A Well-Traveled Box

“Your couch has more miles than my Buick.”

That was my former father-in-law’s statement in 2013 when he found out his son and my former husband’s career was taking us back to Florida. After spending more than two years in Idaho, we were doing yet another cross country move.

This week, I’m moving again to another condo – this time in Muskegon’s Midtown, just six blocks from where I work.

In the early years of my marriage, we moved nearly every year, but always in Michigan. After our son graduated from high school and headed to college, our moves spanned the nation.

I had hoped to stop that pattern since my divorce, but sadly, life had other plans. Two condos, two apartments, two shared living spaces in seven years – it’s never been my goal to continue my well-rehearsed patterns of packing and saving moving boxes.

One box in particular stands out since I’ve had it ever since 2009. Our movers first packed canning jars and my canning equipment from the basement of our house in DeWitt. I didn’t unpack it in Florida the first time. I didn’t unpack it in Idaho either. It remained packed until 2013, our return trip to Florida.

Finally, in early 2014, when I was leaving Florida, my former husband played Tetris with my shoe collection and managed to fit all of them into this one box. I believe he knew even then, he wanted me gone.

Since then, I’ve used it for every move to pack my many pairs of shoes. You can see the layers and layers of tape across the top, and it’s become my personal guide for when my love of shoes is getting out of hand. If they can’t all fit in the box, I have too many!

Today I packed up all my shoe boxes once again, leaving it open for my house slippers and the extra set of trainers I keep near the door. I’ll tape the box up the night before movers arrive and carry it across town one more time.

But this time, the box is going to the recycle bin when it’s unpacked.

I’m done moving – no matter what the future brings.

Donate the Dress and Bury the Past

I’m giving my wedding dress away this week.

The bits of lace, pearl buttons and satin are going to become burial garments for stillborn infants and linings for those tiny little caskets. Like the marriage for which I wore the dress – dead and buried.

My wedding dress wasn’t anything like what I thought I wanted. It was the ‘80s and everyone was wearing leg-o-mutton sleeves, big butt bows and rooster bangs.

I wanted something different. I had a picture in my mind of my ideal wedding gown, something off the shoulder, with a deep vee for the waist, almost medieval in design. I’d tried on the ‘20s style dropped waist designs with handkerchief hems. But nothing felt right.

My mom, sister and I went dress shopping one Saturday afternoon. We ended up in a small single story brick building north of my home town. The place now advertises ‘gator and ostrich jerky.

I was skeptical when the bridal attendant brought out a dress with a high lace collar and wide lace cuffs with peal buttons up the sleeves. But when I tried it on, I knew. This was the one.

Of course there was no price tag on it and I remember holding my breath while the attendant went to look it up. My parents had agreed to buy my dress, but I wasn’t going to bankrupt them.

“It’s two-fifty,” she said.

I couldn’t speak for a minute. “You mean two-hundred-fifty?”

“Yes, $250 for the dress, but that doesn’t include any alterations.”

I think I spent just as much for the satin cap and veil, the undergarments, hose and satin shoes with rhinestone clips. I made my own garters and a satin-lined velvet cape in the same deep pine green of the bridesmaid dresses.

After the wedding, I had the dress professionally preserved, spending nearly half as much as it cost. The sealed box traveled all over Michigan and across the country as we moved again and again.

My wedding dress was one of the things listed in my divorce papers – proof that it’s mine to do with as I wish. I have often wondered what to do with it. My son was never baptized so I never needed a christening gown. Styles have changed so dramatically; I can’t imagine anyone would ever want to wear it again.

It’s time to let it go. Time for someone else to find solace from bits of lace and pearl buttons as they grieve and bury their hearts.

Grateful for the Dance

I went back to the old ‘hood today. Our former neighbors’ “little” girl was having a graduation open house.

In the last six years, she’s grown into a lovely young woman who wants to be a nurse and will head off to join her big brother at college in the fall.

It was wonderful to see her family and reconnect, however briefly, with old friends. But after only 30 minutes, I was struggling to hold it together. I said my goodbyes and walked down the street to take few snapshots of the home where my family was last intact and whole.

The trees are so much taller, the bushes are so overgrown, and that big ol’ messy shaggy bark hickory tree is still a big mess.

I cried the whole way home, wondering how different things would have been had I stayed here in the Lansing area in 2009 when it all started to unravel.

I never would have met the wonderful people I still count as friends in Tallahassee and Boise and Tampa.

I never would have walked the sandy beaches and enjoyed the salt water of St. George Island, seen the salty marshes of St. Marks and its lighthouse, nor lived in the beautiful Southwood with its wisteria-lined streets.

