Thursday, October 3, 2013


I am an introvert.  This may surprise those of you who know me, because I'm an extremely chatty introvert; I'm also a rather adventuresome introvert, in that I love, love, love traveling to new places and seeing new things.  I love to listen and learn, but I'll also willingly imitate both a vacuum cleaner and an airplane when I can't figure out how to ask in Italian if the vacuum-packed cheeses can be taken onto a plane.  (Answer:  yes.  In CHECKED LUGGAGE ONLY, no thanks to the security guards at Heathrow who pocketed my carry-on cheese.)

Anyway, we've had a lot of "up" time lately: the last several weekends have involved a pony club rally/horse trial, a three-day weekend to visit our son in college, and another horse trial a 5-hour drive away.  We were supposed to have had a four-day weekend in Washington, D.C., starting this afternoon, but the government shut down, and this week, so did my family.

My daughter and husband had colds.  I just had an introvert attack.  I needed to cocoon myself for awhile, and, since I just sent a novel off to a publisher, I'm doing research, which is to say reading books, which dovetails nicely with the cocoon thing.  The dogs and I have been curled up on the couch all week.

The problem with being an introvert who travels a lot is that I forget, sometimes, that I need to make an effort here at home.  I love being with my friends, but sometimes I have to kick myself into gear to make that happen.

On Tuesday night some of my friends hosted a Tupperware party, if by Tupperware you mean "products for adult relationship enhancement."  It was fabulous, not just because of the latex.  Put twenty women together with a heap of tasty snacks and several bottles of wine, add in that I've known most of them a decade or more--in a more formal party, or one with lots of strangers in it, I sometimes feel stressed by the small talk.  I know how to do it, it's a skill I've learned, but it takes effort that for me is draining.  Not with this crew.  They know my eccentricities.  I know theirs (but I've pledged not to write about them).   They understood that, for me, wearing white jeans was DRESSING UP, and complemented me accordingly.  None of them asked if I was "still writing." 

It was six kinds of awesome, and I swear, the next time I hole up in my happy cave, I'm going to make myself remember that there are places just as cozy on the outside.  And ladies, thanks.