English: Jeff Clark (Poet) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

IF YOU FIND YOURSELF MARRIED TO A POET

Be prepared to surrender
the myth of chronological order.
You thought time was a river carrying you forward?
Ha! Don’t be alarmed
when past present and future moments crystallize
and shatter into discrete spheres.
When you pour your morning coffee, you may discover the diamondine droplet of 1982
doing the backstroke in your cup (that was a good year).
On that night when you must sleep well to prepare for an early morning flight
you might find the mesozoic era rained in puddles on your pillow
stay up til 3 a.m. disposing of dinosaur bones.
When your parents come to visit in mid-September to see if you are doing okay with your crazy poet spouse
you may discover your poet spouse’s painful divorce shimmering in dew drops all across the hedges and the lawns of the neighborhood
shimmering in the shape of chalk outlines in the middle of the residential street.
Inconvenient, but gorgeous.
Necessary
because it was just that particular melancholy day when summer turns to autumn.
This new relationship to time might confuse you at first.
You might take your spouse’s poems and try to put them in order
to find out if this poem is really about the argument you had last Tuesday
or if it’s a reference to the 1973 Chilean coup.
Just relax.
Learn to like it.
After all, now you are not a slave to the imagined march of history.
You can pick up the time-spheres you like
string them together in any order
wear them as your name-tag
and when one life story doesn’t suit you anymore
toss it away.
String together a new identity.
(Your poet marriage might require many changes of name and birth date.
Don’t bother to update the IRS every time.)

Understand that it might be okay to lie to your poet
as long as the lie does one or more of the following:
a) have better sonic quality than the truth
b) express more truth than the truth could
c) make the listener stop. and. think.
(If you marry a poet be prepared for things that make the listener stop. and. think.
Schedule in an extra month each day for these spontaneities)
However, please be advised that whether lying or expressing the “objective” truth
it is never never never ever okay to assault your poet with cliches.
(Remember the short-lived line of Hallmark cards, “Apologies to a Poet Spouse for Using Cliches,” which collapsed under the weight of its own irony?)

Understand that as the husband or wife of a poet
all your utterances will now be subject to close reading by both the left and right sides of the brain.
ALL YOUR UTTERANCES!
Even your sleep talking.
Even your socially mandated white lies.
But especially your answers to everyday questions like
Are you hungry?
      Have you seen my car keys?
      Are you skilled in astral projection?
If your spouse is fastidious, she may write down your words
and play with the line breaks before composing her reply.
Pardon the metaphor
(if you marry a poet, be prepared to pardon the metaphor)
but just scoot closer to the edge of the table
put your feet in the stirrups
and let the poet insert the diction speculum into your language center
to analyze the meaning of what you said on a fractal level.
Please be patient
and understand that, for the poet, close reading is not semantic masturbation.
Words are chromosomes.
Those married to poets will never again get away with ballpark estimates of meaning.
To understand what drives the poet to this level of analysis you must

not be jealous of your poet spouse’s other lovers.
There are many
many
so many it would blush you to count.
It would out-googleplex the calculator.
These lovers are not rivals.
They are an ever-present entourage of ghosts
clinging like a cloud of perfume making your spouse more desirable.
Some of the legendaries who will cuckold you are

• slants of light
• metallic flies on roadkill
• the last thirteen cents in a single mother’s pocket at the end of the month
• dissected and rearranged headlines, product information, or warning signs
• a patch of wall plaster that looks like a nun, or a werewolf
• changes that happen to the shape of a woman’s foot over the lifespan
• flowers
• cracks in concrete
• unrighteous death
• new frontiers of the dictionary (that’s right, if you marry a poet be prepared for a print dictionary)

Yes, your poet spouse will fall in love a lot
and love makes some poets happy
exploding sunrise happy
and love makes some poets deeply
deeply
bottom-of-the-vodka-bottle-deeply
unhappy.
Don’t fix it.

Don’t worry about whether you find yourself beautiful.
Let your poet spouse find you beautiful.
The longer the marriage, the more worthy of admiration becomes every
molecular slice of you.
The central crease of the first knuckle on your right ring finger is more than that
it is all the times you ever carried the groceries
wrote a love note
threw an ashtray against the wall.
Your teeth turning yellow are more than that
they are all the times you ever stayed up late, blowing smoke at the moon
or kitten-curled in bed way past several late morning deadlines to get up and get working
sucking your poet spouse’s nipples
solving a crossword puzzle.

Most people find that the hardest
the most unbearable thing
about being married to a poet is this:
You must be prepared
for all your connotations
to be considered, turned over
in the light and found
worthy of love.

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My not so called relationship has escalate to the stage where some days things can be fun and excited but others we barely talk . Maybe I don’t want  to accept that since our last encounter after things happen he just got what he wanted and all is over.

Is it the time to stop whatever we have, Is it Game Over?

Happy Birthday, Husband!

Thanks for gettin’ born, Husband.

