Time to grow a pair…man up…let the big dog eat

No more whimpy whinning.

No more driving myself crazy over a decision I didn’t make.

And if I resort to this behavior again, I officially give you permission to kick my butt.

I love her, I want to be with her, I want us to keep moving forward as a couple.  But that’s not going to happen.  Those are her issues and it’s her life.  If she chooses to include me, wonderful. 

Otherwise, me and my brass monkeys are heading out.  I need to take a few days and just “be”.  I’ll see you….whenever.

It has been brought to my attention that I am making slow and steady progress.

Really?

This is a “can’t see the forest for the trees” moment.  As much as others believe I’m making progress, I am having a difficult time seeing it.  I recognize I am slowly emerging from my “shell”, enjoying lost pleasures now that My Love and I are no longer together.  I am enjoying afternoons at the movies, playing rock n roll on the stereo while cleaning my apartment (it’s the music I enjoy, not the cleaning), and other stuff I can’t think of at the moment.  But is that progress?  Should it take so long to heal?  How long will it be before the pain goes away?  I am getting to the point where I feel like I’m stuck in a rut, that I’m trying too hard to break free and do something different, but all I do is slip backward.

I am attempting to manage my emotions when I think of My Love.  Sometimes successfully, other times not.  But she is tough.  She has hung on longer than any former girlfriend in my life, in that I cannot shake the thought of her.  I don’t want to let go.  As much as I want to move forward, I recognize that she has helped me reinvent myself, so to speak.  There are unanswered questions.  Such as…

WHY?  Why couldn’t she talk about her issues with me?  We have there for each other all along, why stop there?

WHY?  Why could she just walk away?  Did she fall out of love with me?  Did she not want me in your life?

WHY?  Why does it seem so easy for her to walk away? 

These questions may never be answered.  They may be answered only when the time is right .  Here’s another that I need to consider:

WHY?  Why have I hung on so long?  Why can’t I forget her?  Why won’t I let it go and get on with my life?

It’s not because I enjoy feeling this way.  It’s not that I am trying to be a martyr, suffering in my self pity.  I am not taking pity upon myself, allowing my emotions to get in the way of  living my life.  At least not outwardly and not as intensely as three months ago.  I recognize that the end of my relationship with My Love didn’t end in a conventional manner.  The only issue that was familiar was that she broke it off.  I have ended up on the short end of all relationships with women. 

I guess I’m just lucky, he says with tongue planted firmly in cheek. This time, it was old boyfriends and ex-husbands that did me in.

I am not used to going out by myself.  As much as I want to get out and do things, doing them alone doesn’t sound appealing.  At least not at this point in my life.  I don’t mind traveling alone.  I can go where I want and see what I want without consulting my companion.  If I want to linger in a bookshop, or make a spontaneous stop, then I can.  But there are some things that I want to share with another person.

Last night, I went to the theater and saw a great production of “The Gin Game”.  It was a “pay what you can” night and I had a fiver in my pocket.  What’s great about going to the theater alone is that I got primo seats – second row center.  Great view and I could hear everything, which is a bonus for me with my hearing loss.   I sat in between two old ladies.  I knew when I bought the ticket there would be a chance that, as a single, I’d be stuck between two couples.  I enjoyed myself very much, but it was an odd situation.  Odd in the sense I’m not used to going to the theater alone.  It’s one thing to go to a hockey or baseball game.  Those were things My Love didn’t particularly enjoy.  But she did love the theater.  I almost expected to see her with a date, but I didn’t (thankfully).  I know that getting out alone will get easier over time.

The night before I didn’t sleep well.  It was one of those nights where I felt like to was perpetually tossing and turning, never really getting comfortable in one space.  I woke up first around 1am, then around 4.  It was after waking up the second time that I had a strange dream involving My Love.  I had come home and found three men waiting for her.  They were all blonde and better looking than myself.  She never appeared in the dream and I’m not sure what it meant, but it  wasn’t the type of dream that would like repeated.  I felt very uncomfortable when I awoke.  That set the tone for Tuesday.

