Fourth Sunday in June

 So, here it is . . . and thus begins her email that effectively spells the end of US as a couple.

I wasn't blindsided, not totally. I felt it (or something akin) was brewing. There were signs. Prior to the email last week there were periods of silences, missed opportunities to get together, other changes to what had become our routine for weeks prior. Understandable. given her very busy schedule. But, still . . .  

Time.

Being compatible. Being companionable. Having fun. Enjoying one another on a variety of levels. Being happy. Beginning to fall . . .   None individually or collectively necessarily spell success in hammering out a relationship. There can be and certainly were in our case mitigating circumstances.

Time.

Though I felt it coming,  had time to prepare for the shoe to drop, the reality hit hard and rendered momentarily stunned and incredibly sad.  She made it clear she didn't come to this decision lightly, it wasn't something she relished doing. She'd hoped (as did I) for a different outcome. 


But now is simply (well, nothing simple about it) not the time. 


It has been a week and the time has quelled most of the emotions. There was no acrimony, no hard feelings. We remain in touch and connected through FB. I wish her the greatest of success in her business and life, as she does for me. I feel honored to have met her and grateful for the time we shared. I hope there is  an opportunity to chew the philosophical fat with her somewhere down the road for she truly is . . . well, in a word, awesome.   

Time.

Meanwhile however, I am single and while not in love with said state of affairs, the intent is to embrace my favorite season. Further, the intent is to mitigate the work stresses with more focused determination toward my passions.  There is a 5K in the not too distant future calling my name. I will likely walk the course but am not dismissing  the possibility of running. The knees will decide. I may even post more frequently, though no promises, as I explore further explorations. The intent is to continue, to adopt daughter's vernacular, "doing me" which is to say, looking out for my family, honoring and cultivating my friendships, and caring for my own well being the best way possible.

But first, breakfast (omelette, preferably spinach and feta but most any will do) and then, laundry. It is Sunday after all.

**and note to my very supportive friends (you know who you are) ya'll rock hard** love you ladies. :-)

Third Sunday In June

Another picture perfect Sunday, on the outside, the aftermath of much needed rain, barely visible.

Pictures are not always what the seem.

On this third Sunday in June, designated "Father's Day" I've spent barely a moment thinking about my dad and even less about their dad. My son, daughter, and I were all here together for a good part of this day and that, in and of, itself, is cause for celebration. We had a handful of meaningful conversations that led to a handful of revelations.


Catharsis, or catharses comes to mind. Each has spent part of this day ruminating over focus and dedication toward the next stages of their respective days, weeks, months, and quite possibly, years.

I've spent a considerable amount of time today in my own state of rumination as my own life has taken some turns and is about to turn again. For better or worse, time will tell. For this day, however, and the couple leading to it? far from the bike ride in the park of the most carefree of summer days.

My present may very well become my past but it could also become my future. I was shown a picture of myself today and though I disagreed with the accompanying hypothesis, I can relate to and respect the sentiment presented.  

I read this quote somewhere, don't recall where and didn't take note of the author, so forgive the lack of credit, "Let your past make you better, not bitter." I feel like that quote has been the cornerstone of my entire existence.

This third Sunday in June, this Father's Day, turned out to be grand mother of days, existentially speaking.

Second Sunday in June

Sun shining, temperature high, and humidity low, by most meteorological accounts a picture perfect day. In fact, by most all accounts, a picture perfect day.

That is, if it were a picture. If the day (beyond that which one has not control, like the weather) could be scripted or molded or otherwise fashioned to one's particular specifications it would have included much more than shining sun, high temperature and low humidity, a library run, a trip to the movies and a free bucket of popcorn by virtue of Classic Cinema Reward points accrued over a period of time.

Of course I don't mean to suggest that ALL that wasn't great. In fact, it was all pretty awesome. It just wasn't everything.

But that is okay. On this sun shining, high temperature, low humidity, trip to the movies,  and free popcorn day, it was enough. It was a, "make due with what is in the fridge" kind of day and some days that is okay. In fact, some days, that is golden.

While one's deepest desires are deferred with a 'make due with what is the fridge' scenario. The same scenario does sate the urgency of the hunger. On that second Sunday in June, I was full but not content; happy, but not ecstatic, smiling, but not laughing that full throat,, rising from the depths of your soul, kind of laugh.

Still, by most accounts, the second Sunday in June was a picture perfect day.

I'm ready for another, only better.
 

First Sunday in June

Younger brother (he's 50 and I'm 51 escalating toward 52) is getting married this first Sunday in June. The wedding (reportedly set for 1 PM) is his second.

I was informed on the impending nuptials last Sunday. But Mom, the informer, didn't know the time or the precise location of the ceremony. She'd prefaced the information by asking me to, "think about attending."

The additional details didn't arrive until Friday evening around seven, from the groom himself, "Hey, I'm calling to invite you to my wedding on Sunday, at one o'clock, in Aurora. We didn't have time to send out invitations and . . . . "

Long story short, I declined with no regrets.

Younger brother is a born again (and again, and again ad nauseam) christian, as well as an infantile,  narcissistic, know little know-it-all, user and abuser who has spent most his his adult life behind bars, a guest of the state. a drain on taxpayers.

But none of that directly caused me to decline his eleventh hour invite.

I declined primarily because my brother's events (first wedding, birthday parties, ordination into some kind of ministry, and holiday dinners) all have been notoriously and infamously late. Even on this past Mother's Day, we conspired to surprise our mother by appearing side-by-side to treat her to lunch and try to appear the happy family unit, he was two and a half hours late, with no apologies.

The other traits just add fuel to the furor that is our dynamic.

I realized last Sunday while Mom was trying to convince me to "support his decision" ill-conceived it may be, that while I like my younger brother well enough, and for our mother's sake, shoot for cordial whenever he and I speak or are together, I do not love him as she does. I cannot support him, as she does, unconditionally.

Still, I offered congratulations and best wishes. For despite the furor that is our dynamic,  I do wish him well, especially for the sake of all the children affected by his actions. At the end of the day, I do hope that my younger brother has, at long last, grown up and is thinking of others above himself. I hope that he has (or will soon) take the steps to "stay" his recovery, own his mistakes and work to ascend beyond them. I hope that he has stopped blaming everyone for his "crappy childhood" and using that as an excuse to be a total . . .

Anyway, while recent events and statements indicate none of the aforementioned hopes have come to fruition yet, HOPE is still the order of the day. And I do support my mother. And by so doing, affect some measure of support of my younger brother,  to a degree. I suppose.

That said, during our call on Friday I recognized that on this first Sunday in June navigating my own recovery from yet another horrid week would be best. I recognized that traipsing out to Aurora, sitting in some church waiting for a service that would have likely been at least an 1 1/2 hours late, suffering through all the "blessings of the lord" and forced cordiality with younger brother (and the stranger he will "take as his wife") was not going to be the ticket.

On this first Sunday in June I worked in the yard, helped my daughter grill meat, took a spin on my trusty Brin, ate some of the aforementioned grilled meat (and some tasty sides) watched some softball, drank a couple of beers, and de-cluttered my bedroom. All toward getting my mind and body prepped to take on the week ahead.

To wit, Happy June,  Happy "Season of Pride", and congratulations to Mr. and (the new) Mrs. Younger Brother. Perhaps  he will call the next time he's in (or on his way to) town. Perhaps we can share some cake to celebrate his union.