Matchmaker 347

A barefoot Celestine
Delves ever further,
Greeting holy invitation.
Joined knowingly, lost modesty.
Nudity ostensibly perverse.
Quintessential romance,
Salient tenacity, uncertain voracity,
Wicked xeric yë zeal.

Scpd Mnkys

Mnkys scpd n Flrd.
Fftn rn, fv cptrd.
Tn stll lvng lrg!

Talking Down to Myself

-_-_-_-> It pains me to add this blog to my page. I have heard what I would consider to be interesting comments in regard to my "Gingerbread Man" blog (it's just down the list from here you should read it) and I think that discussion and interpretation in regard to writing is a good thing. I also feel strongly that very little fiction should be explained or spoon fed to the reader. When I took literature classes in high school and college there was always a heavy emphasis on interpretation. I understand on some levels the idea behind this and can appreciate that it helped to develop effective and engaged readers.

At the same time it also deeply bothered me. Yes, yes… there are definitely some stories which need or stand up to deep and specifically directed interpretation. The Wizard of Oz as a representation of the struggles between the silver and gold standard in the United States of America and various C.S. Lewis stories with incorporated Christian themes both come immediately to mind. However, I believe that one of the most important parts of any story, written or told, is the part that the person experiencing (reading/hearing) the story brings to it. We all filter the observations that we make of the world around us through our own feelings, thoughts, emotions, and experiences. If you don't know what I'm talking about go back and read something that you read when you were young and see if you don't take different things from it now. If you're still young I guess you'll just have to take my word for it.

I always felt, during those classes, that we were being incredibly arrogant to believe that we were interpreting the writing as the author intended. The teachers would always say "Now, what was so-and-so trying to say here? Or, what did so-and-so mean when they wrote this?" Interpret away, but why do you think that what you take from a given piece of writing has anything to do with the writer's experience? How about… What did this story mean to you or how did you feel when such-and-such happened. How does that compare to the experience of the others in the class. Why are many of these interpretations the same, why some different, and so on. At the moment, and this may change, I feel that writing a story, telling a story, engaging the reader, communicating a point, reading, and interpreting a story are all unique and different experiences. Personally, when writing, I am often trying to engage myself and provide a point to myself which takes into account my own distinctive interpretive paradigm. If you get the same things as a reader that I do when writing, great. If you get something all together different then that's great too. Communication is incredibly imperfect, much like everything else that we do and experience, but that is part of what makes it interesting.

As I said, there have been what I would consider to be some interesting comments (public not on-line) made in regard to this piece of writing. Normally I would not have any interest in explaining what was intended by a piece of writing. I feel that just as it was out of line for us as students to attempt to interpret the author's intention, meaning, and experience in writing, it is equally inappropriate to, as an author, dictate what a reader takes from a piece of writing. There is no right or wrong way to read anything that I write. If you make connections in your mind between a story I write about snow cones, and the life of a Russian soldier during World War II by all means go with it. That said I'm afraid that this particular mediocre piece of short fiction has in light of recent personal events been used as ammunition against friends in order to justify assumptions made and stories told. As a result I am sadly going to explain a few of the thoughts behind this story. I hope that I do not offend anyone and do not in any way intend to direct your interpretation, understanding, or god forbid enjoyment of this particular piece. Only to provide a point of reference as to my thoughts when writing it and hopefully in the process discourage some of the verbal abuse presently being endured by some of my peers.

First of all things that I post to blogs are not refined writing. They are a first draft and not intended to be improved upon. They have not been reworked or struggled over. They have been written in one sitting and then posted. They are really just conversation and contain typos (which one friend loves to point out) and poorly worked out thoughts and feelings.

This particular story was dealing with loss.

THERE WAS NO SEX IN THIS STORY.

The main idea was, at the time of writing that dealing with death is an incredibly personal public struggle. The character in the story has lost her husband. Read lost as he died. In the beginning of the story she wakes from a terrible nightmare. She seems to be having them all of the time and she feels as if she is losing, or has lost control of her emotions and life. She can't stand the pain and confusion of the waking world and she can't control the fear and anguish of her sleep. When she wakes she is dry heaving and drenched with sweat. Trapped in the panic that seems only to be generated upon waking disorientated from a nightmare and struggling to get a handle on what was dream and what is reality.

The dream had to do with death and the husband. She goes to the bathroom and is struggling to put the dreams aside and fully wake. The memories she has of him and their love are so intense that she seems to be losing the ability to clearly define what is memory, what is dream, and what is fantasy. She get's a Coke and goes out to the porch to watch the morning. She has a wedding to attend that evening and everyone she knows will be there. They are all concerned for her. Some out of pure care and some out of morbid curiosity about the troubles she is having, most of them somewhere in between. She knows that they will ask how she is doing. That they will show concern. That they will want to be there for her but she also knows that she just wants to be left alone. That all of the attention and concern focused on her just makes things worse. That she feels like everyone is just waiting for her to break down and cry. She feels the need to put up a good front but feels as if everyone is just waiting for her to crack so they can say how worried they are and how much they love her. So they can look at their friends and say "Poor dear, I can't even imagine what she must be going through. He was so young and just to be gone like that… it really is a shame." After all that is only the right thing to say.

She comes back in for breakfast and manages to distract herself for a moment but it doesn't work long. She tries a shower but ends up remembering showering with him. No sex here either, sorry. Just two people being intimate. Sharing too small a shower stall, with only one shower head, bumping between each other's warm soapy bodies and the cold tile. Again the memories bombard her. She steps back into her fragmented life only to realize she hasn't done laundry in two weeks and has used the last towel the day before. That's about the time she decides she needs a drink. Poor coping mechanism but when you are at wits end…

She walks naked into the kitchen and pours the drink thinking again about the wedding which she is dreading and what to wear. Something short which will show her legs instead of the pain of loss, lack of sleep, tenuous hold she has on the ability to manage her daily life, etc.

Please take what ever you like from the story (you'll find it just down the list from this blog) and do not feel compelled in any way to read it as I have just described it. This was only an attempt to clarify the thoughts I had while writing. There is still plenty of gossip to be told, sorry if I am taking some of the fun out of this part of it. But hey, don't let my explanation stop the stories. The best gossip generally contains only the slightest tiny bit of truth if any at all. Just do me a favor and lay the fuck off my friends.

Cracked Shadows Breed Balance

The two of them, they walked quietly away from the double doors and carefully down the stone stairway. The sun was falling toward the earth and the sideways rays cast shadows, reaching and stretching across the lawn just tickling the base of the stairway. The stones changing color in the caress of the shadows. Pinks and blues and grays rolling over upon one another becoming deeper and somehow quieter, almost as of they were showing respect.

He hesitated ever so slightly as he strode from the last step. Not wanting to allow the shadows access to his footprints. Like a child avoiding cracks in a sidewalk he lengthened and shortened his steps avoiding the tendrils of graying half light. If she noticed the offbeat rhythm of his gait she did not acknowledge it.

