Dear Neighbors

Dear Neighbors,

I want to thank you all for putting up with me the last two-and-a-half weeks.

See, on November 8th, as I came home from work with my work bag, my lunch bag, my purse, and some shopping, my cat Archie got out. He'd slipped out the door before, but this time he was determined to see beyond the stairs in front of my unit. He got all the way down. I gave chase, but he was fast, and he was spooked by now.

We got a few buildings down and I couldn't catch him. I had left my door unlocked, so I doubled back to get my keys. When I came back, I could not find him.

Over the last few weeks, I've been that lady posting Missing Cat signs on all of the mail boxes. I've been the one creeping around behind your buildings, in the bushes and mud, calling "Hey Archie!! Hey Doodle Boy!" I honestly do not want to be a creeper. I did not look in your windows. I was just anxious to find my dear boy.

I was that woman with another orange and white cat on a leash, trying to sniff out our wayward brother cat. And I was that woman who would kiss her fingers and gently touch them to the picture of the missing cat on the community mail boxes every time she picked up her mail.

And thank you to Joy, a woman in my community who came running up to my unit tonight, panting, hand on chest. "Is your cat still missing?!"

"Yes."

"I just saw a yellow-and-white cat over by the pools. He's crying."

"I just need my shoes!!"

I threw on my trashed old ballet flats that I only use for watering my balcony garden or taking the trash out. I grabbed my keys, locked the door, and ran. By now Joy was panting along the sidewalk, and I introduced myself before crossing the parking lot to the pool.

"Archie? Hey baby, are you here?"

I heard a meow.

"Archie?"

I realized I had not thought to grab my glasses (I rarely wear my contacts at home), so everything was blurry. I squinted at a cat that came trotting out. It looked like Archie, but again, things were blurry. I held out a hand and he trotted over to me--but not all the way.

"Archie?" Up closer, I was almost convinced. He had a collar on, but I couldn't really see it well. I reached out, and he backed away.

"Baby?"

He crept closer again. I knew it was him now--that white face, the white legs.

I crouched down, held my hand out for him to smell. He must have recognized my voice, because he cautiously crept closer for a sniff. He let me pet him.

The collar said "Jedi Master."

"Archie!! Oh, baby, it's you."

I grabbed him by the scruff. He struggled, out of fear and maybe a little bit of brattiness.

So yes, neighbors, I was that woman carrying a struggling cat home while exclaiming, "Oh, my God! It's you! It's you!! You're back!!" Joy met me on the sidewalk. "Is it him?!"

"Yes!! It's my boy!!"

She was so happy, and she wished me a very merry Christmas. And though I am not the blessing time under normal circumstances, there I was in the parking lot tonight, hugging a scared, dirty little cat to my chest and saying, through near-tears, "Bless you! Thank you so much!"

Tomorrow, I'll be the one walking through the complex happily tearing down the Missing Cat signs that remain, laughing quietly to myself as I do so. But for tonight, I'm locked up tight in my unit with my two sweet boys, overjoyed to have Archie home where he belongs. And maybe giving him a bath.

Sincerely,

The Cat Lady in Unit ____

Simple Pleasures

A cup of tea on Sunday morning

                Waking up to cat cuddles

Clean bed linens

                                    Sleeping in

Singing along

                  Receiving a text from a friend

        Finishing a To Do List

                                        A satisfying nap

           Not being in a rush

                                                  A favorite mug

                        A good book

     Time to read

                                      Having plans

Having no plans

                                           A clean home

                  Lazy rainy days

    The opening chords to a favorite song

                               Fun socks

            Cozy pajamas 

                                        A hot shower

Home-cooked meals

Adulting

My twenties were spent--literally--using my money to buy what I wanted and felt I needed in the immediate. I was never late with rent, major bills, or car payments, but I managed to always have a bit of lingering credit card debt, usually hovering around $5,000, and I generally lived from one paycheck to the next. I would squirrel money away into my savings account, only to squirrel it right back out a few months later.

While I would never wish long-term unemployment on anyone, it has had it's advantages--in particular, that I learned what I can and cannot live without. It was a hard lesson to learn, but one that has stuck with me.

I acknowledge, up front, that I am incredibly privileged to have parents I could fall back on when I needed a place to live. They are wonderful, and it has helped my bottom line immensely as I've crawled out of the hole that unemployment put me in. Still, it's been a crawl, and it's one I'm proud of, because I beat odds that many in this country have no hope of beating simply because they don't have the option to live rent-free.

I lost my job in 2010, and my last paycheck arrived at the end of July that year. By August, I was receiving unemployment benefits, but my monthly income had almost halved. Living on $1,800 a month, when $1,000 of that goes towards rent on an apartment, is not easy. No more "I'm bored" trips to the mall, no more "Pay Day Target Runs" for anything but the absolute essentials. When bronchitis forced me into the Emergency Room at 2:30 in the morning a few months after I lost my job, I suddenly found myself with a $2,500 bill I couldn't keep up with. It ended up on my credit card.

You can see where this is going. After a year of going it on my own, moving in with Mom and Dad started to look really good.

And it has been. Sure, there were adjustments and sometimes we all need reminding that living with others means respecting certain boundaries, but overall, it's been good. Mom and Dad got a built-in house- and pet-sitter. I got a much-needed chance to build my financial base back up.

After two years of total unemployment, I started working very part-time. My contract was only 20%, but at least there was money coming in, and I took on a bunch of private music students, too. Then I moved on to the high school, where I was at 33%, then 50%, and my income grew even more. In these three years, I started a system in which every week I put money into my savings account. First it would be ten or twenty dollars, but as my income grew, so did my weekly deposit. Now that I'm full-time, I can put $100 a week away without batting an eyelash.

I also started slowly chipping away at my credit card debt, making more than the minimum payment religiously each month. celebrating every time I dipped below another number in the 1,000s spot.

So, where am I now?

This week, I officially passed the $5,000 mark in my savings account. It's the most I've ever had in that account in my whole life, and I pretty much refuse to touch it unless there's an emergency. I did use $800 of my savings back in October to pay for my London trip, but otherwise, everything else related to that adventure was paid for out of my checking account.

When I got my tax return last week, I put $300 of it towards my credit card--an extra payment this month--and with my next payment on April 1st, I will officially be below $1,000 in what I owe.

I have debt, of course--roughly $22,000 for my new car, but I'm paying about $50 more each month than I have to.

My credit score has been steadily increasing--though it dipped briefly when I bought the car in November.

