Lucy Lou

now browsing by category

 

20 mars 2023

We endured a brutal weekend. This morning, as the alarm began to glow red (yes, we have a sunlight alarm because our room is like a cave in the morning) I think both hubs and I held our breaths, hoping Eli would stay curled up between us, hoping to keep this little moment of peace sacred.

Luckily, Eli was in a cuddly mood and hubs punted on his first call of the day (8am on Mondays!). Eli stretched and snuggled and gave many, many kisses. The red of the alarm lightened to pink and then bright white, and we finally got up and began our routine.

Every day has moments that remind us of our old life, before moving up here – we are both creatures of habit. But many things have changed. Eli changed us. He changed the shape of our days. He is absolutely nothing like Lucy in any way, other than Lucy was a boxer, as is Eli. He is feisty and loud and demanding. She was patient and quiet (but, to be fair, also demanding). They both reflect us, but in such strange and different ways. I find it fascinating on a daily basis.

Anyway, across our kitchen table are the parts of a cold plunge that I bought about ten days ago and which arrived on Saturday – at the very height of our household discontent. The fact that I managed to get it out of the packing materials is a small miracle. Eli and I did our regular hike this morning (he even found the remains of what I guessed to be a rabbit or squirrel and carried it with us for the entirety of the walk). Now he is stretched out near John, snoring softly. We have a few hours of respite before he wakes and demands more exercise, attention and movement.

I am trying to do a marathon day of laundry and save myself the trouble tomorrow. Mondays have somehow become my most flexible day – no yoga, no chiropractor, no salt cave. Nothing. So I can do whatever I want (within reason – I’m usually pretty tired on Mondays). Today I’m hoping to get the cold plunge up and functional, perhaps find some doctors and a vet for Eli. Maybe transfer the football tickets from my Dad’s name to mine. Who knows. We shall see.

What I do know is that even in the short time we’ve been here instead of there life has changed. We have changed. And that’s so interesting to me. The idea of falling into a routine and then becoming something different … almost indescribable but also true and authentic. A new me has molted from the old me. My life, the mark I’m leaving, is changing shape.

Anyway. That’s me today.

Xox, g

13222

 

Lucy runs our lives.

These photos aren’t from today.  Today it snowed and everything was covered in a blanket and we walked across the fields, leaving a trail of footprints.

And then we watched the Rams win the SuperBowl.  And we were happy because it meant a ring for Matthew Stafford and Odell Beckham Jr and a whole host of other men who play this game at the highest level.

Galentine’s Day.  And I spoke to no one but my husband.  My New Years Resolution to be a better friend hit a pot hole.

Am tired.  Want to fall asleep to the sounds of Frodo and the shire.

Xox, g

27jan22

I drove to a breakfast with some lady friends this morning and the beauty of the sun shining through frosted tree branches took my breath away.  It made me stop and consider how much beauty exists in the small moments of life.

I guess beauty shows up in different ways to different people.  To me, it was the pale corn yellow of a winter sun and the sparkling of ice, it was the warmth of my steering wheel and the sound of the music playing in my car, snaking its way into my heart and the tap tap tap of my fingers.  It was the hug of greeting from my friends, the conversations we shared.  It was the first sip of my chai and the comfort of my couch and blankets when I arrived home, the fatigue pulsing so deeply it was in my bones.

Beauty was the nudging of Lucy’s nose, her head rubbing softly on my legs to make sure I was okay, to tell me she loved me.  It was dancing candles in the early darkness of a winter night, shared popcorn and a movie with my love, cake pops and frizzy water and end of night walks around the curved neighborhood sidewalks.

Beauty was everywhere for me today.  It emanated from my life, from the love of my friends and the love of my family and the deep, indescribable love of my husband and my puppy. Beauty triumphed today in the winter sunshine.

Xox, g

 

7jan22

Ten years ago, John + I drove to New Jersey and discovered the missing piece to our lives.  Her name was Lucy (well, actually it was Betsy … ), she was six months old and she knew that we were hers just as much as we knew she was ours.

There have been very few things that hubs & I have done in our nearly fourteen years together that have been better than that drive to New Jersey and the addition of Lucy to our lives.

