Cooking up the new Chapter. Or mixing it up in a shot glass. Whatever.

So, guess what?

I think we are at the end of our journey, kids.

Right now I am sitting in my husbands child-hood room. I'm wrapped up in his native-american-style blankets, looking at the random dead animals mounted to the wall, the only touch of me and his adult life being my wedding dress hanging in the corner. (I really need to preserve that, but I am so not a fan of the wedding dress coffins all of my friends have.) On top of it all...it's my last night in California.

The "experiment" is over.

My friends, once hearing that I would finally reunite with my husband, expressed their well wishes but a few had more poignant things on their mind. "What will happen to the blog?" My reaction was simple: It's over. I was ending it. This was supposed to be a flawed snippet of my bumblings through this weird and chaotic life. In my mind, once I was living with Brett again, all normalcy would be restored. There would be no need for a blog because I am so normal and awesome and so good at life.

And then I remembered.

Um. No. I'm not.

And that is ok, right?

While reminiscing with friends over my journey a lot of interesting tidbits came up. One night this past week, a few of my closest friends and myself sat bundled up by a fire- the Golden Gate bridge twinkling in the background, our scotch glasses full and our laughter plentiful.

"Remember how Brett drove away and Melissa was so sad she accidentally broke a door and was bleeding immediately and slightly drunk 2 hours later?"

"Remember the first dinner Mel made in the apartment? She was trying to copy Brett's fish recipe? But we almost died from food poisoning?"

"Remember the night we tried breaking in to her apartment? Because she left her keys in the fruit basket in her house? With the fruit that she never ate? Because she only eats frozen fruit? And we realized her apartment was really hard to break into? So she felt safe? 9 months after living there?"

"REMEMBER HOW SHE ALWAYS MADE US WATCH "RATATOUILLE?!"

REMEMBER HOW MELISSA ALWAYS MADE US LAUGH AND ALWAYS HAD A HOUSE FULL OF ROTTEN FRUIT AND SCOTCH BECAUSE SHE LOVES HER FRIENDS AND SHE MADE OUR LIVES SO AMAZING?

Ok. I added that last bit.

The funny thing was, through the night and through the stories I could actually listen to myself grow and change over the giggles and the exaggerated re-countings and the embellishments. I looked into each face of the people I loved- lit by firelight and Dewars, and I felt very lucky that Brett and I had souls in our lives that hovered around us- no matter what. I slept soundly that night, my belly full and warm with the love poured into me. That alone is a memory I can take away from this last year- a memory that will last a lifetime.

But the good-bye's continued.

The most significant good-bye was a good-bye given by a very unlikely person: the owner of my local deli. I go in about once, (ok, 3,) times a week for sandwiches and wine. That's usually it. And rice krispy treats. AND WINE. I went in the other day and he immediately started in on me because he hadn't seen me in two days.


(in a thick Italian accent:) "Mrs.! Where have you been?! We were a-worried you died in a gang war!"

(Me. Not in a thick Italian accent, although after 5 minutes with them I start to mimic their accent because I am obnoxious and cannot help myself.) "I am a-live! I'm moving though. So, who else is going to put your kids through college with the sandwich and wine purchases? HA! Sorry. Not funny. I'm sure your kids can put themselves through college. Ignore me. I'm immensely white."

(them. Flawlessly Italian.) "You crazy, lady."

(me. Flawlessly white.) "Ah. Yep."

a little more banter like this finally revealed that I was moving to Ohio AND I KID YOU NOT the entire deli stopped what they were doing and gasped. LIKE, STOPPED MOVING. And the guy behind me in line shuffled his feet, looked down, and murmured, "Well, shit lady. Sucks to be you."

WELL, THANKS GUYS.

The thing is? No. It doesn't suck to be me. Is Ohio the mecca of artistic and cultural and foodie delights? Maybe not, but they do have drive through liquor stores. AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE THEY HAVE?

My family.

So, I guess this experiment paid off in a way. Yes, long nights of scotch and conversation and craziness are welcome, but they do not define me. You know what defines me? I'm a wife. I am a sister, an Aunt...I am a daughter and mother to my fat goldfish...I want long nights of reading books to my nephews, dancing in the living-room with my mother and my siblings. I want to finally sit down to dinner with my husband, listen to my brother talk about art...even when he has smoked pot, and love on him. I want to help plan my baby sister's wedding, and hold her in my arms because she has been fighting Cystic Fibrosis her whole life and every milestone is a significant and glorious one.

And I want to tip toe in to the rooms of the ones I love...and kiss them on their salty, summer-kissed foreheads...and thank God I was allowed to be in their lives.

So, this experiment has paid off, don't you think?

I'm ending this chapter...but starting a new one.

Stay tuned.

WIFE EXPERIMENT 2.0...Because, honestly. We are never, ever done with this experiment called life.