I took a couple of days off for a mini-vacation weekend. Some weeks ago when I thought about taking this time off it was with the intent of going...
to celebrate.
Instead, I found myself doing what I could to avoid remembering. Worked pretty well until early this morning when the memories smacked me hard. Historically, when I've been there, Sunday was the laziest of the lazy days. As the time for me to leave was drawing near, we chose this day to lounge, usually in bed. One of us rose to make the special Bailey's laced coffee and we would sit and sip. Eventually, rising later into the morning to prepare and eat breakfast. Often retiring back to the bedroom for more lying about, watching movies, laughing, and talking.
Even with the specter of my departure hanging over us, I loved Sunday.
In fact, throughout our time together, Sundays had been our best of the days.
However, the mid-March mini-vacation 2009 was full of a pantry clean sweep, a few long, leisurely walks, a bicycle upgrade and then a couple of spins on the newly upgraded bicycle, shopping for ingredients and then trying a new recipe, roasting, broiling and boiling a week's worth of food (maybe?), that is to say, maybe a week's worth what with the bf factor and all, taking myself to see a movie, getting stuck in a throng of folks waiting to see the river get greened, getting stuck in a throng of post-parade people, getting excited enough to run with the helicopter and squirrel chasing diva dog, with a little bits of reading, writing, and drawing peppered in-between.
There is another mini-vacation planned for later in the month. That time there will even be a Wednesday in the mix. I haven't sketched out all the goings on yet, but I'm sure I'll be banking on more of the same with a bit of yard work tossed in to help see me through.
Showing posts with label missing neta. Show all posts
Showing posts with label missing neta. Show all posts
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
A Year Ago
I remember like it were yesterday, of course I have a blog post to jump start that memory. For the record, my prediction was wrong. Diamond did not shred Hills to smithereens. She generally ignores her unless someone presses the issue. Diamond is particularly particular about her toys, or rather toy. There is only one, a squeaky soccer ball, that garners any real attention. So much so, it rarely squeaks anymore. But, back to the point, a year ago . . . My daughter was excited to cast her vote on Super Tuesday and even more so in November. Today, her president proposes, negotiates, parents with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
We didn't have Buttah (who has just celebrated his 2nd birthday) the cat. I was not thrilled with my daughter's act of defiance bringing Buttah into our small space in last summer. But I couldn't be more thrilled to have him here today. He's brought many hours of joy and huggy goodness. He, like the rest of us is watching his waistline (well, he isn't but he are) and is a tad cranky about the new feeding plan, but all is forgiven quickly enough.
The biggest change today over a year ago is I don't have a girlfriend. I am no longer in the throes of romance, the joys of anticipation, or the glow of . . . love. Oh, I'm still in love and I love her still, but as the nature of our relationship has changed, so too has our interaction. I miss her.
I am tired, yet energetic. I am driven to complete work-related tasks, yet feel scatterbrained and lost. I am positive and upbeat, yet weepy and low. I am, in the words of my lovely daughter, "a hot mess", or feel like it anyway.
My daughter, her ribbing aside (actually, part of her charm) has been a tower of strength. It could not have been easy for her to see me crumble. She hasn't seen it often and I think, not ever since she's been an adult. She's been great. She suggested we go speed-dating, "you know, just for fun...and material." (Daughter is an occasional contributor to a friend's cable access talk/variety show).
I'm working to maintain as I have goals to achieve and a life to live. I'm still tinkering with the details on just how that progresses from this point forward. But thanks to daughter, the kindness of a few friends, laughter, and even tears, forward, the star of this story, is within reach.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Sunday PM Ramble at Random
You know the difference between minus 10 and minus 17? No, me either with the possible exception of my toes starting to tingle 5 minutes sooner in minus 17 than they did in minus 10. Let's hear it for 25 degree days. YaY!
My mom and I don't see eye-to-eye on many topics. So says she, I've contradicted her from the time I was twelve. I think more likely, it probably started at age twelve when I felt the confidence to be vocal about certain things.