I'm so damned pleased with myself, I often walk out into the living room to brag to Mom and Dad about my finances.

This means, of course, that it's time for a new adventure. My job is going well--I like it there, they like me, we all talk about my being there for a while yet, so knock on wood--and I am ready to have my own place again. Thing is, renting around here is expensive, and it would be cheaper to be making a monthly mortgage payment. So tomorrow, I'm going to call a mortgage broker--my friend Sarah's uncle--to get that ball rolling, and I hope, soon, to be talking to a realtor about my options for buying a condo.

Imagine that. Meg, a homeowner. I could paint the walls and build shelves in. I don't want a yard, as I prefer to keep the time and money I'd spent on maintaining it for my travel fund, but a patio with some potted plants would be lovely. If I can swing it, price-wise, a second bedroom with a pull-out sofa and space for my card-making. Lots of bookcases. New living room furniture (I junked my old set last year--it had been destroyed by the late Harley Dude and was never the most comfortable furniture, anyway). And kitties. A pair of bonded rescue kitties to love and find joy in.

But first, I have to qualify for a loan.

Still, I love possibilities, and this definitely presents possibilities. A friend of mine with slightly less income is a homeowner in this area, so why not?

It feels good to finally be a grownup. To take a trip to London without it hurting my bottom line. To know I can pay for my new car and also entertain the idea of buying a home. To no longer need endless stuff because I can see my money going towards more useful endeavors. Hell, I'm even thinking of opening an IRA.

I had to grow up sometime. ; )

Out Of the Fog

Golden Gate Bridge, foggy morning.

April started off on a bad note, with Echo passing away and all of the associated stress of attending her funeral, grieving the relationship I wish I could have had with her, and then feeling behind in everything else when I got back from Idaho. Our whole household has been a bit down in the last few weeks, and while I wouldn't attribute all of it to that one event, I'd certainly say that it was a factor in determining our reactions to everything else over the weeks since.

I've been more easily annoyed lately, less inclined to be social. At choir rehearsals I would stick my phone in my face as I waited for things to get started, then spend our break time back at it. The poor lady next to me would try to chat and I'd nod and smile vacantly, before rudely turning back to Facebook, or Twitter, or Instagram. I just didn't have the capacity to chit-chat and be cheerful, for the most part.

For most of the month, I was also staring down May with a growing feeling of dread. Job training, choir concerts, private lessons, teaching, a Spring Musical, etc. etc. etc. I've been so nervous about making my Spring concert and musical at Petite School a knock-down success, that I've almost made myself a wreck worrying about all the stuff that can go wrong. In the end, it's not worth it. A performer could get the flu, forget a line, whatever, and you know what? The show will go on. It just will. I am the only person making myself stressed by the high expectations set by the previous music teacher. Everyone else is being incredibly supportive and awesome, including my principal, who helps kids with lines, offers encouragement, and generally does her best to make sure I feel supported and serene.

Something seems to be turning, though, and I couldn't be happier. Suddenly, it's May--I couldn't put it off forever. The calendar has a way of moving forward whether we want it to or not.

I attended my job training on Saturday, and after getting up early and leaving at 6 AM, I found that the training itself was actually a lot of fun, and my summer colleagues will be a great group to work with.

I found that I actually do have "me" time this month--maybe not as much as usual, but what time I have, I'm using wisely by not trying to get everything done. I'm allowing myself to read, to relax.

Last night, I arrived at choir early, to buy a couple of tickets for my parents. I found myself chatting with one of our board members. He doesn't sing, but he attends every rehearsal and watches us put our music together. We shared how the process brings us just as much joy--if not more--than the actual performance. The performance is thrilling, empowering. But the weekly rehearsal, where 160 people gather just for the simple joy of making music, is where the true joy in choir lies.

In the hallway, a crowd had gathered, waiting for the choir room to open up (there's a class that lets out twenty minutes or so before we meet). I chatted with a fellow soprano, and asked if I could scratch her service dog's ears (she said yes and the dog happily allowed me lots of ear-scritches). Before I knew it, rehearsal was starting and I hadn't once looked at my phone--except to make sure it was on silent mode.

We sang all of the music we will be singing in our upcoming concert (I'm not above begging my local friends to come to this--Lest We Forget, a salute to our armed forces). As we worked our way through Ralph Vaughn Williams' stunning Dona Nobis Pacem last night, an incredible joy swept over me. I have loved this piece since we started singing it in March, but last night, it clicked. It's there, it's ready. Just a few things to fine-tune, and a chance to practice it with our orchestra, and we are going to blow the audience away on May 18.

The end of the piece is an incredibly uplifting refrain of "good will toward men," and I found myself smiling as I sang, responding to the smile on Don's face as he directed us. I didn't think about Big Bad Musical, or my giant To Do List. Gone were thoughts of petty dramas in my life, or worries about this, that, and the other. I was simply happy to be there, singing this gorgeous piece of music...happy to finally feel some of the fog of April lifting off my shoulders. 

When the fog lifts, the Golden Gate is at its best.

Being Mine

And so, it's Valentine's Day. All over Facebook, the declarations of love are interspersed with the jokes about overrated holidays, being perpetually single, and even the rambling whines of people wishing they had someone to receive flowers from, to cuddle with over champagne and strawberries, someone to make them feel worthwhile on this holiday designed to make those of us without Cupid's arrow lodged solidly in our behinds feel like something is missing.

Here's an idea: Be your own damn Valentine.

This is my 34th Valentine's Day as a single woman. That's right. None of my adventures in dating have ever actually coincided with February 14th. But I'm not bitter, because I figured something out--it's not about a supposedly romantic day in the middle of February; it's about experiencing and appreciating love in all of its incredible forms throughout the year. And most importantly, in the last four years especially, I've learned to love myself.

I can almost hear you rolling your eyes. "Yeah, yeah," you're thinking. "This is what single women say on Valentine's Day to save face." Maybe some do, but this woman doesn't. Because I've fought tooth and nail for a long time now to simply love myself enough as I am, and I refuse to let Hallmark tell me any differently.

Today, I celebrate the massive amounts of love I have in my life. Love for my family, who show me every single day that they love me by supporting my dreams and goals, and cheering me on as I decide to sing in a choir, run a 5K, lose 90 pounds, teach in England, be my quirky, adventure-seeking self.

I love my friends, who somehow aren't embarrassed when they're at a beach or a bar with me and I pull out a silly rubber duck for a photo op. The friends who listen to me go on about the guys I'm into or the drama in my life. The guy friend who cheers me on as I become even stronger, and the guy I've dated a bit recently who tells me he likes my brain as much as he likes my looks.

