My 40th Year on Earth: So what did I actually do?

Welcome to the last Island post of 2019 and the first post written from my new home! As I write this, Keely is sitting behind the curtain of the sliding glass door (his favorite spot), looking out into the dark morning. He may never come out of his hiding place. Maybe Keely understood 2019 better than all of us.

I always go into a new year trying my best to be optimistic and hopeful. Last year, around this time, I decided that I was going to spend 2019 doing things that I've always wanted to do but hadn't gotten around to doing. I wanted to live my 40th year on Earth (I turned 40 in June) in a way that included fun, challenge, and whimsy. I devised an impressive list of what I would try to accomplish:

• January: Participate in a Polar Bear Plunge to benefit Special Olympics VA. (ON)
• February: Ride in my first Mardi Gras parade. Hail Nyx! (FF)
• March: Actually sing at a karaoke night.  (T)
• April: Mastering the Art of French Cooking - I'll make a four course meal from this iconic cookbook. (ON)
• May:  Take a welding/jewelry class. (ON)
• June: Experience my 40th Birthday Extravaganza. I don't know what this means yet, but I'll figure it out. (FF)
• July: Launch my podcast, Don't Be a Jerk at Work. (T)
• August: Enter the Arlington County Fair baking contest, probably in the holiday cookie category.
• September: Take drum lessons. (FF)
• October: Go to Hershey Spa because why wouldn't I want to go to a chocolate spa? (PS - I don't like strangers touching me, so this is both a fun goal and a little uncomfortable for me.) (FF)
• November: Put The Craftery plan on paper. (T)
• December: Send Transient Suburbia proposal to at least two publishers. (T)

I classified these activities into three categories: For Fun (FF), Terrifying (T), and Outside the Norm but Still Different (ON). 

So what did I end up doing in 2019? Of the twelve activities, I completed six (links to the posts about each one are in the above list). I jumped into cold water for charity, I rode in a freaking parade, and I sang in public. I didn't make a four course meal from MTAOFC, but I did make the Queen of Sheba cake, one of Julia Child's most famous cake recipes. We threw a huge party at a winery to celebrate my birthday, my dad's birthday, and his retirement. I also embraced my inner old person during the month of June by getting irrationally mad because someone parked in my parking spot. 

I also listened to all four solo KISS albums so you never have to. I'm giving in that way. 

There were things I didn't do, and most of the things I didn't do were big things. These are projects I really care about, but am still not 100% in the right mindset to work on them. That's been something I've really focused on in 2019: mindset. No, this is not a post about Carol Dweck. I tend to focus on the things that could go wrong very quickly or what won't work, and I've made a concerted effort in 2019 to do the opposite. So I didn't send my novel to a publisher or start a podcast or figure out how to one day open my craft store. That's okay. Those things aren't supposed to happen right now. They'll happen when they're supposed to happen. Maybe this sounds like a cop out, but I don't think it is. I want to be able to focus on these projects to make the most of them. I wouldn't have been able to give them the attention they deserve this year. For me, that would be worse than failing. 

Instead of those things, I bought a house, admitted to being a perfectionist and how I need to let that go, presented at my first professional conference, celebrated one year with Keely, and went to Game 4 of the NLCS to see the Nationals advance to the World Series (I also went to the World Series parade because the Nats won). I got a button maker for my birthday and I went axe throwing. 

2019 was a year of introspection for me. I spent a lot of time thinking about what would make me happy, not my parents or my friends, but me. I bought a house (condo, but you know what I mean), something I really never saw myself doing. I got promoted, and have been focusing on being a better manager, which means failing spectacularly but doing it anyway. I asked for help, probably more than I have before. I also had a freaking blast this year, even when things were stressful. I got to spend time with people I love dearly. I rode in a freaking parade (I know I said this already)! I made glitter purses, probably the most frivolous thing I can do. Fun, challenge, whimsy - that's what I did in 2019.

Happy New Year from the Island! 

See you in 2020 for more glitter, Keely, and whatever else I decide to share.

Keely's Big Adventure

At a recent work holiday happy hour, I was talking with a few of my co-workers on the walk to our cars and one asked me how I would handle a person who was being rude to or about Keely. This was part of a larger conversation we'd been having about house guests and pets. I shared a story earlier in the conversation about my friend's son playing with Keely for the entire time he visited and how it exhausted the cat so much he slept a solid 24 hours. Someone else shared about a time when a guest came over and was horrified that the dog was allowed to stay out when people were visiting. Really? The dog lives there; you are visiting. I don't get people who know they're visiting a house with animals and then are surprised the animals are there. It makes be rage-ful when people ask me if Keely is going to bite them when they come over. No, my cat is not going to bite you. Cats don't walk up to a person and bite them for no reason. If you give him a reason, well, maybe you shouldn't be around cats.

Anyway, my response to the question about rudeness was "I would have words with a person who was rude to or about Keely. If they tried to physically harm my cat son, I would fight them and win." My co-worker chuckled and said something like "that's what I thought you'd say," but not in a judge-y way. It's my duty as a pet mom to defend my pet. That's how it works. If you're not prepared for this part of your responsibility as a pet parent, don't get a pet. Ever.

We celebrated Keely's first year with me back in June, and it's been a good one. Challenging at times, but a good first year. Keely has had to adjust to a lot in that time, and he's slowly becoming more comfortable with me. Of course, just as we're getting comfy, I go and decide to buy a house and upset the entire order of our lives with a move. Baby boy is stressed out, and apparently hates boxes. How did I end up with a cat who hates boxes?

As the process of purchasing the condo was going on, I was planning how to best introduce Keely to his new home. We're not officially moving in until after Christmas, so we'd also have a visit to my parents in the middle of all of this, so what would be the best way to get him used to the new place? I decided to take him over with me before all our stuff arrives to explore and rub his little face on everything. I packed him up and took him over to keep me company while I waited for the cable guy.

Keely doesn't get to go on very many adventures. He's recently started hissing at me when I try to put him the carrier, so leaving the house is not one of our preferred activities. Keely's adventures mainly consist of tracking the ghost in our apartment (it might be a ghost, it might be our upstairs neighbors - we'll never really know), playing with his favorite toy mouse so enthusiastically that it gets stuck under the oven or refrigerator, napping, and communing with a spider that lives between the glass and screen of my bedroom window. He lives a very full indoor life.

I got him into the big carrier (we have two carriers) by bribing him with treats and then quickly closing the carrier door. He hissed at me and gave me a look that said, "you thought my revenge for the bow ties was going to be bad, just wait." He was pretty quiet on the actual drive over to the condo, plotting his revenge on me in his very devious cat way. We arrived at the condo, and thankfully, none of our dog neighbors were outside. I carried him up the stairs and let him out of the carrier. He darted out of the carrier so fast I barely had time to get out of his way. He ran around the condo with a speed I've never seen. He slid across the tile floor in the kitchen. He jumped on the window ledges. He rubbed his face on the walls. He decided to explore the bathtub. He found the sun patches. He escaped into the main hallway.

Yes, he got out of the condo. I went out to the car to grab a few things, and was coming back inside and he darted out. Thankfully, he was still inside and I was able to catch him and get him back inside. I'm going to have to baby gate the entry until he understands that it's not okay to dart outside. It was a very busy three hours.

I have no idea if bringing Keely over to the condo was a good idea, but at least when he comes back next week, it'll smell like him and he'll see our stuff and maybe feel a bit more like it's his home. He can continue his pursuit of rubbing his face on everything to make it his, and maybe he'll make a new spider friend. Hopefully, he'll get used to the new noises around the community and find his ideal napping spots.

Did I mention the fireplace? I didn't even turn the fireplace on, and Keely figured out that it's the best place in the condo. What's even going to happen when I figure out how to turn it on?

We've got one more day of packing, a few days of vacation, and then we move. How many new adventures will Keely find in 2020?

I'm suspicious of everything. 