I've had much more fruit in the past couple of weeks, oranges among the lot. My daughter notes that I don't eat oranges sexily, "don't eat them in front of your girlfriend." I beg to differ. Perhaps. Though, I'd have to agree, the display my daughter witnessed could not have been construed as sexy. I'm sure it was a messy display. It was a very juicy orange and it was cold. Why my daughter made a connection between me, eating oranges, and sexiness is a question for another time, perhaps another forum.
Speaking of oranges, allergies kept me from eating them (and other citrus fruit) for most of my life. Only in the last couple (or three) years have I been able to eat oranges, grapefruits, lemons and limes with any type of consistency without suffering irritating outbreaks. Yuck into Yum.
That said and allergies aside, I avoided all things orange for quite a while in part because of my older brother's mis-hap and partly because oranges (and other citrus fruits) require peeling and can be messy, especially for someone like me. Though I eat oranges (and other citrus) now, I still do so in relative private and not when I'm out and about. I never even considered the sexy (or lack thereof) aspect.
Moreover, though I like oranges, I'm not wild about orange flavored products. I'm not even all that wild about bottled juices. Much too sweet for my taste.
And just one more thing about oranges, the juice of 4, combined with a bit cumin and honey make a pretty good glaze for chicken being roasted. If you cut up some veggies (potatoes, onions, celery and carrots), place them under the rack while the chicken coated and basted with the orange-sweet and savory concoction, you've got yourself a yummy side.
My quest and involvement with the group getting on a scale, acknowledging, and recording my weight has become a weekly ritual. I've gone back and forth not only with the weight, but with the value of the scale. I've gone through cycles where I avoided the scale, while still trying to maintain, there was some level of success. For a time I felt that obsessing over the number on the scale was counter-productive to the over-all goal, so I didn't weigh, except at the doctor's office and there was some measure of success there as well. I don't know which is right, which is best, never-the-less, it is my life now and in a few hours I'll know how I did this week.
While channel surfing yesterday I caught a movie somewhere in the middle. I stopped because Jennifer Beals was on screen. I read the synopsis and mildly intrigued, watched for a bit. Shortly after, my attention was diverted to something else, so I didn't finish the movie and I don't know how it ended. I'm not sure I want to know, but I'll probably seek it out on purpose at some point. Still, it got me to thinking, if there is such a gene and I do indeed possess same, it might have been nice(er) if action with the realization could have occurred sooner in my life rather then the later. Still, better later than not ever at all.
You "L" fans know that the sixth and final season begins today and of course by now you've heard or read the thrust of this new and final season. I won't spoil it here in case you haven't heard, but suffice to say, if the writers do what I fear I'll be royally ticked. But only for awhile. It's only TV, I'll get over it soon enough.
Finally, hunger is present. But not a hunger for food or even a particular food. No, not food at all.
Just to feel her, to hold her in my arms again . . .
My mom and I don't see eye-to-eye on many topics. So says she, I've contradicted her from the time I was twelve. I think more likely, it probably started at age twelve when I felt the confidence to be vocal about certain things.
I've had much more fruit in the past couple of weeks, oranges among the lot. My daughter notes that I don't eat oranges sexily, "don't eat them in front of your girlfriend." I beg to differ. Perhaps. Though, I'd have to agree, the display my daughter witnessed could not have been construed as sexy. I'm sure it was a messy display. It was a very juicy orange and it was cold. Why my daughter made a connection between me, eating oranges, and sexiness is a question for another time, perhaps another forum.
Speaking of oranges, allergies kept me from eating them (and other citrus fruit) for most of my life. Only in the last couple (or three) years have I been able to eat oranges, grapefruits, lemons and limes with any type of consistency without suffering irritating outbreaks. Yuck into Yum.
That said and allergies aside, I avoided all things orange for quite a while in part because of my older brother's mis-hap and partly because oranges (and other citrus fruits) require peeling and can be messy, especially for someone like me. Though I eat oranges (and other citrus) now, I still do so in relative private and not when I'm out and about. I never even considered the sexy (or lack thereof) aspect.
Moreover, though I like oranges, I'm not wild about orange flavored products. I'm not even all that wild about bottled juices. Much too sweet for my taste.
