FOURTH JOURNAL ENTRY

Okay, tomorrow’s the day.  The movers are coming at 8 a.m.  I’m trying to make paths through the crap so they can actually find the furniture.  It’s hard when two people are moving two different places.  Make that three people.  Grandson is not happy.  He’s confused and every time it comes up that I’m actually going to live in the apartment that he’s been visiting all month, the one with the cool pool, he starts to cry.  Which makes me cry.  Which pisses off mommy.  The one thing I’m truly looking forward to is a neat house.  Not clean, necessarily; this house is clean, it’s just messy.  Very, very, VERY messy.  I’m actually excited about a place for everything and everything in its place.  I’ve never done that, but I’m thinking right now it sounds kind of, well, neat.  I’m a little worried about tomorrow night.  The cable company doesn’t come until Thursday, between 8 and noon, so Wednesday night: no TV, no internet.  What’s a woman to do???

So, okay, the adventure begins.  Stay with me now!

Susan

SECOND JOURNAL ENTRY

Okay, it’s now the 15 of July, 2 wks. since I gained access to my new apartment.  I’ve moved in a butt load of crap, managed to use an electric screwdriver and hang up one of my two jewelry hangers all by myself, got my antique table, chairs, and side board in (had help for that), but still haven’t called the movers to move the big stuff.  Am I procrastinating?  If so, why?  If I wait too long I may not be able to find a mover for the week I want.  So what am I doing?

I’m also getting very short-tempered with my grandson.  And I know that’s a separation thing — trying to prepare both of us for gramma living some place else.  And, okay, the first thing, the paragraph above: I’m scared.  Scared of living alone for the first time in my life.  My little four year old grandson and I were talking about his “pa-pa”, my husband, a few days ago.  I’m not sure what we were talking about, but love was among the topics.  And Tristan said, “You loved Pa-Pa, didn’t you?” and I said, “With all my heart.”  “And you miss him?” he asked.  “Very much,” I said.  He thought about it for a moment, then said, “I guess that’s why you cry sometimes.”

I guess it is, little one.  I thought I hid it better than that.  Now I’ll have all the room in the world to cry my eyes out if that’s what I want to do.  But it isn’t.

This is going to be a new life.  I’ve never been a joiner, but I think for my own well-being, I might take it up.  Keep myself busy.  I have to go now.  I need to call some movers.  Get some prices.  Get this ball rolling.

Susan

FIRST JOURNAL ENTRY

I’ve never actually lived alone.  In 1968, while living in a near downtown area of Dallas, I had an apartment to myself for less than one month, then got a roommate.  In 1971, after moving to Houston, I had my own apartment for less than one month, then moved in with a roommate.  In 1972,  I rented an apartment but never moved in and got my money back when my future husband Don and I decided to move in together.  Don and I were married for 34 years when he passed away in 2006.  Our daughter and her little boy were living with us at the time, and the three of us continued you live together until…. well, now.

My daughter and grandson are moving in some time this month with her fiance, so that she’ll be all settled in their new home before my granddaughter is born.   Your basic good planning.   Which means I’m going to be moving into an apartment by myself.  And I think I’m expected to live there for more than a month.

So this journal is going to be about my journey to independence.  The apartment is rented, and I’ve made my first bold move:  After having given my daughter all my dinnerware, I’ve decided to use my grandmother’s china and my mother’s crystal as my everyday service.  Bold, yes.  Exciting, to me.  Boring, hey, it’s the little steps.

Tomorrow I call the movers.

src

MY SECOND GREATEST ACCOMPLISHMENT

I wrote this a while back.  Please read to the bottom for the follow-up:

