Lean Into It

Last Thursday I nearly peed my pants.

I replay that moment a lot in my head.   The sound of my floorboards scraping across the asphalt still rings loudly in my ears.  Every divot in the rolling blacktop underneath the soles of my boots remains in sharp focus.  I can still feel my palms pressing against the grips of my handlebars as I negotiate my motorcycle through every hairpin curve and bend in the roadway. 

Welcome to the “Twisties” of Yarnell Hill.

Our meetup that day was the Harley Davidson of Scottsdale dealership with 20+ bikes in our group.  The gas station at the base of Yarnell Hill was our first stop of the day.  There, I learned we’d be separated into groups depending upon comfort level.  One ride leader would take her group on a slower, more conservative ride up the mountain and the other group would take an aggressive, faster approach to the twisties.

Excited that I got to pick my ride, I chose the latter.

After the briefing, I threw a leg over my bike and backed it out of its space.  Scott Miller and Lori Edwards were next to me backing out of their spaces and knowing they’d be in Kym’s group, I positioned myself behind them.  I followed them when they exited the parking lot, assuming we’d stage for Kym on the side street next to the station.  Instead, they rode to the stop sign, paused, turned right toward Yarnell Hill and opened up their throttles.  Brraaap!

I rolled my throttle back to stay with them, my palms straining to hold onto the grips, my body feeling as if it was peeling away from my motorcycle…

I guess we’re not waiting for Kym.

With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I managed to speak aloud the phrase that calmed me throughout my entire career in law enforcement…it’s all good...

Just prior to hitting a door on a search warrant…it’s all good.  The few seconds right before conducting a felony stop of a known armed suspect….it’s all good.  When the Range Master overseeing our firearms qual barked over the PA system…“The first drill starts from the holster.  You will draw and fire two rounds.  You have six seconds. Wait till your target turns!”

…“it’s all good”, would roll off my lips as the targets turned and I cleared leather for that first shot down range.  That phrase is my zen amidst chaos.

Within seconds, that stop sign became a memory and Scott, Lori and I were on the doorstep of the first intimidating curve at Yarnell Hill.  

It’s all good…I said inside my helmet, keenly aware I had never ridden this stretch of road this quickly before.  With every turn, my heart raced as if to dance with the RPM’s on my speedometer.

But, I was keeping up with Scott and Lori.  I was riding smoothly.  And, I was holding my own on this ride.

And, then it happened.

We hit a hairpin turn and my speed caused my motorcycle to drift to the outskirts of my lane threatening to pull me into unsafe territory of which I wanted no part.  

And, yet it's easier to just drift…

It’s scary to lean your bike more than you already are; more than you think you can.  The drift is lazy whereas the lean is intentional.  It takes effort and courage.

Before the possibility of being pulled into oncoming traffic though, I turned my eyes and chin deep into the corner where I wanted my bike to go and leaned my bike father than I thought I should.  My floor board went from an easy scraping sound to a guttural noise as if was gnawing and clawing at the asphalt begging for the torture to end.

But I didn’t go down.  I provided input into my two wheeled machine and it complied. I got back on track (not without a moment of sheer panic) and I continued to stay on the heels of Scott and Lori the rest of the way up the mountain.   At the top, we stopped our bikes, glanced around at one another, throwing head nods and flashing teethy grins in acknowledgment of a ride well done.  It was the most kick ass trip up the mountain that I’ve personally ever experienced.

And ever since, I’ve been thinking about how life is a lot like the motorcycle lean back at that hairpin curve.  When life throws nothing but chaos and pandemonium our way, it’s easy to drift to the outskirts; into an abyss where if you succumb to that darkness, even for a second, it’s too easy to live there.  Or worse….it can threaten to take you out altogether.  It's the equivalent of the oncoming traffic lane.

To escape, you have to lean into it.  Lean into life.  Lean into the possibility that it’s not always going to be marked by dark days and a river of tears and despair. 

