Draga Mosule,

Nu ti-am scris pana acum. Obisnuiam sa te astept impreuna cu Mos Ene, dormind impreuna sub brad, dar anul acesta am nevoie de tine mai mult ca oricand. Mi-au spus mami si tati ca tu indeplinesti dorintele tuturor copiilor cuminti. Eu, tin sa te anunt, ca am fost cuminte asa ca te rog Mosule.

Ajuta-i pe copiii care nu au un Craciun sa zambeasca macar o data si sa primeasca macar o ciocolata- ajuta-i sa te simta. Si ajuta-i pe parintii care se cearta tot restul anului macar de sarbatori sa se iubeasca. Mai ajuta-i pe cei care mai au cateva luni de trait, pune-le o vorba buna la Doamne Doamne ca sa-i ia alaturi de El. Ajuta adolescentii sa creasca si invata-i sa aiba incredere in ei.

Mos Craciun, nu iti cer cadouri scumpe si nici case luxoase. Da-le celor care au nevoie paine si spiritul sarbatorilor. Da-le tuturor fulgi de nea si sarutari pe obraji. Da-le sanatate si intelepciune. Si-un colind calduros.Iar pentru mine, ca sa nu-mi reprosezi ca nu ti-am cerut nimic, da-i iubitului meu fericire si liniste alaturi de mine.

Cu drag,

Ada, copila ta cuminte.

P.S.: Nu ti-am lasat alaturi un pahar cu lapte si fursecuri, dar ti-am lasat o pereche de sosete de lana, rosii ca sa-ti incalzeasca sufletul.

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Quite the just-like-old-times performance for the Sharks in their 4-2 win over the Vancouver Canucks. The Sharks roster finally looked like it should be with a couple exceptions. And with the added aspect of facing former Sharks, Christian Ehrhoff and Steve Bernier, it was a reunion of sorts.

Got to mention the injuries, returns and transactions. Devin Setoguchi and Rob Blake returned to the lineup tonight; Benn Ferriero and Jason Demers were sent down to Worcester because of that. Of course this was Torrey Mitchell’s second game back so he’s still getting used to NHL-level speed.

Jody Shelley and Brad Staubitz are still out with injuries, so Frazer McLaren played on the fourth line. Derek Joslin retained his spot on the defense upon Demers’ reassignment.

OK so the game — a slow back-and-forth game. One team would control for 10 minutes, then things would switch. Vancouver got on the board early in the first and controlled the play. McLaren scored his first NHL goal to tie things up before the first ended. He took a big hit behind the goal-line but stayed on his feet and kept his stick on the ice. Joe Pavelski found him and it was an easy tip-in. Glad to see Frazer add his name to the list of first-time scorers this season; Ferriero, McLaren, Demers, Logan Couture and Ryan Vesce all have scored their first NHL goal so far this season.

The Sharks dominated the second period, outshooting Vancouver 15-4; however, they only managed one goal, which came from Dan Boyle on the power play. It was a cool goal to watch on the replay because you saw how much Boyle moves on the man-advantage. One second he would be up high at the point, five seconds later he was down low. Always keeps his skates moving in a very fluid motion.

Captain Rob Blake made his return against Vancouver (From SJSHARKS.com)

San Jose backed off during the last frame but withstood a fierce Canucks forecheck. The Sharks capitalized on a counterattack, as Manny Malhotra deked — yes deked — goalie Roberto Luongo fairly easily. Thirteen seconds later Jamie McGinn notched his fourth goal of the season after Jed Ortmeyer battled beyond the goal line and sent the puck to the crease.

Let’s go back to the decision to send Demers down to Worcester. Coach Todd McClellan cited bad play in the defensive zone as the reason for the reassignment. Demers and Joslin were battling for the final defenseman spot with Rob Blake returning and T-Mac said Joslin played better over the last 10 games. Demers has definitely not played up to par lately. I think back to last game where Demers attempted a stretch pass only to have it intercepted and turned into an Edmonton goal.

T-Mac said before he likes how Demers takes risks, and now he’s going back on that? I don’t get it. Demers is clearly learning from Boyle how to be an offensive threat and doing a pretty good job at it. He has one goal and 12 assists in 27 games. He’s been one of the league’s most surprising rookies and you choose Joslin over Demers? I’m sorry, but this is a dumb move by T-Mac. Joslin is a joke of a player and isn’t going to amount to anything.

Perhaps it will help Demers not to play with Kent Huskins and actually someone good down in Worcester. Huskins was on the power play tonight again. Stop doing that T-Mac. Just stop. Demers needs to be on the power play and Huskins needs to be sent down. No one will claim him off waivers.

Other Notes

Hit-O-Meter: SJ 16  VAN 14; Jamie McGinn (4) and Devin Setoguchi (3) led the team.

The Sharks wrap up November with a 9-2-3 record and are the first team to reach 40 points.

All eyes will be on San Jose on Tuesday when the Sharks battle the Ottawa Senators. Dany Heatley versus his ex-girlfriend. Should be good.

–Ray

Now that the story has started to roll out of me, I can’t seem to stop it up! I didn’t intend to write again today (and Lord knows, I have a LOT of work to do), but there’s just so much to cover, and it actually feels…. good, I guess… to get this all out.

So, I’ll press on, into adulthood. Where did I leave off?

Oh, yes. Brad going off to college. It was odd – no, it was actually completely foreign to me – after several years of constant communication with him. I do remember that we spoke somewhat regularly, but it wasn’t the same. He was in a whole new life, and there wasn’t much in the way of privacy from his dorm. And deep inside, there was a real sadness previously unknown to me – not just because I missed my voice, the only one who really understood my soul – but also because I knew how important that day that had passed could have been. I missed what I didn’t know I would have missed, if that makes any sense.

But life went on, regardless. Difficulties at home got worse, and I decided (mostly because of the chiding of my mother) to find some roommates and move out almost immediately after my 18th birthday. I only had three classes to finish high school that year, so I made sure my classes were all in the morning that second half of the year, I expanded my part-time job into a full time job as a shift manager at Taco Bell (we must all hold a job like that at some point in our lives), and moved out. Somehow, I managed, and got through that last semester and graduated; I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was truly lost. I felt betrayed and rejected by my family (on many fronts I can’t even begin to explain, beginning with my father screwing me out of the college money he’d promised for years), I continued back and forth breaking up and getting back together with the loser boyfriend (I also continued with my many varied escapades and one-night stands), and I just didn’t know how I was going to get my life together.

I have to interject a rather interesting experience here. My sister – forever fascinated with “the other side,” as well as psychics – recommended I go and see some woman out on the island, who was supposedly a tried-and-true clairvoyant. As I sort of felt like I was at rock bottom, I figured, what the heck – so I went to see her with my sister (we made back-to-back reading appointments). I don’t remember her name, just that she looked a heck of a lot like Lucille Ball, and that she chain smoked the entire time I sat with her. But I do remember that she was dead-on accurate about a lot of things that ended up happening. However, the one thing of most interest to me was what she told me about marriage – she said I would marry one of two men. One, she told me, I already knew – and she described Brad to a T. The other, she told me wouldn’t be along for awhile yet.

That gave me a lot to think about… and maybe a little hope?

So I did what I needed to do: I bought a plane ticket to Detroit, and planned a visit with Brad.

In school, Brad had played around a bit – the newfound freedom of college – and then had started dating someone. Topically, that was great, and I was happy if he was happy. However, everything else in my life stunk at that point; I missed my stronghold, the sanity of my connection with him – if I’d had the guts to look in the mirror at it, I would’ve been able to admit I’d felt cheated. I know a lot of it had to do with the bad place I felt I was in, but it was the first time ego started coming into play when it came to us; before, it was never an issue, no ego involved. In retrospect, I did something really ugly, but something that, by that time, I was quite versed at – I went to visit him with the intention of having sex with him. It became a conquest; I didn’t care about any girlfriend, dormmate, or whatever.

I felt like it was owed to me – to us – because of what hadn’t happened the year before.

It still hurts me right now to look at those sentences, because I know how true it was – and I’m not that kind of person. Anymore.

So I went out there, and it immediately registered that we had both changed some – something between us had changed. Because I could tell there was something a little bitter and distant with Brad, also. In some ways, he was harsher with me than he’d ever been before – I think that’s when the ego came into play with him, too. I don’t know if he’d thought more about it than he let on (actually, I’m sure he did – because I’d felt it), but for the first time, I also hadn’t let on how much I’d thought about it, either. It felt like he wanted me to want him – but also that he almost wanted to punish me for what hadn’t happened between us. So, though we had a good time that weekend – and we did consummate our relationship in that way – it was OK. That’s all – OK. Which was almost worse than if it had been completely terrible. Because instead, it should have been beautiful and whole, the way our relationship had been – but it was cold, impersonal, and just as if he were one of the many others I had on “the list.”

And though we laughed the whole thing off, I went home feeling as if it would have been better had we not done anything at all.

It left a hole in me.

And so went the next few years, only it got uglier before it got better. I went to Michigan a few times and had several quick liaisons with him – I would almost call them f***s, as they were simply dispassionate acts that almost “proved” that we had certain “rights” to each other. He would be dating someone, I would be dating someone, it didn’t matter – it was a completely separate thing for us, and had nothing to do with those others. When he was on break and home on Long Island, we spent time going back and forth and visiting each other, but it was like he wanted to control our connection, or deprive me of it at will. When he perceived that I wanted to focus on us, he would purposely flirt and disappear with one of my friends. So I started playing the same game -  in return, I would do the same with one of his friends.

