The difficult life of a gypsy with a mortgage. January 31, 2021

Gypsy heart with a 30 year mortgage. It's going to take some getting used to. The only endurance event I ever completed successfully was a marathon. Jobs, relationships, and addresses have not customarily enticed me to endure for more than 3 or 4 years. Which is why 2 ex-husbands, 19 previous "permanent" residences, and 20 some different hospital contracts later- I am not surprised to find myself curious about the prospect of buying an old home in Southeastern Italy for 1 Euro (how do I get the Euro symbol? Must put at the top of my to-do list that I never intend starting on). Wouldn't that just be so "Under the Tuscan Sun" of me? It sounds romantic and carefree, and deliciously carb friendly. Damn you corporate America. What is this stingy hold you have over my life, and others, slivering vacation days like some plastic surgeon shaving off the end of someone's nose. I like my vacations in big honking chunks. "Doctor- take it all off and leave nothing to spare!" Let's give vacation time to employees in days, not hours. Let's take vacations in weeks not days! I'm already thinking like a European. Maybe a life in Italy is not such a bad idea after all. Oh hush, I know. I am already having those practical, life application arguments with myself. Ugh, what if what if what if? Shut your pie hole hussy- life isn't being lived by merely having acceptable responses to all the what ifs about a situation. That's for cowards. Or for people with children and responsibilities. Not for dreamers and doers like me! I'm a vagabond heart with Google translate downloaded on my phone. Nothing has to hold me back. Except for COVID and 29 more years on this mortgage. Closed borders are not a gypsy girl's friend. Mortgage smortgage- that can be dealt with in various ways. Did you hear that? The heavy exhale of a defeated soul. Is being carefree and impractical at 44 3/4 charming and enviable or tacky and childish? Only tacky if wearing big, neon pink hoop earrings. That's my final answer.

Life on the ordinary is difficult. Mostly because I've wrapped up my identity with the doings of my life. The coming and going has been feeding my curiosity for 20 years. Since owning my home here in Southern Indiana I have watched more TV then in all the years combined up to this point. It is NOT who I am. (I will only allow the pandemic a small nugget of responsibility for it's part in keeping me home). Sitting around while time ticks by fuels my restlessness. Gray skies and cold wind irritate the travel bug inside of me. It is the last day of January. (Happy Birthday to my beautiful older sister, Carrie).

Dear God, It's me again. When you nudged me homeward bound in 2018 I obeyed. Your mercy and grace in my life have shown up in fairy tale ways. Ways that I will never earn nor deserve. Thank You. Two words that are used so cheaply sometimes. This would not be one of them. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. I give you all the glory. IJNIP- Amen. 

Florida bound in 12 days. But who's counting? Go Brooke!

January 24, 2021- looking down the barrel of 45

 I'm looking down the road at turning 45 later this year. Forty-whatyoutalkinboutWillis-five. That's not in dog years either. I have to say I'm not sweating it. Literally, not sweating it because I am not having those crazy hot flashes that I assume could be on the horizon, as my pristine never used uterus and ovaries begin to reign in MENOPAUSE. Which is really kind of a kick in the crotch because if I am honest the last few years have been nothing but men-on-pause. When I decided to move back to my exotic home scape in Southern Indiana, I knew that dating would be a challenge. Wait, there are plenty of guys who would likely take me on a date. So let me rephrase that- finding a man who does not smoke, has a well-paying job, and the capable mental acrobatics that can keep up with my own would be difficult. There are lots of men out there but I require teeth, the absence of facial and/or neck tattoos, and currently single. These are my preferences. Call me judgmental. If I were to tell you my list of ideal qualities- you'd understand how very low my standards have fallen. The caveat to all of this is that I am no longer a prime catch. I am no longer built like a brick-shit house... more of a flabby inflatable jump house, and rarely wear clothing that I couldn't do yoga in (as if I actually did yoga). I'm not trying to date outside of my league by any means. You can imagine my surprise when a dating site hottie matched me and he was 14 years my junior. He wasn't from Nigeria and didn't ask for money and he really just liked older women. Yes please and Thank You. The age difference wasn't the reason we ended things. He ended it I suppose since he was the one who didn't respond to my text messages first. But I didn't throw down any road blocks if you know what I'm sayin. He was a "musician" and lived in his Mom's basement. It was a fun 3 months. Very fun. A LOT of fun. 

Anyway....45. I have decided this isn't my midlife point though. I expect to die at 93. So I have another year and a half before I reach THAT mountain top. It's been a hell of a climb so far. No, I never had children, and that's an unfortunate/blessing from God. The climb has been challenging and I am looking forward to the down hill ease of conversations about bowel movements and retirement villages to tour. I already feel like a senior citizen around my nephew and niece who are far more technologically savvy then I ever want to be. Neither one can brush their teeth above the sink like an appropriate human being. Which oddly makes me feel superior in the technology department. Go Brooke.