Coming next weekend on the Island: the last post of 2019 - a look at the year that was 2019! Happy Holidays from me and Keely!

My 40th Year on Earth: Someone sold a house to a child

I was out at dinner with my brother on Thursday. He wanted to introduce me to a restaurant near my new place (Italian/Greek combo, good fettuccine, excellent caramel crunch cake). It was the eve of my closing, and we were discussing being adults and how weird it is that I'm buying a condo and my brother is approximately four years away from retirement. We discussed how, despite our ages (my brother is 46), we still think of other people, like our parents and aunts and uncles, as adults, but we're not. I mean, we are, but we're not. I feel like I've had this conversation before; just because you do adult things (don't be dirty) doesn't mean you think of yourself as an adult.

Until you buy a house.

I don't know if it's the amount of money involved, the fact that negotiation may/will occur, that a loan officer is involved, or the fact that you have to sign a gazillion pieces of paper to get the keys, but buying a house is the epitome of adulthood. It involves credit checks, employment verification, getting a cashier's check, and at least four types of insurance. I can't think of anything more adult than four types of insurance. I didn't know there were so many types of insurance involved in one transaction. Why didn't they teach us this in school? I had to learn how to line dance in PE and dissect a frog, but learned nothing about title insurance. I feel like knowing about title insurance should trump knowing how to do the Electric Slide.

And it feels weird. Not bad weird, but "I didn't think I'd do this" weird. It's no secret that I'm not really following a traditional timeline kind of life. I'm 40, and don't have kids or a husband, and have rented an apartment for all of my adult life. I revel in calling Keely my cat son, particularly when it makes the person I'm talking to uncomfortable. I got my driver's license when I turned 20 (fun fact I bet you didn't know about me). The idea of following some sort of predetermined life has always bothered me. We all do things in our own time, and we all have to get better about understanding that. Let people live their best lives even if those lives aren't the way it's always been.

This is why I'm surprised that I decided to buy a house. I've never been opposed to the idea of home ownership, I just never thought it was a me thing. Just like not teaching us about all the types of insurance that exist and what escrow really is, school doesn't prepare anyone for all of the sudden feeling like you need to do something you never thought you'd do. It doesn't prepare you for having to discuss square footage, floor types, condo fees, and parking. I can't exactly explain, but one day I just couldn't face the idea of renting another apartment. I want to paint. I want to redo a bathroom in three years. I want more space.

I closed on my house on Friday. I made delightful small talk with a notary from the title company, my loan officer, and my realtor (because I'm so good at small talk), and signed all the documents and gave them all my money (not all, but you know what I mean). I got my keys, a folder full of papers (which I'll also get electronically apparently), and a promise that my deed will come in the mail. I celebrated by having lunch with my parents and buying a unicorn key chain for my new keys.

Today, I sat on the floor of my new home and stared at the walls for about an hour. I hung the shower curtain in my bathroom, determined that Keely and I will continue to share said bathroom, and figured out that the desk I was going to take from my parents' house is probably too big for the spare room. I met a neighbor, who I'm pretty sure is the neighborhood watch. I still have no idea where my couch is going to go or the television. I glanced through the very large file of appliance manuals the previous owner left me; these very fancy appliances are mine now and I don't know how any of them work. I started planning where my dishes and baking stuff is going to go. I realized that I have a lot of dinosaur decor, which may negate the fanciness of the fireplace. I made a list of all the stuff I still need to buy (garbage cans, don't forget new garbage cans). I tried to remember how to turn on the fireplace, but my mind went blank (my dad probably knows how it works). I wondered if my furniture would look okay or if I'm going to hate everything I own.

And then I laid on the floor in my living room and it was very quiet. I felt at home.

Coming soon to the Island: We recap the year that was 2019, Keely moves into the new house, and I update you on all that glitters in preparation for Nyx 2020!

"And then you have to sacrifice a goat..."

Earlier this week, I found myself laying on the floor of my apartment in what I guess was corpse pose, waiting for my realtor to call me back. Keely sat on my chest and purred. He bores easily so it was only a few minutes before he scampered into my bedroom to watch birds or whatever is outside at 6:45 pm. I stayed on the floor for a little while longer. When I did eventually get up, I felt a little less stressed. Maybe it was the yoga pose, maybe it was the cat. I can't really tell you, but I do know I got up and didn't want to cry or punch someone. It was a good feeling.

Last time I posted here on the Island, I was on my way out the door to spend the weekend looking at properties. A lot has happened since that weekend; I looked at eight places (16 total), had a stress dream involving a dog that doesn't exist, fell in love with a condo, put an offer in on said condo (property #15), and have been playing the "let's hope the seller says yes to this perfectly normal thing I'm requesting" game over and over again. I had to write a letter, explaining why I was the only person who should get to buy this condo, including a picture of me and my cat son. This was prompted by the fact that I asked for coverage on closing costs in my offer, a totally normal thing to do, but apparently it made me into a monster. Since we all know Keely is the most handsome cat in the world, I'm sure you won't be surprised to learn that the letter did the trick, and we moved on to the next phase of the process.

Not the image I sent, but you can understand why including a photo of him was "important." I call this one "Keely on the Cover of Tiger Beat."

Y'all, buying a house is ridiculous. I don't know who came up with this process, but seriously, it's ridiculous. I'm incredibly organized, have a background in theatre, and work in corporate America, so my tolerance for checklists, nonsense, and unreasonable people is super high. I was not prepared to feel like an idiot 97% of the time, or feel like I was asking for something outlandish when I was not. I get it, it's a negotiation. It's someone else's home currently (not really, but you know what I mean). I am not, in any way, shape, or form, trying to take advantage of the seller. I'm also not an idiot, but feel this way daily. How many types of insurance are there and how many do we all need? And why does leaving my current insurance carrier feel like a breakup? How many copies of my tax returns, pay stubs, and 3rd grade report card do you need? Would you like a reference from the pet sitter I used when I lived in California? I'm sure I can track her down. If not her, how about a guy I went to high school with, but haven't spoken to in 20 years? We're friends on Facebook, so he knows what's up in my life.

My corpse pose moment earlier this week was brought to you by the appraisal process. We made it through the home inspection addendum with minimal argument; I asked for a few things to be fixed, the seller agreed. I signed the addendum while attending a Letters to Cleo concert. This feels like the least/most Gen X thing I've ever done, but whatever, I had to get it done. First, I had to pay $50 to have the condo association send a piece of paper to my lender. Was it printed in fancy ink or on special paper? No, it was not. It was prepared as an electronic document and emailed to the lender. Then, the actual appraisal took place. Of course, the condo appraised for less than my offer, so we had to go back with another addendum and more waiting and more negotiating and more stress. I offered something where we met in the middle; that's what a negotiation is supposed to include, and then I laid on the floor of my apartment and quietly tried to keep from yelling at people or sobbing uncontrollably. 

By some weird quirk of the universe, a Gilmore Girls marathon was on the UP network on Thanksgiving. My father also loves this show, so we ended up watching a large portion of the marathon, getting my mom and brother in on it too. (I believe we've mad them fans - my evil plan is working.) The season they were playing? Season Four, which is my favorite season of the show. In this season, the GG are going through buckets of change and not doing particularly well at managing it all. It's the season of the opening of the Dragonfly Inn, Rory's first year at Yale, Liz's wedding, Sookie's first kid, Lane moving out of the Kim household, and Sebastian Bach joining the cast. It's perfect on many levels. It's also a hard season to watch because it feels stressful for everyone, but that always makes me feel better. Fictional stress makes real stress easier to manage.