Happy Gotcha Day my baby girl.  I will love you eternally.

Xoxo, g

Day 293

When I finally decided to get up this morning, I did it in one motion.  Blanket back, legs swung round, eyes bleary, body heavy, my torso suddenly vertical and painfully stiff.

I’ve been feeling heavy lately.  Without a particular reason why.  Maybe its Lucy’s tumor — now removed and tested and benign but the scab still healing and the cone still on.  Maybe it’s our newest little dream that we’re slowly willing into reality — a dream I hesitate to talk about in absolutes or write about at all.  Maybe it’s just being tired because life never does slow down — that moment of relaxation always just out of reach.

Today I went to physical therapy despite it being the last thing I wanted to do.  I signed up for yoga and promptly cancelled my booking.  I want to sit and feel the fall, feel the cool air slipping through the open windows, filling our home with a delightful chill that necessitates sweatshirts and fuzzy socks and blankets.

I want to take my dog for a walk in the autumn sunshine and come home to curl up and read a book.  I want to breath and think and try to let go of the desperate stress that pervades every corner of my world.

I do not want to adult or even human today.  I can’t bear small talk and niceties … discussing anything other than nothing.

I want to be alone.  To be quiet.  To write and read and be comfortable and comforted.

xoxo, g

Day 136

It’s been a minute.

To me, the last time I blogged feels a lifetime ago.  As though so much has changed that those days are nearly unrecognizable.  But that’s life … that’s sort of how everything seems to be.  Hard to remember, as though so much living has occurred between then and now.  

A few days ago the mask mandate was lifted by way of the CDC releasing a statement about the efficacy (or lack thereof) for vaccinated people. It didn’t take much more than that for businesses to change policies, for gyms and studios and restaurants to re-open their doors, their tables.

Whatever my politics may be, it *does* feel like a relief. I don’t want the world to necessarily “return to normal” because what does that even mean in the wake of Covid-19, George Floyd and the civil reckoning that has become part of American culture? It shouldn’t be dismissed or forgotten.  We’ve learned things- whether we like it or not.  We’ve had to face things, whether it’s comfortable or not.  And it isn’t over — it can’t be over.  Even if there is a strong contingency of this country who would prefer to turn a blind eye.  So no, I don’t want to “return to normal.”

But I would like to move through life without a mask, without the fear that every touch, every breath, could kill me.  There is a relief in that, albeit small.

My second vaccine shot wiped me out – took the breath right out of my lungs.  But it’s been over two weeks since then, so I am now vaccinated and able to move around again in the company of strangers.

I know that not all people with autoimmune diseases feel the way I feel.  They are angry at the change, worried for their health.  I understand that.  But I can’t live my life by anyone else’s rules but my own.  I have to feel comfortable in my own skin.  I don’t like being in-authentic.  So I feel how I feel.  And I am glad to be able to practice yoga in a studio without a mask.

And that’s where I am today.  On the eve of a beach trip and fully vaccinated.  Looking forward to Black Widow and F9; The Fast Saga.  Falling asleep with candles lit for my mother and my brother-in-law, husband doing research and Thor: Ragnarok playing in the background.  Lucy snurfling in her bed, dreaming of squirrels and rabbits and sniffs in the long grass of spring.

Xox, g

 

Day 74

Ever have a moment when you pause – or full out stop — and look around your house and marvel at the fact that it’s all yours? 

I had a moment like that today. As I surveyed the first floor of our house and thought – somewhat in wonderment — that this grown-up house with dishes and a dining room table and a phonograph and clean dish towels and furniture is John + mine.  We curated it (an obnoxious phrase but unfortunately, fitting).  Not only that, but we use our pots and pans and dishes and dining room table.  We even listen to records on the weekend while drinking coffee and talking about … well, everything and nothing and all the stuff in between.

It looks like a grown-ups house and I forget that’s what we are.  I got my first vaccine shot today (because I know good people not because I was necessarily responsible in any way).  I wished for my mother, or even just my husband — someone to be with me in case it was intimidating or scary or confusing.  I couldn’t find the office when I arrived and walked around the entire complex in the cold wind, my poor feet dragging on the ground as I tried to walk faster than I am able.  I wished for someone, anyone, to be there and be more responsible than me, to hold my hand and guide me.  But I have passed that part of life and know, deep in my soul, that I have to own my self.

