Archive for 2007

Aug 6th, Monday 2007 THE LOVE OF THE CENTURY

Tuesday, August 7th, 2007

Richard turns to me and says, “I don’t feel passion for you, anymore.”

My heart shrieks, cracks, shatters into tiny pieces and drops and flutters piece by little piece into my stomach.
What Richard has just said, I know, means he doesn’t love me, anymore.

The memory of that moment has come to me as I sit on the patio this morning drinking coffee and watching the bees do their bee business among the hollyhocks.

This sudden recall has followed a night of festering dreams about lost love.

In my revere now on the patio I am once again, lost in memories, back in time with Richard, the man who lived with me for almost five years.

He’s a handsome, younger man who dotes on me. Our relationship is hot and passionate.
However, the past two weeks have felt odd to me. Something is wrong but I am not sure what it is.
And now, Richard is telling me his passion for me has gone. It sounds as though The Passion, as a separate entity, has abruptly stood up and rushed out the door; never bothered to say it’s thinking of leaving or of saying good-bye, it’s just taken off and hiked over the foot hills and down to the sea.

I cry and sob.
Richard sits cold as marble beside me as I do some frenzied weeping.
I’m trying to take his words in. Nothing is making sense.

After an hour of crying and babbling, give or take, I turn to Richard and say, “Pack your things. You’re outta’ here.”

“Whaat?!” he says.

I help him pack. He’s numb with disbelief. Surely, I can’t mean it. I can’t just callously toss him out like this, he says.

I do mean it and I can.

“Can’t I stay here for a month or two while I look for a place to live?” he asks.

“No,” I say.

(‘Stay?’ I think, ‘and put myself through the torture of his presence? I think not!’)

I have the man I love packed and out of my house in an hour.

I allow Richard to come back a week later where he spends the day gathering up and removing all his things from my home. I make sure I’m not there. Why would I ask to be tortured more by the sight of him totally dismantling and leaving the life we had together?

Several weeks after I have quickly packed Richard off into the night, I’m in my living-room lying on my blue and yellow couch, all weak and sallow, pulling idly on strands of my hair while thinking of my loss.

The phone rings. It’s “W.” He says, “Do you know who Richard is with?”

No. I don’t.

“He’s with my wife!” “W” shouts with a wail. “He ran off with my wife!”

Ahhhh! Now, I get it. The passion didn’t take off by itself, after all. It left with my friend “Mary”!

I had introduced Richard to my friends “Mary” and “W” just two weeks before Richard’s passion for me had suddenly left.

I’m shocked and horrified now by “W’s” news but I’m also thinking, ‘Thank God I got that man out of my house! What a lot of further emotional agony I avoided.’

“W” tells me that Richard and “Mary” think they are the Lovers of the Century. They have already moved in together and have set up a cozy little condo by the bay.

“But, “Mary” doesn’t like sex,” “W” confides to me. “She had a hysterectomy and now she hates sex. She just pretends.”

Even though I am wallowing drunkenly in my grief, I am clear enough to know that this Great Love can’t last. Richard is a passionate man.

Nine months to the day of “W’s” and my conversation, I learn that The Love of the Century has indeed ended, mean and still born.

A woman friend tells me that Richard has come to see her and asks her if she thinks I will take him back.
“Don’t even ask,” she says she told him. And, she tells me she laughed as she said it.

On the patio, I’m thinking now about that time in my life. I was emotionally smacked unexpectedly and coldly by the man I trusted but, mysteriously I managed to retain my tattered dignity and keep my self respect.
I didn’t, (I reflect,) grovel and beg Richard to love me and I didn’t plead for him to stay with me and ‘work it out.’

Even in my shock and sorrow, some part of me cooly assessed the situation and murmured, ‘There’s something really wrong here. You don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t matter. Humiliating yourself before this man and begging for his love won’t change anything and why would you want a man who no longer wants you? Get rid of him now and prevent even more distress then you currently have.’

And so, I did.

Now that I am single, once again, these many years later, some friends try and convince me to go after men I might fancy.
I say, “No.”

When I meet a man who interests me, I’m willing to do a little Dance and Clap Number in front of him, but if he shows no natural interest in me, I jangle my bracelets, wave good-bye and shut my inner door.
Who wants someone who has to be convinced and fooled into appreciating you?

And who wants someone who has to be forced to stay when Love is gone?

There is always something of interest happening in this world; something fun or absorbing continuously presents itself to us for our enjoyment.
Why do we always think it has to be a man? (Or a woman, as the case may be.)

Life takes it’s natural course. Opportunities and Situations and Relationships begin…run a course… and end.