There is a scene in the episode called "The Incredible Sinking Lorelais" where Lorelai has a breakdown and ends up asking Luke to borrow money to finish the inn (not the way she wanted to ask him) after everything goes wrong for her. She's just come from being berated by her grandmother for the possibility that the inn will fail and tarnish the Gilmore name. A sink arrived that Sookie was supposed to approve, but Sookie didn't show up, and the sink went back to Canada. They don't have enough money to finish the inn. She hasn't talked to Rory in days. Luke is listening to her vent everything, and she talks about not having a partner (she's referring to a husband, not her business partner). This scene hit me hard this time around since I've been thinking the exact thing recently. Yes, I'm an adult lady who can do things, but it's exhausting. It's exhausting doing everything by yourself. Making decisions, paperwork, packing, managing everything. It's exhausting, but we're not supposed to talk about how being single is exhausting. Single people are supposed to be happy in our single lives, and not complain about being alone. We made a choice and we're supposed to accept it and move on. Blah, blah, blah.

Like Lorelai, I like my life a lot, but that doesn't mean it's not horribly stressful sometimes and too much to deal with. And yes, I know I'm lucky to have a supportive family and friends and colleagues. I'm incredibly thankful for them, especially two of my friends who have recently gone through this process and have been super helpful. It's just a lot, and I would like it to be over so I can move onto the fun part of this whole experience. There's a fun part, right? There has to be a fun part. If there's not a fun part, then signing 700 documents, reading all of the condo association bylaws and surveys, and watching 3 hours of an online training course on being a home buyer were all for nothing.

The final addendum was accepted, and now we move forward. If all things go well, I'll have the keys to my new home in less than two weeks. I plan to move in after Christmas, but in time for New Year's Eve. I'm hoping the path to closing is smoother than the path to get here and doesn't involve , I don't know, sacrificing a goat.

I've come to believe anything is possible (not in a Debbie Gibson kind of way) with the process of buying a home, so sacrificing a goal is not out of the realm of possibility.

On the next episode of House Hunters Northern Virginia*

*Not a real show.

I had a stress dream about buying a condo. In the dream, I bought this really beautiful condo in Arlington that's just at the top of my budget, but is worth the ridiculous condo fee (because all utilities are included and it's Arlington) and the weird parking lot that's like driving up a hill to a haunted house. At closing, the dude selling the condo tells me that I also have to take ownership of his dog because the dog comes with the condo. We argue about the fact that I don't want a dog as I already have the most handsome cat in the world and he would probably eat the dog. The seller was adamant that I take the dog. This went on for what seemed like eternity until my realtor stepped in and said he would take the dog on my behalf. The seller wasn't happy, but he agreed and I got my condo. My realtor took the dog and I woke up.

I don't know anything about dream analysis, but in terms of oddness, this ranks just after the time I dreamed that all of my leadership development program participants couldn't speak anymore so they needed to present their final projects to the executive team using only interpretive dance. I can make an assumption that the dog represents my apprehension in making a decision about buying a home, not because I dislike the place or it's a bad choice, but because it then becomes a "living" thing that will need care and feeding and my time. Can I manage all of these things? Am I spending too much? Is it the right place for me? It's a lot to think about and you know how I like to overthink everything.

As of yesterday, I've looked at fourteen places. This includes three townhouses and eleven condos. I've driven from Centreville to Fairfax to Kingstowne and all over Alexandria and Arlington looking at places. I've parked illegally three times, hoping my car would still be there when I returned. I've seen the horrors of people who think wall art is a good idea. I've seen so much bad carpet and terrible light fixtures. I've walked out of places asking myself, "Who lives here and why do they think someone else is going to take over this horror show?" I've also left places thinking "That was awesome. Too bad it's in a terrible neighborhood where I'd have to install more security cameras than a bank and get a Doberman." Of the fourteen places, only four have made the "might buy" list and at least one of them is under contract already. The other three are still sitting, waiting for me to do something. 

According to a quick Google search, fourteen viewings is slightly above the average number of places a person will view before buying a home. Apparently, the more places you view, the slower you're evolving as a buyer. I don't think the person who wrote that article has ever purchased real estate in Northern Virginia. I've looked at places within a few miles of each other and you would think I was on another planet. The stark differences between one condo and another is overwhelming. I went to one place yesterday that looked like it hadn't been updated since 1984. Another place had a creepy hallway straight out of The Shining. Thankfully, my realtor laughed when I made a "redrum" joke. Several other places are actually smaller than my one bedroom apartment (although they have more rooms), but they cost way more - what exactly am I getting out of this deal? If I followed the article's advice and purchased a place after only 8-10 viewings, I'd be living in a pit. I'm not evolving slowly, I have taste.

I've never really gotten into the show House Hunters, particularly not the ones where people are buying houses on islands. The couples always seem to have a huge budget for having a job that sounds made up, and don't seem to have ever spoken to one another about what they actually want in a house. However, the more condos and houses I look at, the more I think I might be turning into them minus the ridiculous job and crazy budget. I've actually thought and/or said enough of the phrases on the above card to get BINGO (I'll let you guess which ones). I'm looking at two more places today. I hope by the end of this round, I'll narrow down my contender list and make a decision. My realtor is being very patient (bless him) and is convinced I will find my home sooner rather than later. And then the fun of the offer and closing process begins.

What stress dream will I have next?

House Hunters Bingo

Attack of the Baby Shark

Something crazy has happened in the Nation's Capital. No, the 45 has resigned and no, the GOP hasn't found a spine (if it ever had one). What I'm talking about is even more improbable than either of those things.

The Washington Nationals are in the World Series.

I know. It's wild. The only baseball game I ever walked out of was a Washington Nationals game. It was back in 2006 or 2007 when the Nats were still playing at RFK. I was at a game with my dad and brother and the Nats were awful. They were getting stomped on, and it was painful to watch. Not only we they being stomped on, the game was boring, so we left. As my dad said at the time, it was too hot for boring baseball. But we persisted with our love of the Nationals. They're not our "home" team. That would be the Detroit Tigers, but the Nats are our second home team. Over the years, the Nationals have gone from terrible to decent to pretty good to terrible again to the freaking World Series. Like any fan of a sports team that can't seem to get its shit together, Washington fans have been waiting a very long time for this.

I love baseball. I've written about the game several times here on the Island. It's the only sport I really enjoy watching. I used to feel that way about Saints football, but I'm done with the NFL. Not even my beloved Saints can save that horrible organization. I may not be able to spout stats or tell you every fact ever, but I'm loyal and love a good game. I like people watching at games, and Nationals fans are some of the best fan to watch. If I need a stat or to know the intricacies of a rule, I ask my brother. I love baseball, but he looooves baseball. Going to games with him this season, including Game 4 of the NLCS were some of my favorite things I did this year.

There is something so incredibly pure about the Nationals in the World Series. I've watched many a World Series, but I can't say that I've ever been as invested in one like I am this year's series. The Nationals are the perfect team to have in the World Series at this moment. It's not that the game is any different or the Astros aren't deserving, it's that the Nationals make us all, or at least those of us who love baseball, remember why we do. It's so freaking fun to watch.