I’m not certain why I had a dream like that.  Maybe it had to do with a story outline I was developing.  I’ve decided to try my hand at writing a short story.  On the wall near my bed, I have a print of “The Singing Butler” by Jack Vettriano.  You may have seen it. 

The print, not my bedroom.

It’s a couple in evening wear, dancing on the beach at low tide.  There are two servants standing by, holding umbrellas.  My Love gave it to me because it was a favorite of mine, as well as hers.  I was looking at the print while lying on the bed, and began to wonder about the story behind the painting.  I began to think about possible plots, how these two people came together, and why were the servants standing by.  I wrote down everything that came into my head.  Things like possible scenarios or character sketches. And I starting thinking about My Love.  I thought of her, not because she gave me the print, but because I was looking at the woman in the print.  This woman had wonderful curves, just like My Love.  My Love wanted to dance, wanted us to learn to ballroom dance.  She loves ballet dancers.   She said she wasn’t graceful despite loving the dancers.  I saw something different in her. She has amazing grace.  I can see it when she walks and how she gestures.  She has a unique sense of style I could see her dancing with a carefree attitude.  She would often catch me watching her and would want to know why I was watching.  I could see the grace in her, even if she saw herself as  clumsy.  She is a beautiful swan, not an ugly duckling.

I looked at the print and saw My Love and I dancing, oblivious to the people close at hand, caught up in each other like we were the only two people there.  Maybe that effected my brain before I went to sleep.  Maybe it affected the content of the dream is beyond me, but I can’t see how.  Please don’t play Freud and offer your analysis.

Nobody said I would forget here all at once.  But when I do think of her,  I become confused and discombobulated, quite rattled and nervous.  I try to keep busy and get my mind off her, but I can’t stop thinking about her.  I don’t understand what’s happening.  One minute I am collected and focused in the present.  That can last a couple of days.  But then I’ll have a passing thought triggered by anything, and I turn to jelly.  Last night, as I lay in bed, I prayed and asked God what was happening to me.

Maybe it’s not the time to understand all of this.  I wish it would pass soon.  I understand things take time.  It’ll take time to get used to this new segment of my life. 

She’s been back to read some more.  She confessed that she’s not sure why, but she thinks it has something to do with her own issues.  I do know this:  there is one post she has not read.

And I think she knows which one.

This one’s been rolling around in my brain for most of the weekend.  It’s one of those philosophical questions that reach out and slap you in the face from time to time.  This one comes from a John Grisham novel called “Playing For Pizza”.  More on the plot, but here’s the question:

What am I doing here?

The story concerns a washed-up third-string NFL quarterback, who’s only option is to play in the professional league in Italy.  His world has been completely turned upside-down.  In the process, he begins to learn what life is all about through Italian eyes.  He learns how to live well.

I finished the book in a few hours on Monday and walked away finding something I didn’t expect to find.  I found myself mirroring the main character, and asking myself the same question:

What am I doing here?

My love had sent me a response to some of the posts I had written in these pages.  One of the discoveries she made that we were “very good together but frighteningly stuck”.  What does that mean?  Did it mean our relationship wasn’t progressing the way she hoped?  Did it mean I wasn’t progressing the way she hoped, or was she more concerned about her role?  If we were that good together, it would be a step forward to bring this issue to the table and discuss it as a couple.

My guess is that she was waiting for the shoe to drop.  She had been married twice.  They were short courtships and quick weddings.  Without going into details, both of her ex-’s betrayed her trust and hurt her deeply.  We had two blips on the radar within the context of our relationship.  While most relationships would take the experiences and learn from them, we separated for brief periods.  It’s my guess she did that as a way to reassess the relationship.  They were tow painful periods in our relationship.

Frighteningly stuck?  Can a relationship have those times when it’s necessary to just “be” – taking time and recharging your emotional batteries?  Were we “stuck” in the sense that we weren’t progressing and a couple or as individuals?  Those are valid questions and could very well be applied to My Love and I.

Can you get unstuck?  Is it possible to step back, see the realtiohnshiip for what it is, and make the necessary changes to make the relationshiip vital and interesting?

All questions to be answered at a later time.

