Is it possible?

"my sister and brother-in-law have no marriage. When they're home, one stays on the first floor and the other one goes upstairs. or they switch. when they have to talk, they just e-mail eachother."

Lunch with a dear friend last week offered so many gifts. I've known Jo for 25 years. Twenty-five years? Could that be?

Knowing eachother's family history, past loves, career timeline, etc., we can usually skip the appetizers and dig into the main course. Her marriage has always been troubled, at best. They are in marital counseling. Again. "If he can just change like, 50%, we'll be OK."

Age has mellowed me to the point where I can just listen and be present when she begins the stream of complaints, hurts, issues and walls that she slaps all together with glue and calls a marriage. In my youth, I would seeth at him, poking and prodding him socially. I was so angry he treated her like that. When a bit more seasoned, I spewed soliloquies of rhetoric, prattling on and on to Jo, more often than not, pissing her off and leaving me frustrated that I couldn't "fix" her.

She will never escape the prisons of this relationship and I am convinced she doesn't want to. She then went on to describe the complete breakdown of her sister's marriage. They live two completely separate lives, only occasinally become a subset at their sixth grade daughter's functions.

I crave connection. I want to be in this with someone. A someone whom I can love with abandon, who will welcome that kind of love. Who is willing to walk through the desert with me. With us. Who lets me be and who is a man complete of his own.

There have been times of late that I have felt sorry for myself, convinced I will die alone. That I will never find what I want. That it is unrealistic at this point to expect. That my time for finding that right guy has passed.

However, if that is the alternative, the marriages of the two above or of many others I know. Where two people are sharing time, space, a family and home--but little else. Where their hearts are in a coma in some blustery no-man's land. If this is what's out there in terms of relationships, I'd rather not.

I've seen these two at the village pool, for the second year this past summer. A mom and dad I recognize from school. They're saddled down with two rambonctious kids and I often see the mom carting them to McDonalds alone or taking them to events, alone. I know they both work.

But a few times, I've seen them in the raucous goings-on at the community pool. Kids screaming, cannon-balling, splashing, diving all around them. And there they are. Playing in the water, arm in arm, looking at each other as if no one else is around....the calm in the center of the hurricane.

That's what I want. Is it possible? For me?

@L'uragana

Yesterday I had a nice cold dose of reality splashed across my face. I work at a company in which there is a lot of old-time corruption, back-slapping, glad-handing and a real "you-scratch-my- back-I'll-scratch-yours" policy making.n What goes on there isn't right, it doesn't serve our mission and we're cheating our customers.

Yesterday, I confided in someone skilled in the area, the politics, the history, etc. I wanted a reality check, an honest assessment of this situation and some counsel as to whom I could blow the whistle to.

I was ready to expose the empress in all her "nakedness."

But the "Voice of Reality" basically told me that my boss had the BOD well-padded with all of her cronies, that the State wouldn't be interested on a local level, i.e., start updating your resume and keep your ears and eyes open.

With some further prodding, I asked her about how they violate the Open Meetings Act, how the EEOC (Equal Employment Opportunity Commission) could be called in because of discriminatory practices

Last night I went through the stages of grief (not in order) shock, denial, anger, bargaining and acceptance. I think. I might still be in the bargaining stage.

Because my feelings of powerlessness, sadness and disappointment in a very flawed world made me a bit sad yesterday.

But this morning, I though about true whistle-blowers and acts of courage. Didn't I teach my son if someone wrongs him--truly wrongs him--to tell, tell and tell until someone listens? Don't I tell him to be unstoppable? To never let anyone else define him or tell him what he is made of?

I'm proud of myself on many levels. Don't laugh--declaring my pride is something totally alien to me. I'm proud that I stuck my neck out to find out my options. I'm proud that I told my son a parable based on what occurred to teach him about disappointment and about living in a world that is not fair. And most of all, letting him know that you keep moving forward.

I'm proud that I basically let it go last night. I'm proud that I awoke this morning knowing that I need to do what suits my nature. What is best for me. And in this case, I will contact the State's Attorney's Office and the EEOC because it is what I need to do to be able to live with myself.