My advice to anyone who might ask, is to step into in your little Life boat and ride with Life. Enjoy the trip, but don’t suffer beyond the minimum unless you really, really want to.

August 1st, Wednesday, 2007- VENUS HAS AN ADVENTURE

Wednesday, August 1st, 2007

The concrete seminar is being held in a warehouse next to The Good Hope Cemetery and close to Shell Town. It’s not the best area I’ve ever been in, but it has it’s charms.

One of it’s charms is the fact that I’m sitting on a white plastic chair in the warehouse with about 70 well muscled men, who are also sitting in chairs, grouped around a taped off concrete floor. The men keep sneaking looks at me, fascinated, I think, by my being only one of three women in attendance and because my contractor Chuckie and I are sitting on the side of the room that has the gigantic fan.

The great whoosh! of constant, rushing air from the fan is blowing the hair on my head, straight up and sideways to my left. I can feel the giant part in my hair that the wind has opened up on the back of my skull and I know the part is highlighting the band of new growth below my old hair color.

This situation reminds me of how, when my daughter Summer was about thirteen years old, because of a little hair accident, I was letting my wild mass of hair grow out.

My hair had been dyed an atrocious brindle brown color by an inexperienced beautician and then the nervous fellow had cut the wad into the ugliest hair cut I had ever had. It was so bad that when my boyfriend of the moment, walked into my house and saw me, he collapsed against the wall and moaned.

To ‘fix’ the problem I had later dyed my hair a shocking red color that instead ran to a brittle orange. To cover that mistake, a month later, I put blonde streaks through the mess.

Finally, I realized that my only recourse was to swallow hard and let time meander on it’s slow course as my hair grew out.

One day, well into the growing out process, I am driving my little blue mustang car, happily down the road, along the coast, windows open, enjoying the ride. Summer is in the back seat.

By this time I not only have the brindle brown dog-poop colored hair, with the red and orange and blonde splotches, but I am also sporting, close to my scalp, a band of my mother’s very prematurely white hair.

I’m driving the car, breezing along with my wealth of hair blowing, snapping in the wind and parting itself with abandon, when I hear Summer shriek.

“Gads, Mother!” she is yelling, “Aren’t you embarrassed? How can you stand to look so awful?”

For some reason it doesn’t bother me to look like this. I just think, ‘If I can live with this horrid pile of various colored hair, then everybody else should be able to deal with it.’

The point I’m getting to is, at this Concrete Seminar I am now sitting in a rather similar hair situation, but this time with a much larger audience, all male. Fortunately, in this setting, unlike my daughter, no one screams their outrage and harasses me for looking poorly put together.

As it turns out, I sit in the wind for three hours, watching different beefy fellows illustrate the fine art of rolling pale green or brown paint over various slabs of concrete. Then I watch them gingerly toss various small colored paint chips over the paint, one handful of chips at a time, one at a time and very, very carefully. Then, I watch each man roll a clear sealer coat over the paint chips, very carefully. Again and again. Different men, same colors, same paint chips, same sealers.
It’s a yawner.

I’ve come to this class to get some ideas for flooring for the new patio my contractor is building for me, but after three weary and well blown hours, I lean over to Chuckie and say, “I’ve had enough of learning how to do garage floors. I’m outta’ here.”

Chuckie sighs and rubs a callused hand through his bit of blonde beard.
“To tell you the truth,” he whispers, “I’ve had enough of garage floors, myself. I’m gonna call it a day.”
So, OK the Concrete Seminar isn’t one of my more interesting and fruitful adventures, but in my life, I specialize in Adventures. I like to step outside my normal circle and have Experiences.

If your life seems kind of dull, sad or dreary, maybe you might consider having some Adventures?

If this idea makes you nervous, you can start by having small adventures, like maybe eating ice cream with eggs for breakfast or sewing yourself a nightgown strewn with spangles. Then, you can graduate to bigger things, like climbing the giant pine tree in front of the court house or learning to sing in Japanese while eating dinner at the same time.

You, as God, are here to Experience, so get out of your tiny hole of a life and make God/Yourself, happy!……….As the Beings say:“God is always happy, and God is always glad because It is always experiencing Itself.”

July 22, Sunday 2007 THE PERFECT DAY

Sunday, July 22nd, 2007

My car’s tire is almost flat.
I’m leaning over, peering at it with disbelief, while my sister Polly whimpers.

“Oh no. Oh nooo,” she’s whispering. I have to be in El Cajon at 4:30 for a hair appointment and I’ll never make it.”

“Call the woman and explain,” I say.

