We did not exchange gifts this year. For the first time in three years, Christmas did not come wrapped in memories of IVs, hospital smells, or the face of pain…that was gift enough.

We received a digital photo frame from Nick's parents last week. Resizing pictures from "the early days", there are lines on our faces that were not there before. We joke that we've aged each other. How dare you make me smile so much that it stays on my face long after the moment has passed! As we embark on our fourth year together, he can still surprise me.

Unloading groceries last night, he hands me an envelope. "I meant this to be for Christmas, but it did not come until Saturday." I reread the first line a few times in disbelief. He donated money for Cancer research in my mother's name. It was one of the most thoughtful gifts I have ever received. I started tearing up and his lower lip trembled: he knew.

He did not know her well. I wanted them to meet, but Mom was insistent that she wanted to wait until she felt better. She was in denial that the end was so near, and I suppose that I was too because I rescheduled the meeting for some future date when the nightmare would be over.

Instead, he met her once in the hospital when she promised him, "Next time you see me, I'll be doing somersaults," and the next time he saw her she was delirious and heading into a coma. Yet, for a woman that he didn't know, and a girlfriend that he knew less than a month, he never left my side. He just seemed to understand what needed to be done.

He always does. Thank you, Nick.

Happy New Year!

Waiting: the thief of youth. My young life always about what was going to happen next, never what was happening at the moment.

I renewed my domain this morning, when I vividly remember purchasing it three years ago to replace the website that carried my ex-husband's name. Three years ago...wow. What a different place I was in then. Just learning to live again, wishing Mom's Cancer away, and figuring out if there was anything I was excited to wait for.

Dark days.

I became a prolific blogger, often publishing twice a day. I've always written my way through the hard times. I remember the waiting then, waiting for the ache in my heart to lessen, waiting for the outlook to brighten, waiting for life to go back to the way I was comfortable with it being. Writing filled the overwhelming emptiness of the wait.

My blogging has fallen by the wayside in recent years. Not that the art is not the same faithful friend that it has always been, but rather that I no longer feel like I am empty. I am not waiting. I have now arrived at the stage in my life where I am living.

Last week, I finished my associate's degree. I have two more years to finish the bachelor's program before I tackle the next level. I finished with a four-point-oh. I had a work review with my manager earlier in the week, and he told me that I will go far—that he did not know me well enough to be certain, but that I seemed driven to succeed at all costs.

That caught me. I do not deal in absolutes. At all costs? No...but at most. I am fortunate to have learned early in life, albeit the hard way, how to prioritize and use whatever time I have to accomplish what I want to accomplish. I regret the time I wasted mourning the death of my former life in the fall of 2005. I did not see the opportunities before me, only those lost. The wasted time of waiting, indeed…

Ignoring the fact that I have almost no free time at all (and when I do, I usually dedicate it to something truly needy such as an overlarge laundry pile), I think I blog less simply because I no longer need a witness or someone to substantiate my claims of a brighter tomorrow. Tomorrow will be whatever it will be, but today is what I can change.

I was tired of waiting for that elusive something that would fix everything…especially when the girl in mirror seemed more than capable of turning things around. And lookie-there: she did. Yes, I was a different person when I decided to chronicle my lore. I wanted someone to enjoy, someone to approve, or maybe just someone to care.

With that sad little door shut, I suppose I should warn you that I will be here and there for the next four years with mundane drivel about my chubby cat, pesky significant other, or exasperating family (all of whom I love beyond words) sprinkled with dull tidbits of my forays through Finance. Now, now, hold that excitement in.

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HAH! I just realized that the title may be a touch misleading with the recent election. I won't say much on that subject but to tell you that for the first time in, hmm, maybe eight years, I woke Wednesday morning with a lighter weight on my shoulders.

Friday, I wore my first pair of tights of the season. The air is chilly and the foliage afire. I really hate the cold, but how can anybody hate autumn? Unquestionably the most beautiful of the four, it is the only season I missed while living in North Carolina.

It puts me in the mood for Fall snacks. Nick and I made pumpkin-raisin cookies the other night for him to take into work, and now I cannot be stopped. I love the spicy sent of Worcestershire sauce baking in a cozy kitchen. After a housework-productive but otherwise lazy morning, I decided I would venture out to find ingredients for Chex Mix.

Now, you must understand my love affair with Chex Mix. I have loved it longer than I've loved almost anything. Crunchy, savory goodness in every bite. How could one not fall headlong in love? I told Nick I would drive into Madison to buy my supplies because the local grocery store gets a little snarfy with my wallet.

