Important anniversary and airing of grievances

So, as of last week, Danny has officially lived here longer than my ex did. This is important to me, time being the great healer that it is. Time is movement, a wise friend once advised, and so it is; these past two years have moved me forward, up and over my horrible hump, and now I'm running and skipping and dancing along.

That being said: the month of August also marks the second anniversary of the death of my stepmother. We went to Wichita this weekend to celebrate my dad's retirement, and I was shocked at how time's movement over the past two years has not impacted my father. The house was in a state that I'm ashamed to recount; but its hard to expect an immaculate home from someone who has had a wife to take care of that for the past 40 years. I hate to generalize, but his generation often sticks to their assigned gender roles, and it doesn't matter if you teach him how to operate the washing machine and the dishwasher, he just doesn't know how to maintain a household. I feel compelled to add that part of what makes it so hard for him to keep the household immaculate is the presence of knick-knacks on every surface. Sheila was a hard-core decorator; there are doilies and "collections" everywhere: teacups, bells, angels, baskets... stuff that a crusty 62-year-old man should not have to worry about dusting (not that he's a big duster.) But he won't let it go, isn't ready to close that chapter, he says.

But, I'm ready for it to close. There were reminders all over of the marginalization that occurred in that family where my brother and I are concerned. For example: photographs. On many, many surfaces were framed pictures of everyone but Jason and I, including photos of people Sheila had referred to as their "adopted" kids and grandkids. Not a single photo of Elise or Danny and I. But, plenty of photos from the photo session that occurred when we were together over Christmas in Dallas, where I was excluded from the family photo (after driving 10 hours to be there, no less.) Those photographs burn me up, and I want to let my dad know that. But, its in the past, I should probably just let it be (right?)

catching up

Warning! This blog could be completely disjointed and random, as I scramble to type as much as possible while Sweetums sleeps and I rack my brain to try to remember everything I wanted to mention!

First order of business: I felt like a big doormat loser at Starbucks the other day. I ordered my usual vanilla breve and decided to have a scone as well. The clerk forgot to give me my scone. When the barista handed me my coffee, I asked if she could please grab my scone, since the clerk was in the middle of taking an order. The barista said, "Mary Ann, what kind of scone did she have?" Mary Anne looked right at me, said "blueberry," yet no one moved an inch to actually get me my forgotten pastry. The woman right behind me had also ordered a pastry that was forgotten, but the barista knew her personally so when she said, "Mary Ann forgot my (whatever it was)" the barista took the time to go get a tissue, go to the pastry case, and grab her pastry. Meanwhile, I'm standing there, waiting for someone to acknowledge me. Meanwhile, the line grows, so both clerk and barista grow busy. There was no good opportunity to line jump and say, "Pardon me, but could you please give me the scone I ordered and paid for?" Finally, after about five minutes (which feels like an eternity when you're just standing around like a dummy), the line was gone, and I approached the clerk and said, "I never got my scone." She offered a cursory apology and handed me the stupid pastry. The other thing that irks me about this whole situation is that I've been going to this same Starbucks since they opened, and every time I go (which is more frequent than I care to admit), they have to ask me my name. I don't think my name and face match up, else I'm not particularly memorable. Danny thinks if I were more assertive, maybe I'd be more memorable. Wendy thinks I should relish being relatively invisible; at six feet tall, people always remember her, for her size she thinks, and she wishes she would fade into the background a little more.
I don't necessarily need the clerks at Starbucks to remember me or my regular order--but I do need them to not make me feel like I'm invisible when they fudge on their customer service.

Speaking of regular orders: the Sandbar celebrated their 20 year anniversary last week. I was a regular there for nearly ten years, so it made me a bit nostalgic and sad that I couldn't attend the celebration and that not a single one of my former bar friends called to see if I was going. An odd tension exists between drinkers and former drinkers; maybe we have nothing in common anymore. The Sandbar was more than a watering hole to me, though, back in those days. When my friends and I all graduated from KU, I was literally the only one who didn't go on to move to Kansas City or grad school elsewhere. I essentially was starting my professional career and post-college life from scratch in Lawrence--which was kind of weird, considering I'd already lived here for four years. A coworker of mine at US Bank knew I was kind of lonely, and he invited me to drinks one Thursday night, with a group of people called "Thursdays, Inc." at the Sandbar. Turned out to be a great bunch of people, some of whom I still associate, and it definitely opened me up to new networks within Lawrence's business community and tons of personal connections. Unfortunately, that night also was the beginning of being a regular at the Sandbar--which is where I met my first husband.
Ah, history. I look back all the time, and think "OH if only I had just not done that!" But, every single step I've taken has led me here, to this place, this wonderful place. If I hadn't married Pat, I'd still be in Florida (most likely.) If Pat had been able to earn a better living, I wouldn't have felt the need to take the job I currently hold; if Pat hadn't been such a turd about displaying his grandma's guitar, I wouldn't have had to go into a music store to purchase another stand-which is how I met Danny.
And on and on.

More updates:
Elise started daycare today. I think it went well.
I have not kept up with my fitness experiment. I'll try again in August. I've lost more weight (more muscle) so I must start exercising pronto.
I'm ready for fall. Those crisp mornings we had last week made me crave some apple cider and pumpkin pie and the smell of the first fire of the season. And Elise's first birthday! Wow, what a ride this first year has been. I can't believe she is very nearly one.