she's just saying...

End-ing Up

I was playing a game with a friend the other day, and he asked: "What was the most fun day of your life?" It wasn't a day, but an entire weekend, the one when I turned 50.

After the usual backing out, reconsidering and re-making of plans, Neighbor X and I flew to San Francisco. A friend of his ran a grand old hotel there and upgraded us into a lovely room with a stunning bath (the crucial part of any hotel room). We got there in the evening and got ready to hit the town.

Our destination was the legendary End Up, a dance club/bar/garden/lounge scene. It was Gay Night and we got there in time for a silly transvestite performance that set the tone. They were pumping fresh air into the dance floor filled with hot shirtless guys dancing to deep house thumps and disco remixes. The dance floor and lounge opened onto a garden patio with private areas, twinkly lights, tropical plants and fountains, very magical in the early morning hours.

We hung out for awhile with a bunch of little gay asian guys who were funny and sweet. Everyone kept asking us "Where are you from?" (I guess our fleece jackets gave us away)

and "Are you having fun?" Later on, the after-hours crowd started coming in, more hetero but still cool. The party went all night and picked up more steam early Saturday morning when a drummer came in to accompany the house d.j.  At one point they stopped serving alcohol for an hour or so with no visible decline in the happy level for reasons I needn't explain. It was a fun, friendly, exhilarating scene.

We danced, drank and visited til sometime the next morning, left the still-pumping party, took off with some new best friends and hung out at our hotel. We had plans that evening to go out for dinner, but never made it. We relaxed with room service, long baths and a movie.

The next day we drove to Calistoga, touring wineries along the way. Schramsberg had a champagne cave built into a hill, very romantic, where we toasted to my birthday with some other guests.

Opus One had all that is Opus One. Classic elegance and classic wine.

We ended the weekend in with mud baths, champagne, shopping, wonderful lunches and a picnic in the vineyards.

Once home, we went back to the frustrating dance of attraction and separation, never to change.

I've moved on from that relationship; still, I keep the memory of that wonderful weekend and take it out now and then to savor.

So, think about it -- what is your favorite weekend/day/night memory?  Is it one you can share?

Why I love baseball, part 15

The Baltimore Orioles, the absolute worst team in baseball, really stink. They have a .315 record, which means they've lost so many more games than they've won this year. 29 games won, 63 games lost. Pathetic.

They played the Tampa Bay Rays last night. It went to 10-10 into the thirteen inning, with the Orioles finally winning it very nicely on an RBI from Julio Lugo. (Remember him? Uneven shortstop kicked out by everyone including the Red Sox.)

Anyway, it helps that I'm happy to see Tampa Bay lose, especially on a night when the Yankees and Red Sox lost. But you don't need to care about the standings to enjoy a victory like the Orioles had last night. Whoo hoo! Thirty wins! And it's not even August yet!

Meanwhile, Carl Crawford left the game with a "testicular contusion." Reminds me of a story about my freshman boyfriend in college. After a lovely evening early in our dating relationship, we said goodnight and parted until breakfast. He never showed up the next morning and his roommate told me he ended up in the infirmary late that night with a malady we will not discuss further here. Ouch. Never mind. Back to baseball. Play ball!

Oooh, that Jim Palmer! Now there's an Oriole!

Ten Hints for Dating Melissa

As a public service to a would-be suitor, here are ten tips to get our relationship off to a successful start:

1. Love my son but don't try to be dad yet
2. Think my cats and dog are cute (or fake it convincingly)
3. Read my blog faithfully
4. Be patient with my total lack of biking skillz
5. Tolerate my knitting obsession
6. Cheerfully offer a bite of whatever you're eating
7. Never cheer for the Yankees
8. Praise my cooking publicly
9. Offer to mow the lawn (and mean it)
10. Don't ever say the following:

"I always pictured myself with a taller, thinner girl" or

"I hope I meet someone just like you, only younger."

There! That's not so hard, is it? We're going to get along just fine!

Can this blog be saved?

What, you've given up on me and stopped reading? Okay, I admit, I've been a bit distant lately - maybe it's my fault. Let's try again! I know we can get back on track. How can we work this out? Or is it too late for us?