In fact she had noticed. Though she wouldn’t, no couldn’t, no… no wouldn’t, express her understanding of the fear that late afternoon, fear of the encroaching darkness, she silently shared his discomfort.

Three times he drew a breath during that slow walk across the church lawn. Three times his lips parted, but each time the thoughts stumbled somewhere along the path between the swirling, bubbling, pool that breeds such thoughts and the place where they take form, becoming words.

Instead he opened the car door and brushed the pale warmth of her cheek with his lips. Made apologies in regards to the quiet dinner she had proposed and shut the door gently behind her.

He resisted the urge to turn and look as the loose gravel scooted under the tires groping for traction on the warm dusty lot. For just a moment he wished he had agreed to dinner, wanted more than anything not to be alone. Those thoughts fled with the next breath though and he settled into a quiet solitary discontent.

He drove the two lane twisting road back to his hotel with the radio off and the windows down, the hum of the engine and the buzzing of the tires running over the asphalt acting as a backdrop for his scattered thoughts.

The shower was small and he had to duck in order to get his head under the water. He didn’t really need one but somehow the steaming water had managed to rinse away some of the… What was it exactly? There had been so many hugs and handshakes. It was almost as if some of that grief and discomfort had clung to him. That each touch had left him with a little of the loss and disconcertment they had been unable to express adequately with words. Either way he felt better, even if it was only ever so slightly.

The hotel, it turned out, had a decent restaurant and the steak had been more than adequate. Full of red meat and potatoes he found a bottle of bourbon at the bar. Being slow, the bartender had been gracious enough to allow him to carry it onto the sweeping front porch where he settled in a comfortable wicker chair and began working on the bottle in earnest.

She sat down gently but he could tell that she was drained. Ice danced loosely in her glass as she set it down next to the bottle and asked if he minded the company now, seeing as he had declined dinner earlier. Laughing once very softly through his nose he moved three cubes of ice from her glass to his before pouring the dull brown liquor into them both.

They sat quietly as lightning bugs bounced gently though the darkness, not speaking just pouring the bourbon from the bottle to the glasses and from the glasses into them.

When she placed her hand gently on his forearm he flinched, snatched momentarily from cloudy thoughts.

“She knew.” She said, barely more than a whisper.

“I know… it’s ok… I Love you.”

A lightning bug caught his attention across the yard and he drifted back to the cloudy thoughts…

It Turns Out The Gingerbread Man Was Only That Fast Because He Was Taking Steroids...

Breath escaping, no not escaping, positively fleeing. Rushing from lungs with such force, so fast that it hurts, so hard in fact that she gags. Not the gentle rising in her throat, I think I may have just thrown up a little in my mouth kind of gag. More like her stomach lining is trying to escape, clawing its way up her esophagus dragging her lungs kicking and screaming along with it. Retching… It didn't used to be like this. They're getting worse.

Retch- She thought about the word for a moment. Funny word, saying it, the way the air gathers in your lungs. It almost starts low in your throat as if it were a whisper. Moving through your shoulders and spreading out across the back of your tongue which then spreads out and thickens. Tongue filling the bottom of your mouth, rushing forward, spilling up against the back of your teeth. Even the word is cathartic.

Sticking, the sheets, everywhere they touch bare skin. The sweat standing up in cold beads, how did she get so fucking wet? Christ, you could drown a small child in this bed. Her breath was starting to slow, gradually the heaving of her chest was subsiding. Raw heat from the fear drifting away, leaving behind an empty cold wet nothingness.

What time was it? Not yet daylight so it must be early or incredibly fucking late. Was it always this quiet in the still parts of the night? Nothing but wind, pushing, blowing at the house like a wolf, the smell of pork lingering in its hazy memories. It's funny, she thought, not quite sure what really was and definitely not feeling a bit like laughing. The dreams were always there now. They were taking over in a corner of her mind where she had no control. During the daylight when she was aware of herself she could keep the thoughts, manage them. She did not know which was worse anymore, the dreams, or the reality which was becoming more and more dishonest, more and more a fantasy in and of itself.

There would be no going back to sleep. No drifting back into a restful place. There are no sheep to count, they stopped being useful the day he left, at least it seemed like they were useful before then. Did the sheep leave with him, replaced by the dreams? Or maybe the dreams had fed upon the sheep and now with them gone they needed other things to satisfy their appetites. Either way, peaceful rest seemed a lifetime away.

She slid lightly to the floor and hurried to drain her bladder. The images of her sleep fading as the urine passed and splattered from her into the still water of the toilet. Had he said he would return? She remembered that he had but at this point she didn't trust her own memories. They had blurred with the conversations she imagined, the ones she had a million times since he had gone. The ones in which she apologized. The ones where he forgave her, the ones where he said he loved her. Even the ones where she believed him. Believing him, she thought, those were definitely in her imagination. She had never believed him. Not when it came to the truth.

She grabbed a Diet Coke from the ice box and walked out onto the front porch. Wind still blowing though not like earlier, now it was more like a breeze. Just enough to push the hair across her face and piss her off. There it was, the first part of the day. Just starting to come up behind the trees, the sky lighter by degrees with each passing moment. She tried again to think of an excuse. Shit, she would even have to dance, smile, play nice. They would all be watching her to see. Every one of them prying and looking for just a hint and then they would pounce, fucking assholes.

Back to the ice box for eggs and bacon. Somehow the smell and sizzle of bacon in a heavy pan had always made things better. She didn't remember where that came from but it was definitely true. That one was there before him. That one came from being little, from having small fears and inconsequential worries, the kind that bacon was strong enough to overpower. Not like now. But just for a moment the bacon brings a smile, until she remembers... Memories, she thought, the dead must throw them at you relentlessly. You would think with all of eternity on their hands they could find something more interesting to do than torment the ones still here.

The faucet squeaks like the raspy voice of an old woman with spent thoughts, decrepit bones. The water flows with hesitation, sputtering and spitting from the pipes which carry it through the walls and from who knows where. She wonders at how she takes the things like this for granted. The water just comes. The maze of pipes and paths go unseen yet they are everywhere. Every house, every home, every shop and restaurant, garden and lawn, the completeness of it was actually scary. The idea that there was even enough water in the city to fill all the pipes was absurd. The water towers always seemed big but now that the idea of those pipes is in her mind they seem completely inadequate. The water was always there on demand, to wash away the dirt and the fatigue. It runs over her bare shoulders turning the supple skin red and angry. The shower is a distraction. She runs slick fingertips over the curves and contours of her lower back and hips. The steam entering her lungs, warming the air around her, he had always liked that part. The air thick and warm with steam, the water almost too hot to stand splashing over them both but the tile still ice cold. The contrast of the hot skin being pressed against the cold, cold tile was so intense in her memories. He had always liked intense, always been so damn intense. Shit, at least, it had started as a distraction, they said it would get easier, what the fuck do they know anyway? The tears slip silently down the drain with the soap and water. Running and sliding down the pipes carrying her fear and hurt far away into the maze where they mingle with the tears of strangers with memories of their own. At least they won't be lonely.