Here are some of my favorite things about this season of Nationals baseball:

• We are all Baby Sharks. I don't have kids so I didn't know about "Baby Shark" until one of my friends shared it with me last fall. Her daughter was very into the song, and they went as the Family Shark for Halloween. I admit to singing a version of this song to my cat. Never did I ever expect it to be the song of the Washington Nationals. Geraldo Parra changed his walk up song over the summer to "Baby Shark" partially because his daughter loves the song. Since then, he's been on a hitting streak, the team has been on a winning streak, and adults are willing sing this song in public. Watch a version by the organist at the National Cathedral or maybe this version by members of the NSO. Embrace your inner Baby Shark!
• Nationals Fans I know every team thinks their fans are the best fans, but seriously, have you met Captain Obvious? Or how about BeardedNatitude? Or any of the hundreds of delightful humans lighting up my Twitter feed with wholesome pictures of their rally cats, Nats pups, and their adorable children? I can't take the cuteness. Washington City Paper ran a great article this week about the Nats fan community and it made me so happy to see the sheer joy baseball brings to this area. The DC area is a tough place to live; it's intense in a way people who don't live here don't understand. It can be hard to make friends or feel a sense of community. Going to Nats Park is a community. 
• Dugout Dance Parties.  I don't know about you, but seeing professional baseball players dance in the dugout brings a whole new level of fun to the game. The Nationals have been dancing in the dugout since the summer, and it's so pure. Celebrating success and one another is what makes a team a team. I could (and maybe have) watch dugout dance party videos all day. I even own the shirt.
• Juan Soto is 21 Years Old. Juan Soto seems like a really wonderful human being. He's had and amazing season and has been a huge part of the postseason success of the team. NPR did a great story about him and the impact of Latino players on baseball. Did I mention that he turned 21 yesterday on day three of World Series? Fans signed a giant card for him and sang "Happy Birthday." They may not have won last night, but a great way to spend your 21st birthday: doing what you love, with a team and fan base that love you. 
• The team's affection for one another. This was evident long before the postseason began, but in the playoffs and the World Series, it's become even more evident. This team cares about one another and it shows on the field and off. One of my favorite photos from Game Two was the one of Stephen Strasburg being hugged by Geraldo Parra and Anibal Sanchez. Toxic masculinity is rampant in professional sports, but there's something about this team that cuts right through that. They are living their best baseball lives and it shows in every interaction and in every game. 
• Enjoy your job and other's will notice. I work in learning and development, so I've lost count of the number of times I've told people, both at work and in my personal life, to find the thing they love doing and do that always. I think about this whenever I go to a sporting event, a concert, a play - these are people doing the thing and loving every minute of it. I will never know how it feels to play in the World Series, but I do know exactly how it feels to do something I love and enjoy every minute of it. When I watch the Nats, particularly in the postseason, that's what I see. A team doing the thing and loving the job they have. I'm sure the Astros feel the same way, but I don't see it when I watch them play. Maybe my fandom is getting in the way, but I don't care. These guys are the best.
• Washington sports teams rallying for one another...minus one. The bromance between the Washington Nationals and the Capitals (our hockey team for those who don't follow sports or care) is amazing. That's the only word I can use to describe it. The Nats showed up to support the Caps two years ago when they eventually won the Stanley Cup, and the Caps have been here for the Nats. I love seeing hometown teams support one another; it goes back to the idea of community I talked about earlier. Not only are the Caps and Nats fans of one another, but they've also celebrated the WNBA champion team, the Washington Mystics, and the Wizards have been supportive of the Nats postseason. DC United made it to the playoffs this year, and had a great season. All we're missing is the NFL team, but you know, they're not really interested in being supportive of other teams. Oh well, we don't need them or their hateful owner. Support DC sports - I might even a soccer game next season. Who am I?

I don't know if the Nationals are going to win the World Series. I'll be sad if they lose, and I'll be beyond excited if they win. Enjoy the run. Enjoy the series. And then come back out next season. 

My 40th Year on Earth: Work, Death, and Stuff

I have a realtor.

A few weeks ago, I posted about my perfectionist tendencies and my anxiety around buying my first home. Yes, I'm aware that people buy homes everyday (even if maybe they shouldn't), but that doesn't make it less stress-inducing. Since I shared my post, I've done what I always do: research. I read a bunch of articles about first-time home buying, loan types, the pre-approval process, and even looked at some listings. And then I got very anxious, and asked Keely to cuddle with me. My non-lap cat obliged, bless him, and I felt better. I did nothing, but I felt better.

I should back up a little bit before my real estate anxiety attack. The end of September and beginning of October were a series of unrelated, but actually very related events that have given me some new perspective on life and things (so eloquent, I know). It started with the docent walkthrough of the new Judy Chicago exhibition at the museum where I volunteer. Judy Chicago is one of my favorite artists, and I've been waiting for this exhibit to open. She spoke about it the last time she did an event at NMWA two years ago. The exhibition is called The End: A Meditation on Death and Extinction, and features three sections on grief, mortality, and extinction. With that title, you can imagine what the exhibition is like. It starts with a powerful series based on Kubler Ross's five stages of grief, moves into a personal exploration of one's mortality, and ends with a harrowing look at what we're doing to the Earth. No amount of me describing it will do the exhibition justice, so come visit NMWA to see if for yourself.

So during a walkthrough, the curators take docents and other volunteers through the exhibition and provide insight into the work, the artist, and the exhibition structure. We were in the room focused on mortality when I go to a work entitled How Will I Die #9. The work depicts a woman (Chicago) in bed with a large cat lying next to her. The text in the work reads "Will I die in my own bed with my cat Pete by my side?"

Pete looks exactly like Keely.

Photography isn't allowed in this exhibit, so you have to take my word for it or go see it for yourself. I started laughing, which is a terrible reaction to a very serious subject, but I couldn't help it. I could actually see myself in this image in a way that I've never seen myself in a work of art. It was funny, depressing, bizarre, and comforting all at the same time. A few days later, the museum hosted a Fresh Talk with Chicago and Martha C. Nussbaum, a philosophy and law professor. Nussbaum wrote the essay in the new Chicago monograph about The End. During the talk, Chicago discussed the evolution of her feminism, and the idea of personal and global grief. Listening to the women discuss death and the extinction of the planet was a lot. At some point in the discussion, Chicago said, "If there's going to be change, it's going to be because people take it in their own hands." Obviously, she was talking about the damage we've done to the planet, but like a song lyric, I added my own meaning to this comment. It could be about politics, our personal lives, and my fear of things like buying a house and dying alone in bed with my cat. I can overthink everything or I can just go do it.

A few days later, I attended an event for the release of Patti Smith's new book, Year of the Monkey. This is the third time I've seen Patti Smith live, and the second book talk. (I saw her in concert in 2008 - the start of Old Lady Concert Rules posts.) The new book is a follow up to the book M Train, which was an odd book, told in a sort of stream of conscious way and focused on grief (loss of her husband, damage to her home after Hurricane Sandy). In M Train, Smith travels all over, but it's a focused wandering. Year of the Monkey is a travel book too, but one that blurs "fact, fiction, and dream." It takes place in 2016, a year where Smith lost two very close friends and was working through those losses. I haven't finished the book, which is short compared to both Just Kids and M Train, but it's a little harder to read because I can feel her grief throughout. She talks through the "cycles of death" during the book and her talk. It was a fitting companion to Judy Chicago. Both women were so open about about these private feelings and moments, but in completely different ways. Thinking about death and mortality for several days straight is emotionally exhausting; I can't imagine doing it while writing a book or working on an art exhibition. My brain was mush by the end of Smith's talk/musical performance.

About a week after the book talk, I presented at my first professional conference. My company won an award, and we were invited to take part in a panel during the conference associated with the award. Originally my boss was going to present, but in early September, she asked if I wanted to be on the panel instead. Without hesitation, I said yes. I was in the final stages of preparation for this presentation when the Chicago exhibit opened and Year of the Monkey was released. Imagine having all these thoughts about death and mortality and loss swirling around in your brain while also preparing for a major work event. I'm a very confident public speaker. I like to describe my comfort level as either having "the confidence of a much taller person" or "a mediocre white man talking." I can talk to anyone, especially if I'm passionate about the topic (this is why I'm a great docent). I love what I do, but I've always felt like I wasn't worthy since I fell into a career in learning and development (L&D). Impostor syndrome is real, y'all. I've presented at conferences before, but it was always sponsored by the company I worked for, and my expertise wasn't questioned because I literally helped build the product I was talking about. This conference was nothing like that. I was presenting to other L&D professionals, many of whom have been working in the field their entire careers. I was on a panel with two executives from two other organizations. I've been in a training/learning role since 2008, so I've been doing this for 10 years, but I still felt like the new kid going into the event.