This is a two-way relationship, you know. You're all just take, take, take. You could step up here and fill in for me - that's what friends do, right?  Are you incapable of picking up the keyboard and doing a little post now and then? Am I asking so much?

Sorry, you're right; it's me, not you. I'm just so unmotivated lately. Maybe I need vitamins. I don't know, it's all just so much sometimes. It's just that you expect so much from me -- I've got a lot on my plate, you know. I could just use a little support.

No, no, I know you support me. I love it when you comment - it makes me feel so loved. You're really good to me, really. You do so much. I hope you know how much I appreciate you. You're the best.

But really, why is it all on me? Yes, yes, I know it's my blog and you shouldn't be expected to do my work. You have your own blogs to manage, I realize. But, really, aren't we a partnership? I know I'd help you in the same situation. I don't want to play the blame game. I'm not blaming you, really. I'm sure you mean well.

You know, let's just drop it. We're both a little upset right now. Maybe we need a little time apart. Or maybe we just need to spend a little more time together, just enjoying each others' company with no expectations. But of course, somebody's got to post around here. I mean, this blog isn't going to just take care of itself. Fine. I'll do it. No, it's fine, really. It's no problem. I'd love to. I do it all for you, you know. It's the least I can do. Love ya', mean it!

Mexican calendar girls, irony and my ex-boyfriend

I ran across this cool book while searching for a new calendar, and was reminded of an incident from my not-so-distant past.

My BigBro lives in Austin, Texas (don't get him started, please), and a few years ago sent me a calendar from his local diner that featured an illustration of a buxom Mexican beauty with straps of bullets across her chest and a gun slung on her back.

I thought it was lovely and generously thought it would be a great gift for my boyfriend at the time. (Yes, that one.)  I gave it to him for Christmas and waited for the appreciative response. He opened it, looked at me blankly and said: "Why would you think I'd want this cheesy calendar?"

I should have sensed at that point that we weren't made for each other. What I saw as an ironic, iconic, folk-artsy hip piece of Tex-Mex Americana, he saw as a cheesy calendar. Which, to be fair, it was. But that wasn't the point.

Well, never mind. I wish I'd kept it. So, hey, Steve, send me another one!

It's your birthday! Take another vicodin!

I can pinpoint the moment birthdays ceased to be exciting. November 13, 2007, when I turned 51.

My fiftieth was fantastic, actually: an all-nighter at a club in San Francisco followed by a tour of the wine country from a little inn in Calistoga. My (younger) boyfriend didn't freak out about my turning fifty (at least not that weekend) and my gal pals took me out for a wonderful dinner and celebration.

51 was unmemorable - I think Henry and I went to Red Robin. And last year on my 52nd I had a migraine and went to bed.

That brings us to this year. It started with an argument and tears about homework (Henry cried too). My eye is blood-filled (sorry), swollen and bruised and I'm spending the rest of the day in bed. Don't worry, I'm not alone: my cats and dog are happily lying on top of me.

But it's really not all bad. A friend came by with flowers, and she and other friends are bringing over dinner tonight. My facebook wall and blog comments are filled with best wishes, another compelling example of the power of social media. And best of all, the entire nursing and office staff at my eye doctor's entered the exam room this morning, sang Happy Birthday and presented me with a brownie and candle.

As my sweet doc said: "We feel like you're part of the family." Hmmm... Is that a good thing?

Potatoes? For me? You shouldn't have!

A social caterpillar

I remember a time when I went out every night. Actually it was many times. I remember thinking if I stopped wanting to go to a club my life would be pretty much over. This was when I was in Boston, or NYC, or maybe LA, where that's what you did. Well, those days are long over, though my life seems not to be. So over, in fact, that I can't remember the last time I went to anything resembling a club. (Well, yes I can but that's another story.)

I don't even go out to dinner or drinks any more. Maybe once a month? That used to be a couple-times-a-week kind of thing. Much of that has to do with being single, as in solo. That may be the second thing I miss most about being in a relationship.