Cold bottle against her warm fingers, the freezer spilling frozen air over her wet naked body. Maybe some laundry, a clean towel would make sense, but there is something about standing naked in the kitchen, pouring vodka from a frozen bottle, while dripping dry into puddles at nine-thirty in the morning, that conveys a disdain for reality which few things match. The black one she thought. It seemed appropriate given her mood and they would think it was too short, good. Maybe if they were looking at her legs they wouldn't notice it written on her face…

What The Hell is With People Dying

Another friend's life just changed in a way I can't even begin to imagine. His wife just died. They were celebrating their one year anniversary. Too young… too soon.

I really wish whoever is in charge of arranging these things would go play in someone else's back yard for a while and stay out of ours. We've had enough for a bit.

Another friend's wedding is coming up. I'm sitting here filling out the R.S.V.P.'s (There are several) and thinking about the other friend. How he and she were receiving the same cards a year ago, looking forward to their lives together. As I fill out these cards I have found a line followed by the word regrets. The line is too short. There is no way to fit them all in. Not even close.

Regrets are a funny thing. Some days I look back over my life and find that I have none. I have always believed that I could excuse my actions by the belief that though I may have made a bad decision from time to time, based on the facts available at the time I was doing what I thought was the best thing.

On other days I'm honest with myself.

I don't regret the mistakes, and truth be told there really are very few things I regret. There are a couple of times where I have hurt or scared someone. Either because I lost my temper or made a selfish decision that I knew was wrong when I made it. Those few moments in time I would take back. Those hearts I would heal.

But those things make me who I am as much as the good decisions I have made. We are all flawed and the moments that define us are the ones that matter. The really beautiful part is that we get to decide for ourselves what those moments are. Define yourself by your flaws and mistakes if you want but the truth is that we are all beautiful creatures. Beautiful flawed messes. You really wouldn't want it any other way.

The people that I Love know how I feel about them. I have looked them in the eye and told them so. If they were to disappear tomorrow I would miss them horribly, my heart and soul would ache and bleed, but my Love would follow them into the darkness. No things have been left unsaid. I hope that my friend feels the same way about his wife.

Love looks upon the lover with eyes that see no regrets, only beauty. Beautiful Imperfection.

Even Suicide Has Lost It's Appeal

No one has orange soda on their fountain drink machines anymore. I guess people just aren't that fond of it. Things change… go figure. Some things do anyway.

It's been a full couple of weeks, weddings and deaths. Both always make me take a moment to reflect. To kind of step outside and look in on myself and the life I'm choosing to surround myself with. Not always a good thing to do.

Ronnie's plane flew into the side of a mountain in Colorado.
He was twenty five years old.

I haven't seen him much in the last couple of years. He's been working as a travel nurse. Helping people and traveling, it fit well with him. He had just started a new job in Arizona as a flight nurse. They were on the way to pick up a patient, bad weather and such.

Done.

I know that he was loved. I know I have friends who are hurting. I know this world is a poorer place for me to spend the next sixty years in (any of us for that matter) without him here. He added value to this place and the hearts of more than a few.

=>

One of the people I really like (high praise) got married. I happen to really be fond of her husband as well. It's funny but that seldom happens. She and I talked on the phone for a while a day or two before the wedding. She asked if I could give her any advice on how to make a relationship of that nature work. It was a question that struck me as funny seeing that she knows my history with relationships. I honestly couldn't come up with anything good at the moment so she suggested I write it down.

I still don't have anything good.

I have been thinking about it though. Here's the problem: (One of them anyway) I was on my back in the grass the other day watching the clouds. You know how this works. That one looks like a turtle, this one a goat, that one a monkey. If you look back to the first one it's no longer a turtle but a jet car. I stopped bouncing from cloud to cloud and just watched one. It was constantly changing in small subtle ways. The edges blurry and shifting, rolling back onto itself like waves crashing on the beach then running back out to the sea again and again. As I watched it became thing after thing after thing. People do the same thing. We are constantly changing and shifting. Our moods, ideas, dreams, thoughts, feelings, fears they all constantly boil and bubble moving and shifting. We are never the same person in any two moments.

The cloud game is often shared with another person. Both looking at the same shifting clouds through the eyes of different lives and seeing the same things differently. The problem is that we all have things that we want to see. We all have an agenda. We look at one another and form relationships with people we can't hope to truly understand. We see them (both the people and the relationships) through eyes that we can not trust. We see things, no matter how hard we try through filters of our own hearts and minds. None of us truly seeing reality if such a thing even exists.

So the question remains… Somehow understanding the problem better doesn't always make an answer easier.

How do you have a relationship for fifty some odd years with a person who is constantly changing, while you are constantly changing, and neither one of you truly sees the other person as they are but rather as some variation of that which you want them to be.

My answer is you don't. It is not humanly possible…

You will not wake up every day and like the person next to you. You will in fact wake up one day and actively dislike them. You will do and say horrible things to one another (with great self control you may only think them but they will still be there and you will both feel them). You will look at that person and realize suddenly that you don't even know who they are anymore. I can make no guarantees other than you will be sad, hurt, misunderstood, and at times feel desperately alone while you lay next to one another in bed. You will meet other people who you find attractive and incredibly interesting; who you are certain if you were only free of your responsibilities could be a better match for you. Should I go on?

Now there's another problem. We all have a mountain in our future. Most of us will not be so lucky as to have it show up while we are doing something great for others and which we are passionate about. Between now and then we have a choice. We can accept the fact that those relationships are not possible or we can choose something else.

The key to all of this is what we call Love. Loving someone is allowing them to be whatever it is that they are and choosing to like them anyway. There are times when it will be easy to do that… There will be others when it is extremely difficult… There will be others still when you just have to fake it until it becomes only extremely difficult again. Don't confuse allowing someone to be what they are with allowing them to be reckless or abusive with your heart. But you can criticize, correct, fight, and direct while still liking someone very much.

And I think that is the advice I have. To always remember no matter what, that even as you struggle with what you are, they are, and the relationship is in any given moment, there is a place where your hearts met and that cannot be undone. You can trash the relationship if you like but your hearts will always recognize one another and smile upon meeting. Let them.

Oscar Wilde has a line in his play The Importance of Being Earnest: If you promise not to take too long I will wait here for you the rest of my life.

That's kind of the idea. We can choose any number of adventures to pursue, choosing what to do is far less important than choosing who to do it with.

=>

You have to love a restaurant with a self serve fountain soda machine. It's one of the few things that you have control over as a child. Here's your cup go pick what kind of soda you would like. We all know the answer. Suicide! I want it all… that's right just put all of them together right here in this one cup. Mmmm, thanks much. The problem as I have already stated is that no one has orange soda on the fountain anymore. Believe it or not the orange was the one truly key ingredient. Nothing else really mattered but without the orange it just isn't the same. I never even noticed until it wasn't there anymore. If you don't believe me go give it a try. You'll have to take a can of orange soda with you.

Things change- Most things are neither good nor bad- We take care of that.

