Unorthodox and Unhinged

Tales of a Manic Christian


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D*I*V*O*R*C*E

uncoupling divorce herbal tea picture

This is a falling out of love story. It happens slowly, incrementally. It happens so slowly you barely notice it.

It happened to me after 28 years of marriage to the boy next door.

His name was William. He was witty and smart and wrote poetry. We would sit on our front lawns talking long after the sun went down. I asked him out first — to the Queen of Hearts dance at my all girls high school. But our first date was to to the movies to see Easy Rider. It was 1970.

We were very hippie-dippy, very crunchy granola. William and I both had long hair down to our shoulders. We both wore “granny glasses” with wire frames. We both bought our jeans and flannel shirts at Sunny Surplus.

We spent our Saturdays at beatnik bookstores and cruising head shops. We’d go to foreign films at the Biograph Theater and drink pitchers of beer at the Tombs — a bar so loud you could barely hear yourself speak.

Just a year older than me, William was my best friend not just my boyfriend. And being just a year younger, I skipped my senior year at Immaculata so that we could matriculate together at Catholic U.

William and I got married in a little civil service at the courthouse. We set up household in a tiny little efficiency on Connecticut Avenue. We even worked together at bilingual daycare center in Adams-Morgan.

It seemed we were meant to be.

I was happily, happily hyphenated for 28 years as Joani Peacock-Clark. Together we juggled jobs, school, three children, friends, family, vacations, church, and just about anything else that you can think of. We juggled things beautifully for a very long time.

William was a stay at home dad and a fabulous cook, and he did all the grocery shopping. I was the career mom who was very good at doing the dishes. And when it came to parenting Zach, Colleen, and Jacob, we were very simpatico — at least on the things that mattered most.

But the last two years of our marriage were bloody awful, god awful. All the things that we had been juggling came crashing down on our heads. And just like Humpty Dumpty, we couldn’t quite put our marriage back together again.

I love you.” became just something we said but no longer did. Some might consider my marriage a failure. I certainly felt like a failure for a very long time. But it was death that we were dealing with. Our marriage had died.

Marriages die. Relationships die. Some by neglect and some by design. Some by both.

In 2003, I signed the divorce papers. And this Peacock, after 28 years, uncoupled herself from the Clark.

Uncoupling is a railroad term. Circa 1985, The Potomac Yards in Alexandria were the largest railroad switching yards in the country. Struggling to fall asleep in our Delray Bungalow at 212 E. Windsor, we could hear the train cars crashing in the middle of the night. We’d hear the cars coming together and being pulled apart. It sounded like bombs going off. It sounded of wrenching, tearing, coupling, thrashing, and crashing. Passionate and tortuous lovemaking and hearts breaking in the middle of the night.

Now I have only been married once but I have been divorced many times.

I uncoupled from William in 2003.

I uncoupled from a soul destroying boss in 2005.

I have uncoupled from two different life depleting congregations.

I have uncoupled from my toxic and twisted younger sister.

I have uncoupled from a dark and dysfunctional friend.

I have uncoupled from a therapist who thought she knew me better than I know myself.

I have uncoupled from a lover who loved me in words but  never  in deed.

And I am happier for it, healthier for it, and stronger for it.

Uncoupled, I am on on my own but not alone. And I am not at all lonely.

Uncoupled, I am free to fall in love again and to be loved again. I am open to love wherever I may find it. Professional, personal, playful, passionate or platonic.

I am not looking to get married again. (You could not pay me enough money to get married again!) I am looking for someone who might like to try and keep up with me. Someone who drinks as deeply from the well of life as I do. Someone with a sense of adventure, a desire for intimacy. Someone who reads. Someone who laughs. A partner in crime.

Should this someone come along, that would be lovely. Should this someone also like to share my bed from time to time that would be lovelier still.

Maybe we will find one another walking the Rock & Roll Half Marathon, or drinking coffee at Killer ESP, or hiking Roosevelt Island, or campaigning for Hilary. Maybe we’ll meet at a Story District 2nd Tuesday show, or in the stacks at the library, or in the pool at the rec center, or standing in line at Trader Joe’s. Maybe on a road trip. In March, I am headed to Austin, in April to Denver, and in October to Ireland. Who knows?

I’m game. I am open.

Sometimes you have to fall out of love to find it again.

Sometimes you have to fall out of love to be free.

JoaniSign

 


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The Avid Pedestrian Handbook

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ASICS size 7 1/2 in elegant black.

Over the last year and a half, I have logged 5,989,993 steps on my Fitbit.  That’s about 2,537 miles or 4,083  kilometers.  I also earned a bunch of badges to stitch onto my long lost Girl Scout sash, most recently one called Monarch Migration.

I am especially skilled at putting one foot in front of the other – on mostly paved surfaces. I nearly lost my life, discovering the hard way, that I am no hiker but a walker.

I am quite the avid pedestrian. I embrace it as a lifestyle. My wardrobe, my schedule, my reading, my writing, my socializing, my moods, and my prayer life all revolve around my walking.