This is how I socialize these days: I stay home. Friends come by, usually one or two at a time. My single and even a few married friends love to hang out and drink wine while I cook, eat a grazing meal of cheese, olives, bread, apples and whatever odd sauce or chutney I have in the fridge, chat, watch a ball game or knit or just read the paper in each other's company. This happens several afternoons and nights a week. I like it because I don't have to go anywhere and I can keep some semblance of control over Henry. They like it for the family energy, the nurturing, the wine and of course my company.

I do get antsy, especially around Friday or Saturday early in the evening, when a change of venue would be welcome. But I love my compound, summer or winter, and I love to entertain casually, so it's all pretty good. This is how I've matured: I now know that going-out opportunities will come again, so I'm content to enjoy what I have right now. But I do have some wild memories of late late nights at dark loud clubs. I'd do it again, for sure.

Beestung

Clearly, the universe did not want me to go up to Portland.

First I developed a sinus staph infection (a mere 3" away from my eye as the nurse said), then Henry woke up with pinkeye (can't operate with conjunctivitis in the house), and then, just now, I was stung by bees, one spot of which is a half inch from the operation eye, which has reddened and swollen up prettily.

OK, I get it! Bad idea sliding down into the Neighbor X tarpit! But don't you think the bee was a little overkill?? Sheesh.

(For those who didn't know, I was going to stay at his place in Portland (conveniently 5 blocks from the hospital); I stayed there for the pre-op appointment, we're communicating again and...)

Thank the gods, the goddess, Shiva, the heavens, my angels, a Bodhisattva, the universal spirit, whatever. I got the message. Really. I did cancel the flight, even after a (lukewarm) invitation to come up anyway.

When we're weak, the universe supports us and shows us the way. We just have to listen.

 But really, there's no need to send bees.

Screwy

Back in the wonderful state of Oregon, but not much else to say. I can't face recounting our endless travel saga, and vacation was vacationy: eating, drinking, reading, family and hanging around the pool. Very pleasant -- too bad we have to travel two days to experience it.

The X-man dropped by for a visit yesterday and was pressed into fixing stuff. It's so nice to have a man around the house and all that. This photo is from that effort.

And the day got screwier from there.

In memory on Memorial Day

I'd like to share this again with you. This is a repeat of last year's post, updated for the anniversary date.

Jay Zemotel, Fairbanks, 1978

I didn't realize til just this moment that it is May 25, the 24th 25th anniversary of my husband's suicide. What a long time ago that seems. Truly another world, another lifetime.

Jay was a bluegrass guitar player and singer from Boston. He and his friends had a band that was very popular in Fairbanks, the town we lived in in the late 70's. When we met, it was love (or something like it) at first sight. He was wild and smart, funny and fatalistic. He did everything to the extreme: music, motorcycles, drugs, alcohol, love. He had a ponytail and a crazy dog and I thought he was everything I'd never experienced. I was a sheltered, suburban, private-college girl and he was the real world. He could walk into any bar and be at home. At the time that seemed like something.

I grew up during our short time together. Learning to live as a couple, on my own truly for the first time, trying to mesh very different backgrounds and values. There was love, fighting, fear and finally awareness. I was in way over my head and was going to drown with him or remove myself from that quicksand. Before the divorce was final, he succeeded too well at one of his occasional attempts at suicide, something I still believe he didn't mean to do.

For years I couldn't listen to a certain type of bluegrass without crying. Now it brings me closer to him. I have nothing left of our life together except some photos, and the only people I know who remember him are my family. He lived hard, tried to be happy, and loved me the best he could. I remember you, Jay, and you live on in my heart.

Old relationships never die...

Maybe the best way to end something is to not end it at all, but just let it fade away, as the old song goes.

We so much want "closure" in this world. The last scene, a final act, the curtain drops, the lights go out, it's over now. But maybe that's not the way the natural world works. Instead, that "finality" is actually an artificial construct, a directed vision of how we think things should end.

Often when we speak of closure, we really mean another chance to interact. Often, closure just gives us the opportunity to open things again. We're still feeding the beast.

