A Girl's Best Friend

My sweet, funny, fluffy little kitty died yesterday.

There is no phrase in the English language that I can conjour up for this one.

For the past nearly 15 years, Houston has been by my side. Through loves and losses and moves and babies and sickness and health, she's been one of the only constants in my life. When she first came home with me she was so little she could sit in the palm of my hand. She slept on a pillow right next to mine, or, more often, on my head. Her first trick was to sit on my arm while I blow dried my hair, right in the crook of my bicep so she could rub her face on my ear. Okay, that was her only trick. But it was cute.

She never got bigger than 5 lbs, though you wouldn't know it looking at her vast expanse of princess fur. When she was wet the resemblance to a rodent was all too evident--and boy did she know it. Indignance was one of her strongest character traits, and she was no fan of haircuts.

Houston did get older, though, if not bigger. Over the past few years she'd become a bit of a crumudgeon, snipping at anyone who dared to pet her longer than she deemed appropriate. She never drew blood--not even when the kids experimented with their "handling techniques" over and over again. But she became far less tolerant. And she was louder. The Siamese in that Himalayan feline could wake the dead.

The thing about her passing is not so much about how I'll miss her (though the silence waking up this morning without her beseeching yowls for breakfast was deafening), but more about the indication of a chapter in my life having gone by. It's like a big, glaring beacon showing me--yet again--that I'm entering a new phase of my life. As if I needed another one.

I shall miss you, my spoiled little friend. You have been the unconditional love of my life and I can't imagine going through the rest of it without you.

Who Can It Be Now

It's amazing how a life event can trigger an entire identity crisis.


I didn't even dawn on me right away, but I've come to realize that my recent self-examination and introspective "taking the reigns" approach has all come about because of one simple event: my impending high school reunion.


You always hear about how much people hated high school---the terrible angst and stories of self-consciousness and heartache. Or, how it was the "ultimate, best time of life" from people who, well, sadly never really get past it.

I fall somewhere in between. I think of it as the four most pivotal years of my life. I had my share of angst and heartache, no doubt. But the friendships I developed and the experiences we had were the basis for, indeed, some of the very best moments in my life.

That's not to say that I'm one of those loser types that reminisces about it all ad nauseam. I simply believe each stage of your life contributes something to your personality, and to who you've become.

And as I anticipate going back to reacquaint with old friends and share this person I've become, it occurs to me that I'm not who I hoped I would be. Or, rather, that my life isn't what I'd hoped it would be.

I want to walk up to someone and share my enthusiasm with them in full Jen-Style. But "Why, I'm doing GREAT, thanks! And you?" will ring false even to my own ears.

The alternative, real-life answer ("Kids are awesome. But I'm miserable and lonely and stressed and wading through a sea of shit right now, how 'bout yourself?") somehow doesn't seem like it would make for good party chat.

So I'm going to do what any healthy mid-lifer would do--superficially cover up my true existence by wearing a pretty dress, getting my hair done, and drinking and gossiping and dancing until I can't remember what was bothering me in the first place.

Now that I put it that way, I'm in for one hell of a good time. Can't wait!