Thanks for givin’ me a ring, for sharing the Kiddos with me, for exploring with me, for being my best friend, for breaking out in old school rap every so often, for always driving, for driving me crazy, for getting on the floor to play, for your unending generosity, for that time you tried to do the worm, for working so hard on your health, for caring so much about mine, for always invading my space, for brushing the cat, for learning to love veggies, for always being willing to learn, for growing, for changing, for being my counterbalance, for doing the work, for pumping the gas, for taking pictures of your feet, for loving football as much as I do, for encouraging me in all things, for boggling even though it’s not your fav and I beat you so badly, for your blind optimism, for your desperate love for all things G ‘n R, for giving me a great in-law family, for incomplete song lyrics, for being my other half, for letting me call you ridiculous names, for being the baby carrier, for stopping for soda, for stopping for every picture … for everything.

Hope this birthday and the year to come is the best yet!

Always,

Aja Lynn

Now, you could either know where I’m going with this at this point OR you are wondering what is going on in my head. There is a lot going on in my head if you must know but, right now it’s the concept that Branding is the new Dating. It is also one of the higher end reasons many relationships FAIL. Oooooweee Ladies & Gents I said the “F” word.

I know an 83 year old man. We use to kick shit & converse about his life. He lives in a small town of old money but, he wasn’t among that crowd. He is humble & the most important thing is he is happy. At 83, he still gets dressed up, slicks what hair he has back & takes the Love of his life out on dates.  He knows every payday to hand his wife over his check to, wise man. He opens the door of his truck, secures her in the car, and drives her off to wine & dine her at least once a week….normally on that payday Friday.

Now, how he got here from there he’s not shy to share his story.  He used to live in Oklahoma in the 1960’s. He was married to a woman, who drove him up the wall. They headed for divorce & she cleaned his plate. Took everything he ever had, ever worked for, & ever owned. And he even had to pay her support. So, with nothing to his name but a cool $200 he got in his truck, drove himself to a new state, & picked himself back up. He had nothing, met a woman who had the same. From there the Love story began, they fought for each other, struggled through the struggle & eventually built their fortune together. They got married, bought a house, had children, & the rest is still being written.

And when he tells that story, he tells it with so much passion. You can see it in his eyes, his tone, he is proud of that story. And it’s a beautiful story but more importantly, it is real. It is a story in which we all want to tell but, in today’s time, will be far & few. Why? Because the majority of society today believes we can’t date someone who doesn’t already have their “Brand”. They don’t want someone who isn’t “on their level”. Everybody wants to be in a certain spot before they even think about dating someone rather than building a spot with a person whom they are dating.

And it could be because people are less trustworthy then my friend’s time. But, that is another post for another day. However, people today are more careers oriented then oriented to live a life. Everyone is obsessed with being successful to be able to prove themselves to themselves so they can show out to the world & a significant other that they can make it. But, that significant other they find maybe could be the same & the main factor that is needed to help grow a relationship is gone from the foundation even before the relationship began. What is that main factor you ask? Well, it’s the fact, feeling, & desire to feel needed. If one has built all this success alone then why would I need you around? People have turned people into wants & not needs. Wants are disposable, needs are not. In my friend’s relationship, they proved to each other that their need for one another was real. Their Love was built & secured on that need & all these years down the line, they are still as much in Love with one another as they were the first day they met.

Don’t believe me? Look at that model above, and then think about it in how you put yourself out there to be perceived by someone you maybe are smitten by? How you look for potential mates & how you rate them. Now, I’m not saying go find you someone who has absolutely nothing going for themselves & try to save them. Change is a personal choice. But, have you been too busy “building your brand” that you’ve forgotten nobody can do it alone? Oh, you don’t need anyone to help you? You just proved me right.

Invest into your Brand today,

Phenomenal G

They always say, love always comes when you’re not expecting it. I’ve seen girls try so hard to be in a relationship, because it’s the only thing that they want. They practically put their heart and soul into finding a relationship, and once they give up the search it happens. They meet a great guy or someone the they’ve known for a while just magically appears and everything’s dandy.

But what about the rest of us?

I was one of those girls. After trying so hard for a relationship I called it quits, and soon afterwards my friend asked me out. I couldn’t believe my luck.

Long story short, the guy wasn’t what I needed in the long run, so things fell through and I’ve been single since March. To me, searching for a new relationship it feels different than last time. You think I’d learn from the past and give up on searching and just let it happen. But for some reason, I’m so impatient this time.

I’m crazy because in my mind, I’m running out of time. I want to be one of those couples who met in college or fell in love around my age and got married. I’m just a hardcore lunatic because I’m not even 19 years old yet and I’m not even half way through college yet.

I think part of my craziness can be blamed on my parents a bit. They met in college, fell in love and were married at the age of 22. So growing up I thought 22 was the age to get married and even though I know it’s okay to get married at a later age, 22 has just stuck on me. And I believe my oldest sister had this idea in her head too. I’m not saying she settled and rushed into marriage, but she married her first ever boyfriend who she met when she was almost 21. Met at 21, married by 22. Crazy.

So, if you’re like me, looking for something new, just let it go. Let fate happen, and you’ll meet the right person. Love will find a way.