That even though someone I respect and trust told me I've reached the end of the line, I'm proud that I'm weaving thread right now to extend that rope.

Because I'm not done. Not yet.

@L'uragana

Better days indeed

Well as it usually goes, some things resolved themselves.

After coaxing the cell phone with cool air blown from the Salano hair dryer and much imploring, it resurrected. And there's just the faintest scent of calming lavender (from the liquid potpourri, which started this whole mess) when you open it.

The phone repairman surprised me with his rugged, clean looks when he answered my call for assitance in repairing my land line. I must say, he was one tall drink of water and exactly the kind of guy I would have set my feather on ---- back when I was 20! When he said that my phone jack was "probably older than I am" the harshness of reality did give me a sting. But, I like to admire great works of art and so I just simply gazed. . . as he toiled.

Oh, and he rewired my lines (no euphemisms, please) properly so now my DSL is running so much faster and I have new, proper jacks. Yeah! And he was only supposed to fix the phone. Score for me.

For the cherry on the sundae, having the repairman come over was the perfect motivation I needed to get my a&^ in gear and start cleaning the kitchen and doing laundry.

There's an old parable about a man who is repeatedly questioned on whether some curve ball life circumstances are "terrible" or "wonderful."He always replies with something like, "maybe yes, maybe no" waiting to see how it panned out before he cast his judgement. At the end of the road, it all worked out for the best.

Sometimes you just have to wait a bit.

@Luragana

Should I Just Shut Up Now?

OK, another sucky day today. My land line is still out of operation -- second time in one month. I can't call out or get calls in. On top of that, I attempted to shut off my cell phone this morning that I'm using as an alarm. Well I spilled some of that the liquid potpourri and I guess the phone's broken now.

Went to the damned AT&T and was told that the cheapest phone they could sell me is $175!!!!!!!!! Of course, I stormed out.

Still didn't clean my kitchen. A bunch of yard work has to get done and now instead of working on that, I have to go to the phone center where I purchased this pink nightmare and see if they can do something better for me.

I don't know. Maybe the Cosmos are signaling me to just shut up.

Found out if I didn't save the info to the SIM card (this is done upon initial receipt of the phone, back when I didn't know what a SIM card was) I've lost all my numbers and some very important pictures and text messages. You know why I didn't download them? Because I went to the stupid AT&T store multiple times and called and they couldn't assist in getting them off yet.

I just need to remind myself this things are no big deal and that it's all a part of life right now. But I'm feeling like I just hate everything.....

Gee, aren't you glad you stopped by?

@L'uragana

Bitter Weekend to Swallow

This weekend was not really what I planned.

• I had expectations of leaving work early on Friday, but instead I got caught up and left late.


• My son and my mom were supposed to be hanging out at a neighbors, but there was a miscommunication there, too, so I ended up carting around three third graders Friday night.


• My house is in disaster-mode. I can't find my driver's license; we need groceries; the kitchen floor hasn't been washed in weeks--you get the idea. I had every good intention to super scrub everything clean, but here I type near 8 p.m. on Sunday night with most of the kitchen still in chaos.


• I went to bed very late on Friday and extremely late on Saturday night causing me to wake up very late on Saturday and extremely late today.


• I missed going to church. Again.

But worst of all occurred early evening tonight. We intended to just stop by my mom's house but stayed for hours because my sister, her husband and daughter were there.

Like all the grandchildren in our family (some more--way more), my son sometimes misbehaves there because my mother will get in the middle of my discipline, etc., and "yell" at me. She's even told him in confidence that he can override my disciplines and I "would never have to know," i.e., he can watch TV even though I've said he can't.

In front of my 25-year-old niece with my mom in earshot, my son threw a horrible tantrum, even banging his hands against the walls and slamming the door--among other things. It was embarrassing, humiliating, scary and very hurtful. I also felt out of control. And angry.

I've done a good job as a single parent while battling illness, depression, a very contentious ex-husband and with very little financial and child-rearing support. I've done the best I can with the resources I've had.

Overall, he is a great kid. He does well in school, has good friends, is a joy for the teachers, coaches, etc. He's polite and kind and smart and funny. He is responsible and usually makes the right choice. But since January, this is like the third or fourth time he's had an outrageous outburst.