I love the demanding little torbie who insists on getting attention on her own timetable, and I still love the destructive little dork of a ginger I lost in November. I love Mom's sweet little cats.

Every single day, I'm surrounded by love. I don't feel like I'm lacking in any way on Valentine's Day.

And today, I celebrate being my own. I ran a nine-minute mile for the first time in ages (after a recent ho-hum slump in my running) and gloried in the love I feel for my body when I'm working that hard. As I near the four-year anniversary of my first tentative steps into a better lifestyle, I think about how I went from someone who hated seeing pictures of herself, who avoided mirrors--a lady who felt nasty when she sweat--and how I've turned it around to a point where I'm proud of my body, with its muscles and it's fat spots and its abilities.

This is the first Valentine's Day in my whole adult life, really, where I feel fine about being single for it. I feel no need to make it "Singles Awareness Day" or to lament that I'm not in a relationship...because I know, finally, that every day, I'm surrounded by people who care about me in big ways, in small ways. And because of this, I find just...being mine...is so much easier.

Settle Down, Ms. Hyper!

So, the awesome news is that a couple of weeks ago, I started a new teaching gig. I've taken on a ton of private piano and voice students at a local place that offers music lessons, dance classes, karate and other martial arts, after school care, personal training, plyometrics...I think I got it all.

It's sort of a one-stop shopping for busy families. I have one student who has a dance class then walks over to the music room for her piano lesson in her leotard, tights and hoodie.

The bad news is that I'm now pretty much on the go six days a week, what with my gym workouts (three days a week), teaching at this new place (three days a week--including all day Saturday), Sac Choral (Monday nights), and Petite School (all day every Friday). It always takes me a week or two (or twelve) to settle into a new schedule so while I'm loving the work itself, and, obviously, the extra income it provides, I'm also sort of whirling around and trying to go in twelve directions at once.

Which is why, instead of being relaxed in bed right now (9:15 on Wednesday evening) with my book, getting ready for my 5:15 wake-up call to drive to Petite School to put some extra time in doing auditions for the Spring Musical, I'm sitting at my computer...blogging.

Don't worry, I'll knock it off with the constant parenthetical statements in a moment (you think it's exhausting reading it, try talking to me in person these days--my mind is in six different time zones) and go to bed.

The really, really, really awesome, great, fantastic, incredible news is that on Day Four of my new pill, my hormones seem to be regulating and I'm not MOODY anymore. I feel pretty even-keeled and the crying-over-nothing is going away. I don't feel like snapping at everyone, and actually found myself smiling and being really friendly to people at the post office today--normally a place that inspires me to snarl and bare my teeth at people.

I'm not on drugs, just a lower dose of estrogen.

To add to the load and prove that I really am crazy, I'm starting a new path that goes with one of my intentions for 2013--the one that says I ought to get certified as a personal trainer. My friend Matt (the Reasonable, and I'm not going to refer to him as "my trainer" anymore because he is simply my friend now--albeit a friend I ask fitness advice of and brag to when I do something awesome like leg-press 150 pounds, which I did today, thankyouverymuch) seems excited that I want to get certified and has recommended a couple of starting points for me before I go through the actual certification process.

So in addition to teaching, more teaching, choir, practicing music, working out, running, trying to be social, and running my not-so-profitable eBay and Etsy shops, I'm now reading a lofty tome called Movement: Functional Movement Systems: Screening, Assessment, Corrective Strategies. Right now it's pretty much all Greek to me, but Matt promises that as I start to understand it more, and as he shows me a little bit of how it all works in practice, I'll really get it. For now, it's about as enlightening as getting beaned on the head with a brick, but I know I'll get there in time.


Though if the author states one more time that, "This book is about movement," I may hunt him down and bean him on the head with my Kindle.

So there you have it. My body is tired but my brain is whirring. I think I'll cozy up in bed with my Kindle. Five minutes of Movement ought to have me snoozing in no time. ; )

The Week In Review

So obviously, good things happened this week--namely, I finally saw that elusive goal weight on the scale, after three-and-a-half years of hard work, determination, and yes, even self-doubt from time to time. There were other stories from this week, too, that I want to share--some related to my achievement, others not.


The BEST Moment of the Week

Obviously, seeing 130 on the scale was pretty awesome, but it wasn't the best part of hitting goal weight. Bells didn't ring and angels didn't come out of the skies singing the Hallelujah Chorus. The gym just kept piping out its rock music and everyone around me did their thing while I stared at the scale in disbelief, my heart pounding.

But that wasn't the very best moment--that was just the moment of truth. The best moment was when I got to show the picture on my iPhone to Matt, knowing that after all these months, and all of the support he's given me, he'd be so very happy for me. Sharing that moment with someone who has seen me through the last forty pounds, and breaking through the wall with my running, was awesome. I can't remember exactly what he said initially (knowing Matt it was either, "Excellent!" or "YES!!" accompanied by a big smile), but I do remember him standing up from his chair, opening his arms and saying, "Come here, I need to give you a hug."

It was a huge moment in my journey, and I'm glad I have such an awesome friend to share it with.

The NOT BEST Moment of the Week

Completely unrelated to fitness and goal weight, the worst moment this week came on Thursday afternoon as I drove down Highway 65 just before rush hour. Going about 70 mph with cars stacked up behind me, I had no choice but to run over the pigeon that foolishly landed in my lane.  

Stupid, stupid bird.

I admit to crying over that stupid pigeon. I don't set out to kill wildlife.

Triumph, Tears and Rosie Pro -- A Moment I Won't Forget

As I celebrated with Matt at the gym on Wednesday, a couple of times I felt like I might cry--I was just so happy. My heart was pounding for a few minutes while my achievement sunk in.

A little while later, in the car, I was scrolling through songs on a mix CD when I got to "The Fighter" by Gym Class Heroes. I've been listening to this while running a lot lately, and it resonates with me.

Give me scars, give me pain
That's when they'll say to me, say to me, say to me
There goes the fighter...

As the song started, suddenly, three-and-a-half years of work, of learning to believe, and all of that emotion and pride came rushing to the surface and I burst into a wild mix of sobbing tears and delighted laughter. If anyone else on the freeway noticed the crazy woman driving a Mazda Protege while hysterically laughing and crying, I'm sure they wondered what was going on.

Nothing, nothing...just a thirty-four-year-old woman finally realizing how strong she is.