Orange soda as a metaphor for life and relationships… Odd but somehow it works. (At least from where I lay here in the grass)

M- You looked beautiful on your day. L- is a fabulously lucky man! There will always be room in my heart for you both.

Bright and Shining

The mistakes… I'm not sure I could count them if I tried. I definitely do more wrong than I do right. I say the wrong thing. To harsh or not enough. Insensitive, selfish. I do the wrong thing or maybe just at the wrong time. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes.

It's like night. Looking up at a clear blue black sky. Every mistake is a star. A tiny pinprick of light shining down from that darkness. Some smaller, some larger. Some go shooting across the darkness like a fireball flung down from the heavens so glaring and vivid that you can't ignore them even if you tried.

In the more remote parts of this planet the sky at night is more bright than dark. Across the Milky Way the sky just kind of becomes a white blur or a kind of a haze. The mistakes taking over the entire sky so many pinpricks you couldn't plug them if you had a million fingers and even if you could you would never be able to figure out where to start.

I know the sky is delicate, I've seen first hand how easy it is to make another hole. It often seems as if the mistakes are unstoppable. How can anyone stand to be close to a madman with a hole punch hell bent on eradicating the darkness, destroying all beauty and peace.

Getting it right on the other hand, now that's a rare occurrence. That number is easy to count. You don't need an abacus for the math, a fourth grader will suffice. It's almost like an endangered species or the Loch Ness Monster. You want so badly for it to exist. People spend countless hours searching but sometimes they're just hard to come by.

So how do we tolerate one another? How do we manage to grow close? How do you manage to spend time with someone much less enjoy it when it seems that all they are doing is poking holes in your night sky. Which is funny because mostly they're just getting in the way of you doing the same thing.

Those stars I was talking about. We never see them during the day. It's not because they aren't there. But the sun shines so brightly that the holes, the tiny pinpricks, even the fireballs they all just somehow fade away. The mistakes are still there they just don't really matter so much anymore.

I pray that in those relationships that really matter, the occasions on which we get it right, those moments shine so brightly in our hearts and minds that all the millions of mistakes just fade into the background. In the face of Love one good moment outshines more bad than you can imagine with three of our small brains.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to get back to work, I have got a lot of holes still to make today and I seem to be running out of daylight.

The Magnolias Are Blooming

Big fragrant flowers… they remind me of being a child in Atlanta. We had a large front yard and in one corner by the street on the opposite side of the lawn from the driveway sat a large magnolia tree.

This was a great tree. Magnolias don't grow straight and tall like an oak. They twist and tumble. They meander and swoop. It's as if they don't really have a clear idea of where they are going or how exactly they are going to get there. I feel that way some of the time.

This was an old tree. The trunk was huge and the lower limbs were thick and strong. Strong enough that a ten year old could walk from the trunk the length of the limbs to the ground and they would only flex a little bit. It was tall and if you were to imagine the perfect tree for climbing this was it. The limbs stretched out and touched the ground all around the tree probably twenty or twenty five feet out from the base of the trunk. The result was almost like a tent. You would slip in between the big waxy leaves and it looked like a giant jungle gym on the inside. The ground inside the limbs was covered with fallen leaves in various stages of decay. The lop layer dry and crunchy under foot the layers below rotting, becoming incredibly productive soil. The smell inside the magnolia's embrace was rich and damp, heavy with the odor of clean earth.

When the tree bloomed the entire space was filled with a sweet perfume almost sickeningly sweet. As the heat baked the yard the magnolia was a cool retreat where we explored our imaginations. It was everything from a pirate ship, to a jail, to a submarine; the list goes on and on.

One of my best memories as a child (best is such a strange term, there are so many great memories) One of the memories is waiting on my father to get home from work. We lived on a busy street with lots of traffic. When it was close to the time for my father to arrive from work we would climb the magnolia. From high in the branches we would watch the street and wait. We would wait what to children seemed like forever and when we would finally see his car down the tree we would scramble. We would come busting out of those branches like wild monkeys and race to the car not able to get our arms around him fast enough. It was far and away the high point of our day and we couldn't wait to tell him all about the adventures of the day. There were so many adventures back then… where did they all go?

This all comes to mind because the magnolias are blooming right now and the smell brings back the memories. The memories bring to mind the present. Two realities I'm currently dealing with…

First, I have been reminded that there will be a day that no matter how long I wait in those branches with baited breath my father will not be coming home again. I will not be able to feel his arms around me protecting me from the world nor have his ear anxiously waiting to hear my adventures. The thought of it kept me up most of the night last night. Haven't really cried in a while and I shared some time with the sunrise this morning being close to the idea of him. Well spent time. Sammy and Aubie didn't really understand why I was upset but they don't speak English very well so that doesn't surprise me too much. They understood the tears well enough.

Second, I really want to have someone feel that way about me. Someone who waits in the branches anticipating my arrival. Not that I am their world. Just that when I am coming into it from time to time there couldn't be anything better going on in their world at that moment. That's not coming out at all the way I want it to but it's a pretty fuzzy concept. I think I am just tired of chasing. I know that as a guy we pursue the girl. But every once in a while I wish the girl wanted more than anything in the world to be in my arms. There is a song that comes to mind, about always having to steal my kisses from you. Would love to have the woman of my dreams grab onto me, push me down and kiss me like she has been thinking about it all day. Been a long time since I felt like that.

The dreams I chase are not half as interesting as the reality I endure. Why do I have my focus backwards?

Cobbler

It started raining two days ago. I really didn't mind so much. The pollen had gotten almost unbearable and it seemed like everything including myself just really needed a thorough rinsing. Good spring rain. The kind where the drops are big and cold. From the car to the door and you might as well have stepped into the shower with your clothes on. Soaked to the core, shivering. It washed over everything, turning the street into a yellow river. Rinsing away the worries and the fatigue.

The rain was followed by wind. It blew all afternoon today. Pushing the rain on into Georgia for the farms. The wind carried the cold away with the rain and brought warm, still night. I walked out onto the porch right as the moon was coming up, huge and silver like it owned the sky. It almost seemed as if it was calling out, whispering.

I took the top off of the jeep, I don't know why I even bother putting it up. The thing is so old and worn full of holes that there was an inch of water in the floorboard. I like things like that though. Worn through, used and lived in. Like a stuffed bear, loved on until the eyes and nose are gone, ugly to see but soft and full of warmth to the touch.

I started the engine and drove off toward the moon. The air had totally changed. Warm now from the wind but still cool every time I found the bottom of a hill or hollow. Spring air and summer lakes share that property. Warm and cool spots, living up against one another but neither willing to change.

When I finally started paying attention I was all the way out of the city on a quiet two lane, the road turning and dipping. The jeep seemed to be enjoying itself and I didn't really want to stop. An hour crept by before I even thought about turning back and finding my way home.
I stopped at quite possibly the most run down gas station in middle Alabama to buy fuel and see if I could find out where I was exactly. It didn't really come as a surprise when the attendant didn't seem to have any better idea where here was than I did. He did suggested I go next door and "Ask the colored girl, she knows where here is better than most."