In the past, I would have blamed myself and wondered what I've done wrong. I would have cried in the recesses of my bedroom and rake over all I've done and haven't done. I'd label him "damaged" in my mind. I'd blame myself for decisions already made.

Although I started to go down that road, I chose an alternate path. I refuse to beat myself up for this. I cannot be the fall gal all the time for everything.

I know I need/should take him to a counselor and I had plans for a while just because of the divorce and the fact that his dad and his new wife cause a lot of problems. And I haven't. Yet.

As for making him treat me nice and with respect, I think overall, he does. But I will refine some things. I could have handled myself differently tonight, too. So I will work on that.

And that's all really I can do.

@L'uragana

little girl at a ball game with her dad

i think i was around five years old when i went to my first--and only--baseball game with my dad. Chicago Cubs. Wrigley Field.

i only recall snippets. snippets gathered by a little girl and patched together by a woman years later. today.

i remember sensing a skipping energy about my dad that white-yellow morning, his banter with my mom spilling out like a song after getting the phone call asking if he wanted to go to a ball game. my dad scooped me up and asked me if i wanted to go. sure, i said, swept into his energy, his enthusiasm.

a relative (i have no recollection who) picked us up and we forged ahead to the next stop, to pick up the last members of our entourage. we had left so early, we had time to visit. i remember the men laughing and drinking beer mixed with 7Up.

the drive to Wrigley seemed endless and the smells breezing in the back open car window seemed foreign, alien and ultimately, intoxicating.

i remember the grandiosity of the ball park. i was overwhelmed by the size, the people, the announcer's booming voice, the long ramps leading up to the seats. it was so exciting! my dad never let go of my hand.

even as a little, little kid, i could sense his pride when he bought a round of hot dogs and beer for everyone. it was such a special day for me because my dad was delighted and filled with mirth. he felt excited to be able to give his kid a piece of Americana. my parents emigrated from Italy and he never quite felt he fit in. the experience here was a very rough and disappointing one for him; his disappointment tainted all our lives.

but on this day, he took his youngest to the ball game and the sun couldn't have been brighter.

this post inspired by Old Times at Comisky Park @ Johngy's Beat

Really?

I'm sure you've all heard that a restauranteur in Switzerland is stirring the pot by planning on beefing up the menu's soups, stews and sauces by using 75%c human breast milk in the recipe.

What's for dessert? Creme Booblée?

OK, OK we get it...

OK, Jessica Simpson -- we get it -- you're in love with Tony Romo. He's your man. You're his No. 1 Fan. Many hapless consumers have had suffered a fried retina from your blinding smile dominating magazine cover, after cover, after cover.

We get it.

Romo's the "love of my life" and your "Monday"-- in juxtaposition to your love song to former hubby Nick Lachey's "You're My Sunday." In the radio interview heard 'round the world, we learned you staved off any possible infidelities by stalking his call log. You also wowed us with your declaration of devotion by changing both your cell number and e-mail address. I mean, it' s not like any ex loves could contact you through your agent, publicist or record label.

Simpson is taken the whole jealousy thing to stalker level by calling out Romo's former flame, Carrie Underwood, publicly. Simpson covertly called Underwood a liar, has been sporting "real girls eat meat" tee shirts, in opposition to Underwood's vegan lifestyle and now the princess of pop has declared herself a country singer -- directly competing with Underwood's livelihood.

We get it.

But maybe the next time Romeo Romo comes over, you can shimmy out of your Daisy Dukes, get real close. . . and urinate on the man, thus extinguishing all doubts that he's YOUR man and you're his No. 1 fan.

In the name of love

I find myself wanting to examine, explore, hypothesize, put to poetry, turn into lyrics . . . words. . . of love. Even the "random" play list choices--most relate to love.


What a revelation.


I don't think/talk/expound like this in my every day life. I don't indulge in soliloquies lunching with my girlfriends. I don't stare glassily out my office window. In fact, I have felt for a very long while that part of my heart has withered and dried like crunchy leaves carpeting November ground.


But here, in hiding, I find my heart moist and plump as a ripe fig.





