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Plain Old Peace

One year and two days after I left my ex-husband, I sat in a Minneapolis real estate office signing stacks of documents with Josh, my long-time friend turned delightful someone more. Everything had fallen into place, and after our purchase was official, we met up with our parents and Josh’s grandma at our new house. After giving the grand tour, we all went to our favorite Indian restaurant to celebrate over cold beers and vindaloo.

In our first few weeks as homeowners, we were absolute machines. Josh started to build a beautiful cedar fence for Tucker, and I went to town on the interior. Unpacking boxes, hunting for the perfect sofa, and sewing funky throw pillows became my new obsessions. Multiple trips to Home Depot, Target, and IKEA confirmed our suspicions that our 1950s rambler might have strong money-pit potential. We gave up eating out entirely. We were much more interested in spending our dough on curtain rods, power tools, and buckets of expensive low-VOC paint with clever names like “Wet Concrete.”

We were the picture of blissful domesticity until the untimely death of our washing machine. But, what was another six or seven hundred bucks that we didn’t have, right? “Forget the bar, baby—let’s go to Sears!” And the funny thing was, it felt good. The appliance dude botched my credit application and issued my card under my former married name—egads—but nothing could stand in the way of my happiness. I thought that our new front-loading, high-efficiency wonder was pure utilitarian sexiness, and it was then that I realized that I was officially old.

Never fear, dear readers—we were still having fun. The house had a full second kitchen, and my home-brewing darling was busy setting up his “Brouwerij Basement,” which translates to something along the lines of basement in which one boils giant kettles of liquid boyhood (with Belgian flair, naturally). Josh had sole jurisdiction over the basement kitchen, and I quickly decided that I’d take no responsibility for anything that went on down there.

Did I ever envision that life in my thirties would include having a kegerator in my family room? No. No, I did not. Nor did I expect to be divorced and shacked up with a good buddy from college, but that’s what makes life so interesting. In a book or a movie, a nicely timed twist of plot can be a real thrill, but in real life, it’s nothing short of breathtaking. As I stuffed a load of commingled boxer shorts and flowered undies into the new washer, I smiled. “Truly,” I thought, “God must get a real kick out of watching people rise up from rock bottom to plain old peace.”

*****

Blog Housekeeping

I am thrilled to be the July 14th featured blogger on SITS! The Secret is in the Sauce is a fabulous community of women bloggers who support each other by leaving comments.

My blogoir (blog meets memoir) format is a little unique. The events of this post took place in August and September of 2007.

If you’re visiting for the first time, please consider starting my blogoir at the beginning, “How I Left My Husband on My Lunch Break,” or checking out my Fast Track page to get up to speed on the story. You can also find me on Facebook, where you can see photos that relate to my story, and on twitter. Thanks for visiting!

July 13th, 2010 | Tags: , , , , , | Category: dating, life

180 comments to Plain Old Peace

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