I haven’t heard from V in a few days, and Stride hasn’t texted back, and my football team is falling short. Into this gap, enters Frosting. I was ordering bed sheets on a commercial – that’s how hard this game was to watch, I needed retail therapy – and a text slides down into view. The vibration feels like an electric shock through my surprise.

“I’m watching the start of this comeback under threat of tornado in 79 degreee weather. What about you?”

I’m watching the Packers making a comeback with a banner across the bottom broadcasting a tornado warning….and, yeah, it’s probably like 79 degrees. And he hates football! I look around me. Slowly. I don’t know exactly what I’m expecting to find or what I’ll do if I find it. Where is he?, I wonder. He’s 2 hours NNE of me he tells me. Like he could read my mind. I feel myself relax a little.

Are you kidding? He’s supposed to be like TWENTY two hours away. Where I left him. Or rather he left me, if you wanna get technical.

The next morning I get, ‘Are you awake?’ That’s a text blast from the past. I leave it there because I’m feeling that I like a little frosting on my phone. And because I’m guessing the next text is going to be about calling and I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.

The name Frosting came from a book I had read just before meeting him: 27 (Wrong) Reasons You’re Single. In it she make reference to a saying, “when you’re demons come knocking, feed them cake!` I shared that idea with Karen and so when she called as he and I were driving the curvy, hilly back roads to Spring Green and asked, ‘watcha doin?’ I exclaimed, ‘riding in the car with….frosting!’ and we broke out into laughter.

The name stuck.

You’re about four days too late. For what felt like a long time, you were the bar that all the other guys were measured against, and each one fell short. And then, someone passed. Like a Kentucky Derby when a horse just starts kicking it into gear right before the finish line. That’s when I started to see how great V was and how great he was to me.

“I like that you’re hanging out with him,” Karen says, “he’s playful and present; he’s good for you.”

Greg, “and some people won’t appreciate it at first because they’ll be too afraid but then later they will come back around.” Wow, that’s exactly what’s happening. Maybe. I’m not really sure what’s happening. And I’m not asking. He walked away. If he’s coming back then he can state it. He doesn’t need me to ask.

So, about that little Nashville souvenir I sent Stride from the cute, middle of nowhere post office after I saw the church sign that said It’s Better To Give Than To Receive (I know giving is receiving, but that’s a whole other blog post).  Well, he’s still not gotten it so I thought I’d call the tattoo parlor and ask about it.  I didn’t exactly have his exact address, so I sent it to the business he lives above.

I remember the first night when he told me that, “Oh, that’d be so dangerous and expensive for me!” I said.  “Yeah, for me too,” he agreed.  And that’s how I got to see his first tattoo (altho, I would see it again later 😉  It was a gorgeous design that had deconstructed DNA woven right under the bump of his bicep.  Later when we were lying in bed, I traced it over and over with my finger like it was on an infinity shaped rollercoaster.  I was a little mesmerized and he liked how it felt.  I’m not sure if it was a testament to his talent as a scientist or an artist.  Maybe both.

I describe the package and to help jog the memory of the nice man who’s job is I’m sure many other things besides being the delivery boy for my playmate upstairs, I softly mention that it had a lipstick kiss on the outside of it.  “I do remember a package with a lipstick kiss on it,” the guys says sweetly back.  He checks the mail area and then says that they used to have an artist that had the name Joe and would I like him to text him and see if he got it by mistake.   Oh goodness.

When he answered I couldn’t hear him at first and explained that I need to turn down the Gilmore Girls episode I was watching.  “And now I feel like I’m in an episode of the Gilmore Girls,” I say, which makes us both laugh.  Mine is more of a nervous laugh as I scan the memory bank wondering just exactly what it is I said in the note I enclosed.

“I’m glad it was only a magnet!” I tell Karen later through her laughter.  “And not a pair of your underwear?!” she asks.  More laughter.  I can always count on her to make my funny even funnier.

