Now You See ‘Em, Now You Don’t

I truly don’t care if you read this blog or not.

I am writing this blog to chronicle my journey and share my experiences. If you enjoy what I write, like it.  If you’re curious to find out how my journey plays out, then make this blog a favorite.  But if nobody reads what I write it won’t hurt my feelings.

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I Want To Sing You a Love Song

Music generate the strongest and most vivid memories.  You can be transported to a time and place, and remember people with a few passing notes or phrases. It truly is amazing. When I hear the opening riffs to Jethro Tull’s “Aqualung”, I can remember passing a bottle of Mateus wine at a high school cast party, after a performance of Agatha Christie’s “Ten Little Indians” (it’s no wonder that stuff is called rat piss). Play me The Beatles’ album, “Let It Be”, I am in 4th grade, sitting at my kitchen table, eating open face baloney sandwiches from under the broiler. If you cue up the Fabulous Thunderbird’s hit “Wrap It Up” (Sam and Dave had the original) and I am dancing my 3 year-old daughter around the room, fresh from her bath and wrapped in a towel. I can hear her giggling in my mind as I dip and twirl her to the music.

When it came to music, Di and I had conflicting tastes. She was from the Pacific Northwest, so her tastes tended to reflect those West Coast hair band.  You know, Van Halen, Motley Crue, Guns ‘n’ Roses, Cinderella, etc.  Me? I was all over the road like a drunk driver. I grew up on 70s pop and soul, got into album rock and disco in high school, exposed to jazz, new wave, and MTV in college; and learned to love the blues and bossa nova in my later adult years. Di didn’t like my Allman Brothers and Lynyrd Skynyrd records, didn’t like Miles Davis or John Coltrane, and thought I played The Clash too loud.  Truthfully, I didn’t play much of my music when we were together.

But we did have a song. Our song was “Maybe I’m Amazed”, by Paul McCartney. My favorite version of the song is from the live album “Wings Over America”. Di once told me that she loved the song because it was a real love song. There was nothing fake, mushy, or gooey about that song, she explained. That was because McCartney held nothing back.  There was a vulnerability about the song and that’s what made it real.   “Baby, I’m amazed the way you love me all the time/ and maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you.” Di told me that this was the way she wanted to be loved.  I’d like to think that I loved her that way.

I used to hear “Maybe I’m Amazed” a lot when she was alive. There would be mornings that when the alarm went off on my clock radio, that song was the first song I heard. True story. It used to freak me out because it was like The Universe knew it was our song.  It knew that we were separated by 70 miles (that’s another posting for another time), and to hear that song made me feel connected to her.  Since her death in December, I’ve heard that song once.  I didn’t begin to bawl when I heard it.  I did well up and get a little verklempt.  I’d thought I’d lose it, but I never cried.

Posted in Di, Feelings, Healing, Love, Love Songs, Music, Paul McCartney, Thoughts, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Grief Is Simply Love With Nowhere To Go

Man, it’s hard to go anywhere without thinking about Di.  I don’t cry as often anymore and it usually happens unexpectedly.  But I do and will for awhile because I miss her so much.  The feelings I have for her won’t go away over night. She was a huge part of my life . The grieving will go on regardless if I want to or don’t.

One of the things we enjoyed was going to the movies. Most of the time it was movies of her choice and I just went along. The movies I picked usually got the review of “I really liked that. It was better than I thought it would be.  I went to the movies Friday night and saw Deadpool 2.  Before I met Di, I would have never given Deadpool (or the sequel) a second thought.  She loved nerdy stuff, like Star Wars, the Marvel superhero movies, science fiction/dystopian/ post-apocalyptic books. None of the things I was into or enjoyed remotely. But I was determined to try and understand.  We spent a weekend early in our relationship watching the TV series, Firefly. I really enjoyed Firefly because it was well written, funny and not full of sci-fi cliches.  The original Deadpool was  also, irreverently funny and well written, but it didn’t take itself too seriously.  One of my favorite scenes is when Wade Wilson (Ryan Reynolds) meets  the very sexy and alluring prostitute Vanessa, played by Morena Baccarin.  She also played Alara Serra, a stunning and sophisticated “companion” on Firefly.

morena baccarin

The dialogue I loved between Wade and Vanessa is not from the scene in the photo.  I wanted that scene, but couldn’t find it.  The scene I loved was when Wade and Vanessa met. It’s full of sexual tension and humour (“Hey, what can I get for, uh, $275 and a Yogurtland rewards card?” “Baby, about 48 minutes of whatever the fuck you want…and a low-fat dessert”) What he wants is to play skee ball because he wants to get to know her better.  The hot stuff came later….2 minutes later.  Scorching hot.