I nailed it. I wore a blazer like a freaking rock star (if rocks stars wore blazers, I don't know their lives). I spoke about the successes we've had aligned our programming with the organization's goals, and shared the lessons we've learned along the way. I answered questions, I discussed strategy, I cracked a couple of appropriate jokes. People came up to me throughout the day and complimented my presentation and wanted to talk more about what we're doing. I've made a bunch of connections professionally. I finally feel like I'm part of the community. I don't think that would have happened had I not joined the organization I'm at today. I've had some doubts since starting, but this event really helped me see the value of the work me and the team are doing. Y'all, I'm a real professional.

What does any of this have to do with finding a realtor? I've been talking about buying a house since the summer, but did nothing about it until this week. I was stuck, thinking too much about everything, getting wrapped up in the stressful parts of buying a house (money, I'm talking about money), hating that I have to do everything by myself, and thinking I can't do it. Having spent several weeks in a row thinking very deeply about some very hard topics and having some real successes made me realize I just have to do this...and I can do this. I don't want to live in a nice, but not great overpriced apartment, dealing with crappy neighbors and stupid community policies (the resident gate is only open until 8 pm - what nonsense is this?). I don't want to pay for Keely to live in my apartment anymore; pet rent is a huge scam. Judy Chicago wasn't talking about buying property when she talked about change, but change only happens when we decide to do it. I want to enjoy where I live. I want to be part of a community. I want my own space. I'm an adult lady who can do things.


Coming soon to the Island: Glitter purse season is back, a Lazy Movie Weekend post, and I start my house hunt.

On Perfection

I'm thinking of buying a house. I've never owned a home before; my most permanent belongings are a car and some rare records. Since I moved out of my parents' house when I went to college, I've been fine with apartment living. My twenties and much of my thirties included several moves, and a stretch of time from roughly 2002-2012 when I traveled frequently (2 weeks per month) for work. An apartment made sense. It was permanent enough, but gave me the flexibility to say, move to California for two years without worrying about having to sell or rent property. I guess it also helps that I'm your resident single friend, so I don't have to worry about a spouse or kids and schools. It's just me and my cat son, and he doesn't care as long as he has a window, his bed, and food.

Now when I say house, I probably mean condo given where I live and the way real estate prices work around the DMV. If I wanted an actual house, I'd probably have to live in the middle of nowhere and drive four hours to work because NOVA has become the most expensive place in the world (I'm exaggerating slightly). Amazon is coming, and I assume that part of Jeff Bezos's plan to become a Bond villain is to drive up the cost of living so high in the area where I live that it will be deserted and he'll basically exist on a land island. Rent is worse, so really the smart thing to do is buy a house/condo. It's less expensive in the big picture, and would give me the one thing I really want: space.

I have hobbies. All of my hobbies include lots of stuff. As I write this, I'm sitting at my kitchen table (also my desk when I work from home), which is currently housing a button maker, stencils, an entire collection of pens, this laptop, two notebooks, my sewing machine (sitting on a chair), and tour notes for the museum. Under the table, are nine plastic bins that contain all of my glitter purse making supplies for Nyx 2020. If you go into the closet in my bedroom, you'll find all of the embroidery and other craft supplies I own and my larger sewing kit. I only bring those things out when I'm working on a project. My kitchen table would really like to be just a kitchen table.

Real estate is overwhelming, whether we're talking about renting or buying something. Yes, my parents and many of my friends are homeowners. I know at least seven realtors, none of whom live in my state, but I know them. That means nothing. It's still overwhelming and stressful. My shoulders are killing me just thinking about it. I'm uncomfortable with this process because I know very little about how it all works. Yes, I am researching and doing my part to understand, but it's still overwhelming. And a big part of why it is overwhelming is because it's risky and there are lots of unknowns within the process.

And that is the real problem. It's not the responsibility of home ownership so much as the fact that I don't know anything about what I'm about this journey that I'm about to embark on, and that is terrifying. I was listening to a podcast from Harvard Business Review this week called "Perfect is the Enemy," and it hit me hard. The podcast could have been about me. I'm a perfectionist and as such, it's hard to do things when I'm not 100% sure I can deliver or do something completely (halfway is not good enough for me). It's not in my nature. When I think about buying a house, I immediately go to the hundreds of things that could go wrong with doing so, rather than the positives I know exist. There are things I won't control in the process, and that makes me uncomfortable. I can't color code my way through this experience (maybe I can a little).

There were a few things in the podcast that made me say "that's me" (but not necessarily in a good way). My organizational skills tend to be very rigid, especially if I'm managing a project. While I'm fine with being flexible because the project scope or needs change, I still want to do things my way because I know my way is the best way (it's not always). I take failure very personally and even minor mistakes make me feel terrible. I don't often ask for help. I've been more aware of all of these things since starting my job two years ago, and have been trying to figure out a way how to balance it all and not drive myself or my colleagues crazy. There was a section on taking compliments that resonated too. I'm getting better on that front every day.

One of the podcast hosts said something a little later in the episode that definitely made me pause:

"There was a time, when I was younger, where especially being a perfectionist was kind of like a humble brag, like, I’m such a perfectionist. You know, you’re almost sort of proud of it....But then, over time, I started to realize, really for me, it was about internalizing other people’s expectations, and even sometimes just their imagined expectations."

This is exactly how I feel, and probably the way lots of women feel. We internalize so much of what we know or perceive others feel and it's exhausting. While I know that's now why I'm a perfectionist, I know my reaction to things when they don't go well is tied directly to this feeling. The hosts went on to discuss how as they go older, they stopped caring so much about those things they felt had to be perfect. They were more comfortable with who they are, their beliefs, and what they needed to be successful. It's not about not taking feedback, but using it in a way that will make you better and deciding what that actually means.

I think that's what people mean when they tell me how much I'm going to love being in my forties. It's like there's a magical line I've crossed that enables me to say, "Yes, I'm a perfectionist. I know this isn't always a positive thing, and I'm working on that. I also know that I don't care if you don't like the fact that I don't wear makeup all that often, have strong opinions about lots of things, like order and process, but still appreciate creativity and whimsy. I live my life for me, not you."

I don't have to be perfect. None of us have to be perfect. I can still love order and lists and my way of doing things, and not be perfect. I can step into the overwhelming, but ultimately (I hope) satisfying world of home ownership and be okay with the fact that it's overwhelming and I don't know what I'm doing. That doesn't mean I'll fail or not find a place to live. There are experts who will help me. Once they do, I can unleash my very thoroughly tested process for moving (it involves five steps) and dream of what color I'll paint my bedroom.

Please enjoy this very relaxing photo of Keely. He snores; it's very soothing.

Short Story Hour: At the County Fair

While this story was inspired by my experience competing in a county fair, it is a work of fiction. Enjoy!

I never expected to find a county fair in the middle of suburban Virginia. Sure, out in the southwestern part of the state, a county fair makes sense. That’s where all the farms and ranches are. It feels right. A county fair doesn’t feel like it fits in the neighborhoods of Austin County. But here I am, and here’s the fair.  

My participation started as a lark. A group of my friends have been pushing me to open my own bakery for the last year or so. I don’t hate my corporate job; I just know I’m more than my job. I’m more than another person working for the man. However, I’m not sure that I have what it takes to open a bakery. I’m most at home when I’m baking something, but that doesn't mean I'd be a successful bakery owner. Over drinks on Valentine’s Day, my friends dared me to find a way to test whether people other than them enjoyed my baking. We found the fair online. I didn’t have to register in advance, so this gave me time to overthink the entire experience. Overthinking is one of my super powers.  

Flash forward six months to August and the Austin County police station. Yes, a police station. Who knew that agreeing to one simple think, baking in a county fair, would land me in an interrogation room?  

I’m not alone at the station. Two other contestants are with me. It’s actually their fault here in the first place. Myrna and Doris couldn’t help themselves with their vendetta. Thirty-four years of participating in the fair apparently creates county fair monsters. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s go back to the start this nonsense - July 4 weekend. That’s when I met Myrna for the first time.   