Here, I crave to be known to someone, really known. To love and be loved; to cherish and be cherished; to be able to love openly and unabashedly. To have love in my life as a matter of fact, of everyday banality, not some extraordinary celestial phenomenon.


I have convinced myself that a part-time in-the-shadows "relationship" suits me just fine. But it doesn't. Not if I'm being honest.


And here, I am being honest.

Random post of cuteness

For: Some Old Geezer

My how her garden grows. . .

My best friend in high school knew she was going to be a veterinarian since she was six years old; She forged ahead with her goal, never veering, and owns her own veterinary practice today.

I envied her sisters and parents encouraging her, arranging summer programs at veterinary schools, buying her vet books for birthdays and Christmas. She told me of how during school hiatuses her big sisters used to take her to animal farms, like others went to the mall or amusement parks.

I used to moon in high school (and a long time after) how wonderful it must be knowing what lies ahead. How lucky she was to have people be keenly aware of her talents, to spot them out and to set her on "the" path. I haven't thought of PC in so many years. But I thought of her this summer, casting my gaze out to my wonderful, messy, unpredictable garden.

Being a novice (aka ignorant) gardener, the first year I was in this house I bought a perfectly sized, perfectly pre-planned garden -- all components included. I just had to follow the chart.

If you saw the garden now (some pics here) and compared it to the "plan," you would note that very little of it resembles the well-manicured chart sent to me via first-class post. The heliopsis' (aka fake sunflower -- oh, how I hate the comparison!) absolutely fell in love with the soil and the sun, thriving to unreal proportions. The bluebells perished quickly. The coneflowers put up a good fight, but alas, took leave. The lavender, unbeknownst to me until this summer, defied all odds to turn a barren patch of land into a sea of purple majesty. Each year, I mourn for flowers lost and hope that new implants will make it.

I've also become a bit of a snob, not wanting to "buy" my flowers, preferring to propagate in other ways. How sweet it is to caringly pull weeds and water flowers from cuttings my friends have lovingly shared with me, as it is a thrill to view my beauties gracing their gardens.

Each and every spring and well into the summer, I am continually amazed at what surprises await, because more often than not, I've spent the previous season taking out, putting in, until I no longer know what to expect.

It's always a joy to wonder, to be able to guess , to anticipate the surprises. Of course, that type of not knowing, also presents disappointments. And that, is how my life has panned out. Instead of a well-laid out plan, I have drawn more of a sketch--in smudgeable charcoal--rather than in indelible ink.

For me, the sense of wonder and surprise and having an idea, but not really knowing how it will all evolve and resolve, works. I look back and can't imagine following a path from which there was no deviation. My high school friend declared at age six, she wanted to be a vet, and so the decree was followed. Was she really lucky? I don't know, maybe. Am I more fortunate? I don't know maybe.

I know that the path I follow involves weeds and mess and bugs (red aphids!!) and mistakes and bad decisions (planting hostas in the sun), but it also delivers gloriously beautiful rewards.

You are right. . . again

I think I realize. . .Vienna waits for me.

An invitation

Come drink me in
Explore my mysteries
Let my scent perfume you
Arouse me
Awaken me
Twine my hair around your fingers

I'm saying yes. . .

@L'uragano

Crossroads

“Did you ever write a song about me?” I asked.“No. But if I did, it would start off soothing and sweet and just . . . pretty. Then it would quickly morph into rock ‘n’ roll,” he replied punching the air with his zig-zagging guitar imitation.

My good friend had been trying to set us up for a while. Joel and I were at the same space – metaphorically speaking: we were both nursing broken hearts. She said we could console each other while we each worked through our respective break-ups, that she thought we’d be great friends. In retrospect, she was probably sick of scooping up my long face from her hardwood floors and having Joel’s cavernous sighing drown out her radio at work.

The initial meeting was uneventful; I don’t think either of us suspected how saying “hi” to each other in my girlfriend’s kitchen would evolve. That was 21 years ago.

Earlier today, I listened to his voice, as dark and rich as onyx, recount in crisp detail his amusement watching me go wild in a book store, how I spent $300 on philosophy books and classics. How ironic it was that I loved nature, yet thought nothing of discarding a cigarette on a pristine trail. How unlike most 20-year olds I had been.

