The New Normal

My home is very empty. Not only of furnishings, but the usual sounds and smells. In fact, new ones are emerging: inactivity, staleness, sitting. Creaks and pops, waiting to be disguised again by the hustle and bustle of a full family. A regular routine. A lived life.

At the end of this year, which if you didn't notice is fast approaching, Pmo and I will have been together for nine years. In that time, we've rarely been apart. I take a few weekend trips each year to see girlfriends, but that's about it. We're very used to being together, doing things together and that's the way we like it. So, needless to say, it sucks when he's more than 500 miles away. Thank goodness for Skype.

Pmo's promotion took him to North Carolina, along with his and most of my possessions. We decided to go ahead with the move before I had secure employment so he could get on with his new role. I'm hanging back until 1. the house sells or 2. I get a new job in Charlotte. We really like the area, so I'm eager to get down there and start exploring our new city together.

Before I start sounding too "woe is me", I know the situation is harder on Pmo. He's the one alone in a new place, though thankfully he knows a few people. I have familiar surroundings and the dogs to take care of and keep me company. I also don't mind being alone. But still, it's just not right being without him.

This weekend, I will mow grass for the first time in more than a decade, possibly longer, I can't even remember. I'll have to take the trash out to the curb Sunday night. I won't be able to turn in early and let someone else take the dogs out. I won't be treated to a great breakfast, then asked with much anticipation, "What are we going to do today?"

But, hopefully, our routine will be back soon, and things will be righted again. Many things will be different though. The dogs will have a fenced yard and no longer need leashes to keep them safe. Trash day will move from Monday to Thursday. We'll have to find a new place for our Friday night happy hour. The smell of bacon and hashbrowns will return, but in a different kitchen. Life, as we know it, will be full again.

The Bucket List

Mom tells me many a story about Dad, but I found this one particularly funny.

He came in the house one day mumbling something about a bucket. And she says, "What?" He says, "I need to get a bucket of lyme. I need to put that on my bucket list."

She says, "Oh." And let it go. For a second or two.

Then she says, "Wait, bucket list? You need to put a bucket of lyme on your bucket list?"

He says, "Yeah, that's what I said."

Still trying to process what she heard, and what he must be thinking, she says, "Do you know what a bucket list is?"

He waits a moment and says, "I guess not."

Then she proceeds to tell him what a bucket list is.

He apparently took the term a bit too literally.

The end.

The Griddle

Mom got us a griddle for Christmas. Among many other things. The woman goes overboard. Anyway, when I took the old griddle to Goodwill, I somehow, accidentally, put the new cord with it. So now we had a new griddle, with the wrong cord, and no way to cook pancakes. We even looked online to see if we could order the part separately. No dice.

Fast forward to the day after Valentine's Day when we came back from Brown County to pick up the dogs at her house. I had debated on telling her the story, because frankly I was embarrassed that I could do such a stupid thing and ruin a perfectly good griddle. But I decided, what the hell, she might think it's funny. So I tell her. Then she goes outside and comes back in with another griddle! Pmo and I were flabbergasted. I said, "Where did you get that?" She says, "Out of my van."

If you didn't know her, you'd probably think this was strange. If you do know her, you'd know this is dead-on Darlene.