Constance

My thoughts are full of nostalgia, good and bad. Is that what getting older gets you? 

This blog started and was named in a different life where I was a different person. We had cats and sunny California days most of the year. I was still getting used to not working 60-80 hours on my feet, trying to find my way as a housewife, making my own schedules. Sunday afternoons were spent hanging around, checking out the farmer's market, watching TV, working in the garden, going on walks.

There is no more glaring of cats in my life. They got sick and old and died. There is a small dog now, no glaring at all. Much enthusiastic barking and eating off the table when we aren't looking. We are not in sunny California anymore, but California's opposite of Seattle. I work many more hours than 60-80 on my feet, but they are like ephemera, uncounted and uncared for. Sunday mornings start very early with screams of delight or anger, depending on the children's moods as they awaken. The afternoons revolve around the odd birthday party or child activity or monitoring how much television is enough. 

And more importantly, I am a different person now. I am not so full of desire to keep everyone happy at the expense of myself.  I keep thinking how I just want to enjoy life, not fight for every thing. There is potential, but it feels like every hill I climb, enjoyment of life is just over the next one and I am getting tired of climbing. 

On the other hand, I have before, settled in the past and found what happiness I could with what I had and declared it good enough for now. But I don't want to do that anymore. Good enough for now isn't good enough. Being able to be flexible and fine with things, to put up with things as is, to have tolerance for behaviors and attitudes; I prided myself on this. But I don't want to be that person anymore. Because all that tolerance and giving and flexibility just led to more and the good enough for right now turned into needing to be good with it forever. Besides, being flexible and having a high tolerance for negative things apparently doesn't get you any accolades or better behavior from others. They learn to expect it and to secretly resent you in bitterness for your perceived weaknesses.

So I look back to earlier years with some wishes, golden sunny longing.  But I know what sacrifices were being made, what paths were being forged silently, invisibly. I think of those lazy afternoons and see them as a quick stitch, holding two sides together. I see those smiles in the pictures and I know what thoughts were going on behind those eyes. That one tiny second and things looked joyful and warm. 

Nostalgia. Different lives. Different me. Different us.

All that goes to the question then, perhaps I should change the name? Something more fitting with my life now? Something more in tune with who I am as a person now? Maybe it's time to stop the Glaring? 

Or do I keep going for nostalgia's sake?

Barracuda

She stands there in her teal seafoam sleeveless party dress, all the fanciest hair clips.

Just finished her avocado sushi roll with soy sauce poured directly on top, fresh from Ballard Market.

Swiping up through hundreds of pictures of barracuda fish, some barracuda cars, and the random headshot of some white business exec man.

This is what she needs to do while listening to Barracuda, by Heart on repeat.  Eternally, or until I need a break and cut it off, whichever comes first.

This is her ritual. Turn the music on by screaming at Alexa to play Barracuda and then scroll through every freaking picture of barracuda on the internet, ever.

Every so often an exclamation of “Whoa, that’s a big barracuda!” And at the completion of the song, a blasé “Alexa, play!” Without taking her eyes off the phone screen.

And just so you know, “Oooh! Look at this lion Fish! Lion fish are poisonous,” pause, “you never want to touch a lion fish.”

Back to scrolling.