Di and I saw Deadpool when it was released in 2016 before cancer pushed its way uninvited into our relationship.  When I streamed the original movie before seeing the sequel, I saw the scenes when Wade discovers he has late-stage cancer and Vanessa becomes his advocate. “We will beat this”, she tells Wade. They were the same words I said to Di when she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Not can or might, but will. The transformation that Wade underwent to become Deadpool cured his cancer.  I wish that I could say that the love and support I gave Di cured her cancer.

I saw some parallels between the fictional story of the original Deadpool and the real life 9 months leading up to Di’s death.   We both shared a deep, passionate love, interjected with humour and silliness, and a steadfast devotion to one another.  But Wade left Vanessa while she was sleeping, to seek out an alternative cure. That cure eventually left him a disfigured mutant. He didn’t return because he lacked faith in her, believing she would reject him when she saw his disfigured face.   I had always held out for Di’s recovery. She found out six weeks before she died that the cancer, which was ravaging her insides, was incurable. Di felt guilty that she was putting me through this painful event, occasionally reminding me that it was okay for me to walk away.  I couldn’t or wouldn’t leave, even if leaving Di would have been easier on me.  I just couldn’t walk.  I’m not cut like that.

But I digress…

It turns out that Vanessa didn’t die in Deadpool 2. As I walked to my car after the movie, I looked up to the sky. I do that alot because I hope that Di can hear me.  I’d like to think that she can hear me.  I looked up at the sky and said that I wished I could bring her back. I told her that I wished that I was with her the night that she died so I could tell her everything I needed to tell her.  I wanted to tell her that it was okay to die. I wanted to thank her for making me a better man, for all the good (and bad) times, and to thank her for the life we shared. But I knew that she couldn’t communicate  with me. She was so weak that she couldn’t move without help. Her text messages were a garble of letters, and the morphine drip kept her in a doped up state where she couldn’t speak.  In other words, not exactly how we picture ourselves on our death bed.

I sat down in the car and the tears flowed uncontrollably. It feels good to unload this emotional baggage, but I feel like a raw nerve when I can pull myself together. Crying makes me feel so vulnerable and fragile. That’s how I’ve felt every day since December 23, 2017 when I took the call from Di’s sister to share the news with me. Vulnerable, fragile and numb. The waves of emotion that drives me to tears are cresting at greater intervals.  They have come further and further apart, making them easier to manage.  Someday the intervals will increase, but they won’t go away completely. I simply have to remind myself that the crying or any emotional twitch is normal. Just recognize it, allow myself to feel it, then let it work its way out of me, enabling me to pull it together and carry on.

Posted in cancer, Deadpool, Death, Emotional, Firefly, Intimacy, Life, Love, Marena Baccarin, Pain, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

….And now we return to our scheduled program.

it has been just over five years – okay, 5 years, 3 months, and 10 days – since I last posted an entry here.  I know some of you might be thinking, “Hey, Middle-Aged Head, why have you been away so long? Whatcha been up to?” It would be a gross understatement to say that not much has happened in that time. A lot has happened; some good, some bad, and some of it earth shattering. A few more grey hairs, a few unwanted pounds.  Okay, alot of unwanted pounds. .I will provide details, but it later posts. I’m just putting my toe back in the water and getting back into writing.