I’d like to start off by thanking the folks who pop in on a regular (or semi-regular) basis and read my writing.  I am blessed that you enjoy it, or are at least curious if I’ve gone postal or not.  I’m just a guy trying to figure it all out.

Today is My Daughter’s 20th birthday.  I was there to see and hear her born.  She was asleep inside her mother, and the doctor had to wake her up to be delivered.  She was sideways and the OB had to reach in and turn her.  Otherwise, her mother would have a very uncomfortable delivery.  Needless to say, she came out screaming.  She’s kept that stubborn nature.   Happy Birthday, sweetie.  You are my Pride and Joy.

I am someone who believes that events associated with a season should remain so.  In other words, if you have your Christmas tree up the day AFTER Halloween, you need to check your calendar.  If you want the smell of pine, then burn a scented candle.  So, I was surprised with myself that I did what I did last night.

I went Christmas shopping.  It was completely out of character for me.

I do know from where it comes.  That behavior comes from my mother, the woman who buys Christmas gifts in the height of summer if she thinks she’s getting a bargain.  Okay, it’s a smart idea but not for everyone.  Last night, with my pockets full of L.L. Bean cash, I set out to attempt to find stocking stuffers for the kids.  There was not much to be found.  I got as far as a deck of playing cards and a Toblerone.  Hey, it’s a start.

I eventually shifted gears and went into grocery mode.  I filled the basket with staples like soup, bread, Hot Pockets, and beer.

Sidebar:  Have you seen the price of beer lately?  Ever since American farmers have put all their resources into corn for ethanol production, nobody grow barley anymore.  If they do, the price is outrageous, which then affects the price of beer.  The breweries have passed the cost on to the customers, which makes the price go up. A good premium microbrew, such as Shipyard or Geary’s, is 8-dollars and over.  It’s highway robbery!  Thank God for the Canadians.  I have rediscovered Molson Golden, which was a luxury for poor college students in the early 80’s.

After the gathering concluded, I made my way to the checkout and became the final customer for the cashier.  I was in the 20 items and under line, holding 23 items.  Where were the retail police?  Didn’t anyone care I had breached the checkout etiquette?  I felt like I was getting away with something.  My cashier hailed from a country on the African continent, so it was difficult to understand him.  His voice was soft and his accent thick, which is a linguistic double whammy.  But God bless this man for giving me an unexpected gift.  It was the gift of laughter and it was a well-needed chuckle.

He carded me.

For those of you keeping score at home, I am 48 years old.  The number of grey hairs on my head has doubled over the past two years.  My goatee is more salt than pepper.  I am of legal age to buy alcohol.

He was just doing his job.  But in the process he was sending me a message, albeit an unintentional message. 

Laugh.  Long and loud.

Which is what I did.  I looked around and noticed that most people within 50 feet were looking in my direction.  When I laugh, I let it all hang out.  My laugh is robust and from the gut.  People have told me they love it when I laugh.  I laugh like I love:  unconditionally.  Sometimes I get so caught up in my situation that I lose sight of my sense of humor.  Usually seeing the innocence of a small child helps me find it again.  Then I go back to my old self again.

Which is where I am today, gentle reader.  I know that I wear my emotions on my sleeve and that can be a burden sometimes.  But they are mine and I feel them.  It is becoming easier to pull out of my funks than it used to be.  I want to cut my recovery time down, but I know that will take time.

I have a date Tuesday night.  I am taking myself to the theater.  It’s pay-what-you-can  night at Portland Stage, and I’ll be seeing “The Gin Game”.  I remember when Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronin had a long run in both Los Angeles and on Broadway back in the late 70s.  The theater is around the corner from my apartment.  I’m really looking forward to it.

What I’m not looking forward to is the sinkful of dishes I have awaiting me.  I do have a slobbish streak that takes incredible will of overcome.  I have good intentions, though, but that doesn’t empty the drainer.   Don y0n rubber gloves, go forth and wash.  It should take no time to do.

I just need a jumpstart.

November 4.  Four days after Halloween.

