Not the Same Old Song *

Mem'ries, like the corners of my mind, misty water-colored mem'ries . . .

Deep inside the recesses of my mind is what was playing on the radio during my first solo road trip. Gosh darn it if I could dredge it up now even if my life depended on it. The music I remember during that trip, beyond the rattling of my nervous energy, was the song of sweet flirtation. 

We'd met on-line just a few weeks (maybe a couple) prior to my trip. We emailed furiously every day after the initial meet. Somewhere around day 5 we exchanged phone numbers. Emails turned into text messages which turned into phone calls.

During the eight or so hour drive to Memphis we spoke twice, perhaps thrice. So charming was her accent, a mix of nearly native Tennessean, by way of the west coast, by way of Europe. What was said during these calls? Couldn't tell you. What I remember is how the timbre of her laughter and deceptive cadence soothed and thrilled me for the next leg(s) of the trip. 

Excited to meet the ladies from Texas? No doubt, but fueling that trip, beyond all the firsts...was the flirt and the sweetness of that sound. 

It changed me. She changed me. 

Mem'ries, like the corners or my mind, misty water-colored mem'ries . . . 

*Scintilla Prompt (Friday)  Thursday and Saturday. . . thinking. Loving the challenge, the sharing, the stories. 



            

Review, Renew

I spent two of the past three years falling and and then actively being in love. I found myself wrapped with it's warmth and thrilled by the euphoria that resides in that fascinating state.



This year I've been sinking out of love of that love. The warmth and euphoria ebbing bit by bit every one of these 300 plus days.



Some of the 300 days have been incredibly cold and low. Some, however have been somewhat closer to fine.



It has been an experience I'd just soon not repeat, but one I suppose I needed to have. Into each life a little love must fall? I don't know, what I do know is that I'm ready to put this year behind me. The sinking out of love, the trials experienced by my son, daughter, and mother have well worn me.


Before kicking the dust of 2009 off my heals, I be going on a trip. A small sojourn to the land of Texas. Houston to be more precise. I am being welcomed to eat, drink (wine, more than likely) and be merry by and with some lovely ladies.

To paraphrase the ladies Pointer, I'm so excited, it has been hard to hide it, I'm about to lose control and I've given up fighting it. After one more work day and the office holiday party, I'm out. For all intents and purposes, I am already. Focus. Hard.

I'll be back before Christmas, and here to put the rest of 2009 to bed and to get a leg up on 2010.

I'm so excited!!

A Different Chill In My Bones

The brand new parka offers no defense. The many layers of clothing are not helping much either. The sneaking suspicion is not even the higher temps forecast for the coming weekend are going do little to warm me. I can’t shake the chill.

Movement, maybe keeping busy will help.

The chill started a couple days ago. Beginning with, “Sweetie, sorry . . .”

It continued, “I care deeply about you and always will, but . . .”

Everything after but, became a blur including, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Chill settled in around my shoulders and hasn't released me.

I’ve read and re-read the missive and those that followed. I’ve talked with Neta and it’s clear she doesn’t want or rather, can’t be in an intimate, romantic relationship any longer. I have no choice but to accept her decision.

We have talked and will talk more. We will try to forge ahead with a friendship. We may become much better friends than we were lovers, or rather the lovers we were growing to become.
In our time together, given that we were 500 miles apart, there were many things that we hadn’t done as a couple. We’d had the opportunity to celebrate only a few “firsts” in our nearly two years.

There were many more “firsts” penciled on my list. Saying, “Neta was my girlfriend” wasn’t one of them. Thinking of and referring to Neta as my former girlfriend will be, surreal.

Maybe more hot tea will help this chill, though I rather doubt that it will.

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!

So It Begins...Again

When can I see you again

When can my heart beat again, baby

When can I see you again

And when can I breathe once again

And when can I see, babe, again

Wanna see you again

Again...*

The wait until the next time. At present that is tentatively February. Could be a small, short trip before then, but then again . . .