And just one more thing about oranges, the juice of 4, combined with a bit cumin and honey make a pretty good glaze for chicken being roasted. If you cut up some veggies (potatoes, onions, celery and carrots), place them under the rack while the chicken coated and basted with the orange-sweet and savory concoction, you've got yourself a yummy side.
My quest and involvement with the group getting on a scale, acknowledging, and recording my weight has become a weekly ritual. I've gone back and forth not only with the weight, but with the value of the scale. I've gone through cycles where I avoided the scale, while still trying to maintain, there was some level of success. For a time I felt that obsessing over the number on the scale was counter-productive to the over-all goal, so I didn't weigh, except at the doctor's office and there was some measure of success there as well. I don't know which is right, which is best, never-the-less, it is my life now and in a few hours I'll know how I did this week.
While channel surfing yesterday I caught a movie somewhere in the middle. I stopped because Jennifer Beals was on screen. I read the synopsis and mildly intrigued, watched for a bit. Shortly after, my attention was diverted to something else, so I didn't finish the movie and I don't know how it ended. I'm not sure I want to know, but I'll probably seek it out on purpose at some point. Still, it got me to thinking, if there is such a gene and I do indeed possess same, it might have been nice(er) if action with the realization could have occurred sooner in my life rather then the later. Still, better later than not ever at all.
You "L" fans know that the sixth and final season begins today and of course by now you've heard or read the thrust of this new and final season. I won't spoil it here in case you haven't heard, but suffice to say, if the writers do what I fear I'll be royally ticked. But only for awhile. It's only TV, I'll get over it soon enough.
Finally, hunger is present. But not a hunger for food or even a particular food. No, not food at all.
Just to feel her, to hold her in my arms again . . .
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
not quite what i had in mind
It was just about this time of year two years ago when I met Neta. I was drinking wine, trolling the various sites where I had profiles posted, checking the traffic, listening with half an ear and watching with half an eye TV. At some point that night I remember the movie Sideways was playing. After several glasses of wine over some period of time, I saw Neta's profile. I was in the middle of a quasi-chat with someone not that interesting but enough to fill some empty minutes. I read Neta's profile 2, 3, 4 times and then decided to write. Not just a hello, but a real full-on, howyadoin' greeting. While I was composing same I saw that she'd written me. Be still.
We "talked" off and on the rest of the night and littered one another's boxes with mail messages over the next several weeks. My heart.
Last year, on this eve I was there with her. Right about this time I think we were napping, gearing up for the night. The plans were to go to her parents for shrimp cocktail and back home for steaks from the bar-B. I remember it was very, very windy. I remember the steaks were fuckin' awesome.
For a number of reasons we couldn't be together this year on this eve, physically. But we are more than ever together in every other way. Miss her wildly.
The cat I told my daughter she couldn't bring home has become quite the snuggle Buttah. Still, I have visions of . . . otherwise, on this eve. I'll be on the phone workin' some of that out a bit later.
To my love, I wish you a Happy Glorious Joyous New Year and heres to seeing you soon!
To one, to all, happy, happy, joy, joy and much Peace.
If you together with your loved one(s) be glorious! Celebrate, happiness, togetherness.
Cheers!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Knock On Wood
You’ve had one of those days, I’m sure. You wake to a shining sun. You’re hair is working with you instead of against. You don’t burn your breakfast and the pets manage the morning without too much fuss. Your mind is as clear as your goals for the day. Your very workable things-to-do list will rule the day. You are feeling good, so good you are literally humming on your way to work.
The first hour is good. Your commute is un-eventful, you don’t spill your tea and you’re not nearly killed by a crazed motorist.
Into the second hour is when it starts. Barely half-way through your list, Justin appears in your doorway. Somehow he has managed to erase the system administrator password for the antiquated phone system. Helping him reset and restore kills too many minutes and much momentum. Yet, the rest of your list looms.
You take a break, get some air and eat an apple. After your burps, you get back on the case.
No sooner do you get humping on the rest of the list items, the phone rings. It is your mother. The topic—doesn’t matter, the conversation rips into the next several minutes the way the kids in the neighborhood rip into flamin’ hot chee-tohs.
Then a flurry of minor, mind numbing disturbances swirl around like dumpster flies.