The Very Satisfying G. the Meanie Moment

While Matt has been the trainer who fine-tuned me these last several months, and I've been thanking him all over the place this week, there's also good ole G. the Meanie to consider in this. Gershom dragged my bratty self into being an athlete in the first place (I was not always very nice to him) and I have a lot to thank him for. So I sent him a message via Facebook:

Gershom and I don't communicate regularly, even though we are Facebook friends, but I knew he'd be proud of me, and it was very satisfying to send this and get a response.

The "I Love My Job" Moment

Yesterday I told two kinder teachers about a couple of behavior problems I'd had in their classes' music session, letting them know that two children, in particular, had misbehaved to the point where I had to remove them from the fun for a few minutes. I also told them that the rest of the class was a dream, and I felt so bad to stop the music lesson just because two children weren't making the right choices.

Even as I deal with a little bit of silly behavior (they're five, they are wiggly, and they are still practically babies), I look around that room at these children and realize I'm having a blast being back in the classroom.

My third graders composed four-bar melodies yesterday, using solfege to select pitches, and quarter notes and eighth notes for rhythm. I gave them some pretty good guidelines so they could be successful at this activity, and every single pair did a smashing job. There was very little confusion. Questions were cleared up quickly. The pairs worked cooperatively with no bickering. This would never happen in a public school setting.

And my choir? They continue to be awesome.

That Badass Moment 

Today at run club, everyone was cooling down. I ran less than most everyone else, so I stopped jogging and did some stretching. I put my heel up on the edge of a tall ledge on the bleachers, so my foot was about level with my shoulders, stretching my whole leg. It's not an easy move for me, but it's one I couldn't do three years ago, for sure.

Our "coach" jogged by me and called out, "I'm pulling a hamstring just watching you!"

I may not be the fastest runner in our little Saturday morning group (actually, I am the slowest) but damnit, I'm strong, and I'm flexible!

The Hottie Moment

So I met a guy on OkCupid who isn't a rampaging lunatic or wanting to plan our camping excursion to Yellowstone on the first date. Wahoo! We met in person a week ago and he's quite nice. We've been texting back and forth, and we have had a frank discussion about what we want--friendship, dating, but no drama and really not a serious relationship. We both want to get out and have fun (and for us, this will include working out together).

It's perfect, because I'm not really in the position to give him more right now (long story) and I just want to get out more and maybe have an excuse to dress up a bit from time to time.

Anyway, I was texting back and forth with him on Thursday evening and I mentioned that I was at the mall  and had fallen in love with a dress. "Send a pic!" was his response, so I sent him this one and was promptly told how great I looked. And that he had other adjectives best left for "in person." I asked him to throw one at me.

"Banging," he replied.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have a banging body.

The Knee-High Boots Moment

For years now--years--I've wanted a pair of knee-high boots.  I can remember shopping for them in England in 2004, and being unable to find a pair I could fit over my calves. For the longest time, I just didn't seem to be able to find them. Last year, I found that they'd fit over my runner's calves, but I didn't have the money to indulge.

This week, I found a darling pair, with just the right heel, at Sears on sale. They fit with room enough for a pair of skinny jeans.

I finally have my knee-high boots, and this makes me happy.

The Moment I Realized...

That I really am blessed right now. I have some wonderful friends, supportive family (my parents are fully behind my latest plan, which is to get certified as a personal trainer) and lots of great opportunities. I'm just trying to be grateful and to appreciate what I have.

Hip Hugs

Yesterday was my second teaching day at Petite School. I admit I was tired, and not quite as enthusiastic to be there, as I've been recovering from a slight cold this week. But the day went very well, and my small charges continue to be fabulous.

Imagine playing your clarinet for a room full of fourth grade students when a young girl's hand goes up. I thought I was ready for any question a child can throw at me, but I was not, for a million years, expecting what came out of her mouth:

"Can you play any Dvorak?"

A fourth grader knowing Dvorak! Of course these kids have heard of Beethoven and Mozart...but Antonin Dvorak? Completely charmed and surprised, I told her I've played some of his music in the past, but I can't recall it from memory.

At break, I was chatting with my boss, and relayed this story and my amazement. She just smiled and said with a laugh, "Welcome to Petite!"

I had to get a bit mean with my 2nd graders. They are wonderful--bright and eager to please--but they are so chatty! There is so much to say in 2nd grade, so I had to finally stop and give them a little talking-to about being disappointed that I couldn't teach without being interrupted constantly. The glum faces and guilty silence almost made me cry out, "I'm so sorry to lecture you!!" but I know that being strict, and making my expectations clear from the very beginning, is exactly what will make these kids learn in my class.

My day flew by in a whirlwind of being on my feet, singing, being on my knees on the floor with rhythm cards, clapping, rhythm-making, and general musical melee. I loved every minute of it...and I was exhausted at the end of the day!

As I left at the end of the day, wearily pulling my rolling cart full of goodies out to my car, I passed the After School Care kids, playing on the tiny playground. Between the school office and my car, I was stopped for no less than five hip hugs from tiny music-lovers.

It's good to be back.

Boxes

In May 2010, I packed up my personal belongings, kept in a Stockton classroom for two years, and loaded them in to Rosie Pro. As I loaded the last box, tears started falling down my cheeks. I am not a person who likes to hold on to anger, and it is very rare for me to loathe a person, but that afternoon, I loathed the woman who had put me in this position. I was so angry that one administrator in all my years of teaching could evaluate me poorly simply because she didn't like me, or something about how I chose to teach. That one woman's meanness could put me out of a job I loved.

I was never ineffective. I was a good teacher. I know that now.

When the last box was packed, I drove away. The boxes took up residence in my closet at home, in the hopes that I'd need them again soon.

They've collected dust for two years.

Since August of last year, they've been piled up in my storage unit. Recently, I went to the storage unit to sort through some of my books. In a box of music books, I found a couple of paper lanterns and a paper dragon that I've had since my very first teaching job--ten years. My Chinese New Year lesson has always been one of my favorites, and when I pulled those well-loved artifacts out of the box, I felt a pang of sadness that they'd been packed away so long, unused, not needed. I wondered if I'd have a chance to use them again.

I hadn't the heart to let go of them.

Then, of course, this last week, I was offered a job, teaching music at a small K-8 private school. On Thursday, I met with the principal to sign the paperwork (there is always endless paperwork when you take on a teaching job) and get a tour of the school (which took all of 10 minutes--it really is a small school!). Before I left, I looked at my new boss--still nervous about her, still wondering if she would be a good admin or a bad one--and mentioned my excitement at retrieving my teaching supplies from my storage. "I love to do a lesson each year for Chinese New Year."