Next door was supposed to be a café though it would really be a stretch to call it that. Really nothing more than a wide hallway with a counter running the length of one wall. The "colored girl" look tired and probably was at this time of night but when she smiled it was genuine. Older but I wasn't sure how much, she looked to be fifty but could have just as easily been seventy. She carried most of the extra weight she had in her chest and through her back making her seem almost round, as if she might have a hard time lying in bed without rolling out onto the floor.

A simple request for directions turned into a three and a half hour conversation about everything from the right time to plant tomatoes to the islands she longs to visit if she could stand to be away from her late husband's grave for more than a day. Oh, and cobbler, the best damn blackberry cobbler I ever put in my mouth. The warm thick syrup washed down with ice cold milk, heaven.

It was one comment about her husband that really struck me. "So you're saying that Love is looking at someone and seeing them as perfect?" She sighed, "Nah child, dat's infatuation. Takes more time dan dat. Love is when you know dem flaws, when dem is bad tempered, where dey carry the weight, how dey weak, and broken. See it and den you choose to be infatuated anyway…dat Love."

If you ever find yourself on highway 37 in eastern Alabama in a little place called Fuller's Pike stop and fill your tank at the gas station, there's only one. The cobbler is worth every mile.

Dreaming of Dream Filled Sleep

Sometimes I don't sleep. Not that I don't sleep very well. Sometimes I just can't get my mind to turn off. It's strange. Not that anything in particular is bothering me or on my mind that keeps me up. Just can't shut off. I explain it to others as monkeys running through my head. Makes sense for me, doesn't have to for you.

Funny… it doesn't happen often. Ask either of the two women who have shared a bed with me for an extended period of time and they will tell you that I fall asleep faster than anyone they know. Nothing is more frustrating than listening to the person next to you sleeping while you decompress. Lightning quick I tell you. I tend to go extremely full board with my day until it's time to quit, then turn off like a switch. They let me know it pissed them off. :) ( I'm not talking about after sex, just life in general) ;)

I don't think that most people really see that. Yes I think they see I have high energy, but I think that people confuse quiet for quiet. If I'm being quiet it is because I am trying to be. I don't even know I'm doing it most of the time anymore. It really absolutely takes an effort. I like not having to try. I like the relationships where it is ok to be flawed. To run on and be silly. To make mistakes and just let go of some of the control.

Control is not so easily released. I know that for me, like I said, I don't even realize I'm doing it most of the time. I'm not just talking about quiet or still either but love, lust, emotions, trust. You name it.

I had a disagreement with a teacher at boarding school in ninth grade. It had to do with daily chores. It was a fairly little thing, the details aren't really important but I was right and he was wrong. For me it was about that simple fact. For him, who was right didn't really matter. What did matter was that he was in charge and because he said do, as a student I had to do. It became quite heated. Rather he became quite heated. He called my mother about a thousand miles away (literally) and asked her to talk some sense into me. She did her best but in reality she agreed with me. However she made a great point. You have to pick your battles in this life. You only have so much time and energy, do you really want to spend it fighting over things that don't really matter?

Because I said so is not a good enough reason for anything. Because that's the way it is done is an absurd answer to any question. If you don't question the little things how do you deal with the big ones?

The need to be in control may be my biggest weak point when it comes to relationships. However, the likelihood that you will be around long enough to see that is pretty slim.

You can't control another person and I have a hard time with that. As a result I just control myself. Not a very good solution I know, but it's the best one I came up with at the time. Problem is it doesn't work. Experience shows I control myself too much when I should be letting go of my heart. I don't control myself enough when I am truly hurt and allow that to be expressed through anger. The balancing act that happens here is something that I'm still trying to figure out. I think I'm better at it than I used to be. I guess I'm really not the one to ask. I plan to be better at it tomorrow than I was today.

The talk with my mother didn't help the situation. I was still right, fought the battle and was punished for refusing to do what I was told. Funny thing is, it didn't bother me a bit.

Still struggling with which battles to fight but damn… sometimes I like being right more than I like winning. Sometimes I even like being wrong, but almost every time I'll fall asleep before you. It's ok though… Some of the best things I have ever heard were told to me when the other person thought I was sleeping.

My Spring Has Sprung

Spring has arrived… I know it because everything here is yellow. The pollen is a little like snow. It covers everything. Everyone I know is sniffling and sneezing. I love this time of year.

It's funny; I don't really have a favorite season. I really just love the change. When you first see your breath in the beginning of the winter, when the leaves start to change and then litter the ground in the fall. Spring is great that way. All of the flowers and plants coming back to life after being dormant over the winter. Beauty all around us. Good stuff.

One of my favorite parts about spring is shad roe. Shad live on the east coast and in rivers like the Hudson in New York they are born and return to lay eggs and die. They're fish. They spend the rest of their time in the ocean in huge schools. Average shad weighs about five pounds and returns to the same place it was born after about six years to lay eggs and die. Some times as much as one hundred and twenty miles up stream.

Shad are good to eat. One problem, lots and lots of bones. The American Indians in the area have a story which explains it.-- There once was a porcupine that was unhappy with its place in the world, so he asked the Great Spirit Manitou to give him a better situation in life. Happy to please, the Great Spirit turned him inside out and threw him into the river. He was the first shad. When it comes to taste the female is a little bit better than the male. First of all they carry more fat and have a more flavorful flesh. Second they are carrying eggs. Lots of them. They are in a kind of a sack. It's a thin membrane that encases the eggs. Kind of looks like a large bratwurst.

The eggs are the best part. Great for breakfast wrapped in bacon then sautéed and served with scrambled eggs. Yum! The cool part is that they are only available for a very brief period of time in the early spring. Eating them is as much about spring and embracing new life, virility and the life cycle as it is about the way they taste. I always try to have some every year and spend some time thinking about the new season and life that is starting and finishing around me every day.

Had mine for the season the other night. I know I'm a dork, silly sometimes the things that I get passionate about. I really do love this crazy mixed up life that I find myself caught up in. So many beautiful moments!

Great story – that one about the porcupine. I love the tales we tell ourselves to explain the things that we don't know or understand. The myths and legends we surround ourselves with are so incredibly interesting. Funny how we can't just let things be mysterious or unexplained. One of the scariest things to admit or hear another person say is "I don't know." I don't know… I don't know… It almost comes across as irresponsible, reckless. To really not know what you are doing, where you are going, how you feel. You almost feel ashamed to answer a question with that phrase. Not if you are just avoiding the question, we all do that. But if you really just don't know the answer. Not because of a lack of information, not because the question is even particularly hard but just because you honestly don't know. How you feel, what you want…

I say it is ok not to know some of the time. I have several things that fit into that category. My mind has been working on some of them pretty hard the last month or so. Dreams run through my sleep most every night. Almost like my mind is trying to figure out the answers. Funny thing is there aren't any. I like the dreams, I get to spend time with a friend I haven't seen in years in most of them and somehow that makes my heart smile a little bit.