I needed that laugh.  I needed that ridiculous to break through my seriousness.  Today I was struggling a little with the where will I go and what will I do question as it looks like I need to leave from where I am.   Someone posted on Facebook, “If you take one thing seriously, you’re DEAD.  Note to self.”  It saved my ass.

“This is Rome all over again,” I say to myself (without a reservation before a big holiday weekend).  Or when I was sitting on my backpack in the grass in Melbourne waiting for a friend…

Source: Meanwhile, back at the ranch….

“This is Rome all over again,” I say to myself (without a reservation before a big holiday weekend).  Or when I was sitting on my backpack in the grass in Melbourne waiting for a friend to call back and hopefully have an open room in the hotel he worked at (even though it was the Australian Open and it was one of the closest to it).  Or when I was broke and hungry in the Amazon.  Or like just a few weeks ago when I was looking for this camper.  Times when it seemed like maybe I had bitten off more than I could chew and I was wondering how it was all going to work out; and then in another moment, it did.  And I stood in awe of God once more.

I just spent a long weekend in Clearwater catching up with friends I knew from Wisconsin and now I’m back at the horse ranch wondering where I’ll go next.  And I really do need to go.  I left Gemini’s place saying, “I think this next week it will become clear” and as I  was driving over the causeway as the sun was sparkling off the water and Fitz and the Tantrums was singing “come on, come on, come on and get your love…” I get happy and dancey as it hits me how much I love and want to be in a place so very near to the water.  I’m not sure how exactly, but after watching the Packers beat the Cowboys in the playoffs, I’m all the more a believer of anything is possible.  I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment and that leads my brain to second guess the decisions I’ve made.  If I was in a smaller thing, like that van I looked at, then it would be easier, if I had maybe planned ahead a little better, if, if, if,  blah, blah, blah….

But then I remember how this all went down and how it all came to me.  And how I was riding my bike the other day to Dunedin and the traffic was all in my favor and when I bought stuff at the market, wondering how I would get it home, I looked down and saw a piece of twine lying on the ground so I could tie it to the rack on the back.  And I felt so taken care of and so provided for and how that gratitude extended into love for everyone I met.   I think I loved that experience so much I decided to have another.  And another.  And another.  And this experience will lead me to want to have more, as has been the way with me for all my time.  Miracles and grace play through my head like a movie; so many times I’ve felt out of my depth and been carried along.  It’s what I do – it makes me stronger – and I can’t seem to do it any other way.

This was not some rash decision I made.  I thought about and talked about it for a long time.  I researched and weighed and I pro’d and I con’d and then I surrendered, as I eventually do, overwhelmed and unsure of anything besides my heart’s desire.  The what and the why, as Abraham would say, and let the Universe take care of the how, the when, and the where.  This is the tiny home that I wanted and the uncertainty of how I will drive it and where I will drive it is not mine to worry about.

“Let’s just give it to God,” I say to myself.

 

 ….That’s what the Voice says to me as I’m staring into the last of the fire.  This has been a heck of a day on the learning curve!  I woke up freezing because I ran out of gas last night and had no heat on a pretty chilly night for Florida -and for me.  And I’m wrestling with trying to get the empty tanks off,  uncaffeinated because it’s too cold inside to make coffee.  I have no time to deal with it because I’m going to the farm to glean.

Will gets them off for me and Bill calls out as I’m driving away to tell me where to go get them filled – I foolishly thought anywhere – and straps them down so they don’t roll around.  Buuuuut, I still manage to break my portable tire inflater thingy when I slam on the brakes to avoid hitting a super long line waiting to get on the I-75.  This spunky chick fills them at the Shell station while other customers wait.  I ask if she’s the only one there.  She says she is and if they don’t like it then they can go to another gas station.  Her spunk kinda feels like what I need right now.