July 4th Weekend 

The fireworks get more and more crowded every year. I scanned the crowds looking for the flag my friends Chris and Emma put up for our picnic site. It was a shark-shaped flag, which made it easier to spot among the American flags. I made my way across the park to our spot, carrying a tote bag full of min-pies and cookie bars. I always baked too much, but what can I say? I love to bake (said in my best Sarah Jessica Parker in Girls Just Want to Have Fun voice).  

Most of my group are friends from high school. I met Chris, Emma, and Jane in the ninth grade and we’ve been friends ever since. Chris and Emma got engaged in the spring, so wedding planning was in full effect. Leigh and Josh joined our group later; work friends of mine who became friend-friends. We’ve been coming to the fireworks as a group for the last few years, since I moved back to town. Everyone brings food and we enjoy a nice night out.  

“Thank goodness, the baked goods have arrived. I thought we’d be pie-less this year,” Chris greets me with the same thing he says every year.  

“Parking sucks and the shuttle is down a van, so it took longer than planned.” I put down my tote and lawn chair and started arranging pies and cookie bars on the platters I brought. Standing back to look at all the goodies arranged on the platters, I realized I really did over-bake this year. There were three types of mini-pies: cherry, apple, and lemon, and two bar cookies. I skipped frosting the bars because of the heat. I was sure no one would turn down taking leftovers home. I guess I got carried away. 

“Look at the little pies!” Janie exclaimed, “These are so cute!” 

“Thanks! I found these little pie tins and couldn’t help myself. They’re silicone so I can reuse them. The lemon pie and butterscotch bars are both possible contenders for my county fair entry, so I need honest feedback.” I was actually going through with the baking contest in a few weeks. I wanted to enter at least two recipes. I settled on s’mores bar, but was still trying to pick a second recipe. I was having a hard time deciding and hoped my friends would help me decide. As we settled into our picnic, I noticed a group of older women watching us from a nearby blanket. They were all in the late 60s, maybe a little older, and had an impressive picnic spread. I could see an assortment of cookies and bars, cupcakes, and what looked like fresh baked bread. One lady stood out, and was staring at me. I waved, hoping to seem friendly.  

She nodded at me and went back to her group. My friends didn’t notice the exchange; I tucked it away and went on enjoying the rest of the evening. The fireworks were amazing, and almost all of my baked goods were eaten. As I walked back to my car later in the evening, I got the sense that someone was following me. Maybe they’re just walking in the same direction, I thought. There were plenty of people around so I would be fine. I got to my car without incident. As I was loading my chair and bags into my trunk, I was startled by a voice.  

“Thinking of entering the baking contest at the fair?”  

I turned to see the lady from the fireworks. She was shorter than me, but seemed very powerful. Her was in a perfect salt and pepper bob despite the humidity. She was dressed casually, but stylishly.  

“You startled me,” I replied. 

“Sorry dear, I didn’t mean to.” She stepped a little closer. “I overheard you at the fireworks. My name is Myrna. I’ve been competing at the fair for over 30 years. I thought we could talk.” Myrna stepped her way closer to me.  

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Was this a friendly “I want to help out a new competitor” kind of help or a “I will mess up your life if you take away my blue ribbon” kind of help? I was curious, but nervous. I shook Myrna’s hand, “I’m Alice. Nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you too, Alice. I’m always excited to meet a new contestant. It’s good to see younger people getting involved in the community and keeping the fine art of baking alive.” Myrna looked excited.  

“I love to bake, always have. The fair sounds like a fun way to share my love baking,” I replied.  

“Wonderful! I’d like to invite you to meet some other long-time participants. We have coffee on Wednesday mornings at 7:30. Would you like to join us this week?”  

“I would love to. It would be nice to talk with some experienced competitors about the fair. I have so many questions.” It was perfect. 

Myrna beamed at me. “We’ll see you on Wednesday then. We meet at Tilly’s. Do you know where that is?” 

“I do. See you then!” 

Myrna waved and walked toward the group of women I saw her with earlier. I waved at the ladies. They nodded and walked away. Wednesday was going to be interesting.  

Tilly’s Coffee - Wednesday morning, Four Weeks until the Fair 

I arrived at Tilly’s a few minutes early on Wednesday. I didn’t dare be late; these were the type of women who didn’t forgive tardiness. I found parking easily, rare for the neighborhood. I took that as a good sign. The ladies were already at a table near the window, giving them a view of the comings and goings on the street and inside the cafe.  

“Alice! You made it,” Myrna called me over.  

“Wouldn’t have missed it. Good morning.” I took the empty seat next to Myrna.  

“Let me introduce everyone. This is Doris, our resident vegetable lady.” She motioned to the woman to her left.  

“And Inez, our beekeeper.” Inez sat to Doris’s right. “And finally, Alma. Alma is our cross stitcher and grows the most beautiful roses in the entire county.” Alma was to my left.  

“This is Alice. She’s entering the baking competition for the first time this year.”  

“It’s so nice to meet all of you.” I smiled at each woman.  

Before anything else could be said, our waitress came to take orders. I ordered a latte and maple scone, Tilly’s house special.  

“What are you planning on entering, Alice?” Inez asked. 

“So far, I have a bar cookie planned and either a cake or fruit bread. I was going to try for a pie, but my pastry game has been off lately.” The pastry was getting on my last nerve. 

“It’s the heat. Good to hear your categories. You’re not competing with Myrna’s sourdough or award-winning chocolate chip cookies.” Doris smiled at me in a way that was both friendly, but also made me feel like she’d cut me if I was directly competing with Myrna. 

“Now Doris, that’s not why I wanted Alice to meet us. A little competition is good for the soul.” Myrna patted my hand as she spoke.  

“I know, I know. I just wanted to check,” Doris replied. “You’re right to have more than one entry. Always enter more than one category.” 

Our coffees arrived, and the ladies shifted to non-fair related topics for a few minutes. I enjoyed their easy banter. I could tell they’d been friends a long time. They told me about how they met. Doris and Inez were sisters-in-law; and Myrna and Alma were neighbors. Myrna and Doris’s husbands had worked together, which was how they all met. That was in 1974, and they’d been friends ever since. They all lived in Richmond Heights, one of the older neighborhoods in the county. I lived in the same area, but in the downtown area. As much as I was enjoying the conversation, I had to leave soon for work. Myrna, sending my need to leave, moved the conversation back to the fair.  

“Alice, I know you probably need to get to work so I’ll get right to it. We want you to be part of our fair team this year.” The other women eagerly looked my way for an answer. 

“Your fair team? What does that mean?” A fair team was new to me.  

“There’s a lot you don’t know about the fair. Over the years, it’s gone from a sweet tradition to a pretty cutthroat competition. Alliances have formed and competition is fierce. We need a younger person to round our skill set, particularly in the baking categories.” Myrna paused and sipped her tea.  

Doris continued, “It might seem like and innocent community event, but it’s high stakes. Winning at the fair ensures us a certain place within the community. We’ve been winning since 1977. We want to keep it that way, but we also want to keep things fresh and fun.”  

All eyes were on me. I didn’t want to say no, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to say yes. There was something about these women that made me think they’d get me into trouble. The silence dragged on for what seemed like an eternity even though it was only a few seconds. 

“Sure, I’d love to be on your fair team.” The ladies clapped and cheered. 

“Excellent, dear. We’re so glad you're on the team.” Alma gave me a side hug.  

We finished up our coffees so I could leave for work. I gave them my phone number and agreed to meet for lunch on Saturday for a team strategy session. We’d talk recipes and they’d tell me all about our competition. As I got up to leave, Myrna asked for my t-shirt size. “We have shirts, dear. Like any good team.” 

Or gang, I thought to myself.  

One Week Until the Fair 

“How’s the fair prep going?” Emma poured us each a glass of wine. We were finally catching up after the last few busy weeks.  

“My recipes have been finalized and I have my baking schedule all mapped out for next week. The ladies are getting their items ready too. You should see the tomatoes and cucumbers Doris grew. I don’t know if tomatoes can be pretty, but they are. Alma’s needlework is beautiful; truly a work of art. And the honey! I had no idea honey could be so many colors. Inez is a genius.” I rambled on and on. 