Your last ditch effort to salvage any remnant of focus is thwarted by the ache creeping up your back and deciding to nestle itself at the base of your skull. Thankfully it is close enough to 5 to call it a day.
You head home, done in before you could finish the list which now adds to the challenge for the next day.
However, you’re met at the door by the smiling eyes of one curly haired pup, a sauntering orange tabby and a wary grey one. They all are happy to see you, but they want to eat so they’re happier to see food. You walk the pup, take care of some essentials and prepare your own dinner.
You share a meal of turkey tacos with your daughter who relates the best and worst of her own hopeful day. You talk (by phone) with girlfriend and then your son and then your girlfriend again. They both make you laugh and you feel relaxation taking over where tautness once reigned.
The night ends with you and girlfriend exchanging, 'I love you', giving one another a virtual kiss and you dreaming of her sparkling eyes.
You wake the next morning (much too early) but you know the sun will be up soon. You prepare breakfast for you and the pets. You move onward to the rest of your day. Another shot to crack that augmented list and then some. If you succeed fantastic and if you don’t, well, knock on wood there is another day.
You understand your days can turn on a dime, your well-laid plans melt like ice cream in the summer heat, leaving residue all over your hands (unless you had a napkin). You never seem to have a napkin when you need one. But there is soap and water, all is well.
The day will go the way it goes and then you’re home. You talk with son, daughter and girlfriend. You go to sleep dreaming of sparkling eyes knowing that each day that passes, brings you closer to days without work and with those eyes (and the rest of her).
Knock on wood.
The first hour is good. Your commute is un-eventful, you don’t spill your tea and you’re not nearly killed by a crazed motorist.
Into the second hour is when it starts. Barely half-way through your list, Justin appears in your doorway. Somehow he has managed to erase the system administrator password for the antiquated phone system. Helping him reset and restore kills too many minutes and much momentum. Yet, the rest of your list looms.
You take a break, get some air and eat an apple. After your burps, you get back on the case.
No sooner do you get humping on the rest of the list items, the phone rings. It is your mother. The topic—doesn’t matter, the conversation rips into the next several minutes the way the kids in the neighborhood rip into flamin’ hot chee-tohs.
Then a flurry of minor, mind numbing disturbances swirl around like dumpster flies.
Your last ditch effort to salvage any remnant of focus is thwarted by the ache creeping up your back and deciding to nestle itself at the base of your skull. Thankfully it is close enough to 5 to call it a day.
You head home, done in before you could finish the list which now adds to the challenge for the next day.
However, you’re met at the door by the smiling eyes of one curly haired pup, a sauntering orange tabby and a wary grey one. They all are happy to see you, but they want to eat so they’re happier to see food. You walk the pup, take care of some essentials and prepare your own dinner.
You share a meal of turkey tacos with your daughter who relates the best and worst of her own hopeful day. You talk (by phone) with girlfriend and then your son and then your girlfriend again. They both make you laugh and you feel relaxation taking over where tautness once reigned.
The night ends with you and girlfriend exchanging, 'I love you', giving one another a virtual kiss and you dreaming of her sparkling eyes.
You wake the next morning (much too early) but you know the sun will be up soon. You prepare breakfast for you and the pets. You move onward to the rest of your day. Another shot to crack that augmented list and then some. If you succeed fantastic and if you don’t, well, knock on wood there is another day.
You understand your days can turn on a dime, your well-laid plans melt like ice cream in the summer heat, leaving residue all over your hands (unless you had a napkin). You never seem to have a napkin when you need one. But there is soap and water, all is well.
The day will go the way it goes and then you’re home. You talk with son, daughter and girlfriend. You go to sleep dreaming of sparkling eyes knowing that each day that passes, brings you closer to days without work and with those eyes (and the rest of her).
Knock on wood.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Connect
A life-line, for I’d be lost without certain telephone conversations. In a former life I detested talking on the phone outside of work and I did it only as needed to conduct business, shore up plans or obtain information. It was not my socializing tool. With rare exception, still isn’t. Two of those rare exceptions are my son and Neta.In addition to talking with my son frequently via telephone, I also see him every few weeks. And though I miss seeing him more often I know that we could visit more as he is merely a couple of commuter train rides away. In theory we could have lunch as often as our respective schedules allow. That understanding is a great comfort and lessens the intense loneliness for him I might feel otherwise. Besides, he’s “out on his own” and that makes me happy.