-M (I’m such a hypocrite for not taking my own advice)

Juneteenth (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As we celebrate Juneteenth today (148 years ago), what strides have you made to improve yourself, community, family and build a lasting heritage to leave to your children? We are people of color with a rich history. Are we living up to the standards that our martyrs have set, preached and lost their lives to allow us to have inalienable rights like everyone else. This question is for me, too! We need to be more community oriented, stress to our children the importance of education and respect, take our streets back, stop killing one another, demand drugs be removed out of our neighborhoods and away from our sons and daughters. We have a responsibility and we all know there is strength in numbers. Mentor a child. Help your sister and brother who are in need. It is our duty as a people to do so!!!

Related articles

• What Is Juneteenth? (theroot.com)
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She was a good listener and offered a sympathetic ear for me to vent my frustrations, sometimes offering her own opinion on the matter and sometimes just allowing me to get it out of my system.

As I mentioned before, Amanda enjoyed the same music I did and liked talking about cars with me. She was easy to talk to where talking to Gail had become positively unbearable at that point.

Pretty soon, I found myself wanting to stay at work more than I wanted to go home. I hated the job, no doubt. But I hated the thought of seeing Gail even more. So I began staying after work with Amanda so we would be free to talk without interruption. The two of us would usually carry some Long John leftovers to one of our cars to snack on, listen to the radio and talk. That’s all we did was talk or maybe sing along with whatever was playing and sometimes our conversations would last 30 minutes and sometimes they would last for a few hours. If it had been a long night where we were both tired, I would usually be home before midnight. But if we were up for it, we wouldn’t go our separate ways until sometime in the early morning hours.

Bad English had recently released their power ballad, When I See You Smile and Amanda said it reminded her of me. She said that I didn’t smile enough but when I did, the world seemed a little brighter with me in it.

I don’t remember how many conversations we shared after work but it became an almost nightly routine. I told her that I didn’t want to go home until Gail was asleep and Amanda would say that we could stay there as long as I wanted.

She was a good friend even though she had sent out some pretty strong signals that she wanted more than friendship. It was one of those situations where you can practically hear someone screaming, “Why are you with her and not with me?! Can’t you see how much I like you?! How much better I would be for you and how much better I would treat you?!” The signals were definitely there but as I have also mentioned, Amanda and I never crossed that line. We came close once but that is a story for a later time.

I had to pause for a moment as I remembered our time spent together and the time that I had spent with other women. I was friends with quite a few members of the opposite sex, often having more female friends than male most of the time. I have also confessed my addition to sex, my cravings for the touch, taste and scent of a woman, but I am living proof that a man can spend time with an attractive woman and not want anything more than friendship.

It’s a shame that some women can’t accept the idea of a man’s friendship and often view men as little more than dogs looking for the next hole to bury their bone in. I’ve known guys like that but not all of us think that way and I hate being lumped into the same category, immediately recognizing when a woman’s defenses go up after a man says hello.

By the end of our relationship, Gail shared in that judgmental opinion of men or at least her opinion of me. I found and still find the entire notion to be ridiculous given that I was perfectly fine with our just being friends and it was her who came to me wearing nothing but a tiny towel. And it was her that took my hand and led me into the bedroom.

But more than three years had passed since that first time together and somehow, somewhere between the beginning and the end, Gail had convinced herself that I was the one not to be trusted. The monster inside of her had twisted her mind into believing I was the reason for all of our problems and I was about to find out exactly how much of a crazy bitch she really was.

There are several impediments to being Moses, not the least of which he was not female. Promenade, original and signed limited edition print at Steve Henderson Fine Art, licensed open edition print at Great Big Canvas.

Admittedly, there are a few impediments: Moses is another person; he is no longer alive; he was male — even in today’s remarkably tolerant societal structure these are factors of consideration.

But no. I want to be Moses because he was God’s friend. He talked to, sometimes talked back at, God; was free to express his misgivings, doubts, and frustrations; and he lived a really long time in really good shape. He got angry now and then; anybody who has ever felt bad about snapping at someone else in a temper might want to conjure up the image of Moses hurling the stones with the 10 commandments to the ground. Makes a broken coffee mug look minor.

And despite all this, God delighted in him.

If I can’t be Moses, I will gladly settle for Joshua or Caleb, the only two men in their generation who lived through wandering in the desert, because they were the only two out of 600,000-plus warriors who said, “Yes! We can do this, because God says we can.”

Same problem though: another person, no longer alive, male.

But I suppose it’s more of the concept of the thing, and one of my problems is that I aim too low. Most of us do.

We aim too low, most of us; we need to dream bigger. Dream Big poster based on Bold Innocence, by Steve Henderson.

Crunch the numbers here: 600,000 warriors, add women and children, what are we coming up with — several million people? And the main thing we hear about these several million people is that 1) They don’t want to talk to God personally but would prefer that Moses do it and 2) They’re not particularly known for their strong, individual spirituality.

This sounds like contemporary Christianity, which encourages followers to look to the pulpit for weekly teaching, rounding out any gaps with a small group study or workbook-led Bible study time telling them what the words on the page are saying. I flipped through a book the other day, written by a notable Christian author whose name on the book’s cover is bigger than the title, who (paraphrased) said,

“Commentaries are vital to understanding the Bible. Do not think of studying the Bible without a commentary at your side.”