It became a push-pull game, like we were trying to hurt each other – or maybe we were trying to keep each other at arm’s length, to shield ourselves from getting hurt, since we probably both had the power to do it moreso than anyone else. I don’t know for sure how he felt about my interest in his friends; however, on my part, I never let him see me get upset about any of his interludes with my friends, even though it would really get under my skin. I really never had very much of any real desire to be with his friends either, but made myself seem interested – at the time, I’d been so hurt by everyone else in my life that his blowing me off – the one thing that I had so deeply feared when this all started – felt worse than anything.

Throughout this period, I really started to find my inner strength, which in turn helped me start to get my act together. I quit smoking, I quit drugs, I finally quit the loser boyfriend that it had taken me 3 years to get rid of. I moved upstate to the Albany, New York area (where my roommates were originally from), and decided to try someplace – and something – new. I found a great job, and started college at night. I went through  some more escapades, but things eventually calmed down again between Brad and me. He’d gotten a place of his own, we were able to resume regular phone conversations, and thus, we dropped our silly pretenses and returned to the egoless relationship with which we were most comfortable when it came to each other. Once we got a little bit of a separation from that junk we’d dragged each other into, we moved on. However, I have to say that the ego never forgot, and it took me awhile to let it go, even if I never let him know it – how could I, anyway, since these were the few things I’d never shared with him?

He dated people; I dated people. As before, it never bothered me. We openly discussed everything – everything – including our sex lives with those we were seeing (and including our brief interludes, as well). Ups and downs. New and different lives, new and different aspirations. Before long, I was in a new relationship with a man named Bill; shortly after that, I moved in with him. Things were good for awhile, but before long, I realized I’d made a HUGE mistake in moving in with him. At the same time, Brad was in a relationship, as well, and over the span had problems with that one, too. So there we were yet again for each other, helping through the happiness and pain, almost day in, day out. We discussed problems and solutions; we shared our innermost feelings and perceptions. We debated, we argued, we agreed, and we solved.

At some point, there became enough distance – and most likely, simple maturity – between those years of ego interference. I was living in Schenectady; he was done with his Bachelor’s and was living/working in Midland, Michigan. It was all too often that we started talking about meeting in the middle – somewhere like Buffalo, NY – to spend a few days locked in a hotel room together, where we would have no outside interferences – and just have each other. Just us.

I don’t know why, but as often as we spoke of it, we never did it. Maybe we were still afraid?

Then I was simply done with my relationship with Bill – he just didn’t know it yet, because I had to get him out of the apartment (which was no easy task – and I knew it would be ugly, which was a long story). I think Brad had recently broken up from a relationship, himself. Anyway, it was Christmastime ‘91, and we both went to Long Island to visit our families, alone; subsequently, we planned a get together one evening at his parents’. As I’ve said before, we were never so comfortable as when it was just the two of us, being able to connect without any interference.

I remember that night, simply sitting together at his family’s dinner table – that was the next time, after that day almost 5 long and intense years earlier – when I again noticed that physical current between us when we accidentally touched, skin to skin. As it had the first time, it completely took me by surprise. And again, it made me uncomfortable because of it’s power.

However, much later that evening, after a long night of just spending time with each other, talking, and connecting – 5 years after it should have originally taken place – it finally just happened.

No egos, no pretenses, and no expectations – it was simple, affectionate, intense, and 100% pure love. It was one of the best nights of my life.

Even putting words to it seems to cheapen the act, but I can’t think of any other way to say it, except that it was just simply… beautiful. Beyond expression.

I went to sleep in the guest room, then got up, had breakfast with his family, and left. I remember my soul feeling so absolutely complete; I also couldn’t explain the magic of such a simple act that had never, in all the relations I’d had before, felt so right, so natural, and so powerful. And for the first time, I really felt hopeful about a different us. I remember somewhere along the way back to my sister’s house, I actually had to pull over on the side of the road, to sit there and let myself feel it all. And I remember I sat there and cried; I had absolutely no idea why I was crying, except that it was such a relief, and that I felt so extraordinarily good.

But I don’t think I ever told him any of that. In retrospect, I don’t think ever told him how special that night was to me, that it did stand out from all the others, at any other time. I don’t know why I didn’t; we pretty much just went back to our lives, and didn’t say much about it at all.

In fact, I told Bill about it when I got back to Schenectady that night, and that it was over for us. He moved out a few weeks later, and I found myself a smaller apartment. What happened between Brad and me had nothing to do with it; the relationship had already been over. Besides, as before, I could never put my relationship with Brad even on the same plane as my relationship with anyone else – there was no way to compare.

I don’t remember a lot of specifics for awhile after that, except that I was by myself for awhile – and I loved it! At this point, I was 23; I continued in school at night, my job was good – and I had a lot of aspirations. I read a lot, I worked out a lot, I dated occasionally, and went out and had a lot of fun with good friends. For the first time, I actually made some real effort to focus from the inside, and really started the search for what I felt was “something more,” and what I felt about my beliefs and the universe. My intuition increased, as well as my perception and empathy. As for Brad, he went back to school for graduate work, and moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

And our relationship? We talked, as usual. About almost everything – except we really never talked much about that night.

I think because of that, inside I began to cast doubt on the vague idea that he would be the one for me, and it slowly began to dissipate. We were in different states, we had different lives, and it didn’t seem like we even knew how to move in the right direction towards each other, even if we so desperately wanted to. I knew we were as one, that he was my other half – but there seemed to be too big a wall we couldn’t seem to navigate over, around, or through. Or at least, I had no idea how to scale it.

At some point during this period, I thought heavily about a different passion I’d had for a long time – marine biology. I was about halfway done with a degree in Computer Science, but had decided I really didn’t want to be a programmer. I’d been in marketing for awhile, and liked it a lot. BUT… marine biology really got me going! I soaked in everything possible about the ocean and its inhabitants for a number of years;  I bred fish, and at one point had 6 or 7 tanks going in my apartment, for accommodation. Marine mammals and their incredible intelligence fascinated me, and the thought of spending a career on the ocean, or actually doing  a job in that field seemed indescribably satisfying. Plus, I was still young and unattached, which made a decision all the easier.

In one of my discussions with Brad, I was telling him about this, and that I’d started looking at schools that I could maybe attend – I figured since I’d been on my own for quite awhile, grants and student loans wouldn’t be a problem. Somewhere in that discussion, he brought up Southampton College – and the fact that even though it was generally not a great school, it actually had one program that was excellent – Marine Biology. Then we hatched an idea together – if I went to Southampton College, then maybe I could rent a room from his parents.

I progressed down this path: researched into the school, spoke with his parents (who thought it was a great idea), and even applied. I was accepted to the school for the following year, in January.

This was a serious consideration for me. True, it would be going back to Long Island – where I never wanted to live again – but also true was that it would be in a place that generally had much better memories for me – plus, it would only be for a few years, and then I’d be off again.

Of course, there was also the thought – buried deep in the back of my mind – that this might be the way through that wall between Brad and me, after all – it would give him an excuse to go home more often, and it would definitely provide the opportunity to bring us even closer together – and maybe give us a chance.

So I continued to focus on myself, work hard, have a lot of fun, and start preparing for another change in lifestyle. However, before I knew it – probably because I wasn’t looking for it – there was a new option  for me, with the appearance of Scott.

That was the field- and life-changer, which leads me right into the next phase of my life.

Thoughts and sidelines about “Section 2″…
This was a very formative period of my adult life; again, though this actually only covers 6 years, it was so much! Again, looking at what has poured out is giving me an opportunity to not just look at it as a module in itself, but also together with the previous period. And wow. What a life on whitewater rapids!

What I didn’t really touch on was the amount of intellectual growth I experienced during this period. I became a reading fiend – especially once I moved to Schenectady, because I commuted via bus to Albany for work (what a GREAT bus system that area has!). It basically gave me about an hour a day during the week to do as I pleased. But I devoured many of the classics, including many books about business (and sometimes I did my college homework on the bus, too). I discovered some works and some authors whose works really rang true with me – such as Kurt Vonnegut and Ayn Rand – and many became and remain my favorites today!

I also started to read a lot about metaphysics. One of the things I hadn’t understood was the strength of my own intuition, my empathy, and my natural ability to dream about things that would eventually happen. It used scared me a little, but I think that’s because I didn’t understand it. The more I accepted it eventually, the stronger it became. But that’s taken a long time, and I feel that it’s still not developed enough.

Brad and I would discuss all of this. He was – is – generally very pragmatic, and the one thing we typically didn’t see eye to eye is on the subject of metaphysics. He, like me, was brought up Episcopal (which, as a sideline, was funny, because he was the only other person I’d met at that point who even knew what Episcopal was), but really didn’t think much of church – I don’t think he ever really went, as I’d been forced to do until about the age of 15. And being as black-and-white and analytical as he is, he always had a problem committing to belief in things he couldn’t define. Now, I’ll say that in general, because occasionally, he’d throw out a comment or two in that direction; so I know he’d thought about it, but I honestly never knew if he figured out where he stood in that respect. I’ve had some pretty big and constantly evolving ideas about this universe over the years, and I know we’ve had some extensive debates, but today, I’d say I still have a big question mark when it comes to what – and if – he’s settled on.