I never would have explored the high plains deserts of the Owyhee Mountains, the Sawtooth passes from Stanley to Sun Valley, the shores of mighty Lake Pend Oreille nor explored the stark, barren landscape of Craters of the Moon.

I wouldn’t have driven across this beautiful country of ours – twice.

I would have never had the opportunity to work on Florida’s very first drowsy driving awareness campaign nor witnessed a community rally around a stolen stained glass butterfly.

As that beautiful song by Garth Brooks says, I would have missed this bittersweet pain, but I also would have missed all the wonderful things that have happened in the last six years.

So tonight as I sit alone on my weathered deck, listen to the birds shrill calls, feel the cool evening breezes, breathe in the evening dew and watch the golden red sun sink into the horizon, I reminisce about all the things I have gained on this journey and all that has brought me to this point, to this here and now.

I am no longer a wife, no longer a mother and no longer a resident of that wonderful neighborhood. But I am still grateful for the dance….

A Bottle of Wine

One of my most treasured possessions has been this bottle of my grandfather’s wine. It’s been moved from East Lansing, to Eaton Rapids to Okemos to Mason to Cadillac to Kalamazoo to Schoolcraft to Alpena to DeWitt to Tallahassee to Boise/Meridian to Tampa and, finally, Holt. Never broken – always carefully wrapped and packed for every move.

 

Wild Grape 1984
Already 5 years old when you
Paul Steinman
and you
Colleen (Gehoski) Steinman
were married
Oct 28, 1989

We sure hope it’s still good when you open this up on Oct 28 of 2014

Grandpa and Grandma Gehoski

 

And you just may have a picture of this bottle in your wedding pictures as this is the one from your table at the reception.

Peter Gehoski

Grandma Esme Gehoski

 

 

My grandparents were married, in England on Oct. 30, 1943 – he an American soldier and she, the oldest daughter of an English family. She emigrated to America on the first bride ship to sail for America, bringing my father who was just an infant after the war. My grandparents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in 1993, a milestone for my grandmother who was battling colon cancer. She died in February 1994, just a few short months after their anniversary.

I haven’t decided if I’m going to open this bottle later this month. The wine probably will be bitter or spoiled, I’m told.

A metaphor, perhaps, for the marriage – and my heart.

When Life Gobsmacks You Upside the Head

I ended this blog in 2013 thinking that maybe I’d run out of things to say.

Wow! Was I wrong.

Life decided to gobsmack me upside the head and took a few strips of my heart and soul in the process.

Here’s the chronology:

•  I moved to Michigan to take a job.
•  I helped my husband get through his father’s funeral.
• I moved into my first apartment in more years that I want to count.
• The job turned out to be nothing like what I thought it was going to be.
• My husband told me he didn’t love me and no longer wanted to be married to me.

All within the space of about two months.

Gobsmack was the best word I could think of to describe it all.

I cried a lot. I threw up. A. Lot. I’m not afraid to say that I came pretty damned close to an edge that mentally healthy people have no business being beside

But I’ve backed away from the precipice, and my head is starting to clear a little. My heart is bruised and my soul is a little beat up. I’m moving away from that precipice with steady, strong steps.

I have a lot of very good friends who reached out to offer their support, and I thank God for my little sister who has called to check on me quite regularly. My brother and my folks, too, have been there for me.

So, here’s the new blog, people, a painfully honest account of what it’s like to be a 48-year-old woman negotiating the world alone for the first time in 25 year.

My soon-to-be ex-husband is a good man, so I won’t excoriate him here or go into the details of our divorce. I do envision a future post about financial planning and how to make sure women plan for their economic futures after a divorce. I never dreamed I’d need such a crash course.

As we have always done, we will continue to put the needs of our son first – in all things. I’m still learning how to be an empty nest parent, balancing the desire to stay connected to him and his life while encouraging him to stretch his wings and grow as an adult. As I have always tried to do, I will let my son set the pace and the tone of our relationship. I’m sure I’ll make mistakes, but I have no doubt Ethan will keep me on track.

I’m still learning the best ways to negotiate the job and be a productive member of the team. I will keep trying. I am hopeful that my core values of hard work and dedication are enough to make it work. It’s been a very rocky start and some of the blame rests with my precarious emotional state in recent weeks.

So buckle up and hang on. This ride’s going to get pretty bumpy.

 

Photos from Flickr Creative Commons: banjo d’s Photostream

Moving Offers a Lesson in Change Management

I tackled a couple more rooms today, deep cleaning all the nooks and crannies and unpacking a few more boxes. Moving is hard work – physically and mentally. Moving disrupts our routines and sense of order. It makes us less efficient and leaves us feeling discombobulated.