Perhaps it would be better if he had ended the sentence with, “Do not think.”

Granted, the Book gets a little complicated, but it has been conveniently (and at the cost of many lives) translated into English, Spanish, French, Norwegian — quite a few languages of choice — and we read complicated books in whatever language we speak all the time. Millions of readers of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice derive great enjoyment from the author’s wisdom, and they pass on what they’ve learned to others. Most of them manage just fine without workbook sheets and study guides. That they do not understand every single word which Jane wrote does not prevent them from enjoying what they do. And I don’t think that they’re particularly open to the concept that only professorial types are qualified to speak on and about Jane.

Each of us has our individual path to walk, with God. Blue Ribbon by Steve Henderson Fine Art.

Millions of Israelites were content to let Moses speak to God for them. Millions of Christians underestimate their ability to speak to, question, walk with, understand, and love God, without the proddings and instruction of a leader, a study guide, a DVD, or a facilitator. In their concern to avoid getting something “wrong,” intelligent people rely upon others to interpret truth for them, intrinsically believing that these people must be interpreting everything “right.” Who needs the Holy Spirit when we have Ph.D.s?

And while these leaders are presumably more qualified than the rest of us because they have purportedly studied the intricacies of Greek and Hebrew and Aramaic and Latin (don’t bet on it), this doesn’t give us excuse to hand over the reins of our learning about, interacting with, and walking beside God to a third person party. Others, “experts” or not, can be a part of the process, if we so choose, but our walk with God is just that — our individual and unique walk with God.

So why can’t I, or you, be Moses? He was God’s friend.

Same God, interacting with a different person. I’m sure if we ask Him, He’ll respond.

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My ex-lovers haunt my dreams like ghostly stalkers; they slip into my bedclothes and unravel the past in twisted threads – soft and benevolent; whispering indecipherable endearments, moving towards me with a yearning, ethereal tenderness and, sometimes, checking me into cheap hotel rooms like they used to do in real life. Or else they appear as bitter, demonic versions of themselves; barking indecipherable abuse, moving towards me with a deliberate malevolence and, sometimes, forcing me to join them in sexual trysts in front their new girlfriends (which, I’m pleased to report, is something that has not ever happened in real life).

There are moments during these recurring dreams when I become lucid. But in such lucid moments I can’t be sure whether it’s me dreaming the dream, or whether it’s the ex-lover and, somehow, I’ve made my way inside his consciousness.

Occasionally, out of nowhere, an ex will totally freak me out by shape-shifting into a lamp or a kitten or – when the dream morphs into a Freudian nightmare – my father.

This is the thing my dreams have taught me: love doesn’t ever leave you; it clings like an invisible film to the deepest crevices of the psyche. It is a very consuming emotion – I have always said this. (Except for the times when I have denied its existence in an attempt to suppress the aching of my poor, bruised heart). Love is beautiful, but, as you’ll know, it is also the hardest thing. In love you are vulnerable and exposed, but also (and it occurs to me that I have recently forgotten this) love makes you a warrior; alert, poised and oblivious to danger.

It is both tragic and delicious enough that the universe forces us to make such painful bonds with friends and family members – let alone that it complicates the experience of being alive with romance. And I’m not denying that love can be delicious.

Here is another secret:

My absolute favourite thing about living is the feeling I get in those moments on winter evenings, sat by the fire in my parents’ London living room, sipping on good brandy and knowing that, at least for now, every single person I want to protect from peril is tucked up asleep under warm blankets where they cannot be harmed. It’s the same feeling I used to feel resting my head against my boyfriend’s chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart. You know, like that pang of tenderness when you’re cradling a new born baby, or a tiny poodle puppy.

Though, of course, it is less than cool to admit to feeling anything at all, ever, I have to acknowledge that it is an actual miracle my heart doesn’t just literally explode out of my chest on a regular basis.

How does anyone bear it? I can hardly stand the pain of loving my friends and pets and family members. I simply don’t know if I can drag myself through another relationship only for it to result in my heart breaking and my subconscious replaying painful fragments of the experience all the night forevermore.

I mean – I’m tempted; of course I’m tempted. I paint my nails blood red and I circle my blue eyes with kohl and I drape whimsical scarves around my neck and I occasionally leave the house and I do all this, not just because of vanity, but also in the hope that one day I’ll find another lover who’ll make me feel something. And then, at night, I fall asleep and I dream and I wake up remembering how hard it actually is to feel something. It is very hard indeed. It is much easier to sit in your flat cooking delicious food and watching Six Feet Under and arranging cut flowers and writing hilarious blogs and finally finishing your PhD thesis. But that is not a very brave way to go about living. In fact, now that I’ve reached the end of this posting, and despite my resolute solitude up until today, I’m realising that, however I try to frame it, that is a very bleak way to go about day to day life indeed.

It turns out, on close inspection, that my dreams are perhaps a reason not to be single after all.