And then I almost poison myself after I hook the tanks back up.  The carbon monoxide alarm is going off and it finally dawns on me, thank God, to check the stove.  I had a knob turned on.  Then I can’t figure out why the outside speakers are on.  I can’t find the dog food sample.  I forgot the address to mail in my truck title to get new plates.  I trip on a rope.  I can’t figure out if I should text Joey or not.  I want to write but I also want to just listen to loud music.  I find myself absentmindedly making a playlist.  I haven’t done that since the last time we were together.  I name it Sunny Stride.  I start to text him that, then I erase it.   I feel his “I miss everything too” text, strongly.  It’s been hanging with me for days.  In Lowe’s they were playing a song about how a spark can turn into a flame and love can burn once again.  I feel bad for leaving him, as ridiculous as that sounds.  Feels like a co-dependent tendency.

I know this is my time.  My big time me-time.  To do this thing that I’d always regret not doing.  However it turns out, I think maybe it’s just that I do it that matters most.  I did replace the flusher thing on the tiki bar toilet – that was easyish.  I stare at the fire.  That’s when I hear it.  How I can’t fail.  How nothing really bad happened today anyway.  How I got coffee and I got gas and an electric heater so this never happens again.  And how I survived.  “You don’t have to try so hard to figure it all out,” I hear.  The Voice is calming me as the fire is warming me.  It’s not really real and nothing bad can happen.  I always think something bad can happen.  “We became actors, not reactors”  As the flames go to a bright red glow I think, maybe this is that crazy everything-is-about-to-shift-and-change energy.  It’s all in me, it all starts with me.

Yesterday at Sunday dinner, Steve says to me, “You’re out here doing this on your own?”  “Yeah,” I say, “I’ve got a boy back home but basically I’m on my own.” “What do you do?  Are you retired?” he asks, confused.  I say I flipped a house and this was the best thing I could think to do with the money.  Later in the night, Bill’s mom asks me about the same thing.  She says it’s good to be with someone though; someone sitting in the seat next to me in case I get drowsy.  I agree; it is.  And I’m totally open to that.  “That’s just not the way it seems to be shaking out right now,” I explain

But I mastered some stuff today.  And I was so glad to have my own little space to go to.  With my little fridge and my little sink and my little hot water heater (which I wish wasn’t so little).  I close the door on the wood stove and on this day.  And as I walk back to my trailer, I hear a comforting idea: you’ve been given an incredible gift – the opportunity to become comfortable within your own company.  I think this is really important for me right now, somehow.

 

I wake up in my own bed.  I can’t lie, it feels a little weird.  That two weeks ago I closed on my house, a week ago I arrived in Florida and yesterday I bought my new little traveling home.  I don’t have a lot of time to think about it because I’ve got wheel chucks to buy and a truck to look at back in Sarasota. It’s got a sun roof.  And his wife’s name is Jennifer.  Those are enough lights to head down that path at least a few steps.

As I arrive at his house and as I get out of my car, I ask for a sign if it’s mine.  I realize I should probably look under the hood and check the oil, but what I really want is a sign.  It’s beautiful and his garage is well organized and he’s an architect.  All good things, right?!  I take it for a drive and we have a talk about it and I feel like this is the kind of guy you can trust.  We negotiate a price and I try to figure out how I’ll get him the money.  He asks for a deposit, all I have is $60 and he crosses out “non” on the “non-refundable” line and says he’ll give it back if I change my mind.  I find that part pretty comical.  He asks for my last name to put on the receipt and then puts the pen down and says incredulously, “you’re kidding me!”  I say that I’m not, that’s really my last name, and wonder why he’s having this reaction.  “My last meeting at work today before coming here to meet you was with clients with the same last name as yours.  I showed them the final plans for their new house.”   He really can’t believe it.  I can.  It’s my sign.