The questions that I do know the answers to are worth way more than the ones I don't. The others will get sorted out in time, or they won't… either way it will be ok.

Shhh... Can't You See I'm Trying to Bleed Here?

Current mood: Bleeding on the floor-excuse me I need to get that

It's amazing how many people want to try and have some semblance of a normal conversation with you immediately after an accident. I know it is probably an uncomfortable and awkward moment, but if you weren't involved no one really cares, I promise! If you are not a doctor or are in some other way vastly qualified to help please be a decent human being and shut the fuck up.

For future reference: If you find yourself at the scene of an accident it is inappropriate to comment on - How nice a bike that was. On how much that must have hurt. On the bike that your brother or other various inbred family member used to have. On how spectacular the midair acrobatics that were just performed looked in your rearview mirror. Also in this category fits, guesses at distance traveled in midair and speed of impact between head and pavement.

On the list of stupid questions not to ask: Are you ok? Unless the person being questioned is Gumby or Wiley Coyote, the answer is most assuredly no! Did she see you? Granted I guess there is the remote possibility that she had a horrible experience as a child where she was forced to ride for hours on end with her uncle's pet monkey in a misguided attempt to create a new sensational circus act that would eventually take the world by storm. That experience could in theory create a situation in which she would possibly willfully cause damage to another person and their personal property but the odds are honestly against it.

Unfortunately these very questions and comments are posed every day. Personally I can swear to it. If you would all please be quite for just a few minutes I hear the sirens getting closer and the nice man with the scissors is going to be distracting me by strapping me down and cutting my pants from my body in order to squeeze my knee in a most provocative way. Does that hurt? Another stupid question. At least he plans to do something about the answer. Nice man. In the mean time, Shhh… I would really just prefer to lay here and bleed on the pavement until someone with some common sense gets here.

I've really developed a dislike for blue Corsicas all of the sudden. Go figure!

-_-_-_-_-> As it turned out. Nothing broken, though two months later my shoulder is still acting like it was sat on by an elephant. Ouch, ouch stop poking me! Unfortunately the Ducati was totaled. Motorcycles are fun!

Eggs Benny

I have been blessed to have dated some absolutely wonderful women in my past. Had breakfast with one of my favorites this morning. As seems always to be the case when we spend time, a quick breakfast before work and the gym turned into a three and a half hour meal and conversation. It's amazing how time slips away. She spent quite a bit of the time chewing me out. Nothing new, just good solid stuff. She had some great advice and gave it without hesitation. (That's a positive in my book by the way) Favorite thing she said: When are you going to see that girl again? "Not sure, maybe this weekend." Shave that shit off your face before you do. Point taken…

Next best thing: Why? If you know better, which you do.

Some of the best relationships I've ever had were ruined by bad timing. Someone wasn't ready for something because of something or someone else. Vague enough? Personally I had a pretty good answer in this situation. Penance. I understood exactly what I was getting and understood clearly exactly how much I was vastly overpaying for it. Which to date, summing it all up is quite a bit of myself that I really couldn't afford to give up. But I think that that was kind of the point.

For future reference, as soon as a relationship stops being about the relationship I'm in and starts being about something else, anything else, I'm gone. I've definitely done it. I've seen a million friends do it. Guilt over the last mistake, pay back for the last wrong received. We tend to behave in a reactionary way towards relationships instead of truly learning. We bounce from situation to situation paying more attention to where we are bouncing from than where we are bouncing to.

I hate games. Listened to a friend explain how she was taking space from a boy she sees then said she knew it would make him realize what he was missing. If he doesn't realize what he has while you're there won't he make the same mistake when you come back? Why play games with people? I try so hard not to do that. Not to be anything but straight with people. Doesn't always work, sometimes I can't seem to get it right, but I try. Now myself, that's another story. I definitely don't do as good a job of that. Enough.

Old southern proverb… If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always got.

Have a great quote from Henry Ford on my page about the past. I'm going to try and pay it a little more attention.

Compromise - Or- Spin Around in Circles Till You Puke!

Went to Orlando with my best friend this last weekend. Great trip! We only had a couple of days so we had to pick and choose between all the great stuff to do down there. We ended up going to Sea World and Disney's Magic Kingdom. It was so great just to play for a couple of days. Funny how simple things can be.

When we got to Disney we went straight to Space Mountain. Great little roller coaster. Awesome concept and it really has stood the test of time! Got to love a roller coaster. This one is especially cool. The best part: it's in the dark. You don't see any of the twists and turns coming. Every new dip and swish is a thrill. Kind of like life.

We walked up the hill from there and came to Alice in Wonderland's Tea Cups. If you're not familiar with this kind of ride it is a bunch of cups that two or three people sit in. The cups are mounted on a disk that spins around in a circle. To make matters worse there is a wheel in the center of your cup which allows you to spin the individual cup. All of this equals an intense desire to deposit your breakfast in Mickey's lap!

I love roller coasters but spinney type rides make me want to die! Katelyn on the other hand loves those kinds of rides. So of course she headed straight for it. I bitched a little bit but eventually I agreed. Now I really didn't want to ride the damn tea cups and truth be told I really didn't enjoy it. Much better suited for use as an interrogation/torture device than as a "fun" ride. Point is I went. Now here is the interesting part. Disney being Disney does all kinds of cool little things to wow people. Well, as we were standing in line for the ride a woman showed up and passed out about fifty VIP passes and we each got one. Basically it allowed us to go to the front of the line for the rides all day. We never waited for more than about ten or fifteen minutes all day. It was absolutely awesome! I guess that's life kicking me in the ass and trying to make me learn a lesson. I like it when life uses positive reinforcement. Doesn't happen often, usually dishes out the punishment. Who do I talk to about changing that? I respond much better to the positive.

I've always thought that compromise made very little sense. I want –A, you want –C, so we compromise and agree to do –B. From where I sit neither one of us got what we wanted. That sucks. Let's just do it my way. Then at least one of us is happy.

In reality the way that compromise works is when you figure out how to set aside your own desires and find joy in seeing the other person getting what they want. Katelyn really enjoyed the stupid tea cups and that makes them much less stupid. In fact it made all the difference in the world.

I enjoy the fact that I am stubborn and difficult to deal with. I know that probably seems stupid but I do. I currently am working on allowing my friends to hold on to their stupid imperfections and flaws. The difficult things that they cherish about themselves. In fact for one person I have really learned to enjoy those parts. They genuinely bring me pleasure. Giving someone permission to be flawed is one of the greatest gifts. We all have them and they make all the difference in the world. Beautiful imperfection.

Don't Look Now

Why are you behaving?

I remember being in class as a child. When the teacher would leave, we would all immediately go crazy. Pull the girls' hair, throw things at one another. You know, all of the things that we would never do if the teacher were in the room. At some point you would hear it… "Here she comes!" Everyone dove for their seats and tried to pretend that we were perfect angels. We really thought we were smart. We didn't think she had a clue. Teachers are a lot smarter than children give them credit for. She knew, sometimes though it was easier just to pretend she didn't and move forward.