I hoped this would impress her.

Her face lit up. "We have a big Chinese New Year celebration every year! Oh, Mrs. _____ is going to faint when she finds out that you love doing music lessons for it."

All I could do was grin like a fool and say, "I can't wait to talk to her!"

This week, I plan to stop by my storage unit to dig out those dusty boxes, and bring them home to Mom and Dad's house so I can go through them. I will reacquaint myself with my tiny percussion instruments, tune my little autoharp, and dig around to remember what I've got. There may be a happy tear or two as I think about how happy I am for the opportunity that lies ahead of me.

I'm a teacher again. : )

iHappy

My birthday is two months from Tuesday, but I got my present tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, I am no longer using a Dumb Phone. I have an iPhone!

And I love it.

I've already set up Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and I'm set.

Love, love, love. As soon as I figure out how to make my ringtone a Keane song, life will be really, really good.

Joy

I hardly know where to start. I'm sitting here at the computer, bawling. The ugly kind of crying that involves a lot of nose-blowing and red, puffy eyes and surely a fierce headache if I don't knock it off.

I'm so happy right now. But I can't stop bawling.

I'm coming up on two full years of unemployment. I left Stockton Unified at the end of May in 2010, confident that I would find a job fairly quickly. Sure, the economy sucked, but I had eight years of teaching (nine if you counted subbing and student teaching) under my belt and I'd done awesome things like teach in England and run a choir program. Who wouldn't want me?

Well, it turns out, no one did.

I know I came close many times. I just always ended up getting edged out by someone with a little bit more experience, or with slightly better interview skills, perhaps. It's all well and good to come close, but "close" doesn't pay the rent.

So I forged ahead on unemployment. It kept he rent paid--in the year I lived in Stockton with my benefits, I was only late paying rent one time, and that was because the Independence Day holiday delayed my check from arriving in time for me to turn in my rent payment.

Living on unemployment has been one of the most humbling experiences of my life. Going two years, searching for job opportunities and being turned down by Target--Target!!--has been humbling. It is not easy on my huge Leo pride to go to interview after interview after interview and come back with nothing to show for it.

Moving back in with Mom and Dad at age 33 wasn't the easiest thing, either. It's been an adjustment for all of us, and believe me, I know I am one lucky, lucky woman to have parents who will allow her to be a "boomerang child." They are nothing but supportive, and have remained so through this whole crazy year of more interviews, more rejections, the Great Insurance Debacle of 2012, and more.

On Saturday, I interviewed for a job with an arts camp that is designed for ESL (English as a Second Language) kids here in the Sacramento area. It's funny; I left the house feeling like my lesson plan was weak, but a busy week and a hectic weekend of choir rehearsals and concert call times had me almost not even caring anymore. I just wanted to survive Saturday so I could spend Sunday afternoon napping.

But the most amazing thing happened--I got to the interview and suddenly realized that my lesson was everything the ladies on the panel wanted; that my approach--less emphasis on fancy-schmancy music terms and more focus on just learning the English language--was what they wanted. And that my attitude, my love for working with kids, and my experiences of working with kids from many different backgrounds and cultures, were huge marks in my favor, as well. I left the interview feeling very positive, after the panel told me they loved what I had to say, they loved my lesson, and were very interested.

I walked out of that interview knowing that this was exactly what I wanted...and yet so afraid to hope that after two years of "almost" and "it was close, but we hired someone else," I might actually get this job.

A few minutes ago, I received the following message in my email:

We are pleased to let you know, that we have selected you as Music Instructor, on our ESL Arts Advantage team, for the upcoming summer camps. We are still waiting for the numbers to come in so we can send you official offer letters with more details in regards to your positions. Please bear with us, we cannot rush the process, and we appreciate your patience.

If you have secured another position or are not interested in accepting this position please let us know. We need to fill each position and want to know if you would like to join our team. 

Friends...I read this and I promptly burst into those noisy, snotty, obnoxious tears. Two years of applying for jobs, writing letters, driving insane miles for interviews (Salinas, King City? I would have moved there had I been offered the jobs). Two years of uncertainty. Two years of choosing between paying the electric bill or having a little extra on hand for gas for the car this week. And finally, finally, someone wants to hire me.

Two years of feeling like no one would ever want to hire me to teach again. Because it seemed like no matter how good I looked on paper, no matter how enthusiastic and knowledgeable I came across in an interview, I couldn't get past the non-reelect, or the time of unemployment.

This job is not a permanent job--it is only temporary. But in terms of how it will build my confidence, just being hired again, and how it will look to have current employment on my resume, it is huge. A very big deal. The panel said there could possibly be an opportunity for the job to become a more permanent thing as the company grows; if so, that's great. If not, I have that oh-so-important current working experience, and a new, valuable reference on my resume.

So yes, I cried uncontrollably and soaked through half a box of tissue. I am feeling so much joy, and yet so overwhelmed by it. So all I could do for a few minutes was sob. I've managed to calm down now...I just can't explain how it is to go two years, starting to face that you may never be hired to teach music again.

This doesn't stop my job search. But it does make me confident that a position in a school could become available to me...I'm making things happen!

Busy

I've had a sudden spurt of busy-ness, doing some more volunteer work, ramping up the job search even more, promoting my eBay sales and my Etsy shop (I'm having a sale! Use the code SUMMERFUN to get 25% off!) and just keeping as busy as possible. Then there's working out, keeping the apartment clean and the healthy food prepared, and having mandatory afternoon snuggles on the couch with Millie and Harley.

It feels good. I'm feeling positive and productive and useful. This makes me happy.





Oh, and Richard of Keane Re-Tweeted me again today. This makes me happy, too. (The $184 was supposed to have an "m" after it for million. Oops. Well, he got it, anyway!)

Swinging

Photo Credit: http://jeope.blogspot.com/2007/06/swing-high.html

I can't really put my finger on why, but I've been struggling lately. I've alluded to this in recent posts; I'm afraid of my depression returning, and I've been feeling a bit anxious about life and all of its associated madness.

I've been clawing like crazy to keep out of the pit. I've run every day this week, and used the cycle at the gym. I set a goal to hit 75 miles in one week, and as of today, I'm at 48. Not bad! I will meet, and probably exceed, my goal, by Sunday.

But still, my mood has been swinging back and forth between feeling sort of sad, like nothing great or exciting is ever going to happen to me again, and elation. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's just something I need to claw my way out of. I don't know.

But today, I had a moment of perfect joy.

Out for my run (really, it was mostly walking today--my body wasn't feeling that running vibe) this morning, I passed the same neighborhood park I often pass on my runs. It's maybe half or three-quarters of a mile from my apartment. I thought I'd do some step-up exercises on the bleachers that overlook a baseball diamond. After a few half-hearted steps, I ventured deeper in to the park. I've walked by it many times, but only once before have I ventured into it.

In the distance, someone was throwing a ball for their dog, but otherwise, the park was empty. The gray skies and low fog were keeping sensible people indoors. I tried out the low balance beam in the fitness area, but then my eyes turned to the playground, and I had a sudden urge. It's been so long, you see, since I've played on the swings.

My mind set, I walked over to the swingset. I sat down and pushed off, slowly extending my legs and bending them to set the swing in motion. As I started gaining height, my iPod switched to a new song--my favorite song, Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know." I went higher and higher, a grin splitting my face, knowing one of those moments of perfect joy that can happen on a foggy morning in winter.

Thanksgiving 2010

I'd like to propose a toast.

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. It's not just about the food, it's about setting aside a day to think about the good things we have, the blessings in our lives. I am fortunate to have many, many blessings, and today is a day for me to be appreciative.

So I propose a toast to...

1. My family

It's been a tough year, but I have two awesome allies in the craziness--Mom and Dad. They have been nothing but supportive of me, even as I decided to tough out the unemployment in Stockton instead of saving money by moving home. They have helped me, they have watched my cats, they have not questioned my decisions.

I can't tell you how wonderful they are to me; they're pretty awesome parents and I love them very much.

And, of course, Millie and Harley, my furkids. They keep me happy, healthy and sane. Well, mostly sane (she typed as a certain 13-pound ginger feline raced across the desk, over her arms, to the kitchen counter in a flurry of kitty madness). Both are healthy, both are happy, and for this, I am thankful.

2. My friends

Where do I start? I'll start with Summer. We celebrated our 10th Friend-o-versary this year, and marvelled at how much we've been through together since college. Through moves to San Diego (her) and England (me) and Napa (her) and Washington (me) and Oakland (her) and Stockton (me), we've remained friends. This year she accompanied me to our second Keane concert, and she never once got frustrated with my over-excitement or my constant gushing. She even waited in the cold with me--in downtown Oakland, I might add--so that I could meet Richard. That's friendship. We were freezing. And did I mention it was downtown Oakland?

I have made some awesome new friends this year, through Keane. It started in July, when I noticed that I seemed to be interacting with a gal named Maayan a lot at the fan forum. I sent her a private message to thank her for being so welcoming. Before I knew it, we were constantly going back-and-forth all over the forum, excited for our chances to see the guys live again (me in Oakland, CA and her in Brooklyn, NY). The day after she went to the Brooklyn gig, she asked if she could have my phone number, as she had a question for me. She was worried about sounding like a stalker, but I just laughed and gave her my number. She called later and we found that yes, we can both talk a mile a minute. Her question? "How would you like something that was signed 'To Meg from Richard?'" A few days later, my autographed tour book arrived in the mail and we've been pretty much maintaining a very loud Wall of Sound across the USofA since then (people in Nebraska have started asking us to keep it down).

Then there's Lindsay in Michigan, Amanda in Holland, Sarah in England, Annie in New York (who came to San Francisco to see Mt. Desolation and Mumford and Sons and didn't once get embarrassed that I had a rubber ducky with me) and many others who have made me laugh, made me smile, built me up as friends do.

There's Meghan, Monterey-day-tripper extraordinaire. My Jezebel friends keep me in touch with my feminist side. My blogger friends, Lisa, Alana, Sara--their comments always make me smile.

My Chorale family--Gigi, Dianne, Robin and Randy (new friends!), and so many others. These people are a joy to know, a joy to sing with.

I have fellow crazy cat ladies in Marian and Diane, and the other wonderful volunteers I interact with through AFC. They understand my love of these wonderful animals, and they work so very hard to find homes for cats and kittens. I'm honored to be part of the good fight.

I lost a friend this year. I was, essentially, friend-dumped. The details are ridiculous. But now that I'm looking back on it, I'm thankful that I'm no longer tip-toeing around her, and I'm thankful that I don't have to pretend that I think her husband is a nice guy. I'm thankful that I had her in my life when things were good (back in 2004-2007). And I'm thankful that getting dumped by her didn't damage my self-esteem, as it might have a few years ago.

3. Speaking of self-esteem...

I haz it!

This year, more than any year in the past 15 years, I can honestly look in the mirror, or see a picture of myself, and think, "Hey, you're cute!"

I've come such a long way in my self-acceptance this year. I still have moments of uncertainty, but honestly, I haven't felt this good in a long time. I'm strong. I'm healthy. I'm confident. I'm still getting the third degree from Gershom every week or two, and while I grumble and groan at him about it, I'm actually glad he cares enough to threaten to weigh me in January.

Gah.

4. My health

Aside from one terrifying ER trip and a week spent recovering from sudden-onset bronchitis, I'm enjoying the best health of my life. I attribute it to my working out and healthier eating habits.

5. Time

Let's face it--I don't love being unemployed. But I'm a silver-lining kind of gal and one of the best parts of being jobless this school year has been having some time to reevaluate. I'm searching for work, but I'm also using the time to explore other possibilities.

I have time to cook from scratch, and time to make pretty things. I have time to cuddle with my cats, and time to get a good, hard workout in. I have time to volunteer with AFC and Chorale. I have time to sell things on eBay and Etsy. I have time to keep my apartment clean, time to spend with my parents, time to bake for a bake sale. Time to send snail mail. Time to learn Keane songs on the piano--hell, time to play my piano.

I'm enjoying every minute of it. Next fall, I will be working again.

.......................................

So today, I raise my glass and propose a toast. To family and friends who warm the heart and soothe the soul. To health, to happiness, to making time.

What are YOU thankful for today?

Simple Pleasures

I have a lot of time on my hands these days, and not a whole lot of money. What's a girl to do to keep from going insane from boredom? Well, I've been finding pleasure in the simple things, in a little bit of a simpler life. Here are some of the things I've been doing to scale back, save money, and have something to do besides sitting in front of my computer waiting for emails and Facebook activity. Because really, a girl could drive herself bananas.

1. Food

Hey, I've gotta eat, right? And eat healthily. I've also got to keep the grocery bills to a minimum, so I've been getting creative. There is something satisfying in the act of being creative in the kitchen--both in terms of health and in finances.

Lunch is cheese--I buy the cheap blocks and cut it myself (cue "cutting the cheese jokes in 5, 4, 3...)--with crackers, half an apple, a bunch of grapes and a couple of hard-boiled eggs. It doesn't sound like much, but it's filling and delicious.

I've stopped buying the bags of salad and spinach and I'm simply buying the much cheaper bunches, washing them myself, and using them up. A bag of pre-washed spinach at my market is $3.49. If I buy a bunch that I have to wash and cut up myself, it's $1.49, and there's more to it. I bought some today to make spinach and asparagus quiche, and some homemade spinach and artichoke dip.

Taking the time to wash and prep food gives me something productive to do, and it makes me think about what I'm eating and how much I'm putting in my mouth each day. I save money, and I keep up with my healthy eating goals.

2. Snail Mail

I had to buy a bunch of stamps the other day. Every two weeks I have to mail a form back to EDD to keep claiming my unemployment checks. The nearest outgoing mailbox to my apartment is just next to my grocery store (on the way to the gym) so I've gotten in the habit of taking my mail there as I walk to the gym in the morning. I love having a bunch of letters to put in the box--I've always loved sending and receiving snail mail, and I'm getting back in the habit of sending notes and cards again. Postcards for my brother (he collects, and I just finally found some Stockton cards!), letters and cards to friends, etc. So if I have your address, be on the lookout for snail mail.

There's something so lovely and personal about getting a card or letter. My friend Maayan was so pleased to get a thank-you note from me (hey, she got Richard's autograph for me!!) because it came with a Visa bill. Obviously, she needed a pick-me-up.

I even enjoy the process of addressing an envelope, and putting the stamp on just so.

3. Creativity

I got some stamps out today and made a card for a friend. It wasn't anything overly fancy, but it felt good to make something. I've taken a week or so off from my scrapbooking, and I think I'll get that out again soon. It makes me happy to be creative and make pretty things. Maybe I'll even make some cards to sell on Etsy.

4. Volunteering

My work with Animal Friends Connection is a godsend. I still clean cages at PetCo every Sunday morning, and I've even taken to offering to fill in for people who can't make their normal cleaning times. I know that it's just a little thing, but it's helping people who are helping the cats. And I get to cuddle the little sweeties who need some affection and attention.

Fostering the Peanuts gang was wonderful, of course, and I fully expect to see them soon, once they're all spayed and neutered. They'll be so big now, and I can't wait to see if Charlie Brown is still sweet, Lucy still sassy and talkative, Snoopy still the leader of the pack, and Linus still a little shy.

In other volunteer opportunities, I have been asked (begged, even) to come help out in the classroom of a lady who is in Chorale with me. She teaches 5th grade, and would love to have me in to tutor some of her kids. I worked with her husband at one of my school sites last year, and he told her I was very good with the kids. Her principal (also involved with Chorale) told me other teachers at the school would be happy to have some help, too. It would keep me working with kids, it would get me out of the apartment, and I could probably get an excellent letter of recommendation out of doing it. Win-win, for sure.

5. Blogging

I've been a little lax this last week--just not much to blog about. I go through ups and downs of blogging. Some weeks I can hardly stop, and I churn out a dozen posts in a few days, and others, I'm a dry well, looking for inspiration.

6. Movies

Obviously, it's too expensive to go to just any movie at the cinema (but Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows? I'll be there WITH BELLS ON. Count on it!). And part of me wondered if I could justify paying $20 a month for my Blockbuster membership.

I can. For $20 a month I can rent unlimited movies online, have them mailed to my home, and mail them back without paying any postage. This afternoon, I watched Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn in "The African Queen," which I'd never seen. It was marvelous.

7. Chorale

Chorale had a fundraiser last night. For $25, we had tons of hors d'ouvers and wine while listening to a jazz singer and her backing trio. She was a little flat (I was not the only person to say this) but I was surrounded by some of the wonderful people from Chorale, who I hadn't seen since May.

On Tuesday, we are having our first-ever Summer Sing--it's an informal night for old members to come start learning the music for this fall, and for people who are curious about Chorale to come see what its about. Our season will start in earnest right after Labor Day, and I can hardly wait. After the long summer off, I'm ready to dust off my vocal cords (I sing at home all the time, but not in my very high voice) and get my Mozart on. We're doing his famous Requiem this fall with the symphony, and it promises to be amazing. We're also welcoming our new artistic director, Magen Solomon (great name, even if she mixed up her vowels, eh?). She's amazing--an excellent communicator and vocal instructor from what I've seen so far.

So Chorale will be a much-needed outlet this year. I'm just happy that I get to have a third year with them.

8. Keane

Whenever I go through transitions in life, I tend to develop obsessions. It's a pattern. When I left college, it was NASCAR. This summer, it's definitely Keane. Though I've been absolutely loving their music for over a year now.

So yes, there are silly blog posts like the one down yonder using song titles, and I spend perhaps a bit more time than I should reading the forum at their official web page. I've also taken up writing Keane Haiku on Twitter--some of my Keane friends and I are having a ton of fun with that. It's another creative outlet--I love word play.

Some of my best so far:

9. Tea. Lots and lots of tea.

I've been drinking so much tea lately, I'm surpised I haven't floated away.

What I'm loving about this strange cool summer we're having is that I can drink hot tea and not sweat it out five minutes later. I've taken to drinking a small pot with my lunch each afternoon. When it is warm enough outside that I need my air conditioner, hot tea is actually very nice.

10. Creative Spending

Thanks to birthday money and my most recent unemployment checks, I overpaid a few bills, have plenty for September rent, and have a little stashed away in savings. If I'm frugal at the grocery store, and keep my trips there to once a week (with maybe one other trip to pick up fresh apples and such), then I can keep my spending to a minimum. I walk to the gym and run my errands all together to save gas--and Rosie Pro is very good with gas economy.

I find I have enough left over to buy the little necessary things and keep that money in savings untouched. I'm also finding that I can live without "stuff" and be happy buying used books (I have a ton of credit at one place, and they don't even charge you the sales tax. Free books!). I really ought to get a library card, too.

I look for sales, use coupons when I can, and limit myself to necessary stuff only. I find that "living simply" comes easy and isn't too hard on me.


So, you see, I'm managing. I'm actually quite at peace with being unemployed, and figure that if I volunteer at my Chorale friend's school, it will look great on my resume as I continue applying for jobs. There are still music jobs cropping up on Ed-Join from time to time, so all hope for employment is not lost. But with so many people applying for every job, there is a very real chance that I won't find something this school year. I may as well make the best of it, right?

My First Mountain

**Edited to add this link to a previous post on Diablo from The Anxious Traveler" and to remind you that you can make the pictures bigger by clicking them--you can really see more detail that way.**

When I moved to Antioch in 2006, I was surprised to find that pretty much anywhere I went in town, I could find some view of a mountain. It was practically in my back yard (not that I had a yard, living in an apartment, but you get the idea). It was Mount Diablo--Devil Mountain--and ever since my time in Antioch, I have associated that particular devil with anxiety, depression, self-doubt, and a whole host of negative feelings.

For a while now, I've wanted to conquer Diablo. I have wanted to show it--and myself--that I am stronger than I was in Antioch, that I've come a long way. So today, I set out to climb it. Alone. Much to the surprise of everyone from G. the Meanie to Mom and Dad, I wanted--needed--to do this solo.

I needed to climb the mountain--it's possible to get to the summit by car, but I wanted to actually show that mountain just who is in charge, so I parked near Rock City (elevation: approximately 1,450 feet) and caught the summit trail near the main road. The sign showed me I had 3.71 miles to the summit. My goal for the day was to get at least six miles, as I do on the treadmill every Saturday. I figured a 3.71 mile hike to the summit should be relatively easy.

I figured wrong.

It turns out that in addition to conquering this devil mountain, I had to conquer some bad things inside myself, too.

The first hour wasn't so bad. It was muddy from the recent rainstorms, but the elevation changes weren't too bad and the views were marvelous. I got my heart rate going and walked at a fairly brisk pace, stopping only to take pictures.






My shoes were caked with mud, but I had a smile on my face and some interesting signs to read. Apparently Diablo is a geologists fantasy.





The trail was getting more difficult, but I felt like I was really getting somewhere.





Imagine my horrified surprise when I realized, after an hour, that I still had 2 miles left.





There comes a point in any difficult journey--and this was a difficult journey for me--where quitting starts to look good. I had reached it here. I had been walking for a long time, I had a blister on my right heel, and I was still two miles from the summit. How could I possibly make it? I felt defeated. I would walk fifty yards and stop, panting. I would walk another fifty yards. I thought I would never make it to the top at this rate.

The temptation to turn around was so strong. What would it hurt if I turned around, walked the two miles back to my car, and drove to the summit?

It would hurt a lot. Driving to the summit is not conquering the devil, and would only make me doubt myself more than ever. I wanted to see the top of this mountain, and I insisted on doing it by foot. So I put one foot in front of the other and I kept walking.

It's amazing the things that go through your mind at times like this. I was pretty much alone on the trail, so I softly sang to myself: "Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming." I recalled a favorite Mary Engelbreit verse: "So just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and taking your life day by day. There's a brighter tomorrow that's just round the bend. Don't look back--you're not going that way!"

I started comparing myself to Horton the elephant. "I did what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant's faithful, one hundred percent." If Horton could hatch that egg, I can bloody well climb this devil mountain.

On top of all this, I heard G. the Meanie's voice. Asking me if I was going to quit. Telling me to push through the pain. There have been times he's had to put his hand on my back and push me along when we're running. He wasn't there to push me up that mountain--and having him do so wouldn't have been conquering the devil. But everything I've learned about myself since working with him was in my head, so I kept putting one foot in front of the other.

And what do you know, the summit kept getting closer.

The world below was getting farther away. The path was steeper, rockier, narrower. The views were stunning.





I heard two men on the trail behind me, and before long, they overtook me. They were friendly as we nodded and said hello. One, the larger of the two, was panting and red. He gestured to his companion and said, "He's my trainer. His sole purpose in life is to make me suffer."

I had to laugh. "I have one of those back home!"

A few minutes later, I overtook them. We would continue to play leapfrog like this for the rest of the hike. At one of our meetings, I mentioned how I'd wanted to quit a mile or so back. The trainer said, "But you're over halfway there!"

And so I was.

Finally, I was within a half-mile of the top. The trail was its most difficult. I was exhausted.


But I made it.

I. Made. It.

I met up with my trail buddies near the top. We introduced ourselves. Gary and Evan laughed at my excited, "Oh my God!!" as I reached the summit. We shook hands and congratulated ourselves. For Evan, and for myself, the hike was not easy.

I stood at the summit of Mount Diablo and just grinned like a fool. I felt like I owned everything I could see--and I could see a lot. On a perfectly clear day, you can see Sacramento to the north, and Half Dome in Yosemite to the east. These were not visible today, as there was still some cloud cover left over from yesterday's storms. But I could just make out my beloved City By The Bay, and the Golden Gate Bridge. I could see Antioch, and all of the sad times there were made so tiny and insignificant as I looked down at that city from so high. To the east, I could see Stockton and the various waterways that connect it, like arteries, to the East Bay. I could see the farm lands that surround my adopted home. I recalled how six years ago, I couldn't wait to leave California. How four years ago, I was somewhat appalled to come back. How now, I often can't imagine being anywhere else.

It was so very beautiful.





I took a picture of myself with Stockton behind me.

I texted Dad, Summer and G. the Meanie: "I am at the summit of Diablo. 3.71 miles from my car to the top. I made it!" I don't like to bother G. with texts on his weekends, but I wanted to share my accomplishment too much. I immediately received a reply: "Nice, very proud of you. be careful enjoy."

It was cold at the top, and windy. I took refuge in the visitor's center, where the true peak of Diablo is left exposed for people to stand on.


I parted ways with my new trail buddies. They stayed to watch a little film, but I was bursting to get back down the mountain. Suddenly, I wasn't exhausted. I was invigorated. Proud. The devil had tried to make me quit. I didn't let him succeed.

It took me about three hours to get to the top, and an hour-and-a-half to get back down. The going was much, much easier, though I did slip once on a rocky patch. My left foot slid on some rocks and went shooting out from under me. In an amazing move reminiscent of Russian folk dancers, I managed to do a perfect squat with my right leg, regain my balance, and stand back up before my hands or butt hit the ground. The rest of the trail was uneventful and easy...but I was still very glad to see Rosie Pro back at Rock City.

For three years now, I have associated Mount Diablo with anxiety, stress, self-doubt, and a feeling of failure. No more. The minute I stepped foot on the summit, that devil had lost.