so you no longer have a hubby…

Valentine’s Day 2019 has come and gone. Whatever your relationship status, I hope it was memorable or at the very least, bearable. Mine was just another day. Work, school, rinse, repeat. Which is not to say I minded that. Sometimes there is something to be said for routine. Thinking back on some of my previous Valentine’s days, a little distraction can go a long way.

All the hearts, flowers, and declarations of love last week got me to thinking about my first Valentines day as a singleton. It wasn’t particularly sad; however, I was determined to be busy, so it didn’t get that way. The kids were with their father, I had no school that night (and no one to spend time with) so I decided to make myself a cake. This was no ordinary cake ladies. I had run across a special deep, dark, red wine infused, chocolate cake browsing recipes out of boredom. Like every woman who likes chocolate and wine, I saved it for “someday”. Well someday had come on Valentine’s Day 2017 and this was the masterpiece I was ready to create. Doesn’t that look divine?! I mean, this cake is just gorgeous!

Just so you know, and we are on the same page here, I do not fancy myself a cook. I realized quickly in my separation that someone was going to have to feed us though. My ex had done the bulk of the cooking when we were together (bless his heart) and I reserved my energy for special occasion cooking. You know, Thanksgiving, Christmas cookies etc. A 100 years ago my mother and I used to make homemade pasta and things like that but the rest of my life, I really couldn’t be bothered with doing too much in the kitchen. I would rather starve than cook on most days. It’s not my calling in any way. My sisters are the women who can make a fabulous dinner out of whatever is in the pantry. I did not inherit that gene. I just stare into the pantry until my eyes glaze over and decide we have absolutely nothing to eat. Kind of like kids do when they open the refrigerator. Yeah, if it doesn’t wave at me, I don’t often see it.

As preparation for this monumental occasion, I bought myself a decent bottle of red wine and a springform pan. Wonder of wonders how I had gotten to this age and didn’t have one of those pans. More on that in a minute.

Armed with my recipe and $50.00 worth ingredients, I turned on some tunes, poured a glass of wine and got started.  I can’t remember if it was disco (my all -time favorite) or 80’s pop; doesn’t matter. You get the gist.

The first thing that threw me was flouring the pan. I know, I know… but this springform pan situation was something I have never encountered. The thing comes apart. There are belt buckle looking things to tighten it up. The bottom falls out when you aren’t paying attention. I gotta tell ya, whoever invented this had an engineering degree or something. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Still. And I’m sober writing this. I googled it just now when I got sidetracked and it says to use with delicate desserts where inverting the final product would not yield a good result. Mom never had one of these and our cakes turned out just fine from what I can remember. Anyway, I buttered and floured and fought to keep it together through about a half a glass of the pinot noir that by the end of my task, looked like CSI had been here dusting for fingerprints.

That complete, I got out my pan and a bowl out to melt the chocolate. I was feeling a little fancy until I tried to figure out how I could tell the bowl didn’t touch the water. The recipe said to boil water and melt the ingredients in a bowl over the water- but don’t let the bowl touch the water. Apparently, this is important enough that it was included so I thought I should pay attention to that. I tried friends. I tried. I burned and cursed multiple times in the process of trying to be 100% sure nothing was touching. I think I did it. The wine and music were kicking in by then so I can’t be too sure but whatever. It got done. Things got melted.

Another glass of wine down and I was ready to mix the actual cake. That was pretty cool actually. I was to mix the chocolate and some other stuff until it looked like mousse. Not gonna lie, I could have stopped right there and called it a day. I should have if I would have known the final outcome. Hindsight is always 20/20.

I got everything mixed, into the pan and finally into the oven with no major mishaps and moved on to making the glaze. Back to this melting situation again. Damn. I of course got burned repeatedly and wondered why I wasn’t more concerned when my aloe plant died off recently. Oh, I know why, I wasn’t getting burnt because I wasn’t cooking!! Note to self, stop being fancy and get another aloe plant. The one bright spot in this was there was powdered sugar. Powdered sugar and wine, not very tasty. Powdered sugar in dark chocolate wine glaze; pretty damn tasty! I was getting super excited just thinking about how great this cake was gonna be when the oven timer went off. I checked the cake and it was done. No batter on a toothpick and all that. Not to say I had a toothpick. I just used a fork. Works the same right? Anyhoo, I got her out and let it cool as directed.