So I venture out. I don't know if it's that I've accepted that I won't have children, or too many years living in peace, but the screaming kids, yelling parents, and bickering spouses drove me bonkers. So completely oblivious to anyone around them in the cramped aisles! Oh, and CONTROL YOUR CHILDREN, THEY'RE MAKING A MESS OF THE DORITOS. I did not realize it was a code that every irritating person in the world converged upon their nearest grocery store on Saturday afternoon. I know now.

In the past, I've always made the Chex Mix (hereafter CM) juice from scratch, but I've become slothful in my old, late-twenties age. I prefer the packets now (with extra Worcestershire sauce of course). Do you think I could find a packet? NO. Of course not. How can I really pay attention with out-of-control children running so erratically that I feared running one of them over with my cart! I could not find a store associate to ask, and the crowd (AND NOISE) had me feeling all twitchy-like. If Nick had been with me, he would have fist-pumped me saying, "cats are the way to go."

So I check out after the lady in front of me had the cashier scan about 50 coupons, all of which turned out to be expired. I was feeling testy as my turn came. The little machine asked me if I wanted cash back. Well, I did...but the hell if I'd ask for it. I didn't want anything more to do with that place. Just give me my bags and live me the **bleep** alone.

I stalked to the end of the parking lot with my things, cooling down none at all. I stashed everything in the back and jammed my key into the ignition. Merging onto the highway upon which I usually love to speed in my cute little red car, I went the speed limit exactly. Not even five over. I would have been more considerate had there been traffic behind me, but I was free to be as poky as I please. I was totally and utterly spent. The NOISE! Does it ever turn off?? Sophie barely even meows!

The light turns green and I am rationalizing that I have all the ingredients at home to make the CM "juice" from scratch. An intersection later and I'm pissy (yes, I said pissy) all over again because no, I don't have everything. I used the rest of the butter the other day to make PUMPKIN-RAISIN COOKIES. I slam my palm against the wheel and color the inside of my Mazda with a little noise of my own.

I am resigned to stopping at the small-town grocery store now. It's the only option I have left—that, or abandon the project all together, which would have had my banging my head against a concrete wall that I put myself through all that chaos for nothing. I have another term that describes it better, but the world need not know that I can swear like a sailor when my ire is good and gotten.

So, I whip into the small, poorly designed parking lot and slam my door outside the little and expensive local store. The automatic door slithers open with the softest hiss…and inside? Muted conversation, the soothing hum of the lights. In short, sanity. I walk down the cereal aisle for kicks and giggles and right away, right where they should be, should always be, was a bevy of flavor packets. TONS of them. I think I stuffed 10 of 'em in my basket. Off to get the butter/shortening substitute, I pass the cheese curds.

Hmm. Yes. After my afternoon, I could stand a little sqeaky cheese. I throw a bag in my basket before grabbing the Smart Balance. Rounding my way back to the registers, with a much more sprightly, Laura-like outlook, I pass the spirits section. Hmm. Yes. Some of that too. I grab a sixer of John Adams Cherry Wheat.

I check out, having an altogether delightful conversation with the cashier. Humming happily, I walk to my car. Serenely pulling from the lot, I navigate home. Of course the store I initially sought to avoid should be the saving grace of my excursion. Life is nothing if not ironic.

Home. The quiet place. The place I love. Nick helps me carry in groceries as I tell my story, my dander ascending all over again. I saw sympathy in his eyes, sympathy and relief that he did not have to endure the wretches of that Madison store along with me. We both just really like quiet.

Swallowing some cheese and tossing back some beer, the tension began to release, and I began mixing my ingredients.

The spicy scent of Worcestershire sauce does smell so heavenly upon the crisp autumn air!

I don't know that Nick was much on coffee pre-Laura, but nowadays he's good for a cup every morning. Two years ago I remember needing to get more coffee filters for the coffeemaker. I reached for the 500 pack, and Nick cried, "500!? We'll never get through those!" I remember thinking to myself, Oh, Please... I grabbed a piddly 200 pack instead.

We needed coffee filters again as of last weekend. We were at Sam's club to buy salmon and tilapia and we came upon the coffee filters. Eagerly, I reached for the 1000 pack. Nick, predictably, had a fit. "1000!? That's A LOT!" Then, he surprised me, pointing at another location on the shelf. "Let's get the 700 pack instead."

I think he's beginning to realize that, coffee filters in bulk? Yeah, we'll get through those.