I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar (Tara Taylor Quinn)

Can you hear me? I’m making lots of noise here. Mostly good noise, because I’m focused and determined, but not all good. Last night I was asked if I wanted some cheese with my wine. Only I wasn’t drinking anything. And I realized, once I slowed down enough to pay attention, that that wine was really "whine". At least I was whining loudly. Roaring. Alive and full of energy.

I don’t even know what I was whining about. But it felt good. And my friend, once I tuned back in, was smiling at me. Glad that I’d fully engaged in this business of living and said what I really felt in stark, bald complete truth. It’s really hard to whine and roar and make a fuss when the one you’re fussing at smiles and congratulates you.

But I’m going to try anyway. I have a broken toe. Now I realize, toes are small in the large scheme of things, but this one hurts. Really really hurts. I’d never have believed something that tiny could hurt so much. The pain radiates up the side of my foot and into my calf and I’m convinced that I will soon have a back and hip problem because I’m having to put all my weight on my other side and walk unevenly. This wouldn’t really be that big of a deal, but did I mention that I broke this toe this morning on the wheel of my suitcase as I was rushing around in the dark before dawn trying to get to the airport for a flight to Houston? I’m speaking on four different panels at the Romantic Times reader and bookseller convention this weekend. And signing books, too. I have a new book out – The Night We Met – published as part of Harlequin’s new Everlasting line and it will be there.

I have a broken toe, can’t get a shoe on, and I have to go. And my back hurts, too. Because yesterday, I really roared. All day. All through the house. I’m moving into my new life with very little notice and no preparation. I put together five different household items – shoe racks, a laundry cart, a garment rack and a three bag laundry sorter. Then I had the desk to move. I bought it the day before.

Come to think of it, I roared then, too. All by myself I drove my recently retrieved car the fifteen minutes I had to go to get to a town with a store that sells things like desks. I found the town. That was a roaring accomplishment. I found the store. I found a desk – and other components – that I absolutely love. It’s different. Has a computer tower. It’s cherry wood and so me. I talked the guys down to a deal that I still can’t believe. They very nicely offered to load all the pieces into my Expedition, bragging about the fact that they’d never fit so much into a vehicle. I found my way home. And managed to unload several of the pieces all by myself before I had to keep an appointment.

So…back to yesterday, I moved the desk into my new office. Got trapped in the doorway for a time and had a moment of claustrophobic panic. And then I roared some more. I got a screw driver thingy with a hex top and took the legs off the desk. I put them back on, too. And lifted a hutch – all by myself – up onto the desk. I moved boxes and organized the bathroom and did eight loads of laundry and packed, too. I hurt my back, but I did it roaringly.

I’m back to rollerblading. First time out I didn’t even have a moment of awkwardness, but just flew down the street as though I hadn’t missed almost two years of regular skating. I was out almost two hours and wasn’t even sore afterward. I breezed over the streets, belting out songs along with my Walkman, telling the universe that the time is now and the time is right for me. Yeah, I was really roaring then. And look forward to my skate times – and to a life that settles into the routine that allows me to skate every single day.

And…I roared when I almost burnt down the house. After a five day drive from Phoenix to Ohio, arriving at my new home in the middle of Sunday night. I only had about three hours to sleep before I had to be up to keep a promise and fulfill responsibility. Back home an hour later I set to moving in – unloading the trailer, the Expedition, sorting a week’s worth of laundry, boiling chicken for my little baby girl who is so spoiled she won’t touch her dog food unless it’s laced with chicken. And I fell asleep. Really, deeply asleep. When the alarm went off, I laid there deciding that for once, for the first time ever, I was going to ignore it. I wasn’t even going to wake up enough to turn it off. It would wear out eventually. And then I continued to analyze and rationalize to the point of waking myself up and realizing that the alarm wasn’t from my clock. It was the smoke alarm. I opened my eyes to a room full of thick grey smoke. Jumping up, I grabbed four pound Taylor Marie and ran out to find the entire house consumed with this same smoke – and an acrid smell that turned my stomach. I’d cooked her chicken all right. And the pan. And part of the stove. But I hadn’t cooked the house yet. In true roaring fashion, I grabbed the pan off the stove – bare hands and all – turned off the appliance, and ran through the house opening every available ventilation device. Two days later, the house still smells. But, hey, I roared. There are bound to be after effects.

I’m in the Dayton airport now, waiting for my flight. I missed my scheduled plane ride – in deference to the broken toe. But I’m here now, throbbing foot and all. I walked (okay limped ungracefully) into the airport with my bags, made it to the ticket counter, talked my way onto another flight at no charge, delivered by bags to luggage security check, got myself to security and am now at the gate. I did it all by myself. Roaring the whole way.

Because I am woman. And I can.