The shot wasn’t intimidating.  It felt bizarrely fast and the clinic was disorganized but efficient.  My arm aches and I hope that’s my only side effect.

Lucy is staring at me, wanting her dinner.  Daylight savings sucks sometimes.

Xoxo, g

 

Day 64


There really aren’t enough (or the right) words to adequately describe love.  But this little fur ball has all of ours times infinity.  She is the glue.  She is the joy.  She is the reason we have survived thus far.

There isn’t anything we wouldn’t do for her.  Our baby girl.  Our Lucy.

Xoxo, g

another life

I bought a car this week.

It’s funny because it brought a lot of things to mind. Years ago – back when my life was very dark, and hopeless and felt eternally bleak – I made a list. I can’t find it now, but I remember fairly clearly what was on it. I remember where I was when I wrote it. I remember what motivated me to put my dreams on paper.

I’d thought that I had direction.  I thought I’d found a partner to struggle through life with, and together we would accomplish things.  I’d made moves (both literally and figuratively) to advance our lives.  And then — suddenly and without a lot of warning — everything crashed down around me.  My life as I’d known it, as I’d planned it, ceased to be.  And I was left, alone, with massive amounts of debt — no direction, no partner, no life plan.  Everything gone.

I moved back in with my parents at the age of 28 — something I’d vowed I would never do.  I went back to waitressing after struggling so hard to get out.  I spent more time than anyone should ever spend on the phone with my credit card providers, the landlord of my abandoned apartment in Chicago — groveling and apologizing and feeling more vulnerable and less valuable than anything I could articulate.  Because that’s something that we all turn a blind eye to — the unquantifiable things.  The shame and the humiliation — the feelings of defeat, of loss. Of failure. The fact that when you make such a huge error — and you don’t see it at first — you lose all faith in yourself.  You don’t trust anything you feel, and it’s confusing and disorienting.  And indescribably sad.

Back then, as I scratched and clawed my way out of the despair, I made a list.  I wanted something solid to refer back to, to reference when I again began to lose my way.  It wasn’t a long list, and it didn’t have much focus.  Except that it defined the life I hoped to live one day.  It motivated me to put money in savings every week, and open an IRA.  It made sacrificing on spending easier because there was an end goal.

I wanted to get certified as a paralegal.  I looked into courses at West Chester University.  I ended up taking my LSATs and applying to law school.  I got in, I got wait-listed, I got denied.  I was offered a partial scholarship.  I didn’t go.  Instead I took a risk on my boss and his restaurant company.  And that’s where I’m at now — six years in, running a growing business.  Three restaurants open, two in development — more on the way.  But I’m not a waitress anymore.  Thank God for that.

I wanted to own a townhouse.  I have always had a love for townhomes — I don’t know why.  I just think they are divine.  And I had this strange, dream-like vision of being a successful career woman living in a neat townhouse.  I lived with my parents for a little over a year.  And then John and I moved into a one bedroom apartment on the first floor of our landlord’s house.  We struggled to pay rent for about six months.  We could barely buy groceries.  And we lived there for six years.  And our landlords became our friends.  And then, last summer, we bought a townhouse.  A brand new, we-picked-everything-in-it-townhouse.  And I come home at night, after an hour commute on the train, after running a business all day — to my perfect townhouse.

I wanted a dog.  A real dog, a dog who went running with me and curled up on the couch.  And in the first few days of 2012, John and I brought home Lucy.  And until the MS, she went running with me every day.  And when she’s feeling very generous, she curls up on the couch with her dad & me.  And she is utter, complete, ridiculous perfection.  She is my protector, and my child.  She is a diva and a love bug.  She is everything rolled into one.  I don’t know how John and I existed without her.

I wanted to drive a Mini Cooper.  And I did.  I drove a black and gold Mini Cooper named Rooney, which I bought for my 30th birthday.  And I owned a red and white Mini Cooper named Junebug.  And she was beautiful.

There were other things on the list — things I haven’t done yet.  I haven’t learned to speak Spanish. And I haven’t published anything.  And I haven’t recorded a song.  I might never do those things.  But dreams are just that — dreams.  And they keep me motivated when the going gets tough.

