I was born in Tucson. Other than 6 months I worked and lived in Norfolk, VA, and the extensive traveling I’ve done, I have lived here all my life. I hate summer here. I have never gotten used to the heat. I’ve learned to manage it. 4 months of pain for 8 months of nice weather isn’t a terrible trade-off. But it is miserable right now. The hottest July on record, and humid. Our summer rains called the monsoon usually gets going around July 4th. It was several weeks late, and all we want is some badly needed rain, but so far the monsoon has sucked.
My mantra right now is “one day closer to summer being over.” My ex was in the military and did a tour in Iraq. He didn’t know for how long he’d be deployed, so I couldn’t count down the days until he’d be home. The mantra I employed was “one day closer to him coming home.” Since I don’t know exactly how long summer will last, I recycled it for summer. I usually try to get out of Tucson for at least a week this time of year, but I haven’t been able to for the last few years. My brother and his family live in Vermont. I told him they need to make me an apartment in the old barn so I can stay there in the summer. He said “we have a tent!” Thanks bro.
A lot has changed in the last few years. This may sound silly and superficial, but a big one for me was getting used to being in public with no makeup, not even mascara. My mother used to tell me that if you’re a blonde people look at your hair first, but brunettes have to look good from head to toe because people notice all of us. I’m not sure how true that is, and I honestly don’t appreciate being given that burden. As a result, I’ve been wearing makeup of some form or another since middle school, and taking the time to style my hair. I used to do the whole shebang: foundation, blush, eyeliner, eyeshadow and mascara. I never wore lipstick so I guess “the whole shebang” isn’t quite accurate. Digressing again…
Over the years I replaced foundation with powder, stopped wearing eyeshadow regularly, eventually eliminated blush except for special occasions. I always did powder and mascara, and always did something to my hair. When I started taking care of dad full time, I had a choice to get up a few minutes earlier to do hair and makeup to basically sit at his house all day, or get a few more minutes of sleep. Sleep won. Since then I guess you could say I’ve been lazy, but I really don’t care. If you don’t like me without makeup that’s too bad for you. I wear it occasionally and for special occasions, otherwise I don’t bother anymore. My current hair style is just long. It’s easy, doesn’t require frequent trims, and I can do different things with it like a side braid or messy bun. Don’t like it? Too bad.
Another change is what I call “pandemic pounds.” Before I got Covid19 last year, I worked out every day. When I got sick I didn’t have the energy to do much of anything let alone work out. By the time I had the energy the back pain I had been experiencing for several years was getting much worse. Sometimes just walking was extremely painful. I definitely couldn’t do the same workout anymore. After enough days of sometimes excruciating pain I finally saw my Dr. and had some x-rays done. I have an age related degenerative back issue along with some osteoarthritis. I did physical therapy, and have continued to do it on my own every day. I still have nearly constant back pain to one degree or another. It’s not often excruciating anymore, but it’s still difficult to exercise like I need to. All that to share that I’ve gained some weight: 20 pounds in the last 4 years, 10 of that in the last year. Most people tell me I look fine. I feel like a blob. I know I carry the weight well ( and I know how to dress to minimize it), but I’m still very uncomfortable with my body right now. However, just like with no makeup, this is what I look like. If you don’t like it that’s too bad. I’ve at least halted the weight gain. So there’s that.
Speaking of weight, many of you know I am a seamstress. I currently work at a costume shop. I used to work at an alterations shop. I literally lost count over the years of how many people would lament the clothing size they had to wear. Like a woman who used to wear a size 8 now wears a size 12 and feels bad about that. Here’s the secret about clothing sizes: it’s just a number (or letter). It’s a guide to help you find what fits for you. Most women know a size 10 from one designer could be an 8 from another and a 12 from yet another. It’s not that you’re the wrong size, it’s that that particular item of clothing wasn’t made for you. I am the shopper who will fill a cart knowing when I try the clothes on not everything is going to fit and not everything will look good on me. That seems to discourage many people, but not me. It’s not an indictment of me if something doesn’t look good on me, it’s just the clothes aren’t made for me. I don’t tell myself “I don’t look good in this,” and instead tell myself “this doesn’t look good on me.”
Over the last 4 years, I’ve told you about many of the men I had met online dating. And you know all about the ghost³. One of the men I met online and the ghost³ have one thing in common: they were both baseball pitchers. Both interactions turned out badly. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from either of them, or any of the other men I met online for that matter. I frankly didn’t really want to. A few weeks ago I got a text from a number not in my phone that read “Hi, I was thinking about you, how have you been?” After a little investigating I determined it was from the pitcher I met online. My 1st thought was “you have got to be kidding me!” My 2nd thought was “that’s the wrong pitcher!” My 3rd thought was “you f*cking idiot!” And then I realized that IF I had to hear from one of them at least the ghost³ isn’t a broken loser. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but I call ’em like I see ’em. I didn’t bother to reply.
As if this summer hasn’t already been crappy enough, my sweet 15 year old dog Sparky had a stroke in early July and I had to say goodbye and send him across the rainbow bridge. It was a pretty awful 8 hours before I was able to get him to a vet and end his trauma. His back legs weren’t working so I don’t know how that sweet boy came to my bedroom to wake me up. I knew it was bad when I saw he’d pee’d all over his bed. He NEVER pee’d or poo’d in the house. He looked so scared because he didn’t know what was happening. It broke my heart. He was still able to use his front legs to help me get a his 50 pound body into the SUV. Knowing he’d be going soon, one of my biggest worries had been that something would happen in the middle of the night and I wouldn’t be able to get him in the car by myself. Well, that’s exactly what happened, but thankfully I was able to get him in my vehicle. At the vet they put him on a gurney so he didn’t have to struggle anymore.
I adopted him and his sister 6 years ago when Layla was 6 and Sparky was 9. Their person died and the family couldn’t keep the dogs. His sister Layla has been gone for several years. She had a lot of health problems. Sparky can be with her and their original person now. Truth be told, I was actually looking forward to some aspects of no longer having to care for a dog by myself. I can leave my house for more than 6 hours and not worry about getting home to let the dog out; I don’t have to get up early to walk him before it gets too hot; it’s a lot less expense for me – old dogs need extra care, etc. Don’t get me wrong, I love my dogs. I did everything I could to make Sparky’s senior years as good as I possibly could. And I knew it wasn’t going to be easy when his time on Earth was done.
Even though I’ve experienced the loss of a dog many times, hsving had him for only 6 years I didn’t think it would be quite this hard. It’s the little things that get me. Whenever I’d go out in the backyard I’d always call for Sparky to come with me. I always fed him his evening meal before my dinner which dictated when I would eat. I didn’t know quite what to do in the morning because I always took care of him first. I miss his happy self when I’d come home. Things like that. He had severe hip dysplasia and bless his heart would continue to take short walks twice a day until the morning he died. He’s hopefully in a better place now, with Layla and their person, no longer in pain. But I sure do miss him.