During that period, the movie I’ve come to settle on as one of my all-time faves came out: When Harry Met Sally… If you’ve seen the movie, and read through this story thus far, you should start to see why. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve watched it over the years! Besides including aspects of almost every relationship/friendship I’d ever had, it SO spoke to me back then -  like someone made that movie just for me, to tell me, “Hey – it WILL be you and Brad in the end… see?” I still love that movie today, for different reasons; however, deep down, it’s always a little bittersweet, because I remember what it used to represent to me.

Music is another medium that I find I really connected with during that period… and there are several that deep down I will forever associate with Brad, because they spoke to me about him during that period. Specifically, three that come to mind include:  In Your Eyes, by Peter Gabriel; You’re My Best Friend, by Queen; and Breaka My Stride, by Matthew Wilder (this last one has nothing much to do with the lyrics as for some reason, I remember that I was listening to this song on my Walkman the day we met Brad on the ski slopes years and years ago; another from that day was Owner of a Lonely Heart, by Yes).

Now, here’s the funny thing – looking back at this text, you would think I pined over him for awhile. I really didn’t; in fact, quite the opposite. He was my best friend, and that was how he was presented to all my friends – even my “other” best friends! And it was the same the other way around. This is the first time ever that I’ve dug down and verbalized all of what was in mind – actually in my heart and soul – all the way back to then. I’ve always been the most guarded and uncomfortable about things that are core and the most important to me; yet, I’ve always been a great confidante to others, and able to be the shoulder anyone needs to lean on.

I’m starting to wonder why. I mean, why I have two such defined sides to me, and why this has essentially been locked down, so deep that I haven’t ever been able to share it with anyone. Maybe it’s because the only one I would share it with – because he has always understood all the muck down there – is the one who all this was about. And I think once I felt like he’d hurt me – well, even though I knew most of that meant nothing, because it was really all developing ego – it was like I felt it was self preservation to lock all of this up and throw away the key. Because no one else would really understand – nor did (or have) I wanted them to. Plus, by the time I think we were really mature enough to talk about it, it was too late – because I think I was the one who really ended up hurting him that deeply, but even mores0. And I think in the end, it’s that knowledge that scarred me worse than any of this.

But we haven’t gotten to that part of the story yet.

“Are any of you single?”

Click.

That moment – that click – was the kick-start to my evolution, much happiness, self-acceptance, yet just as much confusion and even a little pain through many years.

Snapshot: Windham Mountain, NY, in January 1984. The picture: A tall, handsome boy with dark hair, a beautiful smile and even more beautiful eyes – eyes that spoke to me so differently than I had ever experienced before. But really, what had I experienced, at that point? I was just short of 15 (he was already 15, but only 6 months older than me).

I was there with my school’s Ski Club – something fun that my best friend, Natalie, and I thought we’d try out; we’d also recruited another close friend, Claudia, to join, too – though we had just started skiing, Claudia’s parents would often go to visit Germany, their home country, and Claudia had experience skiing the crazy mountains in Europe from the time she’d been a tot. Anyway, that quote from Brad was after a morning of lessons and the Bunny Hill for Natalie and me, when the three of us were on line for the ski lift to a regular slope. Three of us, one of him – he was looking to pair up with someone on the 2-chair lift. So I readily volunteered, and we talked the whole way up.

And talked, and talked.

We pretty much spent the rest of the day hanging out with him; I never knew where his friends were (though I vaguely remember asking him and him actually telling me), and I think he was with his school, too. Details, details… Anyway, it was funny enough – there we were, several hours upstate, and we met him there, when we actually lived a little more than an hour apart down on Long Island. When we left, the three of us exchanged addresses and phone numbers with him.

Typically, at that age, easy come, easy go. We had plenty of cute boys in our high school, and plenty of the typical teenage noise that goes on in a well-populated area. However, we kept in touch with Brad. It started out that Natalie, Claudia, and I all wrote letters back and forth with him (back then, there was no such thing as email, Internet, texting, or even flat-rate phone plans!), and I remember his mom bringing him out to spend the day with the three of us once.

Eventually, Natalie and Claudia’s letters dropped off, but I continued with the correspondence, behind all of the other day-to-day noise of high school. At some point, we switched over to phone conversations; I can’t remember exactly when that happened, but I believe it started about a year after we met, when he was in the hospital for an extended period due to a sickness. I think it was pneumonia, and I remember that he told me something about having a heart murmur – but what is clear was that once we started talking, there was nowhere for us to stop!

Years later, he told me that during that period, I became his connection to reality, because even though he’d had a lot of visitors early on during that stay, the longer he was in the hospital, the less he heard from people, until eventually I was the only one he could count on to call. Every day.

It was somewhere in there that we became best friends.

Funny, I still had Natalie, which ran its course around that time – largely due to my rebellion and going down some shady paths (Natalie, on the other hand, stayed fairly straight – she did have a “normal” family life, after all, and at some point, our viewpoints and attitudes skewed differently), and then I had other “best friends” and a number of good ones who I saw day to day. I was interested in this boy or that, and dated this boy or that. I even fell in love. But regardless of what was going on, at the end of the day, I would be home and on the phone with Brad, for endless hours of narration and discussion about our lives, our thoughts, and our feelings.

Thinking back, it’s funny that our friendship seemed to be in the background, because though I would definitely not have known how to say this back then, it was like we knew each other’s souls. For the first time, I felt understood; I had a consistent, supportive, positive voice in my head – and even if it was through the phone line, it started to help overwrite the years of negativity that had been programmed into me at that point, because finally, somebody really knew me.

And vice versa. Brad had issues of his own; though he had married parents and a “normal” household, he was the 3rd of 4 children, so he had similar feelings of disinterest by those around him as I did. He lived in Southampton (for those of you who don’t know, the Long Island haven for Bluebloods), and with the exception of a handful of close friends, he felt very detached and different from most of those who he went to school with, because though they had a solid household income level, he definitely wasn’t a Blueblood! As a 3rd child, he often felt ignored; like me, he was extremely intelligent, and like me, his parents didn’t pay much mind to him because “If school was going OK, then he must be OK,” right? Plus, that feeling of isolation had been heightened from that hospital stay in mid-high school.

So we worked through it all together, debated each other, egged each other on, teased each other, explored ideas together, and pushed each other forward. It’s sort of like my life had two different levels: There was my topical life – what everyone saw every day, such as school stuff, happenings, the friends I kept, the boys I dated, the family drama; and then there was us. Like it was two different dimensions of reality, and the connection between Brad and me was the red pill. It wasn’t just deep, it was my core – it was real. I could take the truth from Brad when I couldn’t from anyone else, and he accepted exactly who I was, the good and the bad, with no pretense. We listened to each other about romantic interests and woes. We were confused, got lost, and made sense of it all together. We both did stupid things, but (sometimes miraculously) made it out OK on the other end – and could talk about it with each other. Then we’d shake our heads, marvel at it, and move on.

Hours and hours on the phone. I can’t tell you how many times I got punished for the phone bill, and for keeping the phone tied up so no one could get through (there was no call waiting yet). But we always found a way to connect! When Brad and his friends got their licenses, we were able to see each other every once in awhile because they’d come for a visit; I’d also taken the train out… standard, easily accessible transportation which added the ability for us to get together and talk some more.

Through this period, I got hooked in with a lost crowd – I won’t say bad, because I really believe there are few truly bad teenagers, just lost ones. I became free with sex, starting when I was 15 (I guess a psychologist would say that it was a way for me to get the attention of which I felt deprived), and soon after that, I began experimenting pretty heavily with “recreational” drugs (yet still somehow stayed in Honors classes and on the surface, “functioned” pretty well). My family? Mostly, they didn’t even notice. But Brad knew all about it, usually down to every nauseating detail. One time, I even called him and got him worried sick because I’d gotten “slipped a mickey” and passed out while I was laying in bed, on the phone with him. He’d told me it had killed him to wait to hear back from me the next morning – because again, no cell phones, no call waiting (so therefore, I’d just passed out with the phone off the hook in my bedroom, so my mother had no way of knowing), and no other way to get in touch with my mom to have her check on me and see if I was alive and OK in my room. Sad that someone who lived an hour away knew more about my physical state than a parent who lived in the same house as me, isn’t it?

At the same time, Brad experimented a bit where he could, though Southampton was a little more sheltered than the typical middle and upper-middle class town where I lived. He dated and fooled around, but never fully did the deed, because he wasn’t overly thrilled with the choice of most of the girls where he lived. He had pretty available access to the basic “recreational” drugs – I remember there was a period when his older sister – who’d already moved out on her own – was apparently being investigated by the FBI because of her marijuana activity. For awhile, we had to have code words on the phone to discuss anything that might be construed as illegal drug use, mostly because of that! And I knew about all of it.

Off and on for almost 3 years, I dated (and fell in love with) a loser who would be considered a low-level drug dealer, providing easy access for me, while also putting me in situations I was lucky to have gotten through (fairly) unscathed. Threaded throughout was a stream of other varied liaisons and at the same time, personal discovery.

Most of the rest of the world had no clue about all of these details. Yet always, even though we were working out these things with the world, at the same time, we were working out the things – the really important ones, that were about 5 or 6 levels down – on the phone, with each other. And though some of it could be pretty ugly, there was never anything we couldn’t talk about; though we challenged each other and even would get angry and upset about some things with each other, there was no real criticism or judgment to make the other one feel bad about him- or herself. It was just natural concern that resulted from our bond.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering, “Why didn’t the two of you become a couple?”