The trips are hard. The travel part is becoming easier and in some ways, sad yet routine. This trip down there was the usual: constantly chattering toddlers (& mother, aunt and grandma heading to Tennessee for a family wedding), someone who couldn't quite grasp the concept of the overhead bin door, a chronic (fill: cough, sneeze, wheeze, whine) and a cowboy hat wearer. The return travel featured the oh so routine sit-on-the-runway-30 minute-weather-related delay, the must make 400 phone calls before cellphones must be turned off person, sarcastic flight attendant, the "oh, is this row 7 I thought this was 6" person and the frantic fleeing of patrons trying to make connecting flights. Routine.

Though ecstatic at the thought and overjoyed at the actual experience of seeing, touching and being the the company of Neta I am always sad when our time comes to an end. We are always sad. This time and each time, even more so. This time after I returned we had...words. Many, many words later we are coupled in a different way and though not much closer to shrinking the physical distance, emotionally we couldn't be closer.

Long distance relationships are hard, everybody has told me so. 'Tis true. In general, though relationship are tough, especially in the beginnings and even more especially when you have the extra added pressures of all the coming and going.

Relationships go through phases. The transitions through said phases can be bumpy. Neta and I are able to talk and more importantly, listen to one another. It remains to be seen if, or rather when when we will be able to break through the barriers rooting us to our respective turfs. But at the end of the day we have a deep and abiding love and respect for one another. She is quite simply, my heart and I will move heaven and earth to be with her, always.

*When Will I See You Again Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds

Be Still My Heart

. . . well, not still. If it were still then I'd be, well, you know.

What I mean is slow down to, you know, normal. It's been racing you see. As has my mind. Racing with thoughts of being down there. By there, I mean in TN. Not just anywhere in Tennessee, but her part of Tennessee.

She'll be there at Nashville's airport, waiting in baggage claim, standing as usual, at the bottom of the escalator looking up to me with those eyes. The heart and mind will begin to slow and settle immediately upon sight of her. Of that, I am sure.

However, I could use some interim salve, for getting through this day and the next will be hard enough without the vroooooms booming the heart.

These Eyes

...are calling out to me.

Who Needs It?

We have to what amounts to 3 or 4 dates (albeit somewhat extended) a year. These buggers better be gone by Friday, or I'll... I'll... Well, I don't know what, but they just better vanish!

The Look of Love

The look of love is in your eyes

a look your smile can't disguise

the look of love

is saying so much more than these words could ever say

and what my heart has heard, well it takes my breath away

I can hardly wait to hold you, feel my arms around you

how long I have waited

waited just to love you, now that I have found you

don't ever go

You've got the

Look of love, it's on your face

a look that time can't erase

be mine tonight

let this be just the start of so many nights like this

let's take a lover's vow and then seal it with a kiss

I can hardly wait to hold you, feel my arms around you
how long I have waited
waited just to love you, now that I have found you
don't ever go
don't ever go
I love you so…

Upon seeing my frame (with photo installed) mom's only comments were, "Who is Herman Hesse? and That's a nice frame." I related what I knew of Herman Hesse which, to be frank, was a lot less than I now know. I thanked her for her compliment and thus ended that conversation.

Months later she spied some of the shots from Neta's visit this summer, framed and prominently very lived in living room. Mom didn't have much beyond, "those are nice pictures" to say.

. . . and I've totally lost where this post was meant to go, but I do know how it was meant to end:

Neta is prominent on my walls, my mind and my heart. I love the look of her eyes. I love even more what I see beyond them. When I see her I see the miracle that is life, I see hope, I see togetherness and I see joy.

Joy to my girl lady.

The Look of Love penned by B. Bacharach / H. David and performed by nearly everybody.

