Category — rhythm and blues

In a few short hours, the venerable R and I will be engaged in a high stakes game of standby roulette en route to Sin City. With a little luck and the grace of the travel gods, we will be drinking in Vegas by the time you put your head on your pillow tonight. You know you’re jealous!

I will be entirely too busy laying by the pool during the day and causing trouble at night to post here.

Last night, while I was packing, I tried to remember the last time I had a real vacation. A going somewhere just because not seeing family not camping not a long distance date not a business trip longer than a long weekend vacation.  I believe it was the beach trip of 2007.

Not only is this my first vacation in three years, and not only am I traveling with a bestie, but I am unbelievably over the moon heart aflutter excited to be meeting some absolutely fabulous faces whose hearts I already know.

This trip could not come at a better time. I need an escape. I need a distraction. I need a new point of travel reference that doesn’t include a big ol’ mystery that still haunts me at three in the morning. I need to not be a waswife, an employee, a homeowner, a excrazyfacesomethingorother, I need to not be Catherine for a little while. I need to spend a few days being a verybadcat.

Can you think of a better place to accomplish all of those things?

I can’t.

(many thanks to the illustrious B, who is so mired in sandal-searching, housekey-keeping, kitteh-foster-mom’ing and airport shuttling that she will probably be the happiest bestie of the three of us when our plane takes off…)

“well I don’t know, but I’ve been told
you never slow down, you never grow old
I’m tired of screwin’ up, tired of going down
tired of myself, tired of this town…”

-tom petty “mary jane’s last dance“

I’ve told you many times before how much I love and appreciate you. The comfort that I find in our friendship, in your love and affection. How much you mean to me. I’ve expressed my gratitude for the nurturing acceptance I find in you.

When you make sure I’ve eaten. When you take my panicked phone calls from random airports and take the time and effort to make sure I’m okay. When you hold me while I weep with a broken heart. When you get in between me and whatever is driving me crazy and making me angry. When you patiently and gently wipe away the black marks my size eight high heel leaves on our network printer. When you turn me around so I’m headed in the right direction again.

I’ve told you how much I admire your impeccable manners. The four course dinners. Your way of handing people and situations with lighthearted grace and style, even if that isn’t how you really feel. Your untouchable superior skills as a hostess.

I’m pretty sure I’ve also told you how beautiful you are; your porcelain skin, your willowy figure, the classic features of your face.

Today I want to make sure I tell you something I probably haven’t before.

I love you most when you’re bad. When you brat out all over the place. When you’re snarky and snappy and mean. When you are the one wailing and weeping in my arms. When you’re half crazy and can’t calm down. When you let people down (which isn’t too often).

My love and affection for the worst parts of you, the parts that you beat yourself up over, is every bit as fierce as my love for the best parts of you.

Because all of it together makes you who you are. Because those parts don’t make you a bad person, they make you human. They make you just like me. They give me a chance to give back to you, to give you the benefit of the doubt, to comfort you, to rein you in.

It is the worst parts of you, not the best parts, that earn my implicit trust. I can admit how I really feel and what I really think without worrying about diminishing your opinion of me. I don’t have to worry about needing you more than you need me. I can rest assured that we need each other.

Thanks for being there for me. Thanks for taking care of me. Thanks for being who you are- in totality. Thank you for letting me be there for and take care of you. That gift is every bit as precious as all of the things you are constantly doing for me.

I love you, Britters. Happy Birthday.

There’s something in the way she moves,
or looks my way or calls my name,
that seems to leave this troubled world behind.
And if I’m feelin’ down and blue,
or troubled by some foolish game,
she always seems to make me change my mind.

***

Every now and then the things I lean on lose their meaning, and I find myself careening,
into places that I should not let me go.
She has the power to go where no one else can find me,
yes and to silently remind me,
of the happiness and good times that I know.

-james taylor, “there’s something in the way she moves“