Well, that’s the thing I really can’t explain. I thought him to be the most beautiful person I knew, inside and out, and our bond was undeniable. However, looking back on it now, I realize that my love for him was so much deeper than that – in fact, I think too deep and intense for someone at that age to be able to fathom. Heck, I think most adults couldn’t deal with that, either. But who knows? Maybe if we’d had the opportunity to be in each other’s physical presence more often, it might have been more of a conscious possibility.

But then, maybe not. Because it was when we tried exploring that dimension of our relationship that things started to get mucky – which always brings me back to the understanding that it was probably better, purer, and more solid the way that it was provided to us early on. Or, depending on how you look at it, how we chose for it to be.

20+ years – and a completely different life – later, there are still a few events with him that stand out in my mind, and make me wonder, what if, and why didn’t we? One is the day that provided us with our first crossroads of opportunity for a different exploration of our relationship. Read on:

It was early in the summer between my Junior and Senior year of high school. I was 17; Brad had just graduated from high school (he was a year ahead of me), and was planning on going away at the end of the summer, to the University of Detroit. I’d wanted to go out to his house and stay a night – not because of anything except that it would give us a few days together, which was always a hassle to plan out, because of the travel time between our houses. His parents loved me, so that wasn’t a problem, but my mother really didn’t know anything much about him except that Brad was this boy that I’d gotten in so much trouble talking to on the phone to over several years – and even though she’d allowed me to go out there on multiple occasions for the day, she wouldn’t even consider an overnight, even though we were “just friends,” and his parents would keep a close eye out. (As a parent myself now, I guess I can understand that. But that was then…)

I already felt the pangs of our separation, even though his departure for college was more than a month away. In addition, my loser boyfriend had broken up with me (it was somewhere along our 5th or 6th breakup over that 3-year period), and I really needed some downtime and some fresh scenery. So, strong-willed as I was (and by this time very used to being put upon to make my own choices), I took matters into my own hands. My then-partner-in-crime Karen (the “best friend” I always say was the one who I always got into trouble with – not that either of us was worse than the other, but it was like we spurred it on with each other! Again, stories for another day…) concocted a plan: There was a day when I had a Guidance Counselor’s appointment that my father was supposed to attend with me (to talk about my Senior year coursework); however, the appointment wasn’t until mid-afternoon. So we told Karen’s parents that we were going to stay at my dad’s the day/night before, and we told my mother that we were going to stay at Karen’s cousin’s house, and that we’d be back about lunchtime the following day. As unsupervised as I was those days, and as wily as Karen could be with her family, it was actually a pretty airtight plan – my mother didn’t check with Karen’s parents, and vice versa. Brad decided he couldn’t tell his mom – I think mostly because she would have wanted to speak with my mom, though she was well-versed in my troubled (or rather, non-existent) family life. Therefore, we simply planned to stay at his sister’s house.

And so we hopped the train out to Southampton on our overnight adventure! It’s funny, in the midst of the muck of those years, how clearly that day still comes to my mind. Brad and one of his best friends, Tom, met us at the train station, and we ensued on a day out on his family’s boat, out on Shinnecock Bay. Cruising, waterskiing, beach, and plain old fun and escape, with a couple of wine coolers (and maybe some beer?) thrown in. (Note: At that time, the drinking age had just shifted from 18 to 19 to 21, so it was still pretty easy to get the simple stuff like that when you were 18ish.) Karen and Tom had some interest in each other, so for a time later in the afternoon, while I was laying out in the sun on the front of the boat, Brad and I were alone to talk; we had a few things to sort through, and we were never so comfortable as when we were alone for our connection.

Let me back up for a minute, before I proceed. I realize I left something really important out of this. I guess it’s really important – it might seem to be a little tidbit in this story, but over the years, it’s one of the things that has repeatedly plagued me with the nagging questions that I can’t get rid of. So I’m going to rewind a little.

For the first time that day, I’d noticed something I had never experienced before: When Brad and I touched each other skin to skin – even just casually in passing, like if we just bumped into each other – it felt like a current of electricity passed between us – not like static electricity, but internally, like the sparks between 2 live wires when they touch. At that point, I was pretty experienced with guys (and much more physically experienced than I should have been at that age), and had even been through dating and “oh-my-God-I-love-him” relationships. But I’d never had anything close to that happen before. I never said anything about it, but I do know that it freaked me out and made me…well, uncomfortable, because I didn’t understand it. It was strange.

OK, so fast forward a little bit, back to the boat that afternoon: One moment we were talking, and the next moment… well, we were kissing.

And I think that’s the moment when I really came alive.

He’d never even been that kind of consideration – in fact, since by that age I had already so effectively trivialized physical contact via my escapades – because he was much, much more important than that! He was my confidante, the quiet voice behind the noise of the troublesome daily life of my teen years. It was as if he were a part of me, because he knew everything about me; I felt as if I were completely naked and vulnerable with him, but completely safe. And I knew he felt the same way about me.

At 17/18? Are you kidding me? How many people don’t get there with someone by the time they’re 25? 30? 40? Ever?

Yet it was that kiss that moved me along…. to what? I still can’t explain it, even in writing. I just know that in the first moments of that kiss, I jumped forward in self-awareness, beginning with the discovery that I wanted him, more than anything else in the world. And I wanted to be his first.

The rest of the afternoon was a slow crescendo of mutual desire and discovery. Knowing I was already planning to stay the night, we took our time, exploring this possibility that had never before come to light. Everything else was a blur, but somehow, I know we had dinner with Karen, Tom, and (I think) his sister and her boyfriend; I know we distracted ourselves a bit by smoking some pot. But that had nothing to do with the way my heart felt (in fact, I think I wanted to smoke a joint to try to ease the excitement a little); it which raced with anticipation for that evening, when we’d be able to be alone – and finally, completely together.

But, as it happens, that’s not the way it went. I’ve always felt like there was something beyond our control that was on a mission to prevent us from physically consummating our relationship that night, for some reason.

Here’s what happened: That evening, my father called my mother to confirm our Guidance Counselor appointment the next day (even though I had confirmed with him the week before); as usual, my mother was clueless about it (and probably hadn’t listened to me if/when I’d mentioned it). Not knowing what else to do, she called Karen’s house, even though we were supposed to be at her cousin’s with her family, and got her mother. When my mother brought it up and asked for the number to her cousin’s, the conversation got all confused, because Karen’s mother said that we were at my father’s. So, after a brief panic attack because she at that point had no idea where I was, my mother called a few of my other friends (who knew nothing), and then called Brad’s parent’s house. Now, his parents knew nothing either, but after the conversation, his mother called his sister’s house (knowing that Brad was staying over there that night), to ask if I was there.

His mom wasn’t mad that I was there; I think (if I recall correctly) that she was mostly mad because Brad hadn’t brought me by. But in the meantime, I knew I was in DEEP TROUBLE. So, later in the evening as it was, Tom and Brad drove us home; I walked in somewhere around 2am to find my mother and father sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for me (and I knew I was SO busted!). I made up a story that I had in fact been w/Brad, but his mom hadn’t known (truth), and that I’d planned on coming home the whole time (lie) – I just knew it would probably be really late, and figured it was safer to plan that way. I know. Lame. I think I was punished for a month or so… though since my mother wasn’t home all that much, it was hard for her to keep me off the phone and really carry out that part of the punishment, anyway.

In the meantime, the more time I had to think about what had happened – and what had almost happened – the more it scared me, because I valued our togetherness and our bond  so much that I think I was afraid that it would ruin everything. And who knows? Sometimes now, I think maybe I was even more afraid that it wouldn’t ruin everything – and that it would take us to some depth that would be too far out of my realm of comfort, which I couldn’t comprehend. I don’t know. In the meantime, I know I made up some dumb thing to Brad about how he deserved better than me for his first, and that I was ultimately careless with guys I slept with and figured I’d eventually hurt him with my carelessness. I know, how stereotypical, right? Well, we were both all too willing to mask ourselves by covering up that passion by accepting such a thin excuse.

And by the time he left for college a month later, he’d found someone who was convenient – and probably far less dangerous – to “break him in.” By then, I’d tucked all those feelings away, and it was back to being OK. I got all the juicy details, and it never bothered me a bit, probably because it seemed different… I don’t think it meant as much to him, and I knew it would’ve held much more significance had it been with me, that night.

Anyway, as things went back to “normal,” I went out with others shortly after that, and went back to the loser boyfriend for a few more months before I was finally completely done with that – it may have had to do with my newfound strength after dealing with Brad going away to college. And Brad and I still talked for hours, back in “our place,” without any disruptions.

However, there is one other thing shortly afterwards that conveyed more depth than I was ever willing to admit: The day Brad left for college. I remember that it felt like I might as well be having an internal organ ripped out of me. I was physically in pain, and felt ill. I spoke with him several times, and for quite awhile…. and when I hung up, I cried in my room for hours, which was (and still is) purely foreign and uncharacteristic of how I ever dealt with difficulties.

Thoughts about that part of my life…which I call “Section 1″
In my mind, that’s where I end the first “section” of  my life’s development, on many levels. I look back and realize how much I had to learn – and how much I made myself learn – by the time I was a Senior in high school. When I look at it from an abstract or metaphysical point of view, it’s as if I pushed myself through on a “fast track,” to get through so much in so little time, so I could get to the “next step.” And I know that I wouldn’t have been able to get to it had it not been for Brad entering my life.

