would only sabotage my wishes with tales of her own dissatisfaction.

I tried to imagine what I would say to her if I sent her a birthday wish after a year of silence. After composing a few attempts in my head, a pattern quickly emerged. I realized every single sentence or paragraph I conjured was me explaining away my feelings, apologizing for my actions, explaining how she was a wonderful person and didn't deserve what she got. I was doing whatever I had to do in order to be accepted, loved, and taken in by her again. Soon after, I also realized that was bullshit. I'm a 30 year old woman and here I am again, trying to get into the good graces of someone that doesn't want me, trying to save people that don't want to be saved by simply enabling them and hoping for an eventual payoff. It's a pattern I've done a lot of after being abused for so many years. It's also a pattern I'm damn sick of repeating.

I'm realizing now that it will take lots of time to mourn a 15 year friendship. But I'm also realizing that this voice in the back of my head, this thing I thought was my conscience whispering to me again and again when I've been lonely this past year, "but you walked away, you walked away, you walked away, it's your own fault you're lonely because you walked away"... well, that voice is crap. Yes, I walked away, but I did it with honesty and dignity. I did it for the sake of the friendship, as ironic as that sounds. I did it for my sanity, I did it for me. I stated my case, I asked for clarification. She gave me excuses, anger, bitterness, rage. I asked for understanding, she gave me insults, guilt, more rage. I walked away, she threw it away. Either way, it's done.

In the past year, I have worked harder to maintain the healthy friendships that I have and to try harder to create new ones. I don't want to go through this again, this pain of losing a friend, but it's more than that. I don't want to give one more second to repeating the relationships and mistakes of my past. I want to focus only on those that truly care for me, those that love me for exactly who I am. I want to be asked how my life is going and I want to know that my answer to that question is important and heard. Most of all, I just want to be me - here, now, healthy, happy, present. And I don't ever want to feel guilty for that. Ever.

I may have mentioned that we've decided to move our office upstairs just for the sake of organization. We still plan to have a library/reading area downstairs off the living room (where the current office is) but having the computer and all its messy friends down here was just too much. It was ruining their relationship, they needed space, it's not you it's me, etc etc. You get the idea.

The problem with this is that our upstairs is basically just a modified attic with very low, sloped ceilings. So I started to research some options and find a way to create a desk that wouldn't be very tall but would be really long. I didn't find anything suitable in stores, but I did find some great inspiration while browsing on Flickr and so decided that I would just have to create my own desk. Enter Ebay. There is a college about one hour south of us that has begun selling all of their surplus on Ebay in order to fund its programs. The awesome part is that they put no reserve on these items, it's just basically to make money and get rid of all the extra junk they don't need. So J. put in a ridiculously low bid on a lot of 3 tables and left it at that. Lo and behold, we won! When J. pulled in the driveway a week later with these tables in the back of his truck, I died laughing. They were HUGE! I'm talking ginormous here, people.

However, the one that I really wanted was an old science lab table with these awesome thick wooden legs. But man, did it need work.

Seriously, you should have seen the entire gum-scraping experience. No wait, you should have smelled the entire gum-scraping experience. Goo Gone! Old crusty candy! No wait, ten year old strawberry Bubblicious! Yummmmmm!

Still, it fit perfectly in the upstairs space where we needed it so our new desk it was. Now the top was in horrible shape and had been beat all to hell, so we bought a huge piece of oak instead, had it cut to fit and voila! A new top was born.

Up next was the finish. I've already decided that the upstairs color scheme will be as follows: pale blue walls, white carpet and deep black furniture. I really loved the oak wood grain on this table and I wanted to preserve its history so rather than paint it black, I decided to sand it down and stain it instead. After a few attempts at learning stain and experimenting a bit, I finally found my groove and got the newer top piece to match the older legs. When I was happy with it, I sealed it with a single coat of polyurethane.

Say hello to our new desk.

