I am done. I am not writing another word about another person or myself or my life or my restaurant or….
And then I get a call from my crazy friend, who, it turns out, is turning into a nice friend because she is no longer so crazy. As if the night she was her craziest with me was her last crazy night, she now seems funny and sweet, and she wants to know, “Can we get together and catch up?”
We do. At the place I love the most because it overlooks the ocean. At the place I have met many and know some. At the place that is easy to be when you are rekindling a friendship, on a night when the air is cool and clean and perfect. On a night when I am reeling from events she knows nothing about, events she will never know about, because I keep those events so close to myself. No one, except a few, know about these events. This is good, because I have no interest in talking about these events, analyzing them, picking them apart, making real sense of them–ever. Ever.
I just don’t want to. I just can’t. Call me the crazy one.
I am here. I am living now. So many heartaches swirl close to me. So many tears threaten. So many moments of pure laughter occur despite the tears. So many prayers need to be said, and then, hopefully, answered.
That’s what this blog is about. All of it. Along with this, lest it be forgotten:
“So how was your Mother’s Day?” asks the GM of this great beachfront place, and he doesn’t mean mine as a mom.
“Every bit the Mother’s Day I knew it would be,” I tell him. And then I provide the gory details–babies sleeping on tables, one entree split between four adults, the ten-top that had no reservation but wanted to fight about it anyway–complete with fists pounding on my podium, the last-minute table of 8 that showed up five minutes before closing–an hour late for their reservation. But we couldn’t hate them because they were so generous in their thanks for allowing them to dine and dawdle so late.
“Yeah,” he says, knowingly.
“Yeah,” I reply, knowingly.
And the boy texts me from out of town, just to say hi. And my daughter emails and calls about how she is worried about her puppy that is sick yet again. My son’s perfect Mother’s Day card arrives in the mail today, on exactly the perfect day for me to receive it. I talk to Mr. RG and wish him a safe business trip, and tell him about RG Daughter’s sick puppy. All of this as my closest friend on the planet faces the unknown, and I pray she spends some of the future unknown time with me, so I can be her strength when hers ebbs.
I guess I am still writing.
Right here.
Comments
20 responses to “Someday, My Prince…or Not”
🙂
Hooray!
During difficult times I find it helps me to adjust my vision of the future… Instead of looking days, weeks or months out and feeling nothing but dread and loathing, I adjust to just hours or maybe just the day ahead… Goes back to the taking things one day at a time…
What Jessie said!
I didn’t comment the other day – I’m glad you’re still here – I can’t imagine what you’re going through but you should know that I always look forward to reading what you have to say about life.
YAY!!
I’m glad you decided to start writing again.
hang in there, sugar! in this world all we can do is hope for the best while we deal with all the rest 😉 (i’m glad you’re still writing)
I’m glad you are continuing writing. Yours is one of the first blogs I read when I log on and I am glad that you write up so many different things – and that you write, at all.
Keep it up!
Oh thank goodness your still writing . Your sanity (even when writing about craziness ) give me a much needed grounding . Thank You !!!
Yipee!!!! Well, that you’re staying with us. Not that you had a typical Mom’s Day at the restaurant. 😉
Hope RG Daughter’s puppy gets better.
I’ve learned so much from you from reading your humble blogging beginning to where you are right now, and I’m glad you’re walking away from the edge of blogging abyss.
🙂
Thank you – for continuing to share your life, your thoughts, your struggles, your successes, and your writing with us. Though I am miles from you, silently reading, know that your writing often touches my heart.
Love the blog. Longtime reader. Never posted.
I don’t mean to pry, but it seems that you and Mr. RG are still good friends, and yet you’re no longer together…at least temporarily…or something.
i know it’s none of my business, and I would never ask if we knew each other socially but you are, after all, sharing your life with the entire world via your blog. So I’ll ask (but you obviously don’t have to answer)…what’s the deal? It’s not like you’re sharing custody and have to be civil….you’re hundreds of miles away, and your kids are grown. Is there a chance of reconciliation? If not, why not? Are there still feelings? Can’t you make it work? If neither one of you is a big jerk, why not stay together? It sounds like you care about each other. That’s something, right? Can’t you build on that?
Go ahead…tell me to shut up.
I know…none of my business. But after all these months, I feel as though I know you…and I worry.
Suz–Glad you are glad. Thank you!
Jessie–:)
Not perfect–Appreciate your commenting today, and for reading. Thank you.
Joe–You know how much I appreciate your thoughts. So many thanks.
Sharon–:), too.
Katie–Thank you!
savannah–Hanging in there as best I can.
Susan–You are incredibly nice. Thank you, too.
Maureen–If my insanity helps you keep grounded….;)
Jennifer–Oh Mother’s Day in a restaurant–always rich in opportunity for reflection on the industry (haha).
Jade–Crossing fingers on the puppy. Back from the edge of the blogging abyss. Need to get the rest of me together, now.
Echo–Thank you so very much.
Mike–Yeah, you’re prying. But no, I won’t tell you to shut up. I just hope I can sort it all out, okay? Thank you for reading, and I mean that.
What you need is one of my son’s cakes. Unfortunately I haven’t figured out a way to post them to the States…
Kim–I will send you a recipe for a gluten-free masterpiece. Then you should visit Kevin on K’s Cakes (visual stories on my blogroll) and ask her how to ship a cake anywhere. She sent a “purse” cake to RG Daughter for her 21st birthday! Or, I’ll just dream about how great a bite of one of your son’s cakes would taste–I prefer chocolate with vanilla buttercream frosting, please.
I’ve been scarce this week, and SO GLAD you are still writing!
Even though I don’t comment often, I’ve read every word since you birthed this blog. And I feel like I’m with you in some weird way as you make your way through these times of change. You aren’t alone, RG. There are a lot of us out here who have your back.
Now for the big question: will you share that chocolate cake with vanilla buttercream? hah!
I just wanted to say thanks. I read your blog to pass time at a numbing job. You encouraged me to leave an acoholic/abusive situation and to finally get my life back on track. I am scared to death to start over in a new city but reading your blog has helped me to see it will be ok. Thanks again and please keep blogging.
I have been away, death in the family, and not able to keep up with the blog….only to find much drama! Ahh…It reminds me of the good ol’ restaurant days! Those two commentators in question sounded like a couple of hung-over bar hags working back to back doubles on 2 for 1 night on a swing-shift in a nickle-slot casino all-night coffee shop/truck stop, what I did find interesting is how they really took ownership of you and this site, almost made me want to tell them go get their own blog!!!….Needless to say RG, I am glad your still here, keep up the good words and sorry I missed all the ruckus!
Kris–I am amazed to know you have been reading all along. Thank you! And of course I’ll share the cake!
Jenn–I am incredibly touched by your comment. Every so often, someone says, “RG you are so brave.” I am not brave, I am simply trying to figure it all out. You, Jenn, are the brave one. Good luck to you, and stay in touch on how you are doing.
Retired rest. manager–Welcome back! Love your description 🙂 And it is just as well you missed the crazy few days. I am hoping to forget them in a bit. Hope you are doing well in your new ventures. I think of you often.