In fact, as I get through the other “sections” of my life to date, you’ll start to see the same pattern – that in one way or the other, no matter how close or far we are from each other, or how long it is between our conversations – that Brad is here. He’s a part of me, in one way or the other, and it doesn’t matter how far we are from each other physically, or how long we go between direct communication. But I hope to provide a better explanation (and develop an even better understanding) as I go on.

However, one piece of the puzzle I’m really studying – because my gut, third eye, or whatever tells me that it’s important – is that day, as described here. What were the odds that day, in such a perfect situation, when I’d just found out that I could have something I hadn’t even known I’d wanted more than anything else in the world, that it would have fallen apart by such strange events that seemed almost serendipitous? It still blows my mind, how it all happened – and how it didn’t happen. And it makes me think there were greater forces at work to prevent it from happening just then. But why? is the question that gnaws at me.

And overall, I’ve lived my life in similar sections – very fast-paced, very eventful, and very challenging – like I’m rushing to “get to the point.” As I get older – right now, at the ripe ol’ age of 40 – it seems to be getting more urgent that I “get through,” because I have to get… I don’t know where. But that somewhere is coming; my heart beats faster just thinking all of this out and writing it down, because it just knows. Which is what has made me start to look back – not just at the smaller sections, but across the full span of my life – to try to make sense out of this big jigsaw puzzle that’s beginning to take shape. And my first epiphany has come, which is why I’m here, so I can feel it out here, draw it out in words, and see if it all makes sense. I’m starting to feel that once I do that, the pieces will come together so my next level of understanding will come, and so forth. Because it seems like it’s very, very important suddenly that I do this – not something I’ve decided to do, but that my inner voice is telling me I have to do.

Enough said for today. I’m spent – this is the first time I’ve even put that period of my life into words, and that I was even able to punctuate it the way I did is amazing to me. I’ve lost half the day in doing this, but at the same time, am also amazed at how freely the words actually came. Because this stuff — well, it’s really buried deep. I know that there’s no one besides Brad and me who know all of this, and I’m just sure that he’s kept this as contained inside of him as I do inside of me.

However, the importance of that piece of the puzzle is what I’m still trying to understand.

Povestea bunicii luase sfârşit. Cei mici adormiseră rând pe rând, deşi toţi îşi doreau nespus să afle, în fine, ce s-a întâmplat cu micul bonsai rătăcit, după ce fusese smuls cu furie din vasul lui de un vânt năprasnic şi depus, ca ofrandă, la picioarele pădurii. Lumina fusese stinsă, iar paşii bunicii sunau mărunt şi moale dincolo de odaia copiilor.

Numai el ascultase cu încântare întreaga poveste, a nu ştiu câta oară, cu braţele lui micuţe chircite în jurul trupului încordat, cu răsuflarea tăiată. Din ghiveciul plin cu pământ, încerca să-şi înalţe rămuricile din vârf, să-şi umple fiinţa lui pitică de aroma învăluitoare de brad. Era acolo… Nu-l putea vedea, dar îi simţea prezenţa şi parfumul. Aceeaşi mireasmă trebuia să fi avut şi bradul din povestea bunicii… Şi cât l-a aşteptat! Niciodată n-a aşteptat cineva bradul de Crăciun ca acel mic bonsai. Şi nimeni nu l-a mai întâmpinat vreodată cu atâta bucurie. Au prins a-i străluci toate braţele plăpânde şi verzi şi, pentru întâia dată, deşi un singur moment, a uitat că are rădăcini. Şi în locul acestora, a avut aproape certitudinea că i-au crescut aripi.

Habar n-avea bietul bonsai că prietenul lui cel mare îşi trăia ultimele clipe fericite ale vieţii. Cum să-şi închipuie una ca asta, când nu de mult auzise clinchet de clopoţei, de globuleţe ciocnite, fâşâit de ghirlande?! Iar bradul, în naivitatea lui, îi povestise cu mândrie despre cum fusese împodobit de toţi ai casei, despre cât de colorat şi de strălucitor era. Chiar îi descrisese, cu lux de amănunte, fiecare ornament de pe crengile sale. De bună seamă că îl aştepta un viitor foarte luminos, o viaţă plină de glorie şi de onoruri…

Bonsaiul, care se născuse fără lumina ochilor, nu avea deloc habar cum arată un pom de Crăciun. Verde, alb, roşu, globuri, beteală, pentru el erau lucruri greu de închipuit, cu atât mai mult cu cât nici o rudă a sa nu cunoscuse vreodată o asemenea cinste. Dar în adâncul sufletului, copăcelul nutrea speranţa de a-şi câştiga şi el, într-o bună zi, dreptul de a fi strălucitor şi admirat, deşi nu ştia prea bine ce însemna asta şi nici ce trebuia să facă pentru a-şi împlini visul.

Acum, inima lui pitică fusese tulburată de soarta bonsaiului din poveste. Vântul îl smulsese de la locul său şi îl lăsase într-o pădure, dar nu orice fel de pădure, ci una de brazi, adică – gândea pomişorul – una de pomi de Crăciun. Mireasma de brad îl trezise, piciul ridicându-se din locul în care zăcea şi pornind pe aleile pădurii. A încercat el zadarnic să se împrietenească cu locuitorii cei falnici dimprejur, căci nimeni nu-l lua în seamă; ba, unii mai glumeţi îl luau peste picior, adică peste tulpiniţa pipernicită. În acea noapte, micul urgisit a adormit plângând cu sughiţuri. Dar zâna cea bună a bonsailor l-a auzit cum plângea şi, când au venit zorii, pomişorul rătăcit a realizat cu mirare, că de atunci înainte, sufleţelul său de bonsai avea să locuiască într-un trup uriaş de brad.

În mintea micuţului încolţi o idee: dacă ar putea scăpa din vasul lui şi ar fugi într-o pădure şi s-ar ruga de zâna cea bună, oare n-ar deveni şi el un brad mare, apoi un pom frumos de Crăciun, iubit şi preţuit de oameni? Căci oare ce viitor l-ar putea aştepta pe un copăcel amărât şi umil?

Astfel gândind, micul bonsai îşi întinse cât putu de mult crenguţele şi-şi trase cu violenţă trupul în sus, apoi la stânga şi la dreapta, şi din nou în sus. În încercarea lui disperată şi-a rănit braţele verzui de marginile ghiveciului, pierzându-şi ochişorii orbi de frunze şi aproape că şi-a smuls rădăcinile.

Dar iată că veni dimineaţa. Pomişorul adormise frânt de oboseală. Soarele trimisese de mult razele să bată la geamul odăiţei. Dar pe bonsaiul orb îl trezi zarva iscată de copiii casei, care-l găsiseră în starea aceea jalnică. Auzi apoi glasul bunicii şi pe acela al tatălui, şi glasul mamei şi un altul mai domol – al bunicului. Îl durea întreg trupuşorul şi zăcea cu nasul în pământul din care atât de mult îşi dorise să se desprindă. Curând simţi atingerea moale a mâinilor bunicii şi, în scurt timp, suferinţele îi erau alinate.

În mod straniu, simţea că un anume ceva îi lipsea, ceva nu era la locul lui. Oare ce?! Parfumul bradului, desigur – îşi aminti bonsaiul. Şi începu să-şi strige încet, şoptit, prietenul. Auzi întâi un suspin şi nu mică îi fu mirarea când bradul, cu voce stinsă, îi relată pe scurt felul în care fusese despuiat de podoabele strălucitoare, culcat la pământ şi legat fedeleş. După cele auzite de la stăpânii casei, avea să fie trimis într-o magazie, jos în curte şi apoi, transformat în lemne de foc.

Iată pentru ce se luptase atât micul bonsai, pentru ce se rănise şi suferise jumătate din noapte, plus o dimineaţă: ca, într-o bună zi, să devină un mănunchi de surcele.

This is B-rAd, the inventor of the mediocre mustache face warmer. Not only is B-raD an inventor, cyclist, and artist he is also a mustache fanatic! Check out BraD’s fantastic mustache that beats mine every day! Also check out his hot new website! www.fixedlove.com

I think his website has something to do with match making or maybe ( or porn)  bicycles but I am not sure.

Iarna. Ger. Viscol. Tarziu. Ajun de Craciun.

Fetita cu parul tuns scurt, baieteste (in ciuda protestelor ei!) privea incantata bradul sclipicios. Era singurul lucru care i provoca placere, in contrast cu apartamentul rece si impersonal. Era tarziu, trecuse demult de miezul noptii. Nu i pasa atat timp cat somnul o ocolea. Il asteptase infrigurata pe Mos Craciun. Credea aproape cu religiozitate in prezenta de basm a Mosului. Primise in dar o jucarie frumoasa, sub forma unei papusi vorbitoare. Nu se indura sa plece la somn. Papusica cu ochii negri o tintuia acolo sub brad.

Usa camerei se deschise brusc. Vocea metalica si autoritara a mamei o avertiza din nou ca era trecut de dousprezece. Copilul ridica privirea si ceru voie sa mai stea, sa mai stea, sa mai stea! Spera ca Mosul se va intoarce. Si nu voia sa i rateze sosirea din nou! Femeia se indrepta brusc spre copil, smulse jucaria, o arunca pe jos. O strivi cu piciorul. Nu renunta pana nu se transforma in mici fragmente de plastic ascutite si taioase.