Lean into hope.  Lean into faith.  Lean into God.  

I’m glad I did.  Doing so brought me to a new house.  To a way to manage the images from the suicide.  To seeing the sun rise every morning.  And, to a boyfriend who I believe is The One.  

It’s scary.  I feel vulnerable.  

But I’m just gonna keep leaning.

Life Is Hard To Predict At Times

Yesteryear, in 2002 to be exact, Arthur showed up with a firm handshake and a briefcase.  He's the guy Republic West sent out to give me a quote for some remodeling I wanted done at my N. 14th St house.  Arthur was tall, Italian, had dark hair and eyes and an accent revealing an upbringing in New York somewhere.  He set his briefcase down on my dining room table and removed from it a calculator, notepad and a measuring tape.  He walked into my kitchen and stood there silently taking in the space.  A few moments later he methodically moved about the kitchen, measuring walls, taking steps back to visualize upgrades and then nodding in approval of his conjured up ideas.

Before the remodel, I had been living in the house for a year with a kitchen boasting metal cabinets. They held my dishes and coffee cups and untold stories behind every ding and scratch on them. There was no pantry.  Very little counter space. But, it had a charming original French door leading out into the backyard ~ it's part of the reason I fell in love with the house.

"I'd suggest we remove the French door, rebuild the wall and install a dishwasher which will give you extra counter space there", he said.   My heart sank.  "I, uh...I really love that door", I said.  "...besides, I haven't needed a dishwasher in the year I've been here."   He persisted but when he realized I wouldn't concede, he issued the following warning: "Omitting the dishwasher is going to hurt your resale value".   “I’ll never sell this place", I confidently replied.   

We were both wrong.  I did have to sell the place but not having a dishwasher didn't hurt my resale value.  Incidentally, the remodel was fantastic and the French door continued to put a smile on my face for years to come.

Today, after a messy past two years, I'm back in a neighborhood I love but back to square one with yet another outdated house. It's like the couple who lived here before me never left. Their style still lingers. I need for this house to feel like my own.

So, yesterday, Arthur arrived with a firm handshake and a satchel over his left shoulder.  I showed him to the dining room table where he set his bag and removed from it a calculator, notepad and a fancy laser measuring device.  He walked into my kitchen and stood there taking in the space.  Just like old times, he studied the lay out, transformed the space in his mind and slowly nodded to himself.  

The full circle moment was surreal though I couldn't help making it more so by interjecting, "...When considering where the pull-out recycle and trash might fit, keep in mind that I don’t need that dishwasher; I haven’t used one in over 18 years”.   Without hesitation he said "The dishwasher stays…it’s good for resale”.

"Tssk.  Well,  I'm tempted to tell you that I'll never sell this house, but I've learned to never say never," I replied.

Taking his last measurement, Arthur held the laser device against a wall causing a red dot to appear on the opposing wall.  He lowered it, checked the display, and while making notes on his notepad he replied, "Life is hard to predict sometimes".

Well, we agree on that much.   

I still won't use the dishwasher though.

A glimpse of the French door and a dog I miss a ton!

Metal cabinets and PINK walls.

A brand new kitchen!

A Boy and His Dog

Where are Chuck and Leo?  Every morning,  I set out with the dogs hoping the stars will align to allow me a brief encounter with the boy and his dog.  But, recently, no luck.  So, in their absence I have daydreamed of coffee dates and trips to the dog park.  We’ve had a lot of fun together so far!

This morning, with my anticipation at an all time high, my dogs and I headed out.  Clove wanted to stop often to smell bushes and rocks but I kept him moving.   No Clove, let's go…we might run into him…

With a quick snap of the leash, Clove was back on track…until I felt him pulling ever so slightly forward.  I released my gaze from him and looked up.  And, there in the distance, stood Chuck and Leo.  A huge smile was plastered to my face.  I lowered my chin to my chest so I didn’t look like a pile of teeth on my approach.  At about 50 yards out, Clove’s increased panting was indication that I had picked up the pace.   In no time, I closed the distance and stood face to face with the duo.