I am assuming that most of you have come out of your sugar coma by now.  SInce I never bought Halloween candy in the first place, I’m happy to report that my eyes are clear and bright and I have energy to burn.  I was not found sitting on my couch and covered with wrappers. 

I have a love/hate relationship with chocolate.  My Love turned me on to dark chocolate.  Her claim that it was an aphrodisiac was spot on.  Well before that, there was Nutella.  For the uninitiated, Nutella is a milk chocolate/hazelnut spread with the consistancy of peanut butter.  It is smooth, thick, and sinfully good.   I discovered Nutella when I was on a high school exchange trip to Germany.  My first breakfast with my host family included Nutella.  What a great way to start the day!   Sometimes I’ll heat it up and pour it over vanilla ice cream, or I’ll make peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches.   My mother will buy Nutella in HUGE jars.  My Daughter is a Nutella junkie.  She’ll hoard a jar in her room so her brother won’t swipe it.

But despite loving the taste of good chocolate, I have a tendancy to overindulge if there is chocolate in the house, and the result is not a pretty sight.  I have a history of abusing food.  Whenever I’m having a tough time emotionally, I binge eat when I’m alone.  I haven’t weighed myself lately but I can tell I’ve packed on a few pounds.  That ship has been righted and we’ll be working to slim down.  The fact that I recognize this is helpful.  I recognize that I should be taking better care of myself.  But my emotions are taking over when I should be in control.  Lately, I have lost the desire to cook and have turned back to Mickey D’s and take-out Chinese.  I need to remind myself that I need to think about what I eat.  My weight goes up when I eat like this, and I recognize why I eat that way.

I have discoverd this fact:  there is no timetable for mending a broken heart.  I know that the majority of the time I do alright.  I am in the moment and enjoying life.  But there are times, such as when I discovered that My Love was reading my blog for real, when my heart goes into a tailspin, causing it to try to figure out which end is up.  I catch myself daydreaming and figuring out what she’s doing, what her impressions of my writing are, and just getting lost in thought.  That is the tendency that needs to be changed.  It’s as if my heart has left a light on for My Love, waiting for her to come back.

SHE”S NOT COMING BACK, FOOL!  GET IT THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULL!!  SHE”S GONE AND YOU’RE HISTORY!!  GET OVER IT AND GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE!!  SHE DOESN”T WANT YOU ANYMORE!

Sounds harsh, doesn’t it.  It needed to be said.

I am now waiting for the translation for my heart.  I suspect my heart speaks another language.

It’s Election Day.  If I were in Chicago I’d say, “vote early and vote often”. 

It’s a gorgeous sunny day which made walking to the polls a wonderful experience.  After a short line and an even shorter ballot, I made my way back.  I decided to talk the long way, so to speak.  Deering Oaks Park is a wonderful space, designed by Frederick Olmstead, the same man who designed Central Park in New York City.  There are wading pools and a playground for kids, basketball and tennis courts, horseshoe pits, a very quirky baseball field (very short down the line and a “deep” center field of 350 feet), and wonderful walking paths under a variety of trees.  As I walked through the park, I found some chestnuts on the ground.  I hadn’t seen chestnuts since I was a kid in Bangor.

But the crown jewel of the park is the duck pond.  The perimeter of the pond is surrounded by a 3-foot stone wall with flat cap stones.  People like to sit at the edge and feed the ducks, along with the seagulls who come inland to “slum” in the park and steal the bread from the ducks. Today the pond was full of ducks, splashing and quacking.

 In the center of the pond is a simple fountain.  There are colored lights that come on after dusk, making the fountain look like a beacon coming up from the water.  About fifteen years ago, there was a week-long festival in the park, put on by the Chamber of Commerce.  One of the highlights of the week were the Chinese fireworks that were set off over the pond.  It would stop traffic, turning  State Street, Park Avenue and Deering Avenue into  parking lots.  I was living four street up from the park at the time.  My Ex- and I would walk down and spend the evening.