I haven’t achieved all the physical things I dreamed of, either — MS is a bitch like that.  But i ran Broad Street before I was diagnosed, and nothing can ever take that away.  And I feel blessed that I did it — even though I’ll never run a half marathon, or compete in a triathlon.  Or climb mountain peaks like my brother.  Or do a myriad of other things.

But back to the car that I bought this week.

John and I bought a Range Rover.  Even typing that feels absurd and makes me giggle.  I mean — do normal people buy Range Rovers?  Six years ago we were eating dinners made of discount pasta (yes, discount pasta – something already absurdly inexpensive) and shaking under the blankets rather than turning the heat on.

It’s sort of insane.  No — it actually is insane.  Life is not easy — I promise you, most people can attest to that. Life does not cut you breaks, or help you out when you’re having a bad day.  Life is brutal and unforgiving and relentless.  Life tosses MS into the mix right when you think you’re getting on your feet.  Life is like that.  

And yet, despite all that — despite all the things that seemed to forever be going wrong — somehow John and I have ended up here.  And it isn’t by chance.  It is because of hard work, and sacrifice, and making choices.  It’s because when things got hard, we held onto each other and buckled down.

I feel really proud of us.  And when we bought the Range Rover — whom I have named Hazel despite all the raised eyebrows — it felt like the ultimate validation of our hard work.  Not only were we able to buy a house, and furnish it (woof! that’s a tall order when you go from a one bedroom apartment to a three-story townhouse) but we turned around and bought a very nice SUV.

*****

I met John the day before my birthday.  He walked in the front doors of the restaurant he managed — a restaurant I’d waited tables at — and I knew.  I don’t know what I knew — I just knew more than anything, that there was something about him.  I was still wrapped up in another thing but John filled my head.  His smile and how genuine he was, the blue of his shirt and the twinkle in his eyes.  I think we both knew that God had sent us to each other (with Jennie’s help, of course) and six months later, when circumstances were better, we fell into each other.  I was a broken mess, and he scooped me up with his strong, gentle hands, and he helped to heal me.  He helped me find my faith again.

Our journey hasn’t been easy.  On so many levels.  It makes me laugh, to be honest.

But even when things have been excruciating, I have never doubted for a moment that he was there, my strength and my soul and my heartbeat.  And as we’ve struggled and succeeded, and struggled again, I’ve found peace within myself.  I’ve laid so many demons to rest.

So when we bought that car this week — that absurd, luxurious, beautiful car — it reminded me of the journey.  It reminded me of the list, and the dreams that all felt so unattainable.  And maybe we crash again.  Maybe things get hard again.  But they aren’t hard right now.  And I know that no matter what, I have John by my side, holding my hand, making me laugh, wiping away my tears.  And the gratitude for all of it — for the shitty noodles and the freezing cold nights and the sacrifices — as well as the blessings of Lucy, and our home and our groceries ….  Well, all of it is so crystal clear and near the surface of my conscience that I am drowning in love and thankfulness.

old and new

Tonight the man and I, along with our trusty sidekick Lucy Lou, are heading over to watch the Ambler Symphony play at Hope Lodge.  We have tried to go every year (it hasn’t always worked out … honeymoon, Mini Cooper purchase, blah blah blah) but we are ‘traditions’ kind of people, and this is a good one.

Sadly, it will also probably be our last Ambler Symphony at Hope Lodge.  It will be a long drive from our new abode on a Wednesday night.  But it’s been fun re-visiting all the things we love to do in this area, and really appreciating them, before moving on to new traditions and routines.

I’m excited to see what our new home and community bring into our lives.  But we have thus far been informed and influenced by our current traditions, and this is one of my favorites.  I dutifully got an abundant charcuterie board from the restaurant, and even though we will be drinking fizzy water this year instead of a beautiful summer wine (I think we took Charles and Charles rose the last time we went and it was lovely!) I know we will have a great time.

This crazy journey of life is –in the words of The Beatles — a long and winding road.  And even though this section is reaching its conclusion, I have loved the steps we’ve walked together in our home, in our little town.  I will always remember this place with so much love and fondness.