It's funny, I see people I know doing the same thing today. When their girlfriend/boyfriend, or husband/wife is away or distracted they misbehave and then get it back under control just before the other one returns or starts paying attention again. I hate to find humor in the situation but some of those significant others are not as dumb as these people think. It may be easier to let it go for the time being but there is going to be a moment of clarity and ouch!

Not everyone sees it though. I mean that girl, you've been trying to figure out. When everything is going along normal- not so good, you are not getting what you need, as soon as you say you're leaving she's on her best behavior and treats you like a king. Hey dumb ass, what are you thinking? What has changed? That person's character? That person's morals and values? Wake up, the only thing that has changed is your leaving and that makes them uncomfortable, when comfortable comes back so does their true nature, so does yours.

Friend of mine and I have been having an ongoing conversation about personality, morals, and character. One of the main threads in this conversation revolves around the question of change. Do people, can people? I've seen this particular friend change an awful lot over the last couple of years. They communicate incredibly better, express themselves better and have a much clearer idea of what they want. They've grown immensely. However they are still the same person I initially was introduced to. Their values and ideals have not changed. The degree to which they value honesty, trust, laughter, family, friendship, the morals and values that they were raised with are still the same.

Some things change some don't. Figuring out what changes are reasonable to expect… that's a tough one. Sometimes it really is easier to pretend it's all ok and just move forward. Sometimes it really isn't. I guess that is just a feeling in your gut.

In my mind the character you posses is demonstrated not when people are watching. It's easy enough to behave when someone is watching, to be good when you're in trouble. To do what you have to in order to make things right. Your character is demonstrated when no one is watching. When there is no way you could get caught or anyone could find out. Would your girlfriend/boyfriend cheat if they knew for a fact you would never find out? If you can't answer that question one hundred percent without hesitation you have a problem. When you have nothing to gain or lose, how do you behave?

I sat with a friend on top of a hill the other night looking down on a part of the city we were both pretty familiar with. We really had a hard time figuring out what a lot of the buildings were. Things looked so different from that angle. It really struck me how a small change in the way you look at a thing can have such a huge impact in the way it fits into the rest of your world. I need to remember to step back every once in a while and look at things with fresh eyes. Experience something new and see how it impacts your world. What a gift it would be to see things as they truly are.

Powder

Powder

The snow I knew as a child was pure joy.

Where I grew up snow maybe came once a year. It fell in the dark of night and transformed the world into a playground of slippery madness. Everything shut down and we were free for the day. We would sled and slide, throw snowballs and build snowmen. None of this lasted more than a couple of hours at a time. By then we were cold and soaked to the core, half frozen. We would make our way back to the house and strip. Sit down on top of the heat vents and drink hot chocolate. When our bones had thawed we would do it again. My mother hated those day, by the end of it we had worn every peice of clothing that we owned and the laundry pile was incredible. By evening the world looked more like a cottton field that had been harvested than a wonderland. Dirty, with just a speckling of white here and there.

As a young man I moved to another place. Here the snow was different. It started falling in November and didn't stop untill it slowly turned to rain in the spring. In the mountains in Febuary the trees were only about twenty five feet tall because twenty feet of them were under snow. This snow scared me a little bit. I didn't know how to deal with it and there was just so damn much.

I didn't get over it untill I went for a three day camping trip in the snow. Walking away from the car at that trailhead, to me at the time, seemed like utter madness.

Being in the mountains when the snow is falling is probably the most peaceful thing I have ever experienced. Two feet of powder on top of the fifteen feet that was already there. The trees, all thick pines, coated from top to bottom. The air thick with fluffy flakes slowly sifting their way down to pile themselves upon the piles of others. If you sit still for anytime at all it tries to cover you as well. All of this snow absorbs every bit of the sound, it's absolutely amazing. So quiet and beautiful.

Walking in that kind of snow is forgiveness.

You go a ways and find yourself at a spot where you would like to rest and maybe consider where you are, where to go from there. As you look back the path by which you came is clearly illustrated by the tracks in the snow. There before you all the mistaken steps and stumbles. The spot where you slipped and fell. As you sit and rest the snow continues to fall. Blanketing everything around you. Before you know it, you look around and the path by which you came is gone. The snow has filled in the struggles and left a clean path.

To truely forgive someone, I've found, is one of the hardest things to do in this world. Forgiveness is not accepting the past as past and turning your back on it to move forward leaving the damage were it lies. Forgiveness is allowing the damage to be erased. To look around and see things as if they never happened. It is very hard to do. Even harder yet, is to forgive yourself. Even worse we blame ourselves for the reactions we receive from others. The husband who cheated, the person who molested, the family that didn't want us, the love that didn't love us.

Letting go of those things can seem like utter madness. A lot of the time, whether we realise it or not, those are the things we use to define ourselves. From where I stand the way to peace with these things that damaged us and the damage we have done to ourselves and others is to figure out a way to forgive. Not forget mind you, forgetting allows you to repeat the same mistakes. You have to learn and grow, but the only way you make room for more love and joy in your life is to let go of the past. You only have two hands, awful hard to pick up that gold nugget when they are full shit.

It's late November, the snow is falling in the mountains. Figure out a way to find some peace. In one month we start a new year, what will it hold for you, gold or shit?

Personally, I'm trying to put down some of the shit.

Clarity

Clarity

A conversation with a friend leads me to believe I need to clarify an earlier post.
His question: According to your blog you are still in love with your ex-wife, you can't be in love with more than one person at a time, so what gives?

First a word about blogs, and writing in general for that matter: The thing that I like about writing is that it gives you an opportunity to express and share the thoughts and feelings you have in any given moment. In case you missed it, that was the important part (in any given moment).

People are extremely complicated. Our thoughts and feelings are often confused, conflicted, chaotic, in short we are a mess! How we ever make a decision is really beyond me. It's not just people; life is tough to figure out. We change our minds every time the wind changes direction. We are constantly faced with new ideas and information and every time we are we have to reevaluate everything we know about this life we are living. Makes things tough. I often wish that things were simple, easy. Thing is that the complicated part, the conflicted part, the way we work through those difficult decisions, that's the part that defines us. Makes us who we are. Makes those that we really care for interesting to us.

Back to the part about writing. (In any given moment). Remember, that was the important part. Writing allows you to freeze time. You can take a given thought or feeling and explore it. Just set aside all the chaos and focus for one moment in time. That doesn't mean you ultimately decide that way, that you don't have other feelings or even that it's not half fantasy. But isolating the moment allows you to explore and expose yourself.