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

eb told me so

In a little more than an hour I will turn the clock on forty-eight. Then I'll be looking down the barrel of forty-nine. That time will probably rock me more than this. Maybe. Perhaps. I'm not that bothered by forty-eight and truth be told, don't think I'll be that bothered by forty-nine. I seemed pretty cool about the whole prospect of another birthday, then eb wrote: I was just reading where us older lesbos are all the hot rage these days. Oh yeah, sexxxy.
My mom gave me that card you see above there. For the third year running, she's given me that same card. She has giggled and beamed each time, "I love that card!" Which if you really knew my mom you'd find fantastically ironic. Never-the-less, I agree...it is indeed how you are old. In keeping with that sentiment and eb's news I've decided to take my sexily banded, soon to be forty-eight year old knees walking and riding over the better part of two, three (or more

towns over the next few days to celebrate my day(s). Yes, turning 48 requires more than a single day. I'm going to play tourist of sorts, see and do things that I don't normally have time to do when I'm working. There will also be separate celebratory meals with daughter, son & mom and even a 50th wedding anniversary family party. Yum!

If there is a lamentable fact about turning 48, it is that Neta isn't here to celebrate with me, us. To borrow a phrase, soon forever. I can't wait until when next we meet, sweetheart. Love to you m'dear.

10:40 p.m.

I was on the floor. I don’t know why, really, I continue to get on the floor to lounge. Being on the floor is comfortable enough, depending on certain conditions and circumstances. It is the getting off the floor that presents the challenges and various aches and pains. It takes nearly forever and sometimes forever and a day to roll up to a standing position.

Anyway, I was on the floor when the phone rang. It was a distinctive ring so I knew the caller to be mom. (Aside: Recently, I’d discovered that somehow my mom’s assigned ring tone had been changed to mimic Neta’s. I’d answered a –mom- call by saying, “hey, baby love.” I recovered quickly enough I don’t think she noticed, much.)

Anyway, mom called at 10:40 p.m. last night and after confirming that I was not in bed (an inference as to how long it took to answer the phone) told me that she’d spoken with M and, “he didn’t sound good.” I was about to opine that he was probably tired, when her call waiting beeped and she excused herself to answer the other call.

While she was gone, I was thinking that I should probably just go to bed, I was mostly dozing anyway, Neta and I had already talked and certainly there wasn’t anything compelling on the tube. I was shutting things down when mom returned to say she’d talk to me later. Trumped again.

This morning I called M just to confirm that his “not sounding good” was in fact, fatigue. It was. His long work day was topped off by a very hastily planned and very long photo shoot, publicity shots for a new play he’s doing. He relayed that he’d spoken with mom this morning as well. She got started at about 7:30, warning him off the planned meeting with the (former?) gf. Mom was concerned that gf could be trying to “set him up.” For what, neither of us could figure. Mom tossed around some Sodom and Gomorrah references at which point, M begged off, citing that work beckoned.

I’m quite sure that I haven’t heard the last of these warnings or other tidbits related to the (former?) gf. However, I am sure that I won’t be getting back on the floor anytime soon.

It has not been a stellar day and work is not helping, at all.

A Few Pictures & Words

arrive, scent, lovely, bags, view, hotel, room, comfy, martini, olives stuffed with bleu cheese, Pride, parade, taste fest, fun, smiles, sun, walking, trains, buses, crowds, quiet, son, loud, daughter, pina colada, margarita, ambitious (too), tired, sleep, buff, snore, dog, cat, tacos, spicy, rainbow ice cream, fruit, coconut rice, Chicago, border, worries, none, deep dish pizza, lost, found, knees, tendons, pain, tears, laughter, dancing, thumpa thumpa, Roscoe’s, boys town, more, less, pictures, cook, order, donuts, iced coffee, patience, lack thereof, showers, home, where, don't, go, want, need, happy, sad, hugs, kisses, holding hands & more…again. Soon. Please.

Love. Supreme.

I Confess

I’m nervous about Neta’s visit.