I’m not sure yet exactly what I’m going to do with this information. Hopefully the holiday I’m about to take will give me sufficient time to consider my options.

I’ll keep you posted.

*With thanks to Nina Toussaint-White (@NinaToussaint) for the image.

Plus, this summer there are a ton of outdoor festivals to meet people at.  Doesn’t always have to be at a nightclub or bar ya no.

Lincoln Park comes in second for best singles neighborhoods.

Best place to take a date, Girl & the goat and Japonais.  Worst place is Hooters…obviously.

Yesterday’s TODAY show’s “what’s trending” segment mentioned the age of marrying men these days is 30. “It’s a shame that so many marriages fail; could be why people are waiting later to marry.

I’ve said my vows, repeated my vows, and heard many of our friends say their vows, and don’t remember hearing even ONCE that marriage is easy. No, not one time…in all those weddings. So what makes one think it IS easy? Because mom and dad have been married for a very long time? Because it’s easy to GET married? And now it’s even easy to get divorced – you decide one day I don’t want to be married to you anymore , so I go file the papers, and voilà! you’re divorced! you’re married!  so easy to do….

Well, let me tell you…it ain’t easy!

Charlie and I are coming up on 38 years of marriage, in September. 38 years of  wedded bliss? I wish I could say yes. My guess is there are very few who can say their entire marriage has been wedded bliss…for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, THAT’S the key…we’ve had our better and worse, our sickness and health, and we plan to continue this as long as we  both shall live. Each year I’m with my husband I understand God’s grace and mercy even more, because I realize the grace and mercy that I receive from Charlie.  Grace – free and unmerited favor – and mercy – compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward another – he shows me daily. Even on Father’s Day he saw “the face” because he was doing evil things like moving the laundry to the dryer…getting gifts for our big kids on HIS day…putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher…and he never skipped a beat. His mercy and grace  abound, as I realize it does from Christ.

I keep going back to a time at my last hospital. It was a day when we were complaining about our husbands. [Yes, I'll admit, I shared some thing about Charlie ]  A young single friend told me, “if that’s what marriage is, then I’ll stop looking!” About that time Mr and Mrs Saric came for their routine blood tests. They had no children, only each other. They cared for each other as one would a child. They way they looked at each other, the way they helped each other with their coats, the way they held hands as they came and went. Mr and Mrs Miller followed shortly thereafter. Married 56 years, they had only been apart for ONE NIGHT before he became ill. Same story, different verse. Caring for each other. Looking that way toward each other.  I pulled my young friend aside…”you see that? You have to get through the little crap that happens, to get to what these couples have. It’s not made in a day, it’s made over a lifetime.”

It’s a commitment to for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we  both shall live. A decision. And sometimes not easy to fulfill. But the grace and mercy, and often laughter, will help you get through. Prayer and dependence on God to show you your marriage in His perfect plan are key.

I honestly don’t believe I loved Charlie when we married. But I certainly I know now that I do, that he truly is a gift, a rare specimen of want a man should be. Even though every day is not perfect, he is there with his shoulder, his smile, his sense of humor, and understanding of my sarcasm. It’s a great match!  and a good ride!!!

you can’t see

what I see.

Through these eyes,

you are good,

and worthy of me.

Through these eyes,

you’re a master,

and I the apprentice.

Through these eyes,

you’re walking tall,

yet keeping your humanity.

Through this eyes,

you hold the keys,

to unlocking my heart.

Through these eyes,

you can be who

you’re afraid to be.

Through these eyes,

you’re free to love,

and be loved.

Through these eyes,

you can relax,

and let down your façade.

Through these eyes,

I see you as

you can’t see yourself.

I have dealt with a bit of loss in my 32 years.  There’s the usual loss of Grandparents, which is difficult to deal with, but somewhat expected due to age and ill health.  I do miss my Nonno, Nana and Pops every day, specially now that I have a baby, but it’s the loss of close friends at relatively young ages that, to me are the hardest to cope with.

At 24 I lost my best friend at the time rather suddenly.  Carly was 22, we had spent the weekend together, dinner and drinks on Saturday night, followed by a charity walk on the Sunday.  I dropped her off home on Sunday afternoon, perfectly healthy and happy.  Little did I know that would be the last time I would see her.  At work the next day, I received a telephone call from her mobile, I picked it up expecting Carly to be on the other end, but it was her mother.  I know the pain I went through hearing of her death, I can’t begin to imagine what her family was going through.  Here is her mother after just losing her baby, having to call all of Carly’s friends to deliver the news, having to hear each and every one of them as they broke down in tears and disbelief.

Carly was the first friend I lost.  Carly and I had a song – “Look Good in Leather” by Cody Chestnut: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N2xww24r6so  I would listen to it over and over, crying each time I heard the song.  I can still see her excitement as she modeled her ‘new’ op shop orange leather jacket on the Saturday before she died.  Her excitement at finding an orange leather jacket, and how we both broke out into that song and then broke out in laughter.  Carly passed away in her sleep, peacefully, but with no explanation.  For years I carried a lot of guilt around with me at having taken her away from her family that weekend, of depriving them of those last couple of days together.  I carried this guilt around for a long time, until the last time I spoke to her mother, a few years ago now, and I told her of my guilt, and she told me not to feel guilty over spending that time with Carly, because Carly came home that afternoon excited and happy, having had a wonderful weekend.  So now I try to look at that weekend as a blessing.  A blessing that I was lucky enough to spend that time with Carly.  This October will be 9 years since she passed, the pain may have faded with time, but I still miss her quirky sense of humour and  the instant friendship we struck up from the moment we met.

