A Budding Insomniac Faces the Future

Here's a typical day in my life…..

I get up at 5:25 and go to the gym from 6:00 until 7:00. Come home, shower and dress for work after spending at least 10 minutes making sure I have the coolest possible shoes to go with what I'm planning to wear. Make the bed. Look for lost car keys for 10 minutes. Feed the cats. Find lost car keys that were in my purse the whole time. Pet the cats. Put out the garbage. Halfway down the Mohawk Trail I remember that it's container week and I forgot to put out the recycling. Turn around, drive home and put the green bin at the end of the driveway. I wonder what the garbage guy will think of me...the only things in the bin are empty Chardonnay bottles and empty V-8 cans. That combo must have deep psychological meaning but I don't want to know what it is. Arrive at work late. I pretend something important at home prevented me from arriving on time. I know they know I'm late because I can't get it together but I'm the boss so we all fake it together. I work all day, then go to dance or Spanish, or work until everyone else in the building leaves and I have an hour of blissful silence to get stuff done. Meet friends for dinner, come home, do laundry, clean the litter box, talk to Dad or someone important (to me), sort through mail, pay bills, send texts to my husband, pet the cats, hula hoop for 15 minutes, work on a crossword or maybe Words with Friends, check Facebook, read, send texts to my husband, pet the cats, answer email, empty dishwasher, do laundry, send texts to my husband, pet the cats, talk to a friend, send email to my husband, repack bad mail order to return, pet the cats, add another book to the "I want to read this when I retire" pile, and watch 3 YouTube dance videos, praying they will bring me dance enlightenment which they unfortunately do not do. Next, I call ATT where I spend at least an hour with an unhelpful associate trying to figure out why I'm spending megabucks for Mexico to US phone service. I put us both out of our misery by signing up for some international package which is undoubtedly economical in the short run but is likely to cause me to spend more in the long run. Then, I climb into bed and toss and turn until 4:00 AM with occasional periods where I get up and check Facebook 8 or so times. 
The next day…REPEAT.

Marital Negotiations

I left my first marriage without much in the way of cash resources so it took a few years in a rental condo before I had saved enough to buy a home.  I will never forget the day I first saw the house that was soon going to be mine.  A friend who was also recently divorced called to tell me about a house he had seen.  It wasn't for him but he thought I might like it.  He was right.

I was home with an awful flu but I dragged myself out of bed for an hour to tour the house.  I instantly fell in love.  A few weeks later the place was mine.

The house was a Craftsman style bungalow,  in a great family neighborhood.  The kitchen was recently remodeled and was bright and sunny.  The hardwood floors gleamed!  It had built in bookcases, a fireplace and (best of all) a great front porch.  Did I mention that I fell in love with the place?

I cannot adequately describe the emotions I felt about that house.  Just buying new towels for the bathroom was like bringing home a gift for a lover.  Writing about that house still makes my heart race.

When I got married, I moved into my husband's house.  His was the grander of our homes, so it made sense.  Giving up my bungalow was incredibly difficult, but I was able to sell it to a nice young couple, which helped soothe me.  But I never, ever stopped loving my bungalow.

Fast forward seven years.  My husband Joe is retired and I plan to retire soon.  We don't need a huge home with four bedrooms, 15 acres, and a pond.  The term "downsize" appears often in our conversations.

I recently learned that my bungalow is back on the market.  It is the perfect place to downsize.  At first Joe agreed, but lately he has had a change of heart.  He is just as emotionally attached to his home as I am to mine.  Tonight I agreed to walk away from my bungalow.  But I am really having a hard time with that decision.

 Joe's house is just that - Joe's house.  My house is just that - my house.  Joe's house feels like a responsibility.  My house feels like a gift.

Now what do I do?

Fires, Tiger Woods and the Power of Forgiveness

I live in Western Massachusetts where the news in the past week has been dominated by a series of devastating fires. The first occurred a few days before Christmas in an historic home in Millers Falls that housed three generations of an extended family. The cause of that fire was accidental, but because the home was constructed of well-aged wood, it was quickly consumed by the flames. Although the family members escaped unharmed, the home and everything in it were totally destroyed.