“Chuck and Leo….Right?!!?”  I knew I was right but I didn’t want to sound too arrogant like I was some master of newly learned names or something.

“Cleo, actually.  With a C…her full name is Cleopatra.”

Well shit...I got that totally wrong.

“Leo with a C.  Cleo.  Ccccleo.  Got it….how are you two doing today?”

“Kind of tired, actually”, Chuck said.  “I stayed up late last night - we had some plans to draw up and we burned the midnight oil doing so.”

I asked what he did for work and he told me he's an architect.  And, just like that he was even more handsome than before.  There’s just something about male architects…with their swanky desks and super cool angled rulers; putting on paper something that will eventually be tangible and a part of people’s stories for years to come.  

“That’s really amazing..”, I said, keenly aware of deliberately nodding my head into the momentary silence in awe over his chosen career.  After the bobble head cessation, I asked how long he’s worked as an architect, to which he answered “Twenty years”.  

Excellent.  He’s not in his 30’s like I imagined.

Our conversation revealed that he's 45 years old and I admitted to turning 50 this year.  "Wow!  You look great", he exclaimed causing me some embarrassment.  After an awkward stall, he asked for the names of my dogs.

Still blushing, I told him the names and a cute smirk swept across Chuck's face.  He liked the spice-themed names.  There was no denying it.

Me:  (giggling a bit) “Yeah, I never name my pets people names…”

Chuck:  “I love their names!  My step daughter named Cleo.”

Did he just say “step daughter?”

The overgrown smile I had been wearing slowly faded so that just the corners of my mouth slightly turned up.  “…aww, that’s really sweet”, I managed to reply.

“Erm, so what does your wife do?”, I asked, in hopes of receiving an answer that sounded something like “Oh, no…I’m not married but I’m like a dad to my Ex’s daughter still.”

But that’s not what he said.  He said she works at a dry cleaners in the Sunny Slope area.  Feeling as if my heart deflated, I mustered up an inquiry as to where a dry cleaner is around our neighborhood given the bag of clothing I’ve had hanging on a doorknob since I lived at the Bonanza house. 

The conversation continued for just a few more minutes.   As he was talking, I couldn’t help but recall all the times I knew without a doubt that he purposely waited for the three of us to catch up to him.  Even still, the future I envisioned at the coffee shop and dog park dissolved into thin air.  

I had gotten so much more wrong than just their names.

With an exchange of goodbye’s and well wishes for the day ahead, Cinnamon, Clove and I made our way back home, my steps heavier with the realization that Chuck, and Leo with C, are taken.

But, here's the thing.  The fact that I was even contemplating a relationship is really quite promising.  After all that’s happened, it's easy to be closed off to the idea.   

But, a boy and his dog showed me that I'm open. I have healed and grown and I'm thankful to them for this realization. 

I'm still kinda bummed it wasn't them but at least this gives me some more time.... to learn how to cook a steak on the stove without setting off my fire alarm.

A Fond Farewell

Today marks the closing date on the Bonanza house.  But, today holds far more significance than a mere real estate transaction.  

I consider it a final farewell to the past two years of my life.  

In the beginning, I clung hard to Aaron even though he was gone.  And, I clung to my 14th St house though I knew I'd let it go given what happened there.  

When I got into my Bonanza house, it felt comforting to lay my head on my pillow at night in a room where exactly zero people had violently perished.  It was a clean slate.  But, as many of you know, I was unhappy there.  It turns out, I’m not okay living in a cookie cutter subdivision complete with cluster mail boxes and exuberant HOA fees (something I accepted at first but which later became a source of bitterness and regret).  The land of the Moms With Strollers was isolating and I grew weary of the community emails boasting over and over the phrase “Fun Family Event!”.  Even the adult comedy night to which I was really looking forward turned into a “kid friendly event” after the backlash in Vanilla-ville.  