Today,  it was kicking fallen leaves, breathing deeply, and “looking up”.  I remember a story I’d read when I was a boy.  It’s was called “Frederick”, and it’s about a mouse who lives in a stone wall with other mice.  Rather than help gather food for the approaching winter, Frederick is content to sit on the wall, basking in the warm sunshine.  The other mice aren’t too keen on him not offering to help.  But later, when the winter winds are howling and their food supply is dwindling, the other mice come to Frederick and ask him about what he stored for the winter.  What the mouse stored were memories of the warm autumn days, the feeling of the stones on the wall, and the colors of the world surrounding him.

I was always touched by that story.  For me, it’s about taking stock in the world around you, and keeping those cherish memories tucked away until the right moment.  Someday you’ll pull them out when you need a laugh, when you want to remember a loved one, or to remember a time from childhood, when the only care you had was having a friend to play with or a bike to ride. 

On a day like this, I’ll pull out memories of jumping in huge piles of maple and oak leaves.  I’ll remember walking to school and listening to the crunch of the leaves under my Stride-Rite sneakers.  I’ll remember hikes with church youth groups, stuffing scarecrows with my children and propping them up in lawn chairs in front of the house, and a first kiss.  That happened on a football fan bus, heading south to Portland for the State Championship game.  She was a year ahead of me.  She also was the one who pulled me into a supply closet after school, teaching me to French kiss.  We kissed on the way down and coming home, scrunched down in the seat so that no one would notice.   She went out of my life as quickly as she came in, and I didn’t stand a chance.

I also remember the first time My Love and I first made love.  It was around this time.  We began our afternoon walking in her neighborhood, kicking leaves and holding hands.  All the time in the world was ahead of us, and all the time was what we needed.  I won’t get into details, but it was the perfect day.

And it was the perfect night.

Create your memories today.  Let them bring you warmth when your life gets cold.

Here’s where it all goes down hill.

I have a theory about the post-Halloween weather in the Northeast.  Here on the coast, once the candy has been gobbled up and the costumes put away, the weather seems to take a turn for the worst.

 Rapidly.

My Daughter’s brithday falls in early November.  Ever since she was old enough to have birthday parties, we’ve had Indian Summer-like weather around her birthday, so her parties were always held outdoors.  I never thought leaf diving was a traditional party game, but we turned it into one.

  But after that glorious splash of warmth, the temperature takes a dive and the chill in the air is more than just chilly.  It’s cold, and it’s worse if it rains.  Autumn rain is the worst because it is so cold.  The sole purpose of an autumn rain is to bring down the remaining leaves on the trees.

This has been a good year for wanderlust.  I haven’t acted on the urges yet and I know I should.  Considering all the emotional maelstrom I’ve put myself through, you think I would get away more often.  That would be a correct assumption.  Lately, though, I’ve been questioning this wanderlust.

When does wanderlust and the desire for a change of scenery get misinterpreted for avoiding reality?

There have been plenty of times I’ve wanted to get outta Dodge, but I seem to find excuses not to.  Is it necessary for my wellbeing to hit the road every so often?  Hell, yeah!  So…. WHY NOT?  Good question, gentle reader.  Why do I find reasons NOT to do anything instead of creating solutions to help me achieve my goal? 

That’s two questions- both of them valid and complimentary. 

I say shit or get off the pot.  Just go.  Create possibilities instead of building barriers.

Here are some places I’ve thought about:

1.  My sister’s in Massachusetts.  She and her husband are empty nesters, sort of.  My nephew is at the Massachusetts Police Academy.  My youngest neice is at school in Fitchburg.  Her older sister has two years of college under her belt but, for reasons not yet explained, she opted for coming home and working in her father’s small-town law practice.  I haven’t seen for since the end of May, just before My Love and I parted ways.

2.  My parent’s house…again.  No.  Dad and I had an argument about my financial situation.  He is afraid I’m going to fall through the cracks.  For years he’s been pushing the real estate game on me, put I’m not playing.  Things need to cool down before I drop in again.

3.  No place in particular.  It’s always a good third option.  I’ve thought about driving to Boston, Quebec City,  and New York City.  I’ve thought about pulling out the ol’ Rand McNally, close my eyes and drop the finger at random.  Where the finger goes, the rest of me shall follow.