It is different with Neta. She is my lady love and we are working toward being together 24/7. But right now she is 500 miles away and seeing her takes planning, commitment, money and optimally, vacation days. And though we talk on the telephone every day, two, sometimes three or more times a day, I do get lonely for her, very lonely and often intensely so.
During those intensely lonely times, even the telephone conversations don’t seem to provide the salve needed put the loneliness to rest. I try masking the feelings when we talk because I don’t want to bring her down with me. I try fighting or minimizing the feelings by throwing myself into tasks at hand; taking my daughter to have a boil drained, assisting my mom with . . . whatever, the yard and condo association business, studying feline interactions, not to mention dealing with all the additional hair and poop, just to name a few.
Though all these things and more require action, demand my attention and for a time even take my mind and soul from realm of despair, a nugget of emptiness remains. Time though, does heal. Planning helps hurry the utterly desperate times to go on their way. As the days pass, the day for our next visit looms larger and appears fogdog-like on the horizon.
When I break through the haze the sheer joy and happiness felt by knowing she is IN my life and that her feelings for me mirror that which I have for her rests on the other side filling me and pushing me forward.
...here’s my number and a dime, call me anytime.
Skyy
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Think Again
We (me and Neta) have had a few conversations about my conservative taste in clothes, over and under wear. I don't deny favoring comfort and function over style. I prefer slacks over skirts and dresses. I prefer plain shirts over frilly blouses. I prefer pockets, nice deep pockets. I prefer flat shoes. Actually, I can / will only wear flat shoes. 
She's decided that I should break out of my box (so to speak) now and again. I don't totally disagree and as luck fate would have it a new catalog arrived in the mail yesterday.
She's decided that I should break out of my box (so to speak) now and again. I don't totally disagree and as 
I don't, however, think any of these selections quite fill the bill.
At least not for day wear.
. . .there's sumpin' 'bout your love that makes me weak and knocks me off my feet. S. Wonder
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Loop-de-Loop
There's a mirror moving inside my mind
Reflecting the love that you shine on me
Hold on now to that feelin'
Let it flow, let it grow, ya, ya
My heart is on fire
My soul's like a wheel that's turnin'
My love is alive
My love is alive, ya, ya, ya
My love is alive
My love is alive
My love is alive
My love is alive
My love is alive
My love is alive
My love is alive
last verse, refrain from Gary Wright's "Love Is Alive"
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Time Gone By, Slowly
As usual I’ve had a difficult time adjusting to life after Neta. This time made more difficult by the fact that she was here, in my space(s). Gracing them, for sure, while she was here, haunting them now that she’s gone.
I only thought I knew how she felt when I was doing the leaving.
Her laughter, my very favorite of her sounds, resonates throughout. Her hair (the thought of it) tickles my nose at night. Her scent lingeres on pillowcases I’ve been reluctant to launder.
It’s been hard.
One might think that M’s relationship issues, crazy shit at work, mom’s concerns about the social security administration being out to get her, D’s not-having a-car woes, my own on-going battle with weight-fullness, killer cramps, slightly throbbing knees and an oddly painful right heel would keep me occupied enough, keep my mind from wandering back to the void, would keep me from losing every thought except this: Neta was here and now she isn't.
If you think any of that has kept my mind off missing her royally, think again.
I only thought I knew how she felt when I was doing the leaving.
Her laughter, my very favorite of her sounds, resonates throughout. Her hair (the thought of it) tickles my nose at night. Her scent lingeres on pillowcases I’ve been reluctant to launder.
It’s been hard.
One might think that M’s relationship issues, crazy shit at work, mom’s concerns about the social security administration being out to get her, D’s not-having a-car woes, my own on-going battle with weight-fullness, killer cramps, slightly throbbing knees and an oddly painful right heel would keep me occupied enough, keep my mind from wandering back to the void, would keep me from losing every thought except this: Neta was here and now she isn't.
If you think any of that has kept my mind off missing her royally, think again.
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