Proper provisions for my daily constitutional are a must.

I carry a very compact backpack packed with enough stuff to keep me alive for a couple of days. More like keep me entertained for a couple days —  should I become stranded at some urban outpost.

Inventorying my bag (and without exaggeration) these are the essentials:

  • Wallet, sunglasses, keys, and chill pill box,
  • Colored pencils and sketchpad,
  • Colored pens and notebook,
  • Tissues and cucumber face wipes,
  • Throat lozenges and ginger mints,
  • Kindle or paperback book,
  • Checkbook and chargers,
  • Lip gloss and mascara,
  • Hand cream and sunscreen,
  • Kind Bars and water bottle,
  • Iphone

I am so prepared I put Boy Scouts to shame. Who knows? I may need to stop and sketch the next Mona Lisa. I may need to stop and write the Great American Novel.

And of course I have to look fabulous. I may meet some dark and handsome stranger along the way.

So yes, it is also critical to be properly outfitted.

In order to maximize walking opportunities I always take a change of clothes with me wherever I go. I either take my walking clothes to work or work clothes to change into after I walk. I don’t leave home without them.

Shoes are most important. Mine are size 7 ½ ASICS Nimbus. Proper socks are also a must – either Feetures or Belega. $12 a pair and worth every penny.

Sweats and jeans are way too heavy and slow you down. Running tights for freedom of movement, breathable high tech undershirt, lightweight, water repellant jacket, thin gloves, and a hat. Knit in winter, brimmed in summer.

You can shop at Target or Lululemon depending on your budget. Lululemon is pricey but their stuff wears like iron and lasts forever. This is a lifestyle choice remember.

The goal is to be as fleet of feet as possible.

And don’t forget to accessorize! A little jewelry is appropriate.

First and foremost is my Fitbit Flex.

I never take mine off (except to charge it of course!). I shower with it, sleep with it, grocery shop with it. It keeps me honest and motivated. It sends me weekly report cards in my email and gives me badges for a job well done – which greatly appeals to the third grader in me.

A wrist rosary and Tibetan prayer beads.

My two-decade wrist rosary is a souvenir a dear friend brought back from Assisi. The Tibetan prayer beads are from off the rack at Ten Thousand Villages. I pray with them as I walk. I pray with them on park benches. Both are great for sidewalk contemplation traipsing around God’s creation.

St. Christopher Necklace.

Yes, he is a totally bogus saint, a pious legend from the 13th century, but his name literally means “Christ carrier”. The medallion reminds me that when I am out and about that every driver, every cyclist, every pedestrian carries the sacred within them. Every single living, breathing thing is holy. So watch those traffic lights and look both ways before crossing the street.

NO earphones. NEVER.

The only soundtrack I want to hear is the sound of the streets. Oncoming cars, horns honking, birds singing, wind in the trees, street musicians playing, people talking, children playing. The sound and rhythm of my own footsteps on the pavement.

And so where do I go?

Depending on the weather and my moods, I change up my destination as much as possible. The best routes are both away from home and close to home — different and interesting but also doable. I rarely, if ever, walk in my own backyard.

But I do have favorites.

The Del Ray Loop

Starting at High St, down Russell Road to the train station, King Street to the river, and back again.  4.2 miles. Favorite stop: Killer ESP for latte and Hotrod Potato pie.

Old Town Riverfront

Starting at Jones Point Park beneath the Wilson Bridge, walk the Potomac riverfront through Old Town Alexandria up to Tide Lock Park, and back again. 4.5 miles. Favorite stop: Carluccio’s for coffee and scrambled eggs.

Huntley Meadows Park

Starting at the visitor center, several turns around the woodland and wetland boardwalk trails. 3.5 miles. Favorite stop: Observatory tower that overlooks beaver dams, wild geese, and cattails.

Roosevelt Island

Walking with my steady, Teddy is the best. Wetland and forest trails through this memorial wildlife preserve dedicated to our 26th President, father of the National Parks.  4 miles. Favorite stop: Photo op with the great man himself at center island.

Hometown, Downtown DC

Yes, I am a native Washingtonian. Subway to Metro Center at 12th and G streets. walk 10th Street to Pennsylvania Avenue, up to the Capitol, East Capitol Street to 8th, ending up at the Eastern Market, and back again.  4.6 miles. Favorite stop? So many to choose from: Ford’s Theater, Madame Tussaud’s, the National Archives, The Botanical Gardens, and be still my heart, The Library of Congress. (And coffee, or course, at a variety of cafes along the way.)

Walking has become my spiritual discipline, my philosophy of life.

Find a path and walk it. Investigate all the twists and turns. Do not be afraid. Change direction as needed. Pay attention. Listen to the rhythms of the street. Pause and talk to strangers you meet — entertaining angels along the way. Breathe the breath of life into your lungs — bus fumes and all.

And not to worry — it is perfectly okay to get lost.

In the life of an avid pedestrian, that’s what God, and therapy, and Google Maps are for.

So strap on your shoes, my friends, go outside, and take a walk.

JoaniSign