Expresia socata de uimire, amestecata cu o infinita tristete, de pe fata copilei, paru sa o enerveze si mai tare pe mama. Isi apuca copilul de mana si o impinse cu forta spre camera ei. Cum indraznea sa afiseze acest comportament neascultator?!

Fetita isi petrecu noaptea zvarcolindu-se in asternutul rece. Ar fi vrut sa planga. Nu reusea. Cand aparura primii zori adormi. Adanc, fara vise.

A doua zi, femeia cu voce autoritara, scoase dintr-o sacosa albastra de plastic o noua papusica, identica. La fel. De parca lipise fragmentele intre ele, si prin magie papusa revenise la viata. Fetita refuza jucaria instinctiv, nici nu o atinse. Nu i trebuia.

Mama puse refuzul copilului pe seama unui capriciu trecator.

Din nou iarna, ger, Ajun de Craciun.

Cincisprezece ani mai tarziu.

Colinde, miros de brad, zapada inghetata. Un grup de tineri galagiosi imparteau pachete de Craciun unor copii mai putin norocosi. Camerele inalte si albe ale orfelinatului, ii pareau fetei imbracata in gri, reci si impersonale. Oferi unei fetite racita bocna si tunsa scurt baieteste, un pachet infasurat intr o sacosa albastra de plastic. Copilul desfacu nerabdator pachetul. O papusa viu colorata si vorbitoare, intr un ambalaj alb si roz, sigilat. 

Tanara imbracata in gris nu astepta reactia copilului.  Se intoarse brusc si iesi alergand. Plangea. Lacrimile se rostogoleau cu repeziciune pe obrajii inghetati. 

Top 10 al cartilor preferate

Lolita, Nabokov
De veghe in lanul de secara, Salinger
Ultima noapte…, Camil Petrescu
Middlesex, J. Eugenides
John Fowles, Magicianul
La rasarit de eden, Steinbeck
Fii si iubiti, DH Lawrence
Anul mortii lui Ricardo Reis, Jose Saramago
Neruda, Poezii
EA Poe, Poezii & Nichita Stanescu, Poezii

Care ar fi al vostru?

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Dupa mai multe zile in care nu stiam cum sa facem.. cu bradutul vechi de la Infologic.. l-am indesat vineri in rucsac si l-am adus acasa.

L-am spalat si impodobit.. i-am pus beteala aurie, globuri din nuci invelite in staniol si o fundita rosie.. iata ce a iesit

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Noi doi sub luna

Pasarile

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Me with glasses

I’m already struggling, mostly because I’m not quite sure where to start – I want to hurry on to get started explaining the later stuff, but I know the importance of “laying the ground.” So I guess I’ll blow through the beginning, to give you some kind of understanding about me.

I guess you could say that I had a strange childhood (but in reality, what is “normal”?). My parents divorced, somewhat amicably, when I was about 2.5 years old, so all I ever remember was living with my mother and sister, and seeing my father on weekends and a vacation once a year. “So how is that strange?” you ask. This was during the 1970’s – when single-parent households were still very uncommon. In fact, I remember many times when an adult asked me about my father, and when I told them he didn’t live with us, they treated the statement as if I’d told them he was dead. That was strange to me – I saw him all the time! But it was well “ahead” of the social norm of today.

From the age of 5 on, I lived in Central Long Island, NY, in a house with my mother, my sister, my great-grandmother (who was our primary caretaker during the day, since my mother was a working single mom), my maternal grandmother, and my maternal grandfather. Now, with all those people, you would think there was a lot of noise and attention, right? Wrong. In reality, I was pretty much forgotten most of the time. My sister is 6.5 years older than me, and my mother has always just been self-involved – it’s her nature. Plus, she was a single mom during a time when there weren’t a lot of single moms, who had dropped out of high school to make her way, and she struggled to make a living (later, she did get her GED and went to college, but that’s another story). In the meantime, she was probably borderline bipolar, depressed, and for the most part, distant, absent, or harsh, with a few sweet moments sprinkled in. My understanding is that I had been coddled as a young child, but that must have been well before most of my conscious memories… because I just remember feeling solitary most of the time, and with the unpredictability of my mother’s moods (she would be sweet and cuddly one minute, supercritical and sometimes just plain ol’ crabby and mean the next – really, that quickly, and sometimes we could also expect a slap or two), I grew to be sort of glad to be on my own. My great-grandmother and grandmother favored my sister to a blatant degree, so I was pretty much left alone.

When I was 9, a family moved in next door to us with 4 children, and from 4th grade through part of 10th grade, the oldest, Natalie, was my best friend… and I assimilated as a fixture into her family. She had married, happy, attentive parents, a great, close family with multiple siblings… everything I think I probably wanted. At least over there, I had the opportunity to be a part of something — instead of being by myself, as I was very often, especially after my great-grandmother passed away when I was 11 (both my grandparents worked, as well as my mother, and by that time, my sister was just about out of the house). So I would say that Natalie’s family probably gave me a lot more experience and influence on family than my own did through those years; looking back, I was probably just a little bit envious that it didn’t come from my family, too.

I was a quiet child, yet very perceptive and intuitive; my intelligence tested very highly, and I was academically gifted, as well as gifted in the arts. I guess for a long time, I didn’t give anyone an outward cause for concern, and once I did give people cause for concern, I typically kept a good front going – the grades lowered but stayed acceptable (and I was in Honors through most of Middle and High School). I was just distant; it became easy for me to stay that way.

In reality, I think my family was relieved with it, so they didn’t have to bother much; at that time, my sister was occupying our immediate family with the drama of a bad and ugly marriage. What would you expect? Our father had been married/divorced 3 times; our mother, twice – growing up, we had the influence of an odd situation for 14 years that had to do with our mother’s serious relationship with a married man (again, a story for another day). Needless to say, besides my grandparents, we didn’t have great examples in the long-term relationship department, either!

I loved to read, think, and expand my mind, but as I grew into my teen years, my reference really became my friends – what teen’s isn’t? However, I really didn’t have much balance with family, and felt more and more isolated the older I got.

As for religion, I was born, baptized, and confirmed Episcopal. If you don’t know what that is, I always called it the “step-down Catholic” church. Natalie was Catholic; as we got a little older, if I didn’t see my father on a Sunday (which we did until my mid-teens), I would sometimes go to church with her and her family, usually on a Saturday evening. I had Jewish, Buddhist, Christian (of all denominations), and Jehovah’s Witness friends, so at an early age, I learned about a lot of different religions just by my associations. Was I particularly religious? No. But from fairly early on, I learned about hypocrisy and politics in the church, and I didn’t believe there was any one “organized” religion that had it totally right. I also decided that just because my father was very church-oriented, I wouldn’t follow just because it’s what I was taught – as many people do – because I didn’t feel that a lot of it was really the truth.

I was athletic – I took dance (tap, jazz, and ballet), played softball, and there was plenty of opportunity to play sports in the street, since Natalie and I were two of the few girls in the neighborhood. I was a buddy to a lot of guys, so I was very comfortable talking with them.

Music and performing arts was a charm to me; I was in dance for 6 years, I played piano and flute – very well and competitively, I might add – for 6 years, and later took to stage and drama. Later, when I quit that stuff, I still obsessed about music, but it became the recorded kind.

In fact, if I applied myself at practically anything, I found I could get really good at whatever it was I decided to get good at; I was blessed with an innate drive – I can’t figure out now whether it was via a desire to do better than those around me at home, or because I was afraid I’d end up the same way. The challenge: Since I didn’t have a lot of guidance from home, I sometimes floated from one thing to another, without a clear view of any big, long-term picture. The real down side: I didn’t have anyone in my family to help me screen out (and enforce) what I should and shouldn’t be doing – the more I grew through my teens, the more that became a problem. I’d do stuff to rebel, then do even more stuff because nobody really noticed. My mother’s hypercriticism over the years – which today, I’m sure stemmed from her own insecurities and self-doubt -  developed into a painful, mean voice in my head that constantly beat me down and pushed me into self-destructive behaviors. The saddest part is that in truth, I really was good, brilliant, talented, and beautiful – yet it never occurred to me until adulthood that the negative suppression I practiced on myself was simply a manifestation of what I’d grown up with; part of the problem was that because everyone in my immediate family had personal dramas of their own to deal with, so they never took the time or made the effort to really get to know – or understand – me.

I think that’s really all you need to know to start – my formative years were really nothing fantastic, nothing super terrible… but in retrospect, there was really a lot from which I could learn! When I got to high school, I really should have just walked around with a big red sign hanging around my neck that said “DANGER,” because I really was not the epitome of a healthy mind and spirit.

However, something I don’t doubt at all is that we choose our paths because of what we need to learn in this existence. I think at a pure base level, the first real wake-up call I got from the spirit would start with the day I met Brad, on a ski slope at Windham Mountain in upstate New York, during January 1983.

And that, my friend, is where the real story begins.

Large On Black.

More photo info @flickr

PS- This is our 100th post!

previous photos:

Hace unos días encontramos ésta noticia de EFE: Los detractores de Obama le perciben más oscuro que sus votantes. Lo que nos lleva a una conclusión: en realidad, nadie quiere un presidente negro en la Casa Blanca.

La Ciudad en Llamas da fe de que el estudio es certero, pues a Zapatero lo vemos mu negro, muuuu negro. Me pregunto si ésto servirá para otros líderes. ¿Cómo de negro verían a Amín Dada en Uganda? Porque nosotros lo percibimos también bastante cercano al negro absoluto, como al gótico faisán.