“What about Myrna?” Emma was obsessed with Myrna. 

“I have sampled sixteen different kinds of bread since I met her. Myrna can’t help herself when it comes to baking. We have that in common. I brought you some to try. It goes great with soft cheese.” I brought out several containers from my tote bag. Emma was always my sampler, so why shouldn’t she be Myrna’s?  

“Something is up though; I can feel it. I keep walking in on conversations and they change the subject fast.” I passed Emma some bread and cheese. 

“Holy cats! This bread is amazing. Chris can’t have any. Mine, my precious.” Emma ate another piece. “Do you think they’re planning something?” 

“I don’t really know. The snippets I’ve heard include mention of our “rival” team, but no specifics. They’ve told me other teams play dirty, but I don’t really know that means. We don’t, but others do. I’ve asked, but I don’t get any straight answers.”  

In the weeks since joining the team, I’d joined the ladies for Wednesday coffees and Saturday morning practice bakes. It was all very tame, but helpful. They me insight on the competition and what the judges would be looking for in my categories. We sampled baked goods and produce, and watched as Alma’s needlework came to life. However, the last few days felt off.  

“Maybe they’re hazing you. Stuff you full of carbs, keep you out of conversations, provide too much feedback. At your next meeting, they’ll spring something wild on you. Maybe you should get one of them alone.” Emma topped off our wine.  

“Good idea. I can get to Tilly’s early this week and get someone alone. I know their schedules now.” This could work. We moved on to other topics, and I put the fair out my mind for the rest of the night.  

Wednesday Morning, Less than a week until the fair 

Alma was at our regular table when I arrived for coffee. We hadn’t had much one on one time since I joined the team since her events didn’t involve food. I knew the least about her, but I was hoping that wouldn’t matter. 

“You’re early today, Alice.” Alma smiled as I sat down. 

“My cat was being a little jerk this morning, so I ended up getting up earlier than normal,” I explained. This was half true; Lou had been a jerk this morning, but I was wide awake before he started jumping on my head.  

“Cats like to remind us that they were once worshiped as gods.” Alma had three cats who were spoiled rotten. 

“They do. Lou is a good boy, but it’s his house and he knows it.” Our regular waitress brought over coffee while we waited for everyone else. I had to pick my words carefully. Alma was not the one I planned on approaching.  

“Are you excited for the fair? Your first competition!” Alma smiled, a little wistfully as if she were remembering her first fair.  

“I’m less nervous than I thought I’d be thanks to you ladies,” I was hoping my compliment would be my in with Alma. 

“We’re happy to do it! We all what it’s like to get started in the competitive events. Why wouldn’t we help someone so talented?” 

“That’s very kind of you to say. I have to admit, I expected more drama with the teams and the speech Myrna gave when I first met you.” Please let her bite, please let her tell me something. 

“We may have exaggerated a bit, dear. It’s all in good fun.” I could tell Alma was being evasive.  

Before I could respond, Myrna and Doris arrived. I failed; no information I could use. The ladies looked solemn, though, which was very unlike both of them. Alma noticed right away, signaling for coffee even before they sat down. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked. I might not have gotten information from Alma, but there was no way they could get out of telling me what was going on now.  

The trio shared a look, but no one spoke. Myrna looked tired and Doris looked disappointed, with a side of really pissed off. It seemed like an eternity before anyone said anything. Myrna broke the silence, “We need to wait for Inez.” 

“Is someone hurt?” I couldn’t help but ask. 

“No one is hurt...yet,” Doris replied. Inez rushed in. “Did you tell her?” 

“We were waiting for you.” Doris sipped her coffee and gave Inez a pointed look.  

“Well, I’m here. Let’s get it over with.” Inez was the only one who didn’t look upset. 

“Alice, we haven’t been entirely honest with you about our team,” Myrna began. “The rivalry with one of the other teams is more complicated than we originally shared.”  

My mind was racing; what could possibly be this serious. Were they paying off county fair judges? I said nothing, waiting for her to go on with the story. 

Doris picked it up instead. “It wasn’t always like this. Back in the beginning, it was just a nice community event to celebrate summer and the talented people who live in Austin County. But then Mary Agnes moved to town and started competing. And all hell broke loose.”  

“Mary Agnes?” I asked. No one had mentioned Mary Agnes.  

“Mary Agnes Riley. She moved to the Heights in 1976 when he husband’s company transferred him to their Virginia office. They moved in across the street from Alma, in the house with the yellow door. We welcomed her to our group. She’s a baker too, breads and pies mostly. Wicked talented with peonies too.” Doris sipped her coffee, lost in her memories.  

She continued, “Everything went well until the summer of 1989. Up until then, we all entered unique categories and supported one another like we do today. It was still competitive, but not direct, you know? There were other groups like ours, and we looked at them as our competition, but still in a friendly way. Well, that summer Mary Agnes decided she was going to enter the chocolate chip cookie category. She never expressed an interest and that’s Myrna’s signature cookie. Mary Agnes wanted to “branch out” that year.” 

“We got into a terrible argument,” Myrna picked up the story. “We both said some awful things to one another, and Mary Agnes stormed out of Doris’s house, vowing to beat me and ruin our standings in the fair community. I wanted to figure out a compromise, but she wouldn’t have it.” I patted her hand, and she smiled for the first time all morning. 

“What we didn’t know was that Mary Agnes stole a copy of my secret chocolate chip cookie recipe, along with several other family recipes. She never used the chocolate chip cookie recipe, but she did pass off several other recipes of mine as hers. I never called her out on any of this. We’ve never been the group to get into the fair drama. I was embarrassed by our argument and tried to apologize. She ignored every attempt. She’s also bad-mouthed us every year since that summer.” Myrna seemed so small at that moment, the weight of a lost friendship weighing so heavily on her.  

“Until now,” Alma spoke up. “We got word that Mary Agnes is going to finally use Myrna’s cookie recipe as her own. Apparently, 20 years is the timeline for treachery. She’s going to use the recipe and tell everyone that Myrna stole it from her.”  

I didn’t really know what to say. A 20-year grudge seemed like a lot to me, but I didn’t know Mary Agnes or really know these ladies. Was winning at the county fair worth theft and vicious gossip?  

“So, what are we going to do?” I asked. 

“We’re going to get the recipe back,” Doris replied with steel in her voice.  

“And you, Alice, you’re out ace in the hole.” Myrna signaled for a coffee refill and leaned in to tell me the plan. 

The next day 

I looked up every time the door to the cafe opened. Mary Agnes was supposed to be here in five minutes. The longer I sat, the more nervous I got. While I entertained Mary Agnes with a tale about being kicked out of the team, the ladies were planning to commit a little breaking and entering. They were going into Mary Agnes’s house to retrieve the recipes. I had to keep her busy for at least an hour. Alma would text me when they were out. I had no idea how they planned to get in and out of the house, but I was glad I didn’t know. The ladies thought the less I knew the better. 

A smartly dressed woman entered the cafe. This was Mary Agnes; she was the right age and looked like she would have fit perfectly in with Myrna and the other ladies. She had a slightly cool air about her, but was more approachable than I expected.  

“Are you Alice?” 

“I am. Nice to meet you, Mary Agnes,” I stood up and shook her hand.  

“Nice to meet you too. I heard a rumor Myrna had a protege this year. Too bad she went and messed it up. Typical Myrna. That group…” Mary Agnes trailed off before insulting the group anymore.  

“I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice. I didn’t know who else to talk to. I still want to enter the fair, but am so nervous they may try something.” Myrna had advised me to be dramatic, but not overly so. 

“Those women!” Mary Agnes was getting riled up and I hadn’t really told her anything yet. “I’ve known them for over 40 years, and they may seem all sweet and helpful, but they’re not. They will throw you under the bus if it makes them look like the better people.”  