Then, in the early hours of Sunday morning, a series of fires were set in a single neighborhood in Northampton. Five structures and four cars were damaged or destroyed. In this case, not all of the occupants of the burned structures were lucky – a father and son living in one of the homes died in the blaze. Thankfully, the arsonist wasn’t entirely successful in his efforts that morning. Three other fires were set but fizzled before they ignited.

I have never been the victim of a fire, so I can only imagine how awful it must feel to literally witness your life go up in smoke. Once, about ten years ago, my home was burglarized. The saddest part of that sad event is that I knew who did it. He was a teenager, a “friend” of my son’s. He came from a troubled home and just days before the robbery we had celebrated his 15th birthday at my house. I had made him a cake when I learned that his own mother had forgotten his special day. I wasn’t home when the burglary happened, so I didn’t feel physically threatened, but it did leave me with the feeling of being violated in a very personal way. Losing everything to a fire has got to be so much worse.

There is something about a fire that draws us in. We can’t avert our eyes even when we are watching the awful destruction it is causing. The hottest sports story for 2009 was the amazing fall of Tiger Woods. The revelation about his insatiable sexual behavior was like a virtual bonfire. We couldn’t stop watching even as his career and marriage went up in flames. We wanted Tiger to do something to put the fire out, but instead he fanned the flames by going into hiding and only periodically issuing cryptic and uninformative comments through his publicist. We knew this was making the situation worse. And still, we couldn’t take our eyes off the fire.

The most fascinating aspect of the Tiger Woods drama was how poorly it was handled. My friend Bill McGee says the secret to a happy marriage is based on the frequent use of four simple words, “Honey, I was wrong”. Tiger should have used words like those quickly and often – to his wife and family, to his sponsors and to his fans. If he had he done so the fire might have been quickly extinguished. Instead his silence poured gasoline onto the smoldering fire until it was an inferno.

There is a great book on marketing written by Harry Beckwith, called Selling the Invisible. In that book, the author describes an interesting phenomenon. As customers, we are more loyal to a business that has made a mistake in its dealings with us than we are to a business that has never harmed us, provided the offending business quickly admits to the mistake, apologizes sincerely and takes immediate steps to rectify the problem. If that sounds implausible, consider your own reaction to a sincere apology. If you are like me the first words out of your mouth are, “That’s OK. Don’t worry about it.” We respond that way because we recognize ourselves in the actions of the transgressor. We make mistakes too and when we do, we want to be forgiven. Someone should have explained this to Tiger. Had he quickly admitted to being wrong we would have forgiven him. Unfortunately Tiger’s disappearance gives us no choice but to brand him as immature, self-centered, and clearly the winner of the first prize in the Worst Husband of the Decade contest. Tiger’s bonfire continues to burn.

A couple of months ago I was astonished to receive a friend request on Facebook from the very same young man who robbed my home nearly a decade ago. He sent me a message asking if I remembered him. I got a chuckle out of that. As if I could ever forget him! My first instinct was to send him a few choice words and then block his account forever, but for some reason I decided to accept his offer to be his friend. He lives in California now, where he went to look for a career as a model. He has a young daughter and he proudly pointed to her pictures. Since then we have had occasional email exchanges. Nothing important or profound is said. They are just the little messages that keep people in touch who live a continent apart. Neither of us has mentioned the robbery because we don’t need to do so. His reaching out to friend me was his apology and my acceptance was the forgiveness we both needed.

I hope someone explains to Tiger that he has the ability to snuff out his public relations bonfire by apologizing sincerely, loudly and often. He has to tell us that he doesn’t want to be the tabloid Tiger Woods and that he is prepared to do whatever it takes to earn our admiration as a disciplined, devoted husband and the best golfer in the world. And if he does, we just may forgive him.


Written by Rebecca Caplice
December 28, 2009