It's All in the Details

I am swamped, buried in technical nomenclature and schematics of guidelines and sample plans of details to be submitted to our new "community association" here at what I fondly refer to as the HGTV Dream Home we paid for (though it's not nearly as fancy or glamourous as those). Cexy and I are slogging through paperwork muck that makes a trek through the marsh across the street seem like a casual stroll. I sit down to write only to discover another document to review, another form to complete, another contract to sign. Buried in minutiae, it feels as though I've barely written a word.
I realize that these are totally First World problems. I now have a handsome young pool boy (and a pool to go with him) on a sizeable chunk of land in a preserve. Our neighbors like to keep to themselves, as do we. It's why we chose to live here. That even extends to inside our home. Our bedroom is on one side of the house while guest rooms are on the other--with an expanse of living room separating the two. Like I said, this is our HGTV Dream Home only we paid for it. So why can't I write?
Because we're still surrounded with boxes from the move? Because we're still giving away furniture to make room for the stuff in the boxes? Because we're planning to retire here in 20 years and only leave if we have to go to a nursing home so I want everything to be perfect? Because we want a fenced area for the dog?
There aren't enough "becauses". I don't believe in writers block. I've just got to get my butt in some chair and my hands on my laptop's keyboard and go. Ready, set...

Movin' on Down

Yes, I've just dated myself by taking a page from seventies hit TV show The Jeffersons. I have, in fact, moved on down...to Florida. I don't move well. At all. I inevitably freak out. Big Cexy and I argue over small details which, during a move, are monumental. So far I've been right on almost everything, as he's had to learn the hard way. I won't rub it in with an "I told you so" because I got the hell out of Dodge on Monday shortly after the movers showed up. That allowed him to do things his way and for us to stop arguing. Let's face it--when you've both issued apologies by 9 am, it's not good.

Instead I've spent the week in such unseasonably warm weather that I had to go buy short sleeve T-shirts and capris as opposed to the long sleeve T's, jeans, and boots I packed when I left Atlanta. (Okay, okay. So I bought a pair of sandals, too. Can you blame me?) It's supposed to be in the 70's when we move in our new house on Saturday. I was like Oh, hell no! at the thought of doing it in jeans and a snuggly long sleeve T-shirt.

Cexy is driving down after he finishes a meeting this afternoon.

The Ones You Love

No, I didn't write any Thanksgiving stuff on social media this year. A member of our family has been in and out of the hospital since August and was in hospice. His three sons came in from across the country on Thanksgiving Day to make peace with him and say their goodbyes. He passed away shortly after. His wife died suddenly on Thanksgiving Day four years ago. The holiday is destroyed for my niece who has lost both of those grandparents on it. I've told her we'll pick something random like Arbor Day to celebrate instead.

If you have read my books as Kristi Hancock or Kristine Bria, you know that I keep it real with family business. Relationships are messy. They can truly be love/hate. A child can spend their life seeking the approval of a parent who continually disrespects them. Siblings will compete for decades believing that the other is the parents' favorite and trying to prove their worth only to discover they were loved equally. Those are just a few scenarios. While none of them describe this particular situation, it's definitely a complicated one.

So while you've been eating your turkey, we've been grieving. You'll have to forgive me for not being "Rah! Rah! Thanksgiving!" Quite honestly, I can't even think about future ones.

Meanwhile, do me a favor. Hug those close to you. Call them. Tell them you love them while they can hear it.

And I promise to get back to giving you happily ever afters. I need them as much as you do.