Once it seemed sufficiently cooled, I unbuckled the spring pan. The cake looked a little lopsided, but I wasn’t worried about that. It was just me and I was a little tipsy. I could tilt my head if I needed to feel better about how it looked. Dinner had been put on hold in lieu of wine and cake baking. So, I poured the glaze over the cake, got another glass of wine and waited. You ever waited on a cake glaze to set? It takes f.o.r.e.v.e.r! Pure torture.

After a brief siesta on the couch, I was ready to dive into my cake. She wasn’t pretty. Not like the picture in the ad or in any way how I imagined it would look. As a matter of fact, if I hadn’t had a buzz and made it myself, I would have passed on it right out of the gate. It looked like one of those things your kids make, and you smile and pretend it is the most wonderful thing ever, while questioning where your parenting went so deeply wrong that they’ve created this monstrosity and are actually proud to show it off. Never the less, I had spent most of the night making it and couldn’t wait to taste it. Now was the moment. All my hard work was about to be rewarded! 

Then I tasted it. Good God it was awful. Something had gone horribly wrong somewhere down the line. It tasted so bad I could barely choke it down with a wine chaser. Anyone who drinks knows that alcohol will generally over power any other flavor. Not so this time. I had burned the cake or the chocolate or both. But how? I was so careful and precise. I measured and stirred on cue. I fretted so much trying to make sure no water touched the bowl when I was melting things. I just couldn’t comprehend what went wrong. I know something did. The proof was in the taste (and the look).  I wish I could get the pic I have of it off my phone so you could see it. It was so sad looking you can’t even imagine. Looking back on it I know I was tipsy when 1. I took a pic of it (in my defense I laughed so hard at how bad it looked I nearly wet my pants) 2. Thought it would be a good idea to taste it. 3. Taste it again just to be sure it was unsalvageable.

As I said in the beginning, it wasn’t a particularly sad Valentine’s Day. Not gonna lie- it sucked my cake was a flop. It wasn’t great that I spent several hours and way too much $ on that failed endeavor, but the one bright spot (besides the wine buzz) was I had spent the evening not focusing on things I didn’t have, and I actually managed to laugh a bit in the process. I was too busy mixing, measuring, burning myself to dwell on the fact that my romantic life basically was in the same shape as that awful cake; messy and left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

I haven’t yet tried again to make a cake from scratch. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about cake until Valentine’s Day came around. When I remembered that cake, I got a little chuckle and thought about how it kind of went with a new theme that has started to happen in my life. What I’ve found lately is that I’m not so into the end results anymore. I used to be so driven to make things happen and finish whatever I was doing so I could move on to the next thing that I didn’t get to enjoy the first thing… I’m not sure if it’s my age, or just a change in my perception but I’m more interested now in the moment. Am I enjoying myself right now instead of waiting to see what happens at the end? The end may still be great but I’m finding there are other parts to the story that are pretty good too.  

If you are feeling adventurous or want to get accidentally lit, I’ve included the link to the recipe. Good luck! If it turns out great for you send me a pic and a piece!

https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/darkest-chocolate-cake-with-red-wine-glaze-51214740

This is how all my struggles began ladies. I made it through the divorce and buying a house. Moving in wasn’t so hard either aside from it being February. We were all unpacked and life was good. Then came the day I had to change the furnace filter.

 It was just like any other Sunday morning. I got my new filter out ready for action. Let me preface this story with I’m kinda handy. I’m no Bob Vila but, I can do some stuff.  I’ve done a few things like put in a new garbage disposal, put an interior door in with using a belt buckle to prop up the door (I’m short in stature and the correct tools at times), replace the guts of a toilet, used a nail file as a screw driver to hang a mirror, and so on. Besides these achievements, I’ve put in furnace filters for years at my old house. Super simple, pop one out, push one in. All done. Well, the universe had other ideas for me on this one.

I open the door to the furnace closet, and I see a normal looking situation. It’s quite clean in there. Shiny even. There is just one problem, I can’t seem to locate the filter. Hmm. Look around – ah, there it is! It’s on the side. How ingenious! Man, these HVAC guys are smart! Alright, now let’s get this sucker out. Ummm wait, how do I get this out? It’s in this tiny slit on the side. That doesn’t seem right. Maybe this guy isn’t so smart. Let me maneuver around this silver pipe thing here and just get my arm in between this cord and the unit. Whew it’s kinda hot in here. Almost there… just about got a hold of this thing. Did I mention I am short? Yeah, I’m petite. Maybe 5’2”? So, this furnace filter placement is at my eye level if I was inside the closet. Which I am not. Nor can I be since there is absolutely no room to get in there and get the filter out all at the same time.  But back to the task at hand, so I’m pulling the corner and trying to reach the other corner and pull it too, so it all comes out nice and straight and it seems to be hung up. Pull. Tug. Sweat. Ok you can do this. It’s a filter. You’ve given birth. It’s not that hard. Come on now. Ahh success I finally get it to here…  AND…it’s stuck. What the heck? Ok just push it down in the middle a bit. Little more. Turn it this way. Wait, is it ripping? Ah crap it ripped! Dust is falling out of this thing all over me and the floor.