“I can’t remember her name,” Polly says. “I can’t remember her number and I can’t remember the name of the shop!”

“And you’re the smart one in the family,” I retort.

My sister and I have come down the mountain to buy bathroom fixtures for my house re-model. We’ve accomplished that and I’ve convinced Polly to give me about 20 minutes more at Home Expo to look at lights and mirrors.

“It’s got to be only 20 minutes,” Polly says firmly, “because you have to drive me back up the mountain to get my car for an important hair appointment.”

Well. Now here we are, an hour from home with an almost flat tire.

“I’ve got road service,” I say. “I can call them.”

Polly almost cries as she says, “I don’t have time for road service.”

Polly is not making sense. I know that with some women our hair appointments are more important then money and men, but this is silly.

“We can’t,” I say, as I shake Polly’s shoulder and look in her frantic eyes, “drive home with an almost flat tire. It’s way too far.”

We’re both groaning. What to do? What to do? Two women in a strange town and an hour from home with a bad tire.

As I lift my drooping head to look around me I can’t believe what I see. We are parked and disabled right in front of a Discount Tire Store!
How sweet is that?

I grab Polly and trot with her into the store.

Oh my gosh. There’s a long line of people waiting to have their tires attended to.

We get in line and the minutes tick off with Polly mumbling some more about how she almost took that woman’s number with her when she left with me today, and what is she going to do now?

Finally, I get to speak to a Tire Man at the counter.
His hair is black and it stands straight up in the air. I wonder how it does that.

Tire Man leads us outside to take a look at my car’s tires. Polly is filling him in about her difficulties with the time element and the hairdresser.

“You’ve got a nail in here,” Tire Man says, as he fingers the back rear tire.
“It’ll take an hour to patch it and let it dry.”

My sister almost collapses.
“I don’t have an hour,” she pleads.

Tire Man pulls a little thinger from his pocket and checks all my tires.
“They’re bald,” he says. “Lady, you’re driving on bald tires!”

My mind starts clicking. My Car Man told me three or four months ago that I would need new tires by the end of the summer. It looks like my ‘end of summer’ has come a bit early.

I start to talk price to Tire Man and how my Car Man has told me to go to Cost Co to get the best price on the kind of tires my car needs.

Tire Man assures me he will get on the computer and compare Discount Tire’s prices to Cost Co’s.

Polly is still acting badly.
“I have a terrible headache,” she tells Tire Man. “I can’t just not show up at my hairdresser’s. I told her I was desperate and she made a special appointment just for me.”

She tugs on Tire Man’s dark blue sleeve.
“Can’t we just drive home and get Venus’ tire fixed up there?”

Tire Man is horrified. “Lady! You’d have a blow-out on the freeway. Can you imagine how terrible that could be?”

“Polly,” I hiss, “he doesn’t understand about hair appointments. You’re just going to have to adjust here.”
Inside the office, Tire Man shows us the tire comps on the computer. It looks good.

“I can get you four new tires in 30 minutes,” he says.
He looks at my little white haired sister who is obviously not doing so well.
“I’ll put you ahead of all these other people who are waiting. It’s the best I can do.”

“Do it,” I say.

Eeeh gads. Another huge sum of money, but what is that compared with all the piles of ‘cash’ I’m spending on my house? I’ve become giddy with borrowed money.

Polly sits down outside the store on a concrete bench.
“My head is hurting so much,” she says, “that I can’t bear it. I need chocolate! I’m going across the street to get some.”

Twenty minutes later, she’s back. As she plops down on the bench with me, she says, “It’s weird, but my husband just called on my cell and he’s about 5 minutes from me, just driving around! He came down the mountain today he says, just to tool around. He’s going to pick me up and take me to my appointment.”

“This whole experience is weird,” I say.
“We have a flat tire right in front of the Discount Tire Store instead of having it out in nowhere or on the freeway where we could have been killed.
Then, I had been planning to take the car down the mountain in a month or so for new tires and that would have meant waiting for hours while the place got around to putting them on the car. Instead, look at this, I get our lives saved, get new tires and it’s all done practically instantly and it’s cheaper. It’s perfect.”

I glance at my car which has just been lowered on the rack.

“See you later,” I say, as I go inside the office to inquire about getting my car.

“I think my car is ready,” I tell one of the Tire Men at the counter. “Should I just go outside and wait for it?”

“Sure,” the Tire Man says.

“Or,” a good looking young guy standing by the far counter calls out to me, “just come over here and wait by me!”
He grins, showing his perfect white teeth as he looks me up and down. He shakes his head ‘yes!’ and winks.

Eeek. I have indeed just had a Perfect Day!

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