I’ve decided to begin writing again because I have so much stuff that’s collected in this middle-aged head, all the emotional crap that needed to come out.  I’ve become skilled at compartmentalizing.  I learned to move some emotions aside to deal with more complex shit.  It comes with watching someone you love die. You see, I spent most of 2017 watching my girlfriend die from ovarian cancer. That was the worst year of my life, including the year prior to my divorce ten years ago. As crappy as that year was, it never came close to the past 12 months.

That teaser will have to do until I can gather my thoughts and put words on a page.

Posted in Death, Healing, Life, Love, Single, Thoughts, Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Life and Stuff

This week is the first time I’ve had time off from work in six months. I needed a road trip – badly.  Getting out of town in the dead of winter on limited funds left me with few options.  So what did I do?  I spent the weekend with good friends in Ottawa, a journey of almost 8 hours in single digit temperatures.  But I was rewarded with the most amazing gift – the gift of self-awareness.  It wasn’t something I was expecting or prepared to find – it just happened.

Actually, what kick-started this epiphany was, of all things, watching a documentary called, “Hungry From Change”.  It’s about the food industry and how humans are being poisoned by unhealthy food.  The difference between this and most documentaries is that this movie wasn’t somber or negative.  Rather, it was upbeat, affirming, and sympathetic towards the viewers who were struggling with the issues that were associated with food. The film maker was At one point in the movie the issue of stress was brought up.  I jokingly turned to my friend Sonja and said, “I’m not stressed.  Do you think that I’m stressed?” “yeah, I do”, she said, “and I think you’ve got some stuff going on that you haven’t dealt with.”


This is a woman who I met through her blog, but had not met in peson. I considered both she and her partner Stefan as friends, although we’d never spoken face-to-face until this past weekend. Her candor and frank response took me by surprise and left me speechless.

When the movie ended, Stefan excuse himself from the room to make dinner, leaving Sonja and myself to discuss the movie.  I enjoyed it very much; it was an eye-opening experience and a catalyst for change in my life. But there was the matter of her comments – what did she mean?  How could she know enough about me to comment on my life?  Sonja said that picked up on some clues from my Facebook page, especially from the comments I’ve made to, and about, my girlfriend.  Sonja told me that she wasn’t the woman for me, that she was temporary and she didn’t want the same things I wanted.  All of that is true – my girlfriend is temporary.  She can be a bit brash, somewhat unrefined, and the effect of her divorce from an alcoholic husband have made it difficult for her to express herself in a loving or sexual way.  And that’s not the type of woman I want. Sonja also told me that there’s stuff in my past that is keeping me from living Life the way I want to live.

All of these revelations were difficult to handle and I began to cry.  It was a good, cathartic cry that I’ve been hoping would surface for some time now. I gave myself permission to cry because that’s what I sometimes should to do.  Just like I have to allow myself to let my past go – my divorce and My Love, among many.  Just like I have to give myself permission to be happy, which I have now done. Up until now I have been putting up with stuff I don’t want in my life – books I won’t read, bad food, people who don’t challenge me to be a better person – all things that make me feel content to have around, but they don’t necessarily make me happy.  I deserve to be happy and surround myself with people and experiences that make me happy.

Especially the people – Life is too short to be with anyone who is oblivious about you. We too often attract or seek out people who are not suited to being with us. That one became the “ah-ha” moment of the visit. It’s not easy to finding someone who wants to be with us, who is excited about reconnecting after being apart from you, a person who wants to drink every last bit of your essence and you want to do the same for them – those are the people whom you want to share Life and love.  Be happy and live Life the way you want to live it. Someone will come along that wants the same things from Life as you.

In the meanwhile, discover new things.  Bring those long-lost pleasures back into your life. Play the music that makes you happy and dance,dance, dance.  Bring friends back into your life.  Have the courage to weed out the things in life that are holding you back.  They’re just things. It’s just stuff. If you have stuff in your life that’s there to give the impression you have a life, get rid of the stuff and really live life as you want.

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Thoughts From Under A Down Comforter

It’s nice to be here, nice to be back. I’ve missed putting my thoughts out there for you to read.  Let’s hope that the stay isn’t fleeting.