Thanks Moms With Strollers!

Norterra is beautiful but it’s not a place to be single.  It’s also not an area entrenched with any sort of culture, trendiness or fun.  

The unsettledness and anger I felt over my lot in life served me well in that it prompted me to purge the past.   One day, I marched through the Bonanza house collecting every thing that reminded me of Aaron (our favorite picture of us from the cabin, a heart shaped rock he found for me on a dog walk…the glass blown heart with his ashes swirled inside).  Without pause, I breezed through the house, the memorabilia in hand, and headed straight out into the garage where I swiftly stored the items in my memory box.  They still remain there today; nothing made entry inside the new house.   It’s not that I’m trying to forget him.  

How could I...there are some things my memory just refuses to erase.

It’s just…I’m done and moving on.   

So, that was then.  

Today, my heart is full.  I feel whole.  It took two messy and financially crazy years but I'm officially back on track.   Am I in the financial position I was in before June 2016?  No.  But, considering everything that has happened, I am not that far off.  I’m smarter than I look.  😎. I have landed firmly on my two feet.  Squarely, steadily, unwaveringly.   

In two years, I witnessed Aaron’s suicide, sold my 14th St. house, stopped running my nutritional supplement business, bought the Bonanza house, worked as an intern as a Chocolatier, sold my Tundra which Aaron drove for his work, bought a new car and lost my best friend who passed on the way home from our motorcycle ride.  Additionally, I helped found an all-women's motorcycle group, got hired on as a professor for NAU, thought often of restarting my nutritional business, sold the cabin where Aaron’s ashes are spread, hunted for four months for my dream home and purchased said dream home.  And, today I sell the Bonanza house which I felt forced to move into in the first place.   It’s a lot.  I wonder sometimes how I’m still standing.

I forgave Aaron once, very early on, for the “what”, “where” and “how” things happened but the aftermath spurred a fury that crushed any forgiveness I had previously extended.   And, I lacked the grace to forgive again. 

Today not only marks the closing on the Bonanza house but on an extraordinarily tumultuous chapter in my life.  I know I can’t erase it.  I know it’ll always be a part of who I am.   But I am officially out from underneath it.   For the first time in two years, I am happy.  I am content.  I am grateful. 

Two days from now, the 23rd, marks the two year anniversary of Aaron’s passing.  Just the other day, I opened my Timehop app - something I rarely did over the past year so as not to be assaulted by the memories.   Upon opening it, I realized it fell on the day I took what would be the last video of Aaron - we were on our way back down the mountain from the cabin and he was singing to the radio.  I watched that video hundreds of times a day after Aaron took his life.  But, it has been at least 18 straight months since I've seen it.  

I watched the video in its entirety, well aware of the smile that had formed on my face.  At the conclusion, I clicked out of the application and placed my phone on the table at which I was seated; it sits outside on the patio just underneath the kitchen window.  I took a pause and simply soaked in the view from my new backyard; the green grass, full sized trees, birds chirping and singing a song; Clove rolling in the grass and Cinnamon sitting perfectly as if posing for a photographer that only she can see.  It was perfect.  

So, with that....I forgive you (again), Aaron.  I bid you farewell.  I know you’re at peace, that you're happy and you're dancing in the moonlight.

I am too.

"How Exciting!"

Around the fall of 2016, I sold my Central Phx home but was still living in it - renting it back from the investor who bought the house (you know the one, the one that I never thought I'd sell!)  

During those months as a renter, I would often wake up in a panic at 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning believing the house was still up for sale and deciding to take it off the market. In those moments, I’d actually drift back to sleep under a blanket of profound sense of peace only to wake up the next morning in my sun drenched room remembering that it was too late.  The house was already sold.  I was there on borrowed time and I’d never own the house again.  Those moments felt dreadful.