The first time I assembled a meal in my new kitchen, it took me twice as long as normal. Even a simple meal of pan-fried pork loin chops, rice and steamed zucchini challenged me to learn new routines. The knives and cutting boards were in different cupboards; the stove is gas, not electric. The microwave is beside the cooktop, not above it.

Every time I prepare food in this kitchen, my body is developing new muscle memories, intuitive movements to reach for a hot pad or the dish soap or a pair of tongs. Even when it’s a familiar food we love, I have to stop to think where the mixing bowls are stored, the measuring cups and the salt and pepper.

This is what makes change so hard for people – learning new processes for even the most simple of things. We are creatures of habit and we become efficient when our work space is organized the way we want it, a way that works for us. To change this space, even just a little, throws off our efficiency and takes longer.

But instead of fighting the change, your best people accept this down time and force themselves to work through it and learn new processes. They recognize that the change may make them more efficient, encourages them to make improvements, discarding outdated tools and changing the way processes are organized.

In my case, I took pictures of all the cabinets in my new kitchen and started tentatively planning where my dishes, cookware and other items would go before I unpacked. I knew that I would do a lot of prep work on the island. I knew I needed cooking utensils in drawer next to the cook top.

Before the moving truck arrived, I spent a full morning cleaning all the cabinets inside and out and degreasing the range hood, preparing the space for the new contents.

When I unpacked, I had a tentative plan but of course, I’m making adjustments as I go, recognizing that I will continue to refine how I use this new space and learn its quirks. I’ve given myself complete freedom to make changes and swap out cabinet contents and their placement. I’m researching cabinet inserts to make them function more efficiently.

Give your team this same freedom to create a new workspace and a budget to invest in the things they think they’ll need and use. Change is hard – even when there’s adequate preparation and people are eager to make it work.

Photo from Flickr Creative Commons, jasonawhite’s Photostream

Farewell Idaho…

Yesterday, I made a list of all the people I wanted to thank for making my two years in Idaho better. When I hit the second page, I knew there was no way I could recognize everyone individually. There are just too many of you. But you’ll recognize yourself in the following groups.

To the men and women who protected and preserve Idaho’s natural beauty: Thank you. Without your efforts – past and present – this state would not have the diverse beauty and adventure it offers. From the towering mountain peaks, to the sage and pinion pines of the plains and the sparkling, tumbling rocky riverbeds, Idaho is one of the most beautiful states with a rare diversity of climate and terrain. This state will remain forever deep in my soul no matter where I travel.

To my fellow PR professionals: You are amazing creative, hard-working and effective professionals. Thank you for guiding me in this rather unique market, helping me clarify my strengths and showing me where I need to keep learning. My hope is that someday the people of Idaho realize that investing in quality professional public relations counsel is no different than seeking the services of an attorney, a dentist, a mechanic or an electrician.

To my Twitter tweeps: Thank you for reaching out and inviting me into your world. Through short, 140-character exchanges, I’ve made some great friends. You bring value to this social network and, more importantly, to our real life relationships.

To every employer who didn’t hire me: Thank you for helping me learn patience and to trust in life’s Grand Plan. I endured a whole lot of rejection in the 14 months I searched for a job, and the experience made me a better person. Ultimately, my skills and my passion ended up with the people who deserved it the most.

To all the people who volunteer, donate and work at the Women’s and Children’s Alliance: You are heroes. Every time you drop off a gently-used household item, write a check, attend an event, counsel a survivor, attend a board meeting or answer the crisis line, you help someone who is reaching out for safety, for healing and wants desperately to find freedom from abuse and violence. In so many ways, you make your community a better place. I am honored to have had a very small role in the last year and remain in awe of how well regarded the organization is in this community.

To all the sassy, outspoken, disruptive and insightful women who call Idaho home: Never change! Never let anyone else minimize or marginalize what you do. Without you, we’d all still be in petticoats.

To all the visionaries who see Idaho’s future: Keep on, keepin’ on, my friends. Change is hard, particularly when Idaho’s unspoken motto seems to be: “But we’ve always done it this way.” There has never been a more important time to invest in Idaho’s resources. Give young people a solid education, pay them living wages and build solid, long-term infrastructure. Only then will Idaho live up to its grand potential.

Farewell Idaho. Thank you for your hospitality, your beauty and for the opportunity to grow.

Image from woodleywonderwork’s photostream on Flickr Creative Commons.

Idaho Feeds My Soul

I changed my Twitter profile tonight to reflect my transitional state.