I go to Target to buy a heap of stuff for it.  “Drift Away” plays on the radio; another song that says my dad to me.  The Nylons performed it.  A Canadian a cappella group that my dad helped bring to Madison and every year my sister and I would watch one of their shows from the audience and the other from stage left, dancing between the heavy red velvet curtains.  We’d party with them backstage and I was in love with the soprano, Marc.  He was gay but I had no idea.  I was 16 and he was my crush.

After an hour of shopping, I walk out with beer and a set of small, sparkly Christmas ornaments.  I’m elated and I’m exhausted.  I come back home to the ranch and realize that it’s all come together just before Christmas.  Now I can relax into the holidays without thinking about what I’ll live in and what I’ll pull it with.

Today, I’m going to pay the balance on my trailer and spend the night in it!  My instructor walks me around the outside of it all – his first trailer was the exact same one – and as we walk inside and he shows me the stereo, Fleetwood Mac is on.  Music is often and indicator for me and I connect Fleetwood Mac with my dad (there’s rumors he slept with Stevie Nicks).   “A girl always needs her dad,” I say as Landslide plays.

Afterwards I’m waiting for my turn with the financial department so I call the rental company to ask what time I need to return the car tomorrow.  He checks the contract and says there’s been a request for an extension until the 28th.  “By whom?”  I ask.  “I’m assuming the insurance company,” he says.  “That doesn’t seem right,” I say.  “It’s…. unusual…..,” he says vaguely.  So for some unknown reason, I’ve got more time.  I just shake my already realing head.  It’s like some little cosmic humor.  You got it all in time, and now the time changes.

Someone comes to talk to me about insurance.  I’m a bit scared after the talk I had this morning with an agent in Wisconsin, but we get a quote started and I get called back to financial to write my last out of state check.  The guy and I start to talk about life, connection, Florida, and my tattoo comes up.  His anniversary is a few days away and he and his wife got married to the song that the words of my tattoo are from.  That’s kind of wild; in the midst of wild.  I’m starting to feel like I’m in some sort of a magical Christmas snow globe.  I’m signing forms upon forms, all with just my signature, all saying it’s mine.

The insurance lady comes in with a quote that’s barely more than my policy for liability on my bug, and it’s for full coverage AND it’s for my truck and trailer.  “I don’t know what to say!”  She says, “how about ‘thank you'”.  Yeah, that’s a good one.  I just can’t believe it all.

I go to my new little home and I start to unpack the rental car.  I turn on the stereo and this time I hear, “I’ve got two tickets to paradise.”  This feels good.

 

I left on 12/12.  I just realized that.  That’s a fun date for lots of reasons.  “It’s your 12 Days of Christmas” someone said.  And today, Santa needs to bring me a truck.  I’m once again pouring over Craigslist after pouring some coffee.  Me on my laptop and William on his cell.  We go look at one that’s a manual.  “You know how to drive one of these, little lady?”  the dealer asks me.  I prefer it.  The first car I bought had a stick shift.  In Driver’s Ed I got stuck in an intersection on Main Street and all I could do was watch the lights change while I unsuccessfully tried to change gears.  I knew that if I owned it, then I would have to learn.  I hated that there was something I couldn’t do.  And now that I think about it, I’m at the same point in my life again now.

Maybe that’s why it didn’t work out with Frosting.  Not that he wasn’t also a  version of a manual transmission, but maybe eventually I would’ve felt like I didn’t do this thing that I deep down wanted to do.  I wanted him, but maybe I wanted this just a little bit more.  I’m trying to make peace with that; find peace in that.

I’m on Lido Key – the first time I’ve been to the beach and I’ve been here 5 days!   As I walk the beach picking up shells and watching the sun set, the most relaxed I’ve felt in days, my RV salesman calls to say the tow rating on that truck isn’t enough to pull my trailer.  I ponder this as waves splash up between and around my legs, and I pause this to take a photo just as a pelican takes flight.  I appreciate it and I let it all go as I enter the solstice drum circle.  It’s December 21st and my toes are in the sand.  The energy of it feels warm too and I feel my mind and body sway to it all.  They know how to let go.  They’ve been trained.  We send up lit paper lanterns and the leader tells us to think of someone who needs our love and light right now and Stride comes to mind.  He’s under the same sky that I’m looking up at.  I wonder how his surgery went.  “Sweet healing sleep, Stride” I texted him, “C u in your dreams.”

On my way home I get a text back, “Thanks Shawna.  Send drugs.”  I’d love to be his naughty nurse.  I question, for the first time, the timing of all this.  I call Caramom and Toad after I get back to the ranch and fill them in.   I send them pics of the camper and they ooo and aahh.  “Does it have an oven?” Cara asks.  Because I was so insistent back when I was talking about it in Wisconsin that I might want to bake muffins.  She too told me as we swayed on her porch swing, not to compromise.  To be smart and to get what I wanted to feel comfortable.  You’re not just camping, this is your home she offered me. She asks about Stride.  Wednesday night before the house closed on Friday, her, Toad, Casey and Jeff and I had my last supper request: Mama Mia’s pizza and she asked me how I was going to say good bye to him.  “Just slap him on the ass and ride off into the sunset?”  “Something like that,” I answered.  I filled them in on how it didn’t exactly go like that.  The blizzard delay and me praying that Saturday morning after our last night together because I couldn’t find the words.  “Are you leaving?”  he says hesitantly, bringing me coffee.  I’m balancing on the arm of the couch but I make myself slide and sit down.  I guess prayer sometimes gives someone else the words when you can’t.  “I think so,” I say.  “Were you even going to tell me?”  “I was trying.  Last night I woke up in either a panic of ‘holy shit what have I done’ or a beautiful peace.  It was a roller coaster of a night,” I say.  “It was a great night,” says he.  It was a great night.  And I didn’t want to spoil it.  There were various moments when I could’ve said something, it was on the tip of my tongue.  But I was also in a cloud of denial brought on by absinthe.  Maybe more than a little selfish.  And now, the time has come.  I try to explain why….the weather, the Midwest, the weather, the need for something different and following my heart.  “If you’re going to Colorado or California, I’m following you!”  he declares.  I’m not really sure where I’m going I tell him.  He says I’ve given him lots to think about.  I apologize, “I tend to be disruptive.  Some people find it annoying.”  He declares again, “I don’t.”

He should be studying.  I should already be gone.  But here we both are, delayed by snow and talking about this and we end up going back to his bed and making love.  I will miss this.  This thing that I didn’t think would be anything that I now can’t find a way to walk away.  “I don’t think I’ll see him again,” I tell Sara at the High Rock after I’d had what I thought was a one night stand.  She’s eating dinner and living vicariously through my description of my little tryst and I’m sipping a martini.  “He was a rebound guy.  I needed a palate cleanser,” I said.  “I think you should see him again.  He sounds nice,” she tells me.  “I do have some time to kill until the house sells,” I say, thoughtfully, “hmmm, maybe I should.”

That was October 24th.  And then it was December 10th.  And then it’s the night of the 11th and we’re standing in the snow and he’s squeezing the sides of my waist through my puffer jacket and telling me he wants to come visit me.  That he wants me in his life, “so don’t go changing your number.”  That he’s put stuff on Craigslist and that I’ve inspired him.  He’s always thought he had to have it all figured out but here I am, just following my happiness and trusting it will all work out.  He can transfer credits, he can put grad school on hold.  “Have you told him that he should take some time to consider all this and apply for schools and get his options lined up for his doctorate…?”  Cara asks presently.  “Someone should probably have that conversation with him,” I agree, “but it’s not gonna be me.”  I’m over here on the limb coaxing him with fruit.  We talk about naming my camper Frida Kahlo after this strong, independent Mexican artist know for her self-portraits; “because I am the subject I know best.”   Her art was described as a “ribbon around a bomb.”

Rich was my late summer lover.  Joey heated my autumnal fire.  I wonder what the winter solstice will bring…