To allow things to just wind down and peter out seems weak, indecisive. But it is an action, and possibly the most final one you can make.

I'm not sure. I'm just saying.

Lucinda Williams says it best

I'm learning how to live without you in my life

I'll take the best of what you had to give
I'll make the most of what you left me with

I'm learning how to live

They say the best is still yet to come
but the taste of you is still on my tongue

I can't forget and I won't even try
to erase your image and the way you made me cry

I'm learning how to live

All I have left is this dimestore ring
But I wouldn't trade it for anything
The days ahead will never be the same
For you I might have even changed my name

I'm learning how to live without you in my life

click to play

The Dis in Dysfunctional

OK, class. Here is your final quiz in "The Theory and Practice of Human Relations."

Consider the following scenario:

A woman spends a pleasant evening watching a movie. She reads in bed and goes to sleep around 11:00 pm. At 1:30 am, an inebriated man stumbles into her bedroom, takes off his clothes and passes out on her bed. The next morning, he wakes at 7:45 am, realizes he planned to go snowboarding at 8 am, and stumbles out again.

1.  What is the woman most upset about?

a. That a drunken man passed out in her bed.
b. That she wasn't included in the drinking.
c. That this is her last memory of spending the night with him.
d. That he left as soon as he woke up.
e. All of the above.
f. Nothing - why should she be upset?

2. What action does the man take?

a. Shows up at her door with flowers.
b. Calls her a few hours later and apologizes briefly.
c. Texts her an invitation to dinner.
d. Gets irritated with her for being upset.
e. b, c and d.

3.What is the predicted outcome of this situation?

a. She never speaks to him again.
b. They go to dinner and declare their love for each other.
c. He leaves town with the relationship unresolved.
d. Her blog readers decide she's an idiot and stop reading.

As The Neighborhood Turns..., brought to you by this blog.

For those who don't want to hear about the ongoing saga of Neighbor X, stop reading now. You know who you are, and you've been warned. Don't give me any grief.

For the rest of you, our story so far. In our last episode, N.X. had just informed Melissa that he was moving to Portland, a lovely city 3 1/2 hours away, on Monday the 16th. He then wanted to discuss how the relationship would move forward until he left. She wisely decided to have no more contact, since there was no future to the relationship being offered.

Well, those of you who've been reading along can guess where this led. We're now seeing each other daily, having wonderful meals and wine and talks and sweet private interludes. It's been lovely and loving and light. The clock is ticking though, and emotions are starting to build up. Or break down, in my case.

Five days and counting. I'll let you know.

I'll bet you think this post is about you

In the face of my big sister's disapproval, I must admit that Neighbor X and I slid back into seeing each other again for the twentieth time a few weeks ago. Just dinners, wine and closeness, all very nice. I enjoyed being courted and felt content to not define it, just enjoy my best friend.

Then last Monday after my knitting retreat he invited himself up for dinner and told me he was moving to Portland. (In an odd coincidence, he told me the exact same thing exactly a year ago after I returned from my knitting weekend then. Either Valentine's Day, my knitting or February in general seems to trigger this reaction. Hmm.) He then wanted to talk about how we were going to move forward in the six weeks or so before he left.

It was clear to me that "we" weren't going anywhere, so what would be the point of continuing to see him other than the thrill of masochistic pain, which contrary to the evidence I'm not actually into. So, no contact seemed appropriate.

We've had the ritual last phone call and last email, the porch-to-porch exchange of Tupperware, and the careful avoidance of the mailbox at key times. We've done this so often that it's not even ludicrous anymore, it's just routine. (Getting back together is never routine, though, which is why we kept doing it.) Now I'm waiting for him to leave, and looking forward to spring and a return to the garden.

Speaking of the garden, the trees and plants have once again been fooled by our February thaw into thinking that spring is near. They're budding and sending up shoots, lulled into life by the recent warmth and soft rain. They don't seem to recognize the false spring or know that hard winter will return again with snow and ice in March.

I'm irritated and saddened by their naivete, as inevitably they'll get frost-burned and come up all stunted in April. You'd think by now they'd learn to wait for the real thing. I don't get it.

