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Posts Tagged ‘anniversary’

When I finish writing what I’m going to write here and hit the “publish” button on the side of the page, this will be my two hundred and eighty second post on this blog.

Two hundred and eighty two.

Wow.

I know it’s usually the big anniversaries that are celebrated.  Like two hundred or three hundred or even two hundred and fifty but today, this time, I decided I need to celebrate two hundred and eighty two.

Because that’s an accomplishment for me and I’m tired of celebrating when other people or the calendar or social convention tells me that I should.  Usually by the time I actually arrive at the “approved day of celebration” I don’t feel like celebrating at all.  It’s like I wish I could just wake up one morning and decide that day is going to be my birthday.  Just decide on the spur of the moment that I want to spend that day celebrating me and eating cake and doing what I want to do, because I want to, not because the calendar tells me that I can.

And with that in mind, today I have decided to celebrate this little place I created and the blood, sweat and tears that have kept it going.  Well, to be honest, there hasn’t been a whole lot of blood and sweat involved but the tears, oh there have been tears.

Some people in my life know about this blog but there are also some who don’t.  There are people who know me but have no idea about this place or what is here or even that I write at all.  That’s the way I like it.  Some might say that I’m hiding; that it’s not right to keep part of who I am tucked but for me, it allows this place to be the more authentic me.  I don’t have to edit and censor.  I don’t have to define to people what I do here, or why I wrote what I wrote, or to justify or explain myself.  This is the place I come where I don’t have to do any of those things. Keeping a little part of me hidden actually allows me to be more open.

When people find out that I have a blog the first question is usually “what is it about?”  I always find it a difficult question to answer because, truthfully, the answer would be that this place is about me.  And maybe I just need to stop apologizing for that.  Maybe I should stop thinking it’s selfish of me to have something in my life that’s just for me.  Because it is.  This place is about me and the things that I think and feel and struggle with and like and love and hate and question and contemplate and all of that makes up who I am.   I write here as a record for me to look back on in those times when I lose sight of all the people I have been along the way.

And so I’m going to take a moment to pat myself on the back for two hundred and eighty two.  Not all of them have been brilliant, or intelligent or even remotely articulate but this place represents me, and I’m definitely not always any of those things either. But it is about me, for better or worse and, I have discovered, it has also become about the people who join me here.  Those of you who have been here since the beginning and who have become an amazing source of support for me, and those who have found the Palace along the way and who have pulled up a chair and stayed.  I hope you’ve enjoyed your time here so far because I’ve certainly enjoyed having you here.

Happy two hundred and eighty two.  I’m looking forward to seeing what comes next.

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He left me just enough time to pack a suitcase. Not enough time to make four lists, do two loads of laundry or spend an hour picking out just the right accessories to accompany each outfit, which is normally what I would do before a trip.

He left me Just enough time to randomly pull things from my drawers and closet, frantically counting how many days we would be gone, how many bathing suits that would require, and how many pairs of shoes I could reasonably take.

He left me just enough time to wonder about the basics like who is going to feed the cat, bring in the newspaper, buy snacks for soccer? All taken care of, he answered calmly. After all, he had known about it for six months whereas I had only found out six minutes ago.

He left me just enough time to confirm the basic arrangements but not enough time to worry about the details; the things that I would normally obsess about when traveling – what is the weather going to be like, do you have the passports, what if one of us gets sick, do you have the passports, are the kids going to be okay without us, do you have the passports?

He left me just enough time to call my mom and dad (who already knew), e-mail my bestie (who already knew) and update my bbm status (although most of my bbm contacts apparently also already knew).

He left me just enough time to wonder how he pulled it off. Apparently it had been booked months in advance, enough time to make up a plausible story as to why I needed to take a few days off work. I never suspected a thing.

He left me just enough time to be amazed by his organization skills. When we travel I normally spend the weeks leading up to our departure nagging him about the items that I’ve deemed to be “his responsibility.” I ask him if he’s cancelled the newspaper, organized the garbage, gone to the bank to get money. This time he took care of it all without a single reminder or mention from me. I realize now that he’s better at this kind of thing than I assumed and the nagging is just that. Nagging.

Pack a bag, he said, we’re going to Vegas. A surprise trip leaving on the day of our 11th wedding anniversary as a joint celebration with my upcoming 35th birthday.

He left me just enough time to ask what we were going to do there – should we book some show tickets? Make some dinner reservations? Isn’t that what people do when they go to Vegas?

Already taken care of, he said, and then proceeded to rhyme off an itinerary so incredible and detailed that my head began spin (as if it wasn’t already). And when he told me he got tickets for us to see Celine Dion at Caesars Palace on our first night, he gave me just enough time to burst into tears and start sobbing on his shoulder.

He left me just enough time to be amazed by what he’d done for me, for us; just enough time to say a hundred thank-yous, none of which would ever be enough; just enough time to wonder how I ended up with him in my life.

Just enough time.

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