Fireflies

Tonight I sat amongst chaotic paperwork, almost one year after I left for the last time -- trying to find what I agreed to pay after the divorce because it's time to start paying, and I realized ... wow. It's over. Is there any way to prepare yourself for this moment? Or the moments that follow? Where are the instructions for this? How does someone sum up 17 years together when all that's left is attorney notes, court papers, and several versions of asset and expense reports? And why the hell can't I find the settlement agreement? 

And yet, I've been calm. I'm good. Better, even. Fulfilled and joyfully employed and energized and somehow grounded by riding in the Virginia woods. Free. Oddly untortured. Certain of my faith in God and my (unknown) future. But tonight it hit me. My life with her is now a memory. We don't talk. I don't feel the need to. Where are the instructions? How do I make sense of this on a random Thursday night buried in a paperwork mess at the Saratoga Square Apartment complex in Springfield Virginia? 


And where the hell is the settlement agreement? 


There are fireflies in Virginia. I'm a California girl. I saw fireflies only once before I lived here, years ago when I visited my friend Jody in Nebraska. I see them everywhere these days. Little bits of light where you least expect them. Signs. 
Somebody came by my office yesterday -- another gathering place for a chaotic mess of paper, notes to myself, a collection of projects and to do's captured on a whiteboard -- and she thanked me. What she didn't know was that whatever she was thanking me for saved me. I'm learning not to underestimate the value of service and hard work -- work that, ironically, isn't hard at all. She thanked me and all I wanted to do was rush in and thank her. Instead, I practiced gracious acceptance. Another firefly in my day. 


Too hip to be square
My mom came to visit. She visited Quincy's cranio/sacral, myofacial release therapist. The medical people say she has to have her other hip replaced. She's a stoic gal, but she's been in pain for some time. Lots of daily Naproxin. The doctors tell her she needs surgery. But, after two sessions with Linda (two weeks ago), she said, two days ago, "She's a miracle worker." Her pain, by her estimation, has been reduced by 75%. She'll still need surgery eventually, but still. We found her another myofacial release therapist in Seattle. Western medicine is necessary but not sufficient. 


Quincy's taking swimming lessons
Lisa and Chris are introducing me to new trails every day. I'm reaching a new understanding with my horse. All the arena work, the horsemanship, the understanding that I've been seeking for the last two years ... it all comes down to our ability to maneuver trees, hills, logs, holes, creeks, deep mud, and other trail adventures together. We both have jobs, and we're getting better at them all the time. We're building trust. The other day, we waded into the Potomac river. He splashed in the water with his buddy, a fabulous horse named Justin. I marveled at Quincy's courage, his willingness, and his playful joy once he figured out that water is fun. I'm lucky to have him. 


What's in a title?
I have a new title: Consulting Director, Strategic Management and Communication. Sarah also has a title: Consulting Assistant Director of Strategic Communication. I've been asked to make change in this huge organization, and I've been encouraged to push boundaries. Look out, boundaries. Between me and Sarah, status quo doesn't stand a chance. Work is a joy, even when it's tough. Sarah and I take turns building each other up. It's a good system. 


Look out, Jerry Springer
Doug Brook and I are finishing our book. Pray that I can do my job and finish it. Books are like a big weight around your shoulders. They're not nearly as big a burden as they pretend to be. Doug, thankfully, understands that better than I do. I know that someone reading this might be asking, "What book? What's it about?" It's a book on personnel management reform in the federal government. Now, before you let your eyes roll back in your head, know this: There is political intrigue, confidential scoop directly from GW Bush high-level insiders, and juicy conflict between the Bush administration and federal employee unions. Don't dismiss the Jerry Springer trashiness of the story, albeit told with the utmost respect and diplomacy. Seriously, people, we'd like someone to buy this thing besides the few public policy professors that make up our fan club (yes, the "club" characterization is a stretch, "fan" perhaps even more so). We'll sign it free of charge. Our gift to you along with the ginsu knives. 


Maybe we can market it as the hot beach read of 2013. Get your orders in before the rush.