When the idea originally germinated it didn’t seem like a real possibility for many reasons. For a time she’d labored over the idea that I didn’t want her here. I have, from the very first time I visited her, dreamt of her coming to visit me here. Though, I must confess, I probably gave off vibes to indicate otherwise.

As this germinated idea began to take root and we decided to just go with it, damn all the work, damn all the details, damn all the…everything, I got beyond excited about the prospect. Yet I confess I got anxious. I also got nervous. Anxious over all there was to accomplish.

The nervousness exists on many fronts.

During one of our email sessions today I was on a rant about work. We’re recruiting and the interview process is, well, in a word, stupid. On and on about this I went. Neta’s final message back to me said in essence…just think, in a few days, I’ll be there. We’ll get to the hotel, un-wind with a de-stressing cocktail and relax. Relax. Relax. And oh yeah, we’ll eat and have sex too! So, F*k ‘em all. So, I am forgetting about work for now. I’m in full preparing, waiting and dreaming of Neta mode. Saturday afternoon cannot come soon enough. I wish it would.

Still, I confess to being nervous. However, I’m getting less so as the hours tick away.

Predictable

Fade In:
The apartment isn’t shut down for the night yet at just a shade beyond 10 p.m. The alarm is armed but the computer is still up and a lamp continues to burn. Stretched out on the bed/sofa, sipping on daughter’s version of a Pena Colada, waiting for Neta to call, I tune in Logo’s sanitized version of QAF.

Then I'm out.

The next conscious moment comes at 2:30 a.m. I’m not sure what woke me, probably the thumpa thumpa of the QAF re-run being broadcast at that time. I do a walk-thru, making sure all is well, use the bathroom and shut down the computer. I realize I’d not spoken to Neta, so I call.

Neta: Hey baby, what are you doing up?
Me: Not up, really. I slept and something woke me up.
Neta: Well, by the time it slowed down enough for me to call you, it was late and I didn’t want to wake you.
Me: Yeah, I know. I figured. I just wanted to call to say hey. And I love you, and goodnight.
Neta: Goodnight baby. I’ll call you in the morning.

I settle down to sleep a bit more. It won’t come, at least not until nearly 4 and even then it was fitful. The remnants of a dream niggled at my edges.

Neta, D and I were in a house. Not the condo, not Neta’s house. It was some other place. For some reason I’m up very early re-decorating. I’m moving a narrow baker’s rack type shelving full of pots and pans. For some reason I don’t remove the pans. I carry the laden shelving to some type of pantry without dropping a thing. Miraculous, I’m thinking, when my attention is diverted to a hole in a wall. The hole looks like an opening for the beginnings of a small window.
Curious, I look through. I see a lump. Suddenly the lump begins to lumber toward the opening, toward me. I don’t shriek until the lumbering lump takes a leap. I see that it is a HUGE striped tabby. I mean HUGE. Huge, but not like a real cat. This cat was a cartoon-y, puppet-like cat. The fur was felt. The eyes like buttons. But it was HUGE. And it moved. Slow and then fast. Only the head fit through the opening I realized after I’d backed into the shelving, crashing all the pots and pans. Neta appeared at the doorway to the pantry with a WHAT THE FUCK look on her face.

I got up, showered and such, fixed a cup of coffee, ate a watermelon slice and got dressed. D got up shortly after and when she was ready, we left.

D nearly spit out her iced coffee when I told her the dream on our way to the train.

Kinda Out of It

D: What happened to you?

Me: What you do mean? When?

D: Last night. You didn’t hear him?

Me: No. What did he do?

D: Your crazy cat was on his crazy cat shit last night. He scratched at my door, was meowing like…well, like crazy. When I opened my door he darted in here. I can’t sleep with him in the room so I led him out. He kept up the meowing and scratching for awhile.

Me: When was this?

D: Last night, about 11:30, 12:00 something like that, I think.

Me: Hmmmm…I didn’t hear a thing. He didn’t mess with me. He wasn’t even the reason I
woke up at 4:30 this morning. What did Diamond do?