Since my dad was a teacher and had big gaps of time off during the summer months, we spent a lot of time traveling. We camped for weeks at a time in northern Michigan with my mom coming up on weekends after she finished the work week. There were summer trips to Yellowstone, Mammoth Caves, Florida, the Grand Canyon, Mesa Verde and Utah’s Painted Desert.

My high school graduation present was a plane ticket to England where relatives were waiting to squire me around to Bath, Dover, London and even a jaunt to Paris. When I was in college, I took my English friend to Niagara Falls and all over Michigan’s Upper Peninsula while we camped in a little two-(wo)men tent.

Paul and I have taken our son on trips to the Upper Peninsula, to Toronto, to Disney World and Las Vegas. We preferred hotels and resorts, which made them more expensive, but much more comfortable. Like nomads, we lived all over Michigan, and now our son has settled in Raleigh, North Carolina. He, too, has a bit of the nomad in him.

It’s no secret that I have mixed feelings about our move back to Florida. It’s not that I don’t like Florida nor that I won’t enjoy all it has to offer. But Idaho feeds my soul in a way that I never expected it would.
Every morning when I drive east into the valley and see the bowl of snow-covered Bogus Basin, it takes my breath away. The gorgeous scenery, the cold tumbling rivers and the stark pinion sagebrush of the foothills have seeped into my soul.

Much the same way Michigan’s blue-green Great Lakes and towering pine forests are a part of me, Idaho has inspired my spirit too. I am not the first writer to see the similarities between Michigan and Idaho.

For the time remaining, I am pulling in all the beauty that is Idaho to carry with me in the next stop of this strange journey called life.

Dude, I’m getting a pool!

I can think of a lot of ways to deliver this news:

• My white GMC Terrain was homesick.
• The nomad lifestyle keeps me young.
• My coldest January on record will soon be well above 50 for the average temperature.
• Dude, I’m getting’ a pool!

The real story? We’re moving back to Florida – Tampa this time.

Yes, you read that right. Paul and I are trading snow-capped mountains for sandy beaches, palm trees, luscious strawberries and succulent seafood.

Paul will be returning to the Florida Department of Transportation as the Tampa District Secretary. (No, he’s not working on his dictation because Florida uses the term secretary for the state’s executive leadership.) He starts on March 1.

I’ll be making the move in April. No, I’m not dragging my feet, but we do have a three-month notice on our lease and I’m using the time to get through a few major projects at work.

There’s a lot about Idaho I’m going to miss. I love this climate, even the snow and cold. I love the scenery. I love my job. I wasn’t kidding when I wrote about it being my dream job. But if there’s one thing that I’ve learned in this strange journey that is my life, it’s this.

It’s not about the job, or the house, or the community. It’s all about the people you love and the people who love you.

Thirty Days of Thanksgiving – In One Post

So people have been doing this 30 days of thanksgiving – posting each day on Facebook something they’re thankful for. Of course, I’m going to do my own thing. So here goes.  I’m thankful:

1. For the stress of my job. I love never being done, always having something more to do and knowing that there will always be someone out there who needs my employer’s services.
2. For feeling at times that I want to wring my husband’s neck. It means that even after 23 years, we still have feelings strong enough to care.
3. For a husband who cooks… breakfast. (c’mon, what’d you think I was going to say!)
4. For a husband who does the grocery shopping.
5. For wine and chocolate, especially when they’re together.
6. For hot coffee and ice cold frappes.
7. For authors who know how to write a really good cheesy love scene.
8. For artists who can create a bodice-ripping book cover for the cheesy love scene.
9. For “NCIS” reruns. They’re mindless television, but not really.
10. For hair color and a stylist who knows how to mix it.
11. For progressive lenses in my glasses.
12. For the delete button on my email.
13. For auto recovery.
14. For digital cameras.
15. For Southwest Airlines which always gets my family and me there and back on time without losing our luggage. (Don’t blow it now, Southwest!)
16. For time to dream and the imagination to do so.
17. For the beauty of a rosy sunrise.
18. For cold mountain rivers.
19. For the sound of a child’s laughter.
20. And for the years I was able to be a stay-at-home mom.
21. For the perspective and distance to look back and laugh at all the mistakes I made as a mother.
22. And for the relief in knowing that none of them were so bad I scarred him for life.
23. For no longer having to pay college tuition!
24. For the beauty that comes from good writing.
25. And for knowing I can create it.
26. For endless online shopping options.
27. And for the free shipping that goes with them.
28. For a family that was just dysfunctional enough to make life interesting;
29. And yet strong enough to teach us all how to live and how to love.
30. And finally, to life’s Great Director, who knows exactly when to change the scenery, even if we don’t know it ourselves.

Happy Thanksgiving!