Oh wait, got it. YAY!  Wow that thing looks rough. My gosh. Well, it was really dirty and kind of a cheap one. You know the ones. They are super flimsy. Cost a buck or two. It looks like it’s been in there a year so maybe it was just overfilled and junky. I have a nice one to put in now. Sturdy edges. Works for 3 months. Ultra-hypoallergenic. All pretty and ecofriendly. I’ll just get this one in and be all done. Clean air will be ours!

While all this is going on, I have my two daughters sitting in the same room watching TV. They are like most kids, unfazed, totally ignoring me while absolutely engrossed in “Gossip Girl” or whatever it is. I proudly walk past them and go get my shiny, new filter from the garage and I am ready to put this thing in.

I start to wiggle myself around the pipe and cord again and line up the edges just so when I realize this thing is not gonna fit into the closet right. What the heck? Yeah, the same problem I had getting the old one out is now a bigger problem with the new one. The new one is nice and sturdy. Paid good money for that one. Name brand and everything.

This is when I figure out there is exactly 16 inches of width from the furnace to the end of the closet. I know this not because I measured it, pfft, measuring is for people with rulers or measuring tapes! I know this because the filter is 16 inches wide and when I wedge it in here, it’s wedged in. So much so that I can barely get it there and now I am at a loss as to how to push the thing into the furnace opening. I can’t get in the closet- too small and there is this pipe and cord to contend with. I can’t get my arm or hand around it- arms are too short. I can’t go above it, again, too short.  Only thing left to do is try to force it into that 1-inch opening. Who makes a 1-inch opening when the filter is exactly one inch?! I’ll tell you who? Men! So, I push and push some more and nothing. Wait, maybe if I crimp down the edges it will somehow be smaller than the opening. Good thinking. Ok, fight to pull it back out. Dang it is so hot in here! Let me take my robe off.  Ahh much better. By now I’m standing there sweating, glasses crooked, hair a mess as it has now fallen or been pushed out of my ponytail, trying to squeeze the edges of a brand, spanking new furnace filter down to below an inch to get this stupid filter in, so we can have clean, hypoallergenic air and what do I see? My two kids just staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Me: What?!

Them: Nothing.

Me: Good. Stop staring at me or help.

Them: Goes back to watching TV.

Sufficiently pinched I think so I try again. Nope. Won’t budge. Dammit!

                                Me: Girls!

                                Them: Yeah

                                Me: Go get me some kitchen scissors and a pair of plyers.

                                Them: What are plyers?

                                Me: Oh, for the love of…I’ll do it myself.

After digging through a bag containing about 5 tools (my ex gave this to me as a parting gift. For the record he has 10,000 tools tucked in a big ole tool chest. Probably 10 of everything in there. Men collect tools like we collect candles ya know. He gave me an assortment of cast offs. A hammer, 2 screwdrivers, plyers, some socket wrench thingy.  sweet eh?) I find the plyers and grab some kitchen scissors. The plan is to pinch the edges down just a little bit more. Please God, let this work. This was not supposed to be a thing today. I still have laundry and homework to do. I mean really?

The second attempt didn’t work so well. This expensive filter has corners of steel! Forget buns of steel, someone made these corners to really hold up over time. How strong do these corners really need to be anyway? They aren’t holding up the furnace, they are just sitting there while air passes through. Fine craftmanship, however I need one of those filters that was made on a Friday, when someone was slacking off a bit. Though I will say, after throwing the filter across the room once or twice, it was still hanging in there!

On to my next bright idea. Plan C is to cut the ends off the filter. I know it sounds crazy but, that’s where I was at that point. Hot. Dusty. Frustrated. The kids had by now scattered and were hiding out. The level of cursing, dust, and tossing filters was too much for them to bear.  I take my trusty kitchen scissors and set out to cut the ends off the thing. After more cursing and sweating, I finally get the end of this once beautiful filter cut off. It looks sad too. Like that one time when you went for that great new hairstyle and came out looking like a Muppet. You know what I’m talking about ladies. It was bad… we’ve all been there. Moved on but never forgotten. Also, did you know they put metal lines through filters? Me neither until I had to cut through one. Made the job much harder than necessary for sure. Wonder what that is about? Someone google it if you get time and hit me back with the answer will ya?