The Bonanza house I'm in now never stood a chance.  It could never feel like home when it felt like I was forced to move here in the first damn place.  When the time came to say goodbye to N 14th St., I handled the chore of informing utilities and businesses of my change of address.  The conversations were always the same:  “Hi, my name is Lisa and I’m moving to a new house on Bonanza Dr…” 

“Oh, how exciting!  Congratulations!”, they’d always say.

How exciting?  Is that what I'm supposed to feel?  I didn't.  I felt a lot of things but excitement wasn't one of them. It was always with sorrow that I would reply with a disingenuous “Yeah, thanks, appreciate that…”.   

This past year at the Bonanza house has been one of continued healing with an emphasis on feeling settled into a new life that frankly I never requested.  The healing has gone really well. Feeling settled hasn't though not from a lack of trying.  I fully immersed myself into my new life here but the sense of feeling displaced and unsettled persisted resulting in bouts of depression that were unbearable at times.  This place has tons of really bitchin’ upgrades and I'm really grateful for the house.  But it has never been home and gratitude doesn't equal contentment. 

So I embarked on the journey of house hunting though the thought of moving again was terrifying - I worried about the stress on me and my dogs, about finances and about putting my life on hold while I transitioned, once again, to a new place in hopes of finally finding some solid ground on which to begin living life fully again.

House hunting was a shit show that ate up the first quarter and some change of 2018 but it all paid off the minute I finally stepped foot into a house that immediately felt like home.   There was this amazing moment where I walked into the master bedroom and saw a beautiful grapefruit tree right outside the window.  In my mind's eye I pictured the grapefruit tree outside the bedroom window of my home on 14th St and that moment felt perfect. I dubbed the new home the "Grapefruit House".

My closing date is April 30th so in anticipation I recently called Geico to get a quote on homeowners insurance on the new house.  When I explained to the gal that I'm moving, without hesitation she exclaimed “That's exciting!  Congrats on your new house!”  

The biggest smile swept across my face.  

I closed my eyes for an instant and felt the excitement she was talking about.  I truly felt it.  And, for the first time since June of 2016, I knew that I had Finally. Friggin'. Arrived.  I had arrived at that place that I've been trying to get to since Aaron's suicide. That place of peace. Solid ground. Hope. Excitement.

"Yeah, thanks...appreciate that" I said, still grinning from ear to ear and this time my words were illuminated in truth and genuine happiness.  

Moving is chaotic and it'll take a minute to feel settled in the new house but the fact is that I will feel settled.   Eventually I will.  But, first I'll need to make some more calls and change over my utilities and inform businesses of my change of address.  Surely I'll hear it again and again...

"That's exciting!  Congrats!"

Yeah, thanks!  I appreciate that.

I actually really do.

Now We Wait

So now we wait.

Today is the day my realtor submits the contract back to the Beanie Hat seller requesting a $20,000 reduction to the agreed purchase price.  This, of course, after we learned of the somewhat horrifying and overwhelming repairs that require completion if I were to acquire Beanie Hat.  I mean, just because it’s wearing a cute hat doesn’t make up for the fact that the garage may very well flood during a monsoon.  My Harley can’t have that.

Some friends suggested I write a letter to the seller.  “I see it on TV all the time and it works!”, they say.   Meh.  I dunno.  I mean, asking the seller to come down $20G when she wouldn’t come down another $5,000 during negotiations seems like a stretch.  Even with a letter.  

But, I still wrote it.  I mean, I do like to write so no harm, no foul, right?

Dear Ms. Ihinger, 

This is Lisa Ruggiero, the gal who is in love with your house. I looked at the house early on, though it was a wee bit out of my price range. But, no matter what other houses I saw, I always had yours on my mind and in my heart. I think I looked at it 3 or 4 times before making an offer that I was sure would be dismissed. I was elated when we agreed on a price. It still felt high to me but I knew the location gave the house great value. And, I could already picture myself living in it and calling it home. 