Would somebody give a good shove to get me started?

I am feeling MUCH better today.  I could’ve slept a few hours more than I did, but there’s this thing called work.  You have to do it to earn money.  You then take that money and buy things and pay bills, not necessarily in that order.  Therefore, the time change tonight is a welcome thing.  We all dread spring and the time change forward.  Yeah, I love the sunshine but I could really use that hour of sleep.

My Daughter and I never made it to the hockey game and we didn’t get to carve pumpkins.  She got a call from her work.  Three guys called out and there was a huge restock coming in, and would she come in to work.  She really wanted to spend time with me, so she worked out a compromise.  We had enough time to put a stirfry together and just hang out in the kitchen.  As for the hockey tickets, I gave them to My Son and his girlfriend.

I have finished CS training for L.L. Bean and will start shift work tonight.  I’ll have enough time to rush home from the warehouse, change and clean up, and off to work.  This is how it will be for the next 8-10 weeks.  Good thing it’s fun work or I would dread it.

Exciting, huh?

whaddayah want for nothing?    Rrrrrrrrrrrubber biscuits? 

 Bow bow, oooooh ooh.

I want to take care of some housekeeping today.  There’s stuff I want to write about but really don’t want to go into great detail.

Except one.

My Love has been reading my blog.

No, really.  This time she has been reading it.

When I opened my mailbox this morning, there was an email from her.   That surprise packed a wallop.  I sat there and stared at the screen for a while.   I wasn’t sure if I should open the email.  When you don’t expect it, the emotional impact seems to be much greater.

What I discovered was a gentle note.  She has been having difficulty sleeping lately.  Last night, it was another tough night for her, so she decided to take the plunge and read my blog.  What kept her from reading it before now was fear.  My Love was afraid that I would rip her to shreds, that the pain and anguish she caused would be spilled all over the page and she would be to blame. 

What she found was reflections tinged with sorrow and sadness.  It was a surprise for her, though,  to find me treating her with tenderness and respect in these pages.  It’s the only way I know.  I hope it sent her a clear message that I still love and respect her, no matter what happens between us.  She changed my life for the better, and I could never repay that kindness.  My Love still wants to communicate, but I believe my heart needs more time to heal.  I want her to return and read more of what I’ve written.  I want her to understand that I am doing the best I can with what I have.  We were given a wonderful gift: a love that most people dream of but never find.

Moving forward……

I have a date tonight.

I am taking My Daughter to a hockey game tonight.  Before that, we will carve jack o’ lanterns and make homemade chicken fingers for dinner.  My Son has plans with friends, otherwise he’d be joining us.  We all love hockey.  The kids, their mother and I would go watch our AHL franchise several times a year.  One year for Christmas, we gave ourselves a half season ticket package.  That season we logged in 25 games.  It was great.  Tonight, however, it will be a Daddy-Daughter Night.

I started my seasonal job this week.  For the past five years, I have worked the phones for L.L. Bean during the Christmas season.  I use the money for Christmas presents.  I also get DEEP DISCOUNTS at the employee store.  It’s a lot of fun.  I get to step outside my box a little and talk to people from all over.  The folks from the South are very friendly and love to chat.  I also get to (internally) chuckle at some of the folks who  drop a thousand dollars in an order.  They have a certain air about them.  It’s part confidence, part insolence, part entitlement.  I have no problem with people who’ve been able to make their money work for them.  There are some folks who seems to think that their crap doesn’t stink, and those are the folks that need to be taken down a peg.  But, as a customer service rep for a company that prides itself on world-class customer service, I have to bite my tongue and smile.

I should be quite busy for the next 8 weeks.  They usually dismiss their seasonal employees before Christmas.  I’ve wanted to stay as long as possible to make some extra to stash away.  This year, however, I think I’ll request to be let go just before Christmas.  I’ll have to work my regular job on  both Christmas and New Years Day, so I’d like some time to make merry. 

Everyone enjoy your weekend.  Enjoy the ghosts and goblins on Saturday.  Find a costume and let yourself go.  Don’t just hide behind a mask.  Get out of your skin and try on another.