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

For the betterment of mankind – or just the betterment of me and mine Okay, naked truth time: I smoke.  I started when I was 18, I’m now 60 – you do the math.  A lot of years.  I tell people I smoke a pack and a half a day; the reality is it’s more like 2 packs a day.  So yesterday I go to the doctor.  This and that, tit and tat, and then: “How’s the smoking?” he asks.  “Just fine,” I say.  “How are you doing with quitting?” he asks.  “Ah,” I say.  At which point he tells me about the magic pill.  He calls it a miracle.  It works on brain chemistry and actually takes away your desire to smoke!  Miracle schmiracle – it’s magic! Okay, back up two days.  I’m watching TV.  On it is a commerical for Coke Zero.  Two guys from real Coke are with what looks like a real attorney, trying to sue Coke Zero because it tastes just like Coke.  The attorney explains that one branch of a company can’t sue another branch of a company, yada, yada, heretofore, ad litem. Back to the doctor’s office.  I leave, thinking: I can quit smoking!  I’m thrilled.  I can go places everybody else goes without having to leave early to sneak a cig, my hair, clothes and breath won’t stink, I can look my grandson in the eye when I say “cigarettes bad!”  (You’ll notice I don’t mention my health: I had a chest x-ray a month ago and my lungs are as pink as a baby’s butt, thank you very much. Yes, I too am magic.)  As I leave the office I’m thinking I could also give up my other vice: Cokes!  As a diabetic I’m not supposed to drink Cokes!  I could stop smoking, switch to Coke Zero, and maybe even actually pick up the weights that are sitting on the floor of the living room and, I don’t know, curl them??  On my way to a better me!  I’m so excited I could spit. I drive to the nearest convenience store and run inside.  There it is.  A Coke Zero.  Actually there are no real Cokes in a can (the only way I drink them – I know, for someone as addicted as I am I’m very persnicity).  It’s a sign.  An omen even.  I grab the Coke Zero, pay for it, and head to my car.  I start the engine, pop the top, and take a big swig.  Yuck!  Blah!  It tastes just like Diet Coke!!!!  Ugh!!!  I cross the street to the next convenience store, walk inside and hand the Coke Zero to the English-is-not-my-first-language clerk and say “Nasty,” and grab a can of the REAL THING. I get back in my car, thinking maybe, maybe this new drug to quit smoking is a miracle, maybe it is magic, maybe it really will work.  Yeah, I tell myself with a sneer, and maybe Coke Zero really does taste like the Real Thing. Don’t get me wrong – I haven’t thrown away the script for the magic pill.  I even plan on getting it filled.  I have a coupon and every thing.  I’m just not as gung ho as I was because there’s no such thing as magic and miracles only happen in the Bible. Oh, now, wait a minute.  Let’s go back several years.  I’m in the throws of menopause.  They just took me off hormones for all the obvious reasons, and I’m growing hair on my chiny-chin-chin, my weight’s up, and if men sweat, women prespire, and lady’s glow, I was glowing like a son-of-a-bitch.  And I’m ready to kill anyone who says boo to me.  I go to the doctor.  She tells me about a magic pill – it’s called Prozac.  I burst into tears.  I need a magic pill, I tell her.  She says this is it.  But it comes with headaches, bad dreams, and takes about three weeks to work. She was right: I got headaches, I had horrendous nightmares, but three weeks in the miracle happened: I started looking forward to things: things like going to work, washing dishes, talking to my husband.  It was a miracle!!  And it got me through five long years of menopause. So obviously medical miracles are out there.  Is this magic quit smoking pill one of those?  It could be.  It could be Prozac, or it could be Coke Zero.  I’ll never know unless I take it.  So — I’ll keep you posted. Susan April 28, 2008 I started the magic stop smoking pill today.  We’ll see.  I take it for 3 weeks then stop smoking and keep on taking it.  Um hum.  Yeah, that’s gonna work. May 20, 2008 It’s 10 p.m.  I just put out my last cigarette.  I’m okay. May 20, 2009 I just celebrated my one year anniversary of not smoking.  I am woman hear me roar! June 25, 2009 I found my new apt. yesterday.  Evin and Tristan (daughter and grandson) are moving in with Steven (Evin’s fiance) next month so I need to find my own place.  This will be the first time in 38 years that I’ve lived alone.  I’m thinking of taking up smoking.

SUSAN ROGERS COOPER

My name, as mentioned above, is Susan Rogers Cooper and I write mysteries, thrillers, romantic suspense, blogs, and really great grocery lists.  I’m not sure what all I’ll be talking about on this blog, but I first want to tell you who I am and what I do, then we’ll go from there.  I’m a mother, a grandmother, an aunt, and a pretty decent friend.  Tell me a secret and I’ll take it to my grave, but if you want to dish somebody, I’m right there with you.  In a nice way, of course.

So, here’s the beginning and we’ll see where this takes us.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Milt Kovak

• SHOTGUN WEDDING
• VEGAS NERVE
• LYING WONDERS
• DOCTORS & LAWYERS & SUCH
• DEAD MOON ON THE RISE
• CHASING AWAY THE DEVIL
• OTHER PEOPLE’S HOUSES
• HOUSTON IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR
• THE MAN IN THE GREEN CHEVY

E.J. Pugh

• ROMANCED TO DEATH
• DON’T DRINK THE WATER
• NOT IN MY BACKYARD
• A CROOKED LITTLE HOUSE
• THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL
• HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN
• HICKORY DICKORY STALK
• ONE, TWO, WHAT DID DADDY DO?

Kimmey Kruse

• FUNNY AS A DEAD RELATIVE
• FUNNY AS A DEAD COMIC