Eventually we will have a file cabinet and some other cabinet with drawers for storage that will all roll underneath it and be out of the way. I'd also like to buy some more oak and possibly build my own hutch to go across the back of it to hold papers and such.

I've already decided that someday it will be our dining room table as well. We currently don't have room for something this big in our dining room, but someday I will have my big formal dining room, oh yes. (This thing would seat eight, people. Eight! Seriously!) I love the fact that I can just sand this down and make it look however I need it to look for years to come. Plus, I really like that I took a $4 table (yes four dollars) and made it look like something Pottery Barn would charge eight million dollars for. I've decided that I just might start trying to learn how to make and build my own furniture. It's not only ten times cheaper, it's just endlessly more gratifying. How cool is it that when people say, "hey where'd you get that table?" you can say nonchalantly "Oh that? I made it."

Heh, heh. Yeah.

Hi there. Sorry. I haven't dropped off the planet - really! I'm just a little busy.

You understand.

Yayyyy!!! For the first time in history, a beagle has won Best in Show at Westminster!! Congrats to you, Uno the Beagle!

It's about time beagles got some respect, yo. (Obviously, this house was fervently rooting for Uno all the while. The dogs didn't know why we were cheering at the end, but they sure were happy to see so much beagle on TV!)

After nearly six months of constant work, the Arch is done.

Wanna see the entire process? In pictures? With words? Why sure!

When we moved into this house, it was not only a cold and dark hunter green box, but it also had absolutely no separation from one room to the next. The previous owners (hereafter referred to as The Monkey Family*) had knocked out every single wall in this old 1930s cape cod. When you walked in the front door, you could directly see your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The bathroom was almost on display, it was that open.

Exhibit A - The Hunter Green box, taken while standing at the front door:

While out to lunch one day and puzzling over ways to separate things without closing off the living room entirely, we noticed these amazing arches in the restaurant where we were eating. *Cue lightbulb over head* Ah-ha! An arch! That's the way! Birds twittered, we were showered with light and clouds parted above a magical pathway to Solution Land.

So we researched how to build an arch and then brainstormed a bit. In typical Staz fashion, I decided to go a step further and create more work for everyone involved. We're building new walls anyway, let's do built-in bookshelves! It'll be easy! When eyebrows were raised and jaws dropped in my direction, I quickly grabbed color pencils and used my powers of persuasion. Yes, yes, I will show them the way.

It was decided that my vision was undeniably gifted and so the work began. (Exxxcellent!) We spent nearly a month just trying to reconfigure the horribly crooked angled wall next to the stairs boxing in of the old chimney. Plus, we had to play around with some duct work in order to make the wall straight to begin with. It's been made very clear to me that my husband is never doing duct work ever. again. (As in he told me, "I'm never doing duct work again. I mean it, dammit.")

Then one day my dad decided to drive up and not only help us frame out the entire arch (because we admit, we were stuck) but he also bought nearly all of the supplies for us. Rock! So in one day, we got the entire walls framed out and the hard part was finished. (hahahaaaa!! ahem.)

Next up, we spent December shopping for the holidays and oh yes.. working on the arch! After the drywall was up and the arch was officially boxed in, we created the actual arch curve out of plywood and then covered it in drywall. Afterward, I went about the gargantuan task of adding corner bead and compounding all those never-ending seams.

Somewhere in there, I think we had Christmas and traveled through Michigan "lake effect snow" at 2am with two hyper beagles in the backseat for 13 hours, but that might have been a really horrible nightmare. Let's just pretend that it was and move on, shall we?

After the holidays, it was time to really get down to business. I began the nearly two week long process of constant compounding, sanding, compounding, sanding, sanding, sanding and did I mention the sanding? Because my god, there was lots of sanding!

Then one day, magical elves came out and sang songs and declared the sanding done. Yay, let's drink tall glasses of mead and get on with the priming!

And then shortly after that, it was painted! My god, like really PAINTED!