So to clarify about the earlier blog. I was married before. I met Julie when we were freshman in college. I was eighteen at the time. We dated off and on for about three years. Then on for two. Were engaged for a year and married for six. Twelve years all together. When we divorced I was thirty. That's almost half of my life that I spent with her, and to that point all of my adulthood. I'm not sure I can express the weight of this. In my mind you don't have that kind of a relationship with a person and walk away from it cleanly. You don't tell someone that you will love them for the rest of their life and then it somehow stops. In my mind it's complicated but she will always have a place in my heart. I grew up with her. She had such a significant influence on the man that I am. I don't know how you separate that out. Don't get me wrong, a lot of that was bad stuff. A lot of the things about my personality and life that I view as negatives are a result of that influence. A lot of the positives are as well. Like I said, complicated. I know that can be confusing to people who are friends with me now but I can't change it. The past is. I get to make better decisions tomorrow than I did today. By the time I'm done here I plan to get it right at least for one day.

It's funny, if Julie had died in a car accident, (thank god she's healthy and safe to the best of my knowledge) I think that people would be somehow more tolerant of those grey areas. The point of the other blog was that I was having a conversation with a friend who knew me then and knows me now. He can tell that that relationship still weighs on my heart and we were talking about it. More than that, it weighs on his heart. That's getting much more complicated and I won't attempt that topic but it's the reason he brought it up. The point that I was trying to convey is that I regret having given up on the relationship. To be clear, the relationship was really bad, I wish that the solution I had chosen was to fix it (if possible) not to quit. That may not have had any effect on the end result. You can't make someone else participate in a relationship. You absolutely can make it easier or harder for them but everyone makes there own decisions. Julie's was to quit. I just wish that I hadn't agreed. That has less to do with the relationship and more to do with the kind of man I want to be. It's not a mistake I will ever make again. You can bet your life on it.

I will always love her, but to answer the question my friend asked me it is not the same thing as being in love, currently in love, madly, wildly, passionately. What's the difference? The answer was…

I can not imagine my life without you in it. You are home for me, you are my family.
Julie was never those things, I don't really know why. I wasn't that for her either. Mostly because we were young and didn't know how to value and take care of each other I think. Regrets are common. We all have them, so what. Just do better in the next moment.

I am so incredibly flawed. Far from perfect. Doesn't change a thing. Even the most beautiful woman I know has flaws. Quite a few in fact, both physical and personal. I'm sure she could make a much longer list of them than I ever could. Funny thing is that they make her more attractive to me. Beautiful Imperfection. That is worth repeating. Beautiful Imperfection. Such an important idea in my world. Perfection is dishonest and horribly ugly.

Honesty is the most beautiful thing we have to offer to one another. Save the games for the playground. Play with one another not one another's hearts.

Second Guesses

Go on--- Second guess yourself, you're probably wrong. I am most of the time.

Had a conversation last night with a friend of mine about her boyfriend... It led to my telling this story-

My mother and father went to college at Auburn many years ago. To hear my mother tell it, my father was kind of girl crazy. The way it worked then was that you dated around. If you didn't have a steady you could take one girl or boy to a party this weekend and another the next, no big deal. Now that doesn't imply that everyone was hooking up with everyone else, just a much more casual dating enviroment. Probably because everyone wasn't hooking up at the end of their dates. If things got more serious you would get pinned. That was basicaly having a serious steady girl. You would give the girl your fraternity pin and she would wear it on her collar to show the world that she was the girlfriend of a Sigma Chi or whatever affiliation you happened to have. Getting lavaliered was next but does nothing for this story so we'll skip it. Apparently my father got pinned a lot in his college career. There are all kinds of stories of the college craziness. Cars with rusted out floorboards from icing down beer in the floor so many times over the four years and such. Sounds like a good time was had by all.

Well, at some point in their college life my father and mother went out a few times. According to my father he was very taken by my mother. According to her she never really took him seriously because of his reputation. For what ever reason things never really took off. My father graduated and moved to Atlanta to persue a job in the banking industry. When my mother graduated she was faced with returning home and did the only reasonable thing. She married. I'm a little fuzzy on the details here but seems like they had grown up in the same city and it kind of made sense. Anyway, evidently he was not a very good husband, he cheated and the relationship crashed. The marriage lasted less than a year.

Now my mother faced with a full life in front of her picked herself up and made a new plan. She decided to move to Atlanta. She had friends there and was planning to go to graduate school. She went to stay with her friends, find a place to live, a job, you know everthing involved with getting settled.

Now here's where the story gets interesting. My mother has a job interview, it should finish around five so she arranges to meet the friends she's staying with at a popular resturant on Peachtree. The weather's terrible, pouring rain. The interview didn't go that well. Her friends are running late and the restaurant is packed. There's a wait and no room in the entryway. One of those days. Across the street is an office building that has a glass front entryway. She darts across the street and huddles there hoping to see her friends when they arrive. Feeling like a drowned rat she just wants to cry.

Next thing she hears is a man's voice. "Nelda?" (Nelda, that's my mothers name. Pretty cool huh?) She turns to look into my father's eyes. From here the story speeds up. My father breaks up with the girl he's dating at the time. (If he's had to much wine he'll tell you in confidence that she had an amazing ass, if not he'll say she was a nice girl.) They meet for coffee, then lunch, then another, then dinner, a short three years later they're married. Not so simple but they got there.
My father believes beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was ment to be. That they were ment to be together and that God or whoever is in charge of those things would have put them in front of each other as many times as it took for them to get their shit together and make things work. They have, for over thirty years. Not always well, relationships are hard and people struggle but to this day they love each other more than anything in this world and are best friends to boot. They have, and have had the best married relationship I've ever seen. Drive each other crazy, frustrate the hell out of one another, and love each other so deeply that it glows.

Meant to be... Let the forces that guide your life put you where you are supposed to be and run with it. Feel like I'm always stealling lines from friends. No original thoughts here I promise. Everything will be ok in the end, if it's not ok you're not at the end.

--Keep--

--Keep--

Drawn close, turned changed washed over, polished.

Collapsing, crushing down inexplicable lightness.

Layer upon layer, removed wrong, weighed down

Drowned right. Conviction begun convicted begining,

Returned untouched consumed.

It Matters

It matters

Play... It really matters. Yes life is serious. Yes there are some times where you have to focus and be adult. Especially as you become more and more responsible for others. Regardless you absolutely must play!

You know, laugh. Have fun! This weekend was halloween time. I could not believe how many people didn't dress up. I mean come on, is it really cool to be too cool for dress up? Lame! Watched friends with boyfriends who looked bored and almost bothered by them. Watched friends with girlfriends who couldn't care less about them. Come on people. Just fucking smile every once in a while. So tired of watching friends fix their girlfriends/boyfriends. Why not date someone who lifts you up? Who is so excited to be with you that they can hardly contain themselves. Who smiles and can't keep their hands off you, even if no one is pointing a camera at you! Why not fall deeply and madly in love? I mean I really just don't understand even a little bit. Katelyn has a link on my friend page and has an excelent quote in her blog along these lines. She has exactly the right idea, smart girl. Check it out.

It is supposed to be fun people. This life we are living. Find something, I mean anything to be passionate about. Then share it with the person you're with. If they can't get excited about it you have a serious problem! Love, laugh, live, play! One day your going to have beautiful children and they'll learn how to do it from you. Don't forget how between now and then! Play... It matters, I promise.