Mostly, It's Roller Derby

I have an apology to make.  I moved back to America, and then I abandoned this blog.  I don’t know why I haven’t written or posted.  I think I’ve been assimilating.

We loved Paris.  We wanted to stay in Paris forever.  But it was time to come home.  And for those who’ve been following, my son is in remission.  He’s getting outstanding medical care here in Philadelphia.  He started high school in September.  He talks back to me.  He does all the things.

Coming home was weird.  For a long time, The Hubs was still working in Europe, and I was flying back and forth to Paris.  It felt like taking a bandaid off slowly, or easing my way into a pool of ice cold water.  Here in America, I started wearing workout clothes to the grocery store and carrying my Starbucks cup into the gym.  I was buying California wines.  My memories of Paris eventually became silent motion pictures in my mind, not me, but someone else I watched on a screen.  At some point, I contemplated calling a life coach.  Because I was like Shit.

I missed Paris desperately.  And I didn’t know who I was in America.

Then something happened.  I woke up on a Saturday morning, poured myself a cup of coffee, and thought, I should try Roller Derby.  I can’t explain where the thought originated.  I mean, I did spend the majority of the 70s wearing roller skates, and I have a scar on my chin to prove it.  But as an adult, I didn’t know anyone involved in derby.  I had never seen a bout, or a flier for a bout, or a Facebook post about a bout.  In fact, I knew nothing about roller derby, except that you tie on a pair of quads and pray you don’t get hurt.

I know what you’re thinking.  I was losing my fucking mind.  I’m 45.  But when I emailed my local league, they invited me to a Fresh Meat practice, no questions asked.  That was five months ago.  Now, I don’t know what I did before derby.

I’m ready to tell you about my life again.  It’s different now, but I’m still the same person.  I write, and I get rejection letters here in America too.  More and more often, I get acceptance letters too.  If you weren’t hell bent on reading about Paris, maybe you’ll stick around.  I’d like that very much.