Then... we kind of lost our momentum and took a little break. Because hell, people, we were TIRED. (Aren't you tired just reading this?) So then, our momentum slowly came back and we eventually got the bookshelves built.

I then pulled muscles in my legs while painting them, but they went in the next day dammit! So what if we had to sand them to death and beat them into submission with a rubber mallet to get them to fit? I'm not icing my thighs all week for nothing here, people.

But wait, holy crap, are we still not done? Nope, not yet. So up next was getting the shelves all nice and trimmed out so they look more built-in and pretty.

And today? Oh today, boys and girls, was a very, very special day. I finished painting the trim on the built-in bookshelves today and finally pulled the damned tape off! Can I get a Hallelujah! Can I get an Amen?

Because seriously, A. Freaking. Men.

(Um, just ignore that empty shelf on the right and the painter's tape. I'm doing some touch-ups over there and it's not quite done and well, I did one shelf and I'm already tired, dammit! Leave me alone!) Ahem.

In celebration, we went on a little scavenger hunt at Goodwill, searching for "pretty" hard-back books and tiny vintage-looking photo frames. I then used my endless hours of watching HGTV and used the rule of 3s, 5s and 7s to make our new built-in shelves look pretty and pleasantly inviting. Even though I want our shelves to look like something you might actually enjoy perusing, I also like to create contrast (because we are nothing if not contradicting people in this house) and well... I also really like to fuck with people.

Lo and behold! It's as though someone lives here now!

I'm unbelievably glad this is done and I'm very proud of the work we did, but I don't think we'll be doing this ever again. It was an awesome project and it's made a world of difference in how our house feels and looks, but it was an absolute bear to finish - and I don't mean the cuddly kind either.

So with that done, I might just take a little break and lay on the couch for a month. Oh wait, we have to fix the giant holes of water in our living room wall from where the Monkey Family didn't caulk around the outside windows after installing them. Then it will be just about time to install the new hardwood floor! Yay! *cries*

Hold me.

I've been tagged by the lovely Rasee. Enjoy.

A. List seven habits/quirks/facts about yourself.
B. Tag seven people to do the same.
C. Do not tag the person who tagged you or say that you tag "whoever wants to do it."

1. Some people crave cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, caffeine. Me? Sweet Tea. I come from a long line of woman that boiled tea bags and put just the right amount of sugar in there. It's one of my earliest memories - sitting in my grandmother's kitchen with the smell of tea filling the air and watching the tea bags float in boiling water, trying not to let my mouth water. It's my biggest crutch. I'd drink it 24/7 if I thought my teeth and body could stand it. We switched to decaf years ago because I'm so sensitive to it and it's been great. Otherwise, I just drink water.

2. Lately I'm seriously getting into genealogy and trying desperately to fill in some holes on my family tree. So far, I've traced one line of ancestry back to the First-generation Americans in the colonies of Virginia. Before that, I believe they hailed from Cheshire, England. I also mapped out eight generations of men named John that named their son John that named their son John that named their son John... you get the idea. To say that was a confusing day for me would be a vast understatement. I was so happy to see someone named Thomas! But of course, he was the son of John. *sigh*

3. I am severely arachnophobic. When most people say that they are "phobic" of something, they are usually exaggerating. I'm not. The actual DSM-IV definition of a phobia is "an irrational fear that interferes with daily life." There are numerous other key symptoms that I won't go into here, but yes, I have a true phobia. I often have nightmares about them (I can't even write the "S" word or the god-awful dreaded "T" word, so you'll just have to figure those out on your own). In recent years, it's become incredibly intense and I'm usually quite unable to function after having interaction with one, no matter how insignificant or removed. This past year has been a horrible one for Really Bad Incidents and my fear has amped up to a whole new level of paralyzing panic. I'm trying to learn how to handle it better, but it's hard to get excited about gardening or working on the house in the Spring time when they're the first thing you think of.

4. The toilet paper should run OVER the roll, people. Over. Don't argue me on this. You won't win. Just look at the science!