I was devastated when the inspections report didn’t come back so well. I held it together in front of the inspector and my realtor but had a good cry on the way back to my house. You see, I used to live in a house that was built in 1949 (it was off Glendale Ave and 14th St) and while something was always needing fixing or repairing, that house was a charmer, just like yours. I had to move from my beloved home after my boyfriend took his own life in my bedroom and I‘m now living in North Phx in a house that has never felt like home. That’s why I’m house hunting. I’m trying to make my way back home. And your house feels like home. 

But, when I got the report back of so many things that needed correction, I felt overwhelmed. There is so much to be repaired in addition to some updating that I’d like to do inside the house. If you can’t come down the amount I’m requesting, I understand. I just felt led to write this letter to let you know that it’ll be a heartbreak to walk away. I’ve affectionately called the house “Beanie Hat” because the Mansard roof makes the house look as if it’s wearing a hat. I even made it a point to go out there one day, wearing a beanie hat, just to take some pictures in front of it. But, whatever happens, I just want to thank you for allowing me to look at your home so many times and for the hope that I felt during this process. I promise that if Beanie Hat becomes my home it’ll forever be in good hands. And, if that’s not meant to be, then my wish is for the future resident to experience much love, happiness and peace in your home. 

Sincerely, 

Lisa 

So in the meantime….

All we can do is wait.

Some See Insanity

I get it.   From the outside looking in, the move to my north phoenix house looks like a wrong turn, a mistake or a rushed decision (I’ve heard it all…many times over).     

But from where I sit, none of those are true.

I lived in a 68 year old house for almost 2 decades and often wondered what it’d be like to be the first one to use the shower, walk barefoot on the floor and use the stove.  This past year I got to experience all of it.  Except the stove part.   

When I purchased this house, I never had any intention of moving. My realtor warned me at the Design Center about my abundant collection of upgrades. I exuberantly responded, “This is my forever home…I’m getting all the things!”

But, it wasn’t my forever home.  It actually hasn’t felt like home since the day I moved in.  When I explain that, people say “your house is beautiful” as if I'm not seeing it.  I see it.  It is a beautiful house.  It’s just not right.

I thought I could love North Phx but it turns out, I don’t.  I thought living in a subdivision where the houses are close together would be okay.  It’s not.  I thought I’d get used to living away from the vibe and energy of Central Phoenix.  I haven’t.  I thought I’d frequently use the community center amenities.  I don’t.    

Well, looks like you should have just bought a used house then…

Pfft.

After what happened in the bedroom of my old house, I was horrified of the unknown of every preowned house in the valley.  I was in survival mode and needed absolute assurance that my new environment would be sterile.  Yes, the odds of something awful having happened in the very house I might have chosen are slim to none.

That’s not the point.  

I had zero breathing room to leave that to chance.  I needed a 100% guarantee that I was entering a clean slate.  Just take my word on that part.

I don’t view this purchase as anything but another step along the journey.  It was a project to keep me busy while I worked through anger, depression and the feeling of being so unsettled that I felt like I was on a guest pass in my own house; like a visitor in my own life.  

All that junk has been worked through.  Last year hasn't been easy. The last blog of 2017 was the “I Stand Accused” entry written just days before I closed on my new house.  I haven’t published any entries since because none were suitable for viewing.  I try writing from a place that inspires hope and perseverance and having spent the last year feeling forced to have moved into a house I never planned on buying didn’t conjure up positivity.

But one constant has remained.  From day one I have pushed forward, putting one foot in front of the other.  Some people see too many decisions.  I see getting closer to what brings me joy.  Some feel this next move is financially irresponsible.  I feel blessed to have managed my finances so successfully that I can easily make this move.

Some call it insanity.  I call it progress. 

The Beanie Hat House is the final stop.   

And, most importantly, that move gets to be my choice.  

I get to decide for all the reasons I’ve stated (and some that I'm choosing not to publish) that I’m done here.   And, that freedom of choice feels amazing.

Not one box is packed yet but already I feel like I’m going home.