He had offered to give me a ride home that night, that first night. I scribbled my number, unsure of my interest, but trusted my friend. He called. We talked, Went out on a date, then another. We, at first, spent hours talking about our ex’s; we tended to each other’s raw feelings. But soon, the talks turned to his musical ambitions, my wanting to write.

We took long walks into the woods, along the lake. He's the one who put needle to vinyl to Van Morrison's "St. Dominick's Preview"for the first time--an experience I shall never forget. I took him to clubs and costume parties, expanding his experiences.

Joel was the first person who suggested I write for a living, an epiphany i couldn't have until someone else declared it. I held his hand and watched his back during one of the most difficult periods of his life.We made each other feel safe in ways the world at that time did not.

At some point I knew I had to tell him because I realized he was too afraid to say it. It was a Saturday night warm with the burgeoning summer, when I declared I thought I was falling in love with him.

A rose and golden glow coated the rest of that night, as if someone sprinkled glittering fairy dust around us. It felt like we carried a planetarium bubble above our heads that traveled as we moved.

Joel is Jewish; I'm Catholic. Joel is nine years older than me. His parents thought I was way too young and my parents thought him way too old. He looked at other girls; I flirted too much. We were both hopeless dreamers, which probably wasn't a good thing either. But in the end, none of those factors factored in the break up.

Judging from our conversation this afternoon, he still thinks I ended it because he was going through what he describes as one of the worst times of his life i.e., he wasn't really himself.

I broke up with him because he was my crossroads guy; I chose to turn and walk the other way. Not because some scintillating experience awaited or some muse called me away, but simply because I was drawn to the familiar and didn't know better. I chose the known--my not-so-good-for-me boyfriend--rather than break free into a future totally unrecognizable, regardless of whether Joel was in my life or not.

Of course, I had to muse what would my life have looked like if I had chosen to stay with Joel and told my ex-boyfriend (and future ex-husband) to go to hell. To stop calling. To stop sending gifts.To start treating me well, or else.

But I didn't turn away from Joel just once, I kept walking in the opposite direction.

I heard from Joel for about a year after we broke up. He recorded a cassette -- an audio letter, sent me some cards, and some letters. He reminded me that when he wasn't experiencing life's trauma, he could be a fun guy.

After getting a flier in the mail announcing the appearance of his newly formed band, I attended this outdoor concert in the heart of the city. There he was behind the keyboards. I was one of thousands in the crowd, but before the first set was done, he saw me and I watched his face change. I hadn't decided if I wanted him to see me, I thought I could hide in the crowd.

I ran before he could come see me. I saw him come look for me and watched his long face head back to the stage. That was the last time I saw him.

I don't know if we would have worked out or not, but if I chose him, I think that, that single choice--a choice coming from a place of wanting more, wanting better--would have led to a much different life than I now lead.

@ L'uragano

Making me say, Ahhh. . .

. . .the lazy, insistent warmth of the September sun on my face and arms while driving

. . .my son's indescribable tinkly glass-chimes laugh

. . .rubbing toes under the sheets

. . .a Monarch flapping on my flowers

. . .flesh on flesh

. . . Bob Marley's "Is This Love"

Being here

there is a large level of freedom being here and being anonymous
it's another way for me to hide
but is it good to hide
is hiding make me grow . . .
or keeping me in the dark?

I believe in love.

Big, bold, messy, inconvenient ....love. I believe when authentic love ignites:

the spark holds strong throughout the years;
the playing never stops;
the chemistry still sizzles and the conversation never ends

even when there's nothing to say.

Reborn

I moved my bed. Since then, I've never slept better. The brass bed sits below two double-hung windows.

Children giggle before dinner, keeping time for me; lawn mowers hum at dusk; crickets punch the dark with their creaky song. Life sounds floating into my window, my life.

Today, in bed I lingered. Watched an isosceles triangle of light slink across the wall. The blue-grey tint of impending winter evident and awakening the cave dweller in me. Fatted meat and bearing down. Waiting

The cool hue plucking at my nature like a harp.