Suffice to say, this plan failed as well. Don’t get me wrong, I got it in there with the greatest of ease. I mean there were no corners, and it was about 2 inches shorter so that wasn’t a problem at all. The problem was is that after I cut the corners off, the thing was now too short! The heat kicked on and nearly pulled it into whatever abyss lies within the furnace. I had to scramble to get it out again before it was eaten. Those corners were there for a reason my friends. To hold it up from the other side. Who knew?

Nothing I could do now but sigh and try to regroup. On that cold Sunday morning, I felt like I lost a huge battle as a woman. Defeated by a lowly furnace filter…It seems so ridiculous now but at the time, it was about way more than just a filter. I mean, divorce hadn’t gotten the better of me. It tried but I just kept plugging away. There was a light at the end of that tunnel.  A new chapter was just around the corner waiting for me to make the turn.  The inability to put that filter in, in that moment, made me question if I could really do this on my own; what would happen if something big came up? There was no safety net for me now. No one was sitting on the bench waiting to come in and back my play. It was just me. And I had failed.

It took me a week to try again. I think I needed that time to step back and get some perspective on what had just happened in my life. I was so used to pushing forward I never stopped to process any of what had just taken place. In the 2 months prior to the filter incident I had fought for myself and ended an 18-year marriage. I said goodbye to a man who was my best friend so many times and my worst enemy at others. I explained to my children the best I could why this was happening and got them pumped up to look at God knows how many houses before we found this one that we loved. We moved in the bitter cold of February and started to settle into this new existence when the filter incident brought me to my emotional breaking point. I cried a lot that week. Alone in my new house while the kids were with their dad. In the quiet of my new-found life I cried for all the things I left and all the fear I had about the future that was to come.  Once I could cry no more, I went out and got me a cheap filter. I got the flimsiest filter a dollar could buy, and I figured out how to get it in that 1-inch opening. Then I got myself a glass of wine and left the furnace closet open to remind myself; It’s gonna be alright.

As a public service I have included instructions on how to install a furnace filter. May your furnace look like this one and not mine, and the household Gods be with you!

Welcome to our page! I say our page as you are here, I am here; let’s share some time and stories. I mean we are both here…why not?

I’ll go first. My name is Amy. I am a newly divorced mother of 2 who has a full time gig, while trying to parent, finish up a degree, stay sane, eat well, set a good example, grow old gracefully, and deal with anything else that comes my way. Probably similar to anyone reading this right now.

So what’s your story Amy- my time is valuable; get to it already…

My story seems pretty average really. I got married in my 20’s. Bought a house. Had a couple kids. Worked hard to build a family and career. Then somewhere around 40 I started looking around thinking, Is this all there is? Do I really want to wake up every day for the rest of my life with this person? When I’m old and the kids are gone, will this be my life? Real tea, he’s not bad guy. Attractive. Kind. Good provider. Good father. We have a good life. What is wrong with you?? The kids are healthy. Life is going smoothly but something is missing. Beyond the check boxes of success for marriage, family, and career; something I can’t quite put my finger on is missing.  

That something is missing dilemma led me to eventually divorce a few years later. Whatever was missing couldn’t be found I guess, so here I am. Middle aged and figuring it out. Or that is what I tell myself on the days where I need a reminder; that it’s gonna be alright.  Who said you needed a man around anyway? Probably a man…

Fast forward to present day. Today I am taking a social media class for my degree and I find out I have to create a blog or something or other that is meaningful to me – for a grade. Ugh. On top of creating this thing, it needs to be published to the inter-webs, or whatever people call it now a days. Double ugh.

After the initial shock wore off  I have somehow landed on this blog. For class I described it as this;  The purpose of my page will be to entertain and exchange stories. The intent is to let women know they are not alone in this new found life. I envision a forum for women that is uplifting, funny, and allows us to reflect a little bit on where we are today, where we came from, how we got here and, where it is we choose to go. Which is really  just a long way of saying let’s put some experiences out there to share some giggles and see where it takes us. My teenager thinks we are about to be the latest incarnation of Carrie Bradshaw. I’m hoping we just don’t end up like Silvia Plath.

So, I’m ready. You want to come with? Maybe we will someday be that lady in the stock photo below- on that cool mountain doing yoga or something!