Por otra parte, ¿cómo saben los autores del estudio cuál es la negritud de Obama?¿Quién nos dice que ellos mismos están libres de distorsiones ideológicas? Y más aún: ¿quién nos dice que obama no es blanco? En cuyo caso, nosotros seríamos albinos. Toda una exclusiva.

Y en este momento, elucubrando en tales términos, salta la bomba informativa: Angelina Jolie no soporta al amigo Barak. (Por cierto, y saliéndonos del tema, qué chulo el nombre de Barak. Parece un personaje de Tekken, o un malo de 24).

Parece ser que Brad Pitt y Angelina han discutido en relación a Obama. Brad, que debe de ser una versión de nuestra zetapenska ceja, le adora, y Angelina no tanto.

Suponemos que la bronca no habrá llegado a mayores. Y, aunque está feo meterse en asuntos ajenos, tomamos partido por Angelina.

¡Dí que sí, Angelina! Y Brad al sofá, a dormir como un bendito.

I like Rachel Zoe, I’m not going to lie – especially her assistant Brad.

Today, I got an e-mail from Zoe’s website trying to sell me an apron – of course it’s not just any apron, it’s “The Lady’s Apron.”

The apron comes from Anthropologie.

According to Anthropologie’s website, “Such a peppy, feminine cover-up nearly begs for a new cupcake recipe or a batch of fizzy pink cocktails.”

Really? Do we still talk to women like that in 2009?

I didn’t know Anthropologie sold aprons, but boy was I wrong. Not only are they selling this apron, but 29 other styles.

Anyway, the best part of Zoe’s email is her advice to bake.

“When seasonal anxiety starts to get the best of you, do as I do and bake your cares away.”

Really Rachel Zoe? I cannot imagine you baking. Actually I take that back, I guess just because you bake doesn’t mean you actually eat what you pull out of the oven.

La Roma, la Vatican, când au loc alegerile pentru noul papă, se semnalizează reuşita cu un fum alb şi vorbele “Habemus papa“: Noi nu suntem chiar la Roma. Doar pe drumul spre Cetatea Eternă (pentru că “toate drumurile duc la Roma“, deci, şi al nostru!?), şi nu avem papă, ci, doar un … molid, pe post de brad!

Mai întâi, am fost pe la Mihai Viteazu. Primăria de-acolo a pus afişe, informând populaţia despre programul festivităţilor din 1 Decembrie, Ziua naţională a României.

Un ROMân, a trecut pe stradă şi a pus afişe despre câinele său, pierdut. Nu le putea pune în altă parte, decât PESTE afişele dedicate Zilei Naţionale !

Ar mai trebui să mai pună un rând de afişe: “pierdut bun simţ“! Peste cele cu “pierdut câinele“!

Mergând spre Poiana, am văzut în faţa afişului uriaş cu Băsescu (de pe ruina fostei viitoare Case de cultură!), o macara cu un braţ telescopic, extrem de lung. Mi-am jurat în barbă, ca Baiazid. Nicidecum, “să dau calului, ovăz din pristolul de la Roma“. Doar, să nu uit ca, la întoarcere, să iscodesc şi să aflu ce a ridicat macaraua. Credeam că se montează, în sfârşit, o copertină în staţia de autobuz. Naivul de mine!

În Oprişani, pe la “trei mocani”, lipseşte semaforul. Era, … până aseară, pe la orele 20,30, când a trecut o maşină cu pelicani ori de-a pelicanilor sau … Nu am reuşit să aflu exact. Unii zic că ar fi fost beat, alţii că ar fi avut sub 100 km/oră, …

Doar că, acum, semaforul este orizontal, la câţiva metri de locul unde era vertical.

În mod sigur, în următoarele zece luni, se va repara.

La Poiana, am admirat panourile de informare pentru campania electorală. Pline cu afişe … invizibile. Şi o cruce în apropiere! Doamne, ajută-ne să votăm! Cu cine? Că dacă ne luăm după afişe, stăm acasă cu telecomanda în mână. Şi cu berea şi seminţele în cealaltă. Ca ăla care “cu o mână a luat pumnalul şi cu cealaltă a spus“! …

Dar şi multele gropi din … staţia de autobuz de la “şcoală”.

Până la urmă, tot am ajuns înapoi, în faţa Primăriei. La gropile centrale, din staţia de-aici.

Ce-am constatat: macaraua a dispărut, fără urme.

Pardon, am găsit ceva urme.

Mai multe, chiar:

Normal: eu am trecut pe la 19 în jos, deci, 19 e înainte de 18?! Habar n-aveam! Dar, aşa am aflat justificarea prezenţei macaralei. După mizeriile de pe jos!

Habemus … molid! Că papa …  e scumpă!

M-am uitat şi din dreapta şi din stânga. Abia se vede portretul lui Ceauşe … pardon!, Băsescu întins pe faţada celui mai mare veceu public, pardon!, Casei de cultură, din faţa Primăriei cu gropi în staţie!

Na, că le-am încurcat!

Eu? …

DISCLAIMER: Minor language. Proceed with caution.

Quite the piss poor, I-feel-like-disowning-you “performance” by the Sharks in their 7-2 loss to the Chicago Blackhawks. The Sharks should have just stayed home in their cribs and choked on their pacifiers rather than “play” tonight.

Joe Thornton: Hey guys, let’s step on the ice.

*SILENCE*

Team: …and do what Jumbo? Are you going to finish that thought?

Thornton: Ya know, step on the ice and succeed with good ol’ fashioned California chillin’.

Team: OMFG, you iz brilliant Jumbo! Why didnt us think of that?! LOLZ.

Give me a damn break. This was disgusting. Absolutely putrid. Um, helllllooooo? Um, hi? You little children play professional hockey. Sounds kinda cool when you think about it. How about you actually play the game. And try. Just try.

What the hell happened during this long layoff to make the Sharks play like a beer league team? They allowed three, THREE shorthanded goals. Two of them were on the same power play!

Nobody wanted to play, everyone played with jocks on their heads. Turnover after turnover, fail after fail. If there was any doubt left about our defense, those were put to rest. From now on, if anyone tells you the Sharks defense is good, go ahead and tell them to remove their secret Ducks jersey or to go watch the NBA.

What a joke. Jason Demers played his worst game of his career. Dan Boyle felt like playing with an injured foot because this was a big game. He did end up scoring very late in the game, but it’s refreshing to know he waited 56 minutes to do something with his life. He finished with a -4 rating.

Also joining Pimple — I mean Boyle — with a -4 rating were Thornton and Dany Heatley. For all the great stuff they’ve done recently, this game shat all over it. Good gracious, it was atrocious. They must be stunned to know you have to play defense too. What a concept!

Manny Malhotra does his best pylon impression (From NHL.com)

With five minutes left to go in the second period, the shots were 26-7 Chicago. What in the blue hell is that about? Seven shots after 35 minutes? I could get eight shots on net by doing cartwheels the whole time.

At that time it was 4-0 and after the fourth, Ryane Clowe took it upon his messed-up-nose self to take a penalty. Brilliant. What a smart hockey player. Take a penalty and you show those bad guys you can beat them even with a man down. Ryane Clown. Blow me up a balloon while you make a joke of yourself.

Let’s go ahead and give credit to Chicago. They came in with an exceptional gameplan and their coach Joel Quenneville and perfected it. Sharks coach Todd McClellan was lost in the Tao of Joel’s stache.

This is the Blackhawks’ eighth win in a row and they’re no signs of slowing down.

LOL WUT?

Frazer McLaren managed a +1 for the Sharks. Ha ha ha ha.

AHL

Five AHL players were in the lineup: Jamie McGinn, Benn Ferriero, McLaren, Steven Zalewski and Derek Joslin. Certainly looked like Worcester was playing.

Kent friggin’ Huskins…

…was on the power play. Yes. On the power play and caused the turnover that led to a Chicago goal. Don’t EVER put that guy on the PP again.

Optimism Corner

Hit-O-Meter: SJ 26  CHI 17

Faceoff Percentage: SJ 56%  CHI 44%

The game ended.

Other Dreadful Notes

The Sharks’ injuries are plaguing them so badly now. Rob Blake, Devin Setoguchi, Jody Shelley, Brad Staubitz, Torrey Mitchell need to come back.

Per NHL rules, the Sharks are required to play again. They play Edmonton in Edmonton, Friday.

–Ray

Forgive me,

for i over-love you.

We live forward

while making up for years lost.

Togetherness transcends, into the spirit–

Your breath for my pusle

and mine, for yours.

This is the only way–

to turn off the world and

to start living.

We awake to stars.

Like foam to the shore,

sheets find their wat back to our bare chests.

Stillness

is what makes us most alive.

We find everything

in doing nothing.

And thus,

there is nothing to destroy.

Except broken Spanish.

Forgive me,

if I over-love you.

Perdóneme,

si yo sobre-adora usted.

Vivimos hacia adelante,

al compensar años perdidos.

Nuestra unión sobrepasa en el espíritu–

su aliento para mi pulso

y mío, para suyo.

Esto es la única manera–

para apagar el mundo y

para empezar a vivir.

Nosotros nos despertamos a estrellas.

Como espuma a la costa,

el lino llega sin ayuda atrás en nuestros pechos desnudos.

Calma, quieto,

nos hacen más vivo.

Encontramos todo

a hacer nada.

Y de ahí que,

no hay nada destruir.

Menos español roto.