The Audacity of [giving up] Hope*

*With apologies to B.H.O.

My friends and readers know that I've been in a relationship (supposedly over) for the last four years that has at its basis the understanding that it has no future. Nonetheless, I've been hoping for a different outcome all this time. This post is about giving up that hope.

The phrase "giving up hope" usually has a negative connotation. It's a surrender, a failure.  But today I suddenly saw it as an affirmation. For me, it's the acceptance of the present, the act of choosing reality over an ephemeral possibility.

In what state would I rather exist: wishing, waiting, worrying, wondering whether something might occur, or deciding that I like the way things are without it?

This doesn't mean that I don't still want it.  If the rat chooses not to push the lever that may deliver a shock in order to get the treat at the end, it doesn't mean he doesn't still want the treat. (And it doesn't mean I feel like a rat, though I might empathize with him.) I don't know how to consciously change a desire, and I'm realizing that that is not the best use of my energy.

That was where my thinking was faulty. I thought I needed to not want to be with him, and was despairing of ever not caring. But it's that I needed to choose to give up the hope that we'd work things out. The anxiety is gone now. I'm not giving up, I'm choosing to accept the present (without him in my life) and enjoying that peace.

OK, for those of you with a short attention span or no time, you can stop reading here. For those who would like to meditate on this further, here's a better writer than me about it.

          Pema Chodron, the Buddhist nun and teacher, puts it this way:

"The first noble truth of the Buddha is that when we feel suffering, it doesn't mean that something is wrong.  What a relief.  Finally somebody told the truth.  Suffering is part of life, and we don't have to feel it's happening because we personally made the wrong move.  In reality, however, when we feel suffering, we think that something is wrong.  As long as we're addicted to hope, we feel that we can tone our experience down or liven it up or change it somehow, and we continue to suffer a lot.
         The word in Tibetan for hope is rewa; the word for fear is dokpa.  More commonly, the word re-dok is used, which combines the two.  Hope and fear is a feeling with two sides.  As long as there ís one, there ís always the other.  This re-dok is the root of our pain.  In the world of hope and fear, we always have to change the channel, change the temperature, change the music, because something is getting uneasy, something is getting restless, something is beginning to hurt, and we keep looking for alternatives.
         In a nontheistic state of mind, abandoning hope is an affirmation, the beginning of the beginning.  You could even put "Abandon hope" on your refrigerator door instead of more conventional aspirations like "Every day in every way I'm getting better and better."
         Hope and fear come from feeling that we lack something;  they come from a sense of  poverty.  We can't simply relax with ourselves.  We hold on to hope, and hope robs us of the present moment.  We feel that someone else knows what ís going on, but that there ís something missing in us, and therefore something is lacking in our world."

And finally, she writes:

"When we talk about hopelessness and death, we're talking about facing the facts.  No escapism.  We may still have addictions of all kinds, but we cease to believe in them as a gateway to happiness.  So many times we've indulged the short-term pleasure of addiction.  We've done it so many times that know that grasping at this hope is a source of misery that makes a short-term pleasure a long-term hell.
         Giving up hope is encouragement to stick with yourself, to make friends with yourself, to not run away from yourself, to return to the bare bones, no matter what's going on. [my emphasis]  Fear of death is the background of the whole thing.  It's why we feel restless, why we panic, why there's anxiety.  But if we totally experience hopelessness, giving up all hope of alternatives to the present moment, we can have a joyful relationship with our lives, an honest, direct relationship, one that no longer ignores the reality of impermanence and death."

 Excerpted from When Things Fall Apart:  Heart Advice for Difficult Times, by Pema Chodron

 

A special bottle

  Last night, Neighbor X and I shared a special bottle from his "library" to celebrate the inauguration. (Wine snob alert, but he really isn't. He just collects great wine.) He made me a wonderful dinner to go along with it, and we had a pleasant and warm evening just enjoying each others company again.

I know, I know, everyone's alarms are going off.  It's ok, I'm fine, and I appreciate your concern. But it felt like the right time to take that step, and it turned out to be.