D: Nothing, she slept through it too. I even called you “hey, hey, mom” and…nothing.

Me: Well, oh well. And by the way, my cat isn’t crazy. He’s just spirited.

D: Yeah, spirited, when he’s disrupting my sleep.

It is just Thursday. Bummer. Nine More Days.

Off Stride

How is it that a body can awake 2 ½ hours before it is time to leave for work and still forget to eat breakfast? And because said body forgot to eat breakfast she also forgot to take her meds (just a vitamin and water pill) not any big deal, but still, gives her a wonky feeling.

Lunch will have to come earlier than usual. Ugh.

Start. Stop. Up. Down. Twist. Shout.

I'm all over the place these days. My mind is going a million miles a minute. There is a condo to brighten and shine. There are supplies and foodstuffs to stock. There is excitement to keep on an even keel, if at all possible.

Neta is coming to town. Soon, fifteen days to be exact.

Oh me, oh my...Neta is coming. Neta. Is. Coming.

Quirky

I was tagged (again) to do 10 (different number) things about me (meme). I’ve been thinking about this much and then again, not much at all and then much all over again. I’m hung up on the quirky. Quirky quirks me out perhaps. But, alas, quirky or not, here we go:

1. My first fried chicken dinner was a complete bust. The chicken was beautifully, golden brown outside and a bloody un-done mess inside. I was eleven, I think.

2. I redeemed myself eventually, but then, by that time I didn’t care about preparing food for anyone in my household.

3. Still, the skill came in handy during the rearing of my own children. They grew up eating a lot of fried chicken.

4. My mother had no active role in teaching me how to cook. Ergo, I learned most of what I know long after becoming an adult, a mother.

5. I do not like my water (drinking) or most any other beverage iced, usually. Chilled is ok, iced is generally too much. Waiters (more than waitresses, oddly) tend to question my –no ice- request.

6. A co-worker revealed to me today that he loves peach cobbler and loves to prepare it but can’t stand touching fresh peaches. The fuzz quirks him out. I, on the other hand, don’t care much for peach cobbler but I do adore fresh peaches. Canned peaches (his preference over even frozen peaches) quirk me out.

7. Generally, I don’t like sipping through straws. Obviously in some cases (milkshakes, smoothies) straws are a must, but otherwise, I do without.

8.I found out today that I like cranberries in tuna salad.

9. I don’t like green grapes, but I like all the others. I especially like the sweet grapes added to a buffalo chicken salad.

10.Buffalo chicken salad makes me think of Toot’s, which makes me think, Tennessee, which makes me think Neta, who makes me feel all quirky inside and out. Yum.

Itinerary

Thursday: 8:55 scheduled for take-off from O’Hare International. I won’t think about delays, except to be positive-there will be none. Period. Thursday: 10:05 scheduled to land in Nashville’s perpetually under construction (re-modeling) airport. Maybe, by now it’s done. Thursday: 10:35 (after a pit stop ) re-introducing myself to Miss N. She might not immediately recognize me because of the haircut (much shorter than the last time) and different glasses. Plus, she would have worked all night and I’ll be lucky she is even standing. We will alter that state as soon as we can. Thursday: 11:00 Off to Toots for fried pickles, Buffalo chicken salad and a beer or two. Yum. Thursday: 12:30 (or later if we detour to the grocery store or something) pulling into the garage, taking my bags (& such) out of the car, into the house, saying hey to the cats on the way to the shedding outside clothes. Thursday: the balance……. ahhhhhhh Friday: more ahhhhhhhhh Saturday: Repeat of Friday. Yum Sunday: more ahhhhhh until the return to Nashville’s airport at 4:00 p.m. Sunday: 7:00 p.m. Sad to be on the phone talking to Neta, yet glad for the time together, sharing meals, face-to-face conversation, laughter and ahhhhhh, until the next time.