“Funny, they said the same thing about you,” I sipped my tea and waited for her reaction. 

Mary Agnes raised an eyebrow and snickered, “The stories I could tell you. But let’s save that for another time. Tell me what happened.”  

I spent the next few minutes telling her a story about wanting to branch out and compete in the same category as Myrna, but being told that wasn’t how things were done on the team. Even though my recipe was the best and was very different from hers, it wasn’t allowed.  

“Myrna doesn’t like competition. She’s a bit of a control freak, but even I have to admit, she’s one of the best bakers I’ve ever seen. She just knows how ingredients come together and she makes them work for her. The combination of her talent and her control issues is too much, though.” I was about to ask Mary Agnes for more details when her cell phone rang. She ignored it. As she started to say something more, it rang again. 

She picked up her phone. “Oh, it’s my home security company. I need to take this.” She stepped away from the table.  

Home security company? Did the ladies know she had a security system? Alma lived across the street. I got out my phone to text her, to see what was going on. Before I could do anything, Mary Agnes returned to the table.  

“Well, it seems like your teammates have been reduced to common criminal behavior. The police are at my house. Myrna and Doris broke in. I have a feeling you already knew that.” I didn’t reply, but my face gave it away. I didn’t have a poker face. She continued, “You might as well follow me home and help your friends.” I paid for our drinks and followed her outside.  

“Seriously, what is wrong with you and your friends?” Mary Agnes was angry. 

I exploded at her. “What’s wrong with me and my friends? What’s wrong with you? You stole recipes and passed them off as yours. You bad-mouthed them for years. Over what - cookies? All I wanted was to compete in a freaking baking contest, not get in the middle of some mean girl drama. What’s wrong with me?” People were staring at us and two police officers were heading our way.  

“Ma’am, is this woman bothering you?” The question was directed at Mary Agnes. 

“She’s not bothering me, but she is involved in a situation at my house right now. Two of her friends tried to break into my home and she was helping to keep me out of the way. I was heading home when she started yelling at me.” Mary Agnes’s reply wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t true either.  

“That’s a serious accusation, ma’am. What’s your address? I’d like to check in before we proceed.” Officer One motioned to his partner to stay with me while he escorted Mary Agnes over to their car.  

I smiled at Officer Two, “This is just a big misunderstanding.” He stopped me. 

“I wouldn’t say anything right now, ma’am. You don’t want to get yourself into more trouble.” He kept an eye on me and one on his partner. The minutes ticked by as he checked to see if Mary Agnes’s story checked out. She stood next to Officer One, with a smug smile on her face. 

Officer One walked over to me and his partner. “Well, miss, we’re going to need you to come with us.” 

“Am I under arrest?” I couldn’t believe how quickly this stupid fair had spiraled out of control.  

“No, but we need to get your statement and figure out what’s going on. A few of your friends are on the way to the station for questioning too. While they didn’t mention your name, Mrs. Riley did, so we have to take her seriously.” Officer Taylor was his name. 

“I understand.” I didn’t, but what else was I going to say? “May I call someone before we go?”  

“Not right now. You’ll have a chance at the station.” Officer Taylor and his partner, Officer Daniels walked me towards their car. 

Mary Agnes smiled at me. “I told you your friends were bad news. See what they’ve gotten you into?” 

I said nothing to her as I got into the police car. I was riding in a police car to be questioned at the police station because of cookies. 

A few hours later 

My day had not improved since arriving at the police station. Myrna and Doris were nowhere to be seen; Officer Taylor mentioned something about them being in a holding cell, but didn’t give me any details. I was escorted to an interrogation room once we arrived. The officers kept assuring me that I wasn’t being arrested or anything; they just had questions for me. That was it.  

I had been sitting in the interrogation room for two hours. Officers Taylor and Daniel had asked me a bunch of questions which I answered truthfully. I told them about how I met Myrna and her friends and what I knew of their relationship with Mary Agnes. I didn’t know much about their plan to get into her house, but I admitted to inviting her to coffee under false pretenses. They took their notebooks and left me in the room. I should have been home putting together my recipe cards and making a shopping list for the weekend. I had taken two weeks off of work so I didn’t have to worry about going in. Oh God, was I going to get fired because of this? Would my boss find out?  

Before I could have more of a panic attack about getting fired, Officer Taylor came back into the room. His face was completely neutral, so I had no sense of what was about to happen. 

“Ms. Simon, thank you for waiting. I appreciate your help and your willingness to answer all of our questions. You’re free to go.” He smiled at me and motioned to the door.  

“What about Myrna and Doris? Do they get to leave too?” Despite the fact that I was currently sitting in an interrogation room because of their crazy idea, I couldn’t help but worry about Myrna and Doris.  

“They should be released later today. We’re not charging them with anything. They weren’t technically breaking and entering; they had a key. So, while Mrs. Riley insists we charge them with something, there’s nothing much we can do. They opened a door, the alarm went off, and they were startled. They didn’t actually enter the house or take anything. The security company held them because Mrs. Riley said she didn’t know who they were, but we know that’s not true. We can’t really prove anything, so we’re letting them go.” Officer Taylor looked relieved this was all over. It seemed silly compared to actual crime. 

“Entering a baking competition was supposed to fun. I’m sorry this happened.” I grabbed my purse and got up to leave.  

Officer Taylor walked me to the front of the station. “I hope you still enter. It sounds like you’re a pretty good baker. Don’t let their problems with one another keep you from entering. These ladies need to work this out, but you don’t need to be part of that.” 

“Thank you, Officer. I appreciate that.” I stopped short as I saw Myrna and Doris being escorted out of holding to the front of the station. They looked proud of themselves, but also a little embarrassed. I figured that was more for getting caught than anything else.  

I walked over to them. “Do you want me to wait with you? My friend is coming to take me back to my car, but I can wait with you.”  

Myrna smiled at me, “No dear, you go home. Inez is on her way to get us. Thankfully, our husbands are on their annual golfing trip. They would be none too pleased with us.”  

“Okay, as long as you have a way home.” I started to walk away, but turned back to them. “As much as I enjoyed being on the team, I’m done. I’m going to enter the competition without you. I hope you understand.” 

Myrna and Doris both nodded. Myrna replied, “Of course. We didn’t mean you any harm, but could have ruined a lot for you. Enjoy the competition, dear. Best of luck.”  

“Thank you. I really mean that.” I walked out of the station to Emma’s waiting car.  

Epilogue 

County Fair Intrigue - Recipe Stealing, Breaking and Entering, and a 40-Year Grudge 

The headline on the community website news feed made me chuckle. The county fair had come and gone, but people were still trying to figure out exactly what happened between Myrna and Mary Agnes. This story was the most recent in a series by a local writer who suspected something was amiss when five of the most seasoned fair competitors decided not to compete in any events this year. Myrna, Doris, Inez, Alma, and Mary Agnes all bowed out of the competition in the days following the alleged break-in. I don’t know what transpired between the women, but there seemed to be some type of truce in place. The writer couldn't get any of them to comment for her stories, but that didn't stop others from offering theories and 40-year old gossip. She never figured out I was connected to the ladies, so I stayed out of the articles. I hadn't talked to any of them since the day at the police station. It was the best option for me.

I entered the fair as planned, but changed my recipes at the last minute. I realized I had been doing what Myrna and the ladies wanted, not what I wanted all along. I wasn’t being true to myself as a baker, and that had to change. I decided to enter my coconut cake and my chocolate chip cookie bars. It wasn’t Myrna’s category, but it was close enough. My cake won a Grand Champion award in both my section and department, one of the highest awards given at the fair. The bars won a first premium class award for the bars category. Not too bad for a first-time contestant. My friends were all there to celebrate with me at the awards ceremony. When I went up to receive my awards for the cake, I saw Myrna, Doris, Inez, and Alma standing in the back of the room. They were all smiling and cheering for me. I waved at them and they waved back. I took it as a sign; one generation of competitors allowing the next generation to take over.