It was a healing experience, as they say. What I always appreciated about him is all still there. I'm certainly not ready to be his buddy -- as I told him four years ago, I don't need another buddy. But he holds a special place in my heart and my life, and I want to be able to think of him in a positive light, and let the bitterness dissolve.

It's all about change for the better, right? Slowly and carefully, tempering hope with realistic expectations, finding our way along to a better place. Here's to our new president, and a time of healing and growth. Cheers.

Top Ten: Year in Review edition

You know the purported Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times." This has been an interesting year, both globally and personally. Because this blog is ALL ABOUT ME, here is a top ten list of interesting things that happened in my life this year. (in chronological order - I'm not about to rank them!)

1. I started the Bend Knit-Up, which grew from six people to over a hundred in a year.

2. My dad turned 90, and we all celebrated together in NC and everyone got along.

3. AT&T bought Edge Wireless, and we no longer had any work, though we still had jobs.

4. Neighbor X and I broke up, got together, and finally broke up.

5. I taught myself the whole blogging thing, that which you are reading at this instant.

6. Henry and I went back east for a family trip and went to Fenway. Go Sox!

7. We were finally released from AT&T, though were still paid, allowing me a summer off.

8. I spent the summer off shoveling dirt and hauling rocks for my waterfall.

9. I got a new job at the High Desert Museum - yay! and patted a badger.

10. My dad broke his hip and I flew back east for the third time.

What were your interesting times?

The secret to time travel

I've discovered how to instantly travel through time, both past and future. Visit your parents. 

Alone with my parents, with no siblings or children to anchor me in the present, I became the lonely eleven-year-old again, or a self-conscious fourteen, or maybe a sullen sixteen, trailing along after my mother, carrying grocery bags of stuff and sighing deeply. My parents reminisce about some cute (embarrassing) thing I did when I was ten, my dad says I'm a good little nurse, my mom gives me chores. They even call me by my childhood nickname (which I despise).

Then, suddenly, I'm the adult caretaker. Clearing up the AT&T bill, fixing the answering machine, driving everywhere, showing my mom how to use the cellphone, cooking meals and cleaning up. 

Seeing my father in a nursing home (for his rehab) was a shock: sort of a ghost of a possible Christmas future. I wondered how he felt: completely lucid and healthy, surrounded by his age cohort but not of them in a way, but unable to leave. Good motivation to get through rehab and get back home. 

All in all, an unsettling trip, reminding me to appreciate the present time once again.

A pensee about birthdays

Today is Neighbor X's 36th birthday. We've been hanging out since just before his 32nd. (Yes, he's very young. And your point is?)

I realized tonight, while missing his party, that we never actually spent his birthday together. Hmmm. Tells you something, I guess, especially in hindsight.

His 32nd happened when we were in the flirting stage. I bought him a latte and muffin and left it by his front door in the morning. The next year when we were finally a couple, he was in Spain for six months. His birthday consisted of an elaborately bungled mail-order sweater and a loving phone call on my part, some sort of debauchery in Barcelona on his. Two years ago, we broke up a week or two before the date. I remember throwing him his present, a racquetball bag, during the scene. He still uses the bag.

Last year, we were once again on the outs, and he had a party at his place without me. That day I left him a bag of homemade marinara sauce, pasta, Italian wine and Parmesan. We got back together two weeks later on my birthday and made it through Christmas, not quite making it to the New Year's finish line.

This year, we talked about being together and an invitation was floated, but I couldn't ignore the reality that nothing had changed and that it was an empty offer.

I like key recurring dates and holidays. I use them to look back, to try to make some sense of my chaotic life. What was I doing and feeling two years ago, ten years ago, twenty? I like to identify some ways I've changed, and use that to affirm that I'm learning and growing. I hate to think that I'm knowingly repeating the same mistakes.

So tonight, I can say that I've broken out of the pain cycle of the last four years, and, sadder but wiser, am moving on. I trust that that knowledge will be enough to keep me moving forward to a better, healthier place. I may never experience those highs again, but I now understand that they're truly not worth the lows that came with.