Perdóneme,

si yo sobre-adora usted.

Pe cand credeam ca am zis si scris totul despre Pleiade, iata ca am descoperit ca uitasem de pomul etern verde, “nemuritor”, bradul. La: http://strasihastrii.blogspot.com/2009/11/116-sulitele-de-sacrificiu-sulitele.html am gasit un articol care mi-a adus aminte de brad si de legatura profunda dintre brad si poporul roman. Bradul este “nemuritor”, la brad se inchinau nou nascutii, bradul il aducem in casa, de craciun. Cu siguranta bradul a reprezentat idea de vigoare, sanatate, tinerete vesnica, vesnicie.

Sulita poate foarte usor sa fie, pe langa simbolul lui Muruga, Vel (Pleiade), simbol al bradului. Un desen al bradului si un desen al unui varf de sulita, cu usurinta, pot sa fie confundate.

Nemurire si Pleiade, nemurire si brad.

Exista oare vreo legatura intre Brav si Brad? Pe langa asemanarea dintre aceste cuvinte (o singura litera difera) Brav poate sa fie legat de idea de lupta (si sulita), brad legat de nemurire.
Alte cuvinte care par sa aiba legatura: Bra-sov, Dum-brav-a, Bra-tocea, Bra-n.

Cred ca articolul in cauza, care pune alaturea bradul si sulita, nu face decat sa intareasca idea ca bradul este simbol al grupului Pleiade. Foarte interesante postarile de pe acest blog: http://strasihastrii.blogspot.com/

With the unfortunate loss of Al Harris and Aaron Kampman for the season following the win over San Francisco, changes are going to have to be made moving forward to continue playing at the level we were at. Right now, more than ever, is when experienced coordinators with good football minds earn their paycheck. What sort of changes might we see out of Dom Capers?

Replacing Aaron Kampman:

Replacing Aaron might be easier than fans realize. This is one place where the 3-4 scheme really shines. The fluidity of the scheme allows for very different player types to be successful in the outside linebacker role, bringing different skill sets to the table. Many of the players that play OLB have to be hidden by scheme to some degree, and Kampman was no different. Clay is one of the rare 3-4 OLB’s that seems equally at home in virtually any role.

It was obvious that one of the places that Kampman was schematically hidden was in pass coverage. He dropped on occasion, but generally that was limited to little zone drops. He was not left in trail technique coverage on fast TE’s splitting the seam, and did not move over to press and bracket cover a WR. This is in very sharp contrast to Clay Matthews, who is trusted to do all of these tasks.

Kampman was also helped rushing the passer both by occasionally playing a 3-3-5 defense that put his hand in the dirt, and by overall maintaining a consistent launch point without an excess of twisting and stunting. In other words, things that he has been comfortable with. It has helped, though it has limited some of the overall defensive options.

Replacing Kampman most likely will be rookie Brad Jones, though Brady Poppinga and Jeremy Thompson could see time as well. Brad couldn’t be more different than Kampman, which could work to Dom’s advantage in a very big way. Hopefully this is where Dom Capers separates himself from former DC Bob Sanders. Brad is not the kind of player that can or should be plugged in to do the tasks that Kampman did the same way he did them. But on the flipside, he does open up a lot of things that were not previously possible.

Brad Jones is extremely fast and agile, and is especially noted for his ability to drop into coverage. Like Clay he can drop extremely deep from the 3-4 OLB position, and has the ability to stay with WR’s and TE’s, at least when he has some help. Dom almost surely will be much more comfortable with him in coverage, and won’t be consistently making an effort to have him rush the passer, limiting his coverage to the bare minimum as he was with Kampman. Of course the effect of this will be to enable more blitzing/zone blitzing. Clay will likely get to rush more, but I think that the biggest beneficiaries will be the ILB’s, I suspect that we will see them rush a good bit more.

Having been a 3-4 OLB, Brad likewise was not married to a small little plot of land on the line most of his career. I suspect that his launch point will not be as rigid as Kampman’s was, and be more like Clay, who moves around in the formation a great deal. This is greatly aided by the defensive line; they are playing at a level where the OLB’s don’t have to be extra DE’s on run plays, freeing the OLB’s up to shut down any attempts to bounce run plays outside, or pursue the tackle quickly. Every one of our top 4 defensive lineman can hold his ground in the face of a double team. Brad’s quickness will allow Dom to move him around a bit to probe for pass rushing weaknesses, and to allow for more stunting and combo rushing, where instead of an every man for himself, the LDE (typically Jolly) attempts to open a lane for the OLB moreso than plow through himself. The faster the OLB, the more effective that is.

While changes will be necessary, changes can be made to insert Brad Jones into the lineup without a big downgrade in defensive quality. Brad has a different skill set and will have to be used a different way, but the overall effect should hopefully be minimized. however it may change the way things “look”.

Replacing Al Harris:

This should almost be rephrased “replacing Tramon Williams”. Replacing Al should be the easy part, plug in Tramon, but replacing Tramon will be a task.

Dom can go two completely different directions with this. He can do exactly what Bob Sanders did, and literally replace Al with Tramon, placing him at the RCB spot over the split end on the sideline, or he can take the approach to keep Tramon doing what he has been doing, at least in nickle+ defense, only moving him over to Al’s spot on base defense. Either option should be equally viable, the route chosen will largely depend on how Dom adjusts to cope with the changes.

Al’s position at RCB is unique in that the route tree used by most teams is somewhat more limited. Few QB’s roll to their left. The timing of read progressions and pass patterns cuts out a good amount of intermediate routes, and if the QB turns to watch his split end, he is also watching his best pass protector, turning his back on some of his worst.

Though our defense plays all sorts of different coverages, if you had to group them into classifications, Al would be more of a man guy, Tramon more of a zone guy, and Woodson more of a rover. Al played the least amount of underneath zone of the 3. When rolling a S into the box or forward out wide, and using a CB as a S in a cover-2, 3, or 4, (forms of sky and cloud coverage), Al was typically a bail corner covering a deep zone, with LB’s or S’s covering underneath. Tramon bails much less, instead if one corner is used in the short zones more than others, Tramon is that guy. Whereas Woodson does a little of everything, generally in an effort to have him where the offense most wants to go.

When Tramon did fill in for Al last season, he did an excellent job basically doing Al’s job. In fact there seemed to be some differences where we might actually have had better pass defense, as we did run a little more zone during that time, not necessarily becasue Tramon is better in zone, but because he seems at home doing either, whereas Al definitely (at least in Sanders’ defense) was more at home in man.

One thing that we will likely see, with the hopeful return of Chillar soon, and Jones at OLB, is return to sparse dime defense. Prior to Chillar’s injury Green Bay rarely ran dime defense, even agaisnt 4-5 WR sets. The 4th CB did not see the field a whole lot.

If we do put Tramon in Al’s spot and replace Tramon, likely an increased amount of LB/S bracketing will be required. Which could mean less play in the box by Bigby and more zone drops by the LOLB. If we replace Al’s spot and keep Tramon in his, we are probably looking at 2 different players dedicated to the sideline, either CB shallow S deep, or CB deep S/LB shallow in distinct zones.

Whichever direction Dom goes, replacing Al wil surely stress our secondary.

The Potential Positives:

While the negatives of these injuries are obvious, some positives may be taken away.

Tramon will be a free agent again next year. This year he played for just over the tender amount. This is his time to grab hold of the starting job for good (even if Al returns, I don’t think that he will return as a starter). This gives Ted and his staff 6 games to determine just how much Tramon is worth, and if he is a viable starter. I’d like to think, if he makes the most of this situation that Ted will not tag him again, instead giving him a full starting CB contract while his value is still on the low end of starting CB’s.

It also gives Ted a chance to evaluate Bush as a defensive back. I doubt that he gets another chance. He’s been developing too long, this is a seize the moment or go away couple of games for him. If he can hold his own as the 3rd CB, he’ll likely stick. If someone else is given a shot after he is, because he didn’t seize the job, I suspect that this will be his last year. He have replacements at ST gunner now; his hold on a roster spot is much more tenuous than it has been.

With free agency on the horizon for Kampman, few Packer fans seriously thought that he would return to the team. The prevailing though being that he would be franchise tagged and traded (similar to Corey Williams) to a team that runs a 4-3 defense. With this injury he now has very little trade value and almost surely will not be franchised, chances are he simply leaves as a free agent.

This means that Kampman will need to be replaced long term this offseason. That task is much easier if Brad Jones (or Jeremy Thompson/Brady Poppinga) shows that they belong on the field this season, and that they are the long term solution. If not I suspect that free agency and/or higher draft picks will be used to fill this spot.

Young guys stepping up to fill an injury void and impressing is one of the primary ways that players become full time starters in this league. Lets keep our fingers crossed that we have the good fortune of that occurring at both spots for us. The players behind our lost starters are certainly physically talented enough to do so, it remains to be seen thather they put it all together.

Un veritabil targ de Craciun… Nu e kitsch.

Bradul, ca in povesti. Cabanute din lemn autentic. Coronite de brad. In aer, miros de turta dulce, alvita, vin fiert cu mar si scortisoara. Pentru prima oara in acest an,  colinde…

Glasuri de copii, cantece, ghirlande, carusel.

Un veritabil targ de Craciun in… Sibiu. Sorb din vinul fiert. Ies aburi calzi. Hmmm, aromat. Aici, mosul vine intotdeauna mai repede. Mda, Craciunul este o stare de spirit.