Monday, April 11, 2011
Freedom
Doubt was nothing new to him, he had lived with it every day. Felt it from the inside, outside, every side. He felt it in every look, and in every word. It was like a constant, weighty companion, dragging him down like an anchor. To Truman, it often felt like it would cause him to drown and then one day, it did. The doubt became so powerful, so constant, so overwhelming he finally gave in to the weight, letting it pull him down, down, down. Down to the deliciously depressing depths he never knew existed. Deeper. Darker. And silent. That was what he noticed. The cool, calm silence, all alone there in the darkness. It had been a gradual thing but it dawned on Truman suddenly. The inky black silence. He drank it in, enjoying the calm, the peace, the utter lack of stimulus. It was liberating really. He had been fighting so long he hadn't realized how tired and weary he had grown. But this, this was freedom! Truman had not given in so much as he had come to a place of mere acceptance, and that in itself was the turning point. Letting himself soak in this void had allowed him to let go. He let go of his own doubt, he let go of his own fear, he let go of the bitter loathing that had taken over everything. The realization struck him as he noticed his own pulse pounding, feeling and hearing it course through every vein in his body. He was alive! And he liked it. The darkness and silence were still out there, but no longer a part of him. Truman felt light and music radiating from within, rippling outward through the depths, pulsing from his soul, and rippling through the emptiness and filling it with joy. Sensation now returning, he felt himself hurtling forward, outward, upward, elevated by the freedom he never knew he was missing. Up through the depths, breaking through the surface, Truman soared faster and higher out beyond the atmosphere, still fueled by the doubts of others, but now mixed with his inner freedom, his heart burst into a galaxy of stars. Stars in the darkness.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
If I had a band...
Being a lover of music as well as a failed musician, I've always been one of those people who had the desire but lacked the ability to be in a band. And like many others of the same ilk, I often think "Man, __________ would be a great name for my band....if I had one."
So...here goes
Popple Dungeon-My all time favorite-this name is from a back road/general area where I grew up in Chester, VT. I always it thought sounded cool, even as a kid. It would definitely have to be a heavy duty type of band-Zeppelin like.
Wild Tangents-inspired by my own rambling posts! could be a folk group, could be a spandex wearin', 80's type Hair band
Smokestack-for a reggae group or maybe metal (Smokestaq?)
Three Blind Mice-An acoustic duo (get it? duo is two and three is... never mind...)
Doctor Funkenstein and the Electric Hectic Mayhem-pretty self explanatory
Dark Hollow-an actual band from the late 80's Burlington, VT scene, doing (surprise!) Grateful Dead covers-still, I always loved the name (and the song). There is an endless supply of great names from the Dead's song titles and lyrics but I'll stop with just the one favorite.
Slippery-a Dave Matthews type jam band-maybe Slippery Slope
Brass Knuckles-a solo heavy metal artist backed by The Fuck You Orchestra-can you hear it? Knuckle-heads unite!
Ganglia-more metal
Pussyfoot-It sounded vaguely familiar so I checked it out-turns out it's already taken-Not sure what I had in mind but this was definitely not it-give a listen to the original Pussyfoot
Oh-na-na, Hi-ya, Oh-na-na, Hi-ya, Hi-ya! Pretty funny stuff! She's a 70's disco hottie that was a hit in Australia (no surprise considering Olivia Newton John, the Bee Gees and ABBA all being so popular there as well)
Feel free to submit your favorites
Peace to the Planet....
(hmmm... that could work as a name for a band too..)
So...here goes
Popple Dungeon-My all time favorite-this name is from a back road/general area where I grew up in Chester, VT. I always it thought sounded cool, even as a kid. It would definitely have to be a heavy duty type of band-Zeppelin like.
Wild Tangents-inspired by my own rambling posts! could be a folk group, could be a spandex wearin', 80's type Hair band
Smokestack-for a reggae group or maybe metal (Smokestaq?)
Three Blind Mice-An acoustic duo (get it? duo is two and three is... never mind...)
Doctor Funkenstein and the Electric Hectic Mayhem-pretty self explanatory
Dark Hollow-an actual band from the late 80's Burlington, VT scene, doing (surprise!) Grateful Dead covers-still, I always loved the name (and the song). There is an endless supply of great names from the Dead's song titles and lyrics but I'll stop with just the one favorite.
Slippery-a Dave Matthews type jam band-maybe Slippery Slope
Brass Knuckles-a solo heavy metal artist backed by The Fuck You Orchestra-can you hear it? Knuckle-heads unite!
Ganglia-more metal
Pussyfoot-It sounded vaguely familiar so I checked it out-turns out it's already taken-Not sure what I had in mind but this was definitely not it-give a listen to the original Pussyfoot
Oh-na-na, Hi-ya, Oh-na-na, Hi-ya, