Monday, February 3

my left-hand man

That was a pretty good cliffhanger I left you with, eh?

Yes, in a mere five months, I went from answering "How did you guys meet?" to "How's married life?" The first is much easier to answer...he rode a Harley with long salt and pepper curls to a coffee house and into my life. OK, we met online, BUT that is how we met in person. From then, we've spent most every day together until now, except that time I went to circus camp.

And that's how he became my Left-Hand Man. 

So many times love doesn't work out. And then it does. There was no flash of lightening, signaling trumpet or writing in the sky. I just knew he interested me and my interest did not wane. But this excited me so much I lost 10lbs in two weeks and woke up one morning to text my mom that I was going to marry this guy. Thankfully he agreed... over the phone, while returning ink cartridges to Target. I dare anyone to challenge his multi-tasking skills.

Falling in love with Left-Hand Man was like a quiet, but growing hum. It wasn't bells, whistles, or grand gestures. It was coming home. We had so much in common, it became redundant to express an opinion or preference. I found myself saying "me too" so often I worried he would think I was trying too hard. 

We have each lived quite a bit of life up to now; loved, lost, and left much of the arrogance of youth behind. It's the good time. I love his quiet, steady temperament; the way he prepares meals with special detail; and how he explains to his daughter that just because she is scared does not mean she isn't brave. And I still can't get over how spoiled I feel when he carries eight bags of food out of the grocery store while I carry none.


Tuesday, January 21

ten years

In May 2010, I posted for the first time to this blog, so we are nearing the 10th anniversary of the creation of OneArmGirl. That's gotta mean something, right?

Granted, I have sadly neglected this poor blog, and you faithful readers, if you are still out there, for the past four years. In the years 2017 and 2018, I wrote a total of one post respectively. Somehow it is worse that I took the time to write one!

As usual, there are reasons, but no real excuses for my lax creative integrity. I was in a raucously unhealthy relationship for longer than I'd like to put in writing. Not surprisingly, it sucked the life out of me, leaving little left to offer here, and too much shame to dig any deeper into my psyche. And strangely concurrently, my life got a lot more stable--I bought a house, got comfortable in my job, frequented local coffee shops--and I luxuriated in comfortable monotony.

But shame on me, as a self-identified memoirist, to avoid the real gunk of life!

It's a new year, a new era, and gunk of life I shall bring you. I admit this new resolve is somewhat selfish in nature (shocking for a vocation that demands self-absorption, I know!). I find myself now in the midst of a personal metamorphosis, the magnitude of which would measure at least a 5.5 if we had a Richter scale for such things (someone, please create one!). Not since moving back to New Mexico in 2009 have I intended as much difference in my life's focus and geography.

In the last year, I have found love, gotten married, become a step-mom, and moved to Florida. And now I want to write, for real.

Let the journey continue...