5. As I get older, I find that I crave organization more and more. I get very upset if things aren't put in their correct places or if I can't find something. I'm not a neat-freak by any stretch of the imagination, but I do find that having everything in its place gives me insane amounts of comfort. It's almost like I sleep better if I know my house is organized. Meanwhile, the cat hair continues to clump and fall everywhere and I don't even notice it.

6. For the past ten years, I've always fallen asleep to some sort of sleep or meditation CD. Nature sounds work best for me, as they're the most soothing and not distracting enough to keep me awake. But I absolutely cannot fall asleep to silence, or a fan for that matter. Some people enjoy the sound of a fan, but I can't stand it because it makes me anxious all night. I'm always on the lookout for good sleep CDs.

7. My favorite flowers are lilies, then tulips, then daisies. In every house we've lived in since we've been together, J. and I have always had them planted somewhere on our property. Even if it was a pot or a bouquet of fake flowers, they were there.

It's taken me nearly an hour to come up with 7 things about myself. Geez, writer's block much?

Also, because I am rebellious and don't like being told what to do, I'm tagging "whoever wants to do it." So there.

Lately, I'm feeling incredibly tired. Just mentally and physically exhausted. I know it's probably my thyroid and I'm due for another blood test, but until then, it just sucks to be sick all the time. Maybe it's a combination of my thyroid and Sick of Winter-itis, but either way, I would love to feel better. I never realized that being diagnosed with Asthma on top of having a faulty thyroid would combine and give me the worst possible stamina on the planet. I get winded after a flight of stairs, a walk with the dogs, a simple bike ride down the street. Last year, we bought a Bowflex with a leg press in order to help me keep my knee strong (which is ironic, considering the husband has connections to Hammer), but still I thought it would help. However, even though it's great muscle building exercise, it does nothing to help with cardio. So, I ask you, what kind of cardio can a person do that has both hypothyroidism and asthma? How do I increase my stamina and strengthen my heart without totally exhausting myself or aggravating my airways?

It's a tricky balance and I'm continuously trying to figure it out. The one exercise that I absolutely love to do is cycling. It's good for my knee, it's low impact and best of all, I actually enjoy doing it. However, it's such a warm-weather activity that it gets depressing not to be able to do it as much in the winter. We also don't have the room in our house for a stationary bike. So this weekend, we are planning to go buy one of these. It lets me bike, it helps me exercise, and best of all, I can tuck it away in a closet when not in use. Maybe I'll be able to talk J. into picking me up a yoga mat as well so I can get back into that too. I miss yoga and the way it made me feel. The hard part is practicing a nice quiet form of exercise with three cats and two dogs underfoot. If you've got a method to practice quiet meditation with a hyper beagle/coonhound puppy barking at everything that moves, well you are my new hero. :-)

Other than that, I'm seriously researching meditation. I can get so easily distracted and it can be an absolute nightmare for me to get focused sometimes (due to my thoughts racing like mad or some trigger from my past that stirs me up) and I need a way to pull myself together. I tried meditation when I was first discovering yoga, but it was always in conjunction with the "cool down phase" of exercise. Never once did I just try to sit down and visualize or meditate or clear my head. The reason? It never worked. My brain can just run circles around me sometimes and finding a single thing to focus on can be more stressful than relaxing to me when this happens. I've never found a successful method to doing this, but I'm open to suggestion.

All of this to tell you that yes, I know I've been lax in posting lately and yes, I'm still alive. Aren't you glad? ;-)

I decided it was time to give February the boot. Screw winter, screw constant cold and gray skies, screw salt on the sidewalks and dodging the ice when I drive, screw it all. I'm throwing some damn Spring up in this joint, like it or not.

But wait, there's another day in February this year. Oops. Oh well. At least I have something to do in order to celebrate. What will you do with your extra day?

Me, I will be taking loads of photos with not only my regular camera, but my little shiny new buddy. Have a wonderful Leap Day, boys and girls, and don't waste your extra day!