* * * * * *

It’s a rainy Saturday morning and a perfect day to remain tucked under a down comforter. Cold, damp, and dreary outside but soft and warm inside.  The window above my bed is open a crack, allowing me to gaze upon the droplets clinging to the screen.  I’ve got a West Coast radio station streaming on my laptop and a cup of tea steaming on the nightstand.  My God, it feels good to have words flowing from my fingers again.

My middle-aged head has been void of ideas to expound upon.  Or perhaps my mind’s eye has seen much but has lacked the desire to truly see and share here. This place has always been safe, allowing me to release my desires and fears, my frustrations and wonderful discoveries of self, and bearing my soul to the knowing or ambivalent eyes.

* * * * * *

“Love and hope and sex and dreams/still surviving on the streets/Look at me – I’ve been shattered”  Mick and Keith at their best. True story.

* * * * * *

 Arriving home from work on Thursday after enjoying the walk home on a warm October afternoon, I discovered that my car booted.  It didn’t bother me too much; all it took to relieve my frustration was a quick “Oh, Fuck!!” and I was good to go. Eventually I realized  it meant that I had to pay those nasty back parking tickets before my car could be emancipated.  Good thing it was a pay week and I had some overtime. There’s nothing like a brisk walk downtown to city hall to hand over $120 to the treasurer, to free my car from that ugly boot. It made my day complete.

* * * * * *

I’m seeing someone.  She’s nice, fun, great sense of humour, great kisser, but…..( there’s always a BUT ) but she’s temporary.  She’s not The One.  No walking off into the sunset walking hand-in-hand, no planning for the future.  I’m not looking for an out, waiting for an opportunity to run or seeing someone on the side.  I guess the reason why I’m staying is comfort – I don’t want to be alone. Is it horrible to think like this? Does it make me a bad person to consider the relationship as temporary?  I must admit I’ve had fleeting thoughts of a brown-haired cutie, but she lives in MN.  So, that’s not happening.

Posted in Discovery, Life, Ramblings, Random Thoughts, Thoughts | 3 Comments

Thoughts While Sitting In Front of a Fan

Summer has finally arrived.  The definition of summer has nothing to do with a place on a calendar or the position of the sun in the sky.  It has to do with the temperature.  Yesterday, the temperature hit 92 degrees.  92 DEGREES!  It’s great if you like the heat. I don’t like the heat.  I dislike it even more when I have to work in the heat.  Yesterday, I helped my daughter move into her new apartment  I was a day of schlepping boxes up and down stairs, angling furniture around and through the tight corners of stairwells, and seeing the minutae of her life.  Some of these things I wished I hadn’t seen, like the foreplay card game.  That easily could’ve sent me running from the room with my eyes covered.  That could’ve gone into a covered box.

I’ve started watching reruns of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” after dinner.  I enjoy any program that has good writing.  This show had great writing and was a groundbreaking show.  A young woman moves to the big city and learns to balance career with her personal life.  Only one question:  if you are single and making a life for yourself, how in hell did you afford all those clothes?  It is television, after all.

I’ve been haunting the local used book shops for summer reading treasures.  I am accumulating books for future reading. I feel like a squirrel sometimes, hoarding books instead of nuts. My foraging has turned up some good reading – “Naked” by David Sederis (the boy is on acid, I swear); “Water for Elephants” by Sara Gruen; “Following Through – Herbert Warren Wind on Golf”;  “The Road to Somewhere” by James Dodson, and a couple Bill Bryson books “In A Sunburnt Country” and “Neither Here Nor There”.  Next week is a vacation week for me, so I hope to put a dent in this stack of books.  They are next to my bed, screaming out for me to pick them up and begin turning pages.

I have not been in a writing mode for so long thagt it will take me awhile to get back into the groove of writing on a (semi-) regular basis.  For those who may be interested, I’m doing okay.  Really.  Like the rest of the country, I’m economically challenged at the moment and that pre-occupies my thinking at times. I still rise for work at way-too-early in the morning. I am still single, unattached by choice and in no hurry to change that.

Posted in Books, Browsing, Connected, Family, Friends, Herbert Warren Wind, Life, Me, My Daughter, Ramblings, summertime, Thoughts, Uncategorized, Writing | 3 Comments