When I was 27 I lost a colleague and a friend.  Colin was only 6 months older than me, and when we first met at work he was battling bowl cancer.  Colin was a gentle soul and a gentleman.  The type of guy that would open the door for you, let you take the window seat  on the plane.  In the time I knew him, he never said a bad word about anyone.  He fought so hard to beat the cancer, but unfortunately it was a fight that he could not win, it had spread throughout his body.  Colin had so much potential, he would have contributed so much to his world, to this day I still wonder what he would have achieved if he had beaten the cancer.  Shortly after he passed, I dreamt of him.  In my dream I was driving to work and I came across his car, so I stopped and there was Colin looking into the bonnet of his car.  I was so happy to see him and so excited, in my dream I asked him how this was possible and he told me that they had found a cure, but he didn’t want to tell anyone and get their hopes up.  It was an amazing dream and I woke up both happy and in tears.  I suppose it was Colin’s way of telling me that he was ok.

Two years ago, I lost another best friend and her husband in a car accident.  Del and I had been friends for around 7 years, we actually started off as colleagues and after I left that employer our friendship developed more.  Del was quirky, kind, generous, caring, funny, a friend you would go out of your way to help because she was worth it.  Rolf was a computer geek, my go-to guy when I had computer issues and questions.  They were good people, rare finds in this world.  Del loved animals, between them they had 7 cats, a dog, two rabbits and fish.  They were Del’s babies.  Del did have some health issues, and at 39 hadn’t had children yet.  Del was such a creative person, making sun catchers, clings, jewelry, bookmarks etc.  She was always giving me things she had made, and I kept telling her that she should be selling them not giving them away.  We would chat on Messenger every day, and if we couldn’t do that then we were text messaging or on the phone.  She got me, she understood what makes me tick, not many people do, besides my other half Malcolm, there have only been a couple of people who ‘got’ me.  Del and Carly were two of the few.

I have so many memories of Del, too many to pick out one special one.  On the day Del died she had been in Toodyay helping her sister Pam with her sick dog.  Del and Rolfie had been up all night comforting Pam, and were on their way home when the car accident happened.  I had received a text message from Del that morning saying that they were in Toodyay and would be leaving soon.  That was the last time I heard from her.  I did send her a text message in the afternoon asking how everything had went.  I didn’t think much of it that she hadn’t replied, I put it down to her being tired after such an emotional day.  That night I had the news on in the background as I cooked dinner, but wasn’t really paying attention to it.  I do recall hearing something about a car accident, but as I wasn’t watching the footage I didn’t see that it was Del’s car.  It was around 11:30pm as I was drifting off to sleep that my phone rang.  I didn’t recognise the number, but I answered it anyway.  It was Pam, she introduced herself and being half asleep, I didn’t put two and two together, but when she said the Del had died, I couldn’t believe it, it just didn’t make sense, until Pam told me it was a car accident – Del and Rolfie died at the scene.  I collapsed, dropped the phone on the bed and cried.  Poor Malcolm had to pick up the phone and speak to Pam.  I went and turned the TV on to see if I could catch the late night news, I had to see it to actually believe it.  When I saw the footage and saw Goldie (Del’s car) and the sheet covered shapes on the ground, I knew it was Del and Rolfie (http://www.watoday.com.au/wa-news/two-dead-another-injured-as-was-road-toll-jumps-again-20110217-1ay28.html).  Miraculously Del’s dog Jack survived the car accident, he must have had someone looking out for him.

I miss Del just about every day.  I look at my baby and I think that it’s such a shame that she will never know her Aunty Del, I wonder what Del would have thought of Sophia, and what little things she would have made for her.  Of all the losses I have experienced, Del’s seems to have hit me harder than all the others.  I don’t know if it’s because it’s the most recent, or because she was such a huge part of my life.  Maybe it’s because I had counted on us growing old and crazy together, on having her being a part of not just my life, but of my children’s lives too.

There are times when I think of Carly, of Colin and of Del and I can smile and remember the good things, there are times when I hear a song, see something or experience something and out of the blue I am reminded of them, and that is like a kick to the gut and I feel their loss deeply.

The saying that time heals all wounds, is incorrect.  Time helps the pain of loss to fade, but the loss of a loved one, of someone who was a part of life never goes away.  You are left with a hole where that person once existed, even after many years, the pain of loss still lingers.

My obsession with my birthday naturally enters all my relationships. I’ve only been dating the teacher just over a month, but I made sure that he was fully aware of my upcoming birthday in June. I was perilously walking the “crazy-hot scale” with daily reminders of the date of my birthday; although I think he found it sort of oddly cute, so it’s ok. There are perks to having a boyfriend on your birthday; breakfast in bed, maybe birthday sex. So it wasn’t just the teacher than I’d ensured new the date of my birthday.

However, this year I’ve had to question if drilling the date of my birthday into all my boyfriends minds to be such a good idea. Why? Because suddenly my birthday seems to be the one day a year that I hear from every single one of my ex-boyfriends (except the one you want to hear from, the Flying Englishman). Of course it’s nice that they want to wish me a happy birthday and all that jazz. But arn’t birthday about the future and moving forward? But it seems with every-year I have a growing list of ex-boyfriends who are going to fill my day with texts and private messages and pull me back into the past.

-Lillian

Calcanhar de Aquiles

This is part two of a four-part series…

STEP 2: Be Your SELF

I tell my clients to simply “be delightful.” That is, if you are delightful. If you happen to be morose, I suggest you be morose on your first date. I know, that sounds ridiculous. I say that to make a point. You should bring your best self to a date, but whatever you do, don’t bring a make-believe self. Don’t try to be someone you’re not.

In my single days, when I was with a man, I tried very hard to be what I thought he wanted me to be. “How can I get him to like me enough to want to keep me?” That was the question that played over and over again in my mind. How did that show up? Well, I might have been hesitant to offer an opinion for fear that it would not align with his or I may have tried to be more outgoing or reserved based on the cues I was getting from him. These seemed like good strategies because, to me, dating success meant that I would be asked out again—that he would want to keep me for the long term.

What I know now is that my definition of success was wrong and my strategy was misguided. The goal should have been to find a match for ME—the real me. Instead, I acted like someone I was not in order to get the external validation I sought. I misrepresented myself; I wore a mask. Let’s say he liked my mask, then what? Then he would expect it to show up every time we were together. Only one problem…it’s exhausting to wear a mask for long periods of time and, inevitably, my real self would come out to play. Then he would say, “Who are you? You’re not who I thought you were. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

My fragile ego would take this to mean that there was something wrong with ME. He finally saw the real me and rejected me. I must be defective, undesirable, and flawed. Again, I had it wrong. I wasn’t flawed…I wasn’t even there. I brought a mask, not me. He signed up for me under false pretenses. If he had seen the real me early on, he might not have asked me out a second time. Would that have been dating failure?  I say no, it would have been a great success.

How can rejection equal success?

Well, dating should be a time to find a match for you. For the REAL you. In order to do that, you have to bring your Self on the date. Don’t leave her at home and don’t hide her behind a mask. You have to show her off and risk not being a match. Notice, I didn’t say you have to risk not being liked. I suggest you change how you speak to yourself about dating “rejection.” My favorite color is blue while yours may be purple. Is there anything wrong with purple? No, I just prefer blue. The same is true with people. Different preferences for different people.

I bet you have a male friend or coworker that you like a great deal but you don’t like him in that way—you’re not romantically attracted to him. Does that mean there is anything wrong with him? No, he is just fine—he’s just not a match for you. Remember that if you are not asked out for a second date.

So, to review, the goal of dating is to find a match for YOU, the real you. In order to do that, you have to bring your Self on the date. Success is attained when you can leave a date saying, “I was my Self tonight; nothing more, nothing less. We’re a match or we’re not. Either way, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

www.LauraDewey.com

I slipped a disc in this pose.

This isn’t just my parenting style, I have used it as my “life” style. I have always liked to exercise and have generally taken an attitude of “no pain, no gain”. I once spent a grueling 90 minutes in Bikram Yoga, only to change clothes and go over to the gym and run five miles. I also gave blood that day. This was not a good idea.

Over the years I’ve done some self-evaluation and have come to the conclusion that extreme doesn’t necessarily equal better.

Because of this, I ask Mr Dreamboat to act as Lead Parent on the “project” of raising our children from time to time (Recent conversation: “Mom, can I go over to _____’s house?” “Go ask Dad,” was my reply, “he’s acting as Lead Parent for you right now.”). He has always understood the above mentioned communication philosophy and makes a point in a meaningful/gentle way. My automatic “You’re being an idiot, stop doing that,” isn’t as affective a tool in communicating with teenagers, or for that matter anyone, as you might think. Who knew?

Over the years I have seen the brilliance of gentle persuasion. I have seen Mr Dreamboat ask questions of our children rather than give them answers and I’ve seen my children make wise choices based on their own decisions. It doesn’t work all of the time, but it works more often than telling them they’re foolish does.

Yesterday I asked Zoë if she wanted to go running with me. With a stuffy nose and red eyes she admitted that she did, but she didn’t want to exacerbate her allergies (I contend that many of us in this household are allergic to Amboy). Instead, the two of us did a light yoga practice.

I have to admit it was a hard thing for me to do. Harder = better in my mind. Pain does equal gain! Doesn’t it? The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. It’s scientifically proven.

Except what if it’s not?

What if the best way to treat others as well as ourselves is through constant, consistent gentle persuasion? Kindness over directness. What if we treat our relationships, ourselves and our lives in a way that encourages growth without forcing it?

In our yoga practice yesterday, our guide would give instruction and then say things like, “Let your leg stretch as far as is comfortable for you today.”

I think it’s not just possible that we can parent and encourage and improve ourselves in this way. I think it’s preferable.

At the end of my Bikram/Run/Blood Drive day, I did not feel well. Not only was I physically exhausted, I was, ironically, unable to sleep that night. Pushed past appropriate barriers, my body and health were not improved. To that end, I have never improved my relationships with harsh, thoughtless words. Neither with others nor myself.

Gentle persuasion is where it’s at, folks. Let’s be kind to others, let’s be kind to ourselves. No pain, simply means no pain.

Gently persuaded by the sun.

She is still my sweet dream.

(I knew life was unfair. Few times in a life you meet someone.
Who set your soul afire. Wisdom brought me the knowledge.
Some woman can’t be held prisoner. Need to be friends and lovers.
Be content when a kind woman allow you into her heart and souls
for a time.)

I was intoxicated by her beauty.

When I saw her.
She rendered me helpless.

I pursue her.
Without her suspecting my desires.

I visualized caressing those long legs.
Looking into those beautiful brown eyes.

Using strategy and timing.
I met with her for breakfast and lunches.

Her long brown hair flowed down to her lower back.

Her almost six foot frame body.
Perfect and sensuous.
Made me hunger to see her.
Hear her voice.

I intrigue her with stories of spiritual journeys.
Walking the edge of no fear or sanity.

She wanted to dance the line of insanity.
She stole my mind and heart.
Her words expedite my desire and lust.
To be able to touch and discover
every hidden part of her body and soul.

Woman are wise.
She knew I wanted more.
She saw my desire in my eyes and touch.

I restrain and rendered friendship.

Many trips together.
We saw the great storms of winter and traveled the coastline.
I took her everywhere with me.
Dancing in the powerful waves
with only the suicide board as a safety.

We held each tightly on cold nights on the beach.
Laughing and drinking whiskey  on the lonely beaches.
Not fearing tomorrow.

We roam the Big Surf.
She like laying nude in the sun.
I caress her with suntan lotion.
Thanking the lord of life and death.
For good days in a life.

We would go to River Inn.
I would read her my poetry.
She lays her head in my lap.
We drank beer and wine.
We talk of great deeds to come.

We roamed the  great cities.
Closing bars and falling together in the
back seat of my truck.
From Long beach to San Francisco.

I was endanger of leaving soon.
I would kiss her.
Give her long and gentle massages.

I was trying to remember every intimate part
of her beautiful body.

She was sad with our time ending soon.
I was to transfer to Fort Hood, Texas.
We were drinking beer and Jim Beam.

She asked me.
Her brown eyes looking into my eyes.

Will you remember me my Poet?

I whispered “I will remember you.
Every time I think of something beautiful.
Every time I see the sea or a perfect sky.
I will  remember your beautiful face.”

She lays on a mattress.
I caressed her legs.
I whispered should we allow the flames of desire
to erode to sex?

She took off her cloth.
Allowed me to  rub  lotion on her soft and perfect body.
Slowly caressing her from feet to neck.

She brought me to her.
Held me tightly.
We lay together.
Shared sweet kisses and needed warmth.

We may of made love often.

We listen to each other dreams and desire.

Her beautiful memory still can leave me weak.

Desiring one more day with my friend and lover.

She is still my sweet dream.

Coyote
May 2009

Love and friendship is the gifts we can give with the knowing.
A friend is forever. Kindness bring kindness. Love bring hope.

I think we can get comfortable with bearing burdens after awhile and even learn to like it. We carry a heavy weight of demands on our shoulders for so long that when it’s lifted, we get the sense that something is missing. There’s this inner dialogue that says ‘if I’m not weary, I must not be working hard or doing enough’. The ‘lightness’ in our labor or load makes us feel more like we’re lost. Our tendency then is to create or take on burdens so that we feel comfortable again with the choking weightiness of a yoke that infringes on this freedom.

The devil shouts with accusations, fabricating fear by calling freedom a ‘sluggard’ or ‘lazy’. But God’s word calls it something else: ”Now then, why do you try to test God by putting on the necks of Gentiles a yoke that neither we nor our ancestors have been able to bear?” (Acts 15:10) Throughout scripture, putting on a yoke is used to punish a person and enslave lives, even if we’re doing it to ourselves.

God’s desire is repeated throughout the book “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:29-30) He’s a God who gives us rest in our work. God doesn’t desire demands on our life, but a weightlessness, a buoyancy and freedom to enjoy the days He delivers. “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” (Galatians 5:1) Slavery to sin, slavery to undo demands and slavery to any other God, even the ‘God of work’.

At one time I associated ‘demands and creating work’ with ‘success, growth and getting ahead’ but now I see it was only keeping me from experiencing a fuller freedom and joy in Christ. What a lovely concept when my heart is light, there’s room for relationships. When my life is free, I have margin and peace to embrace the big and small ‘interruptions’. So while I may not be seeking out more pressure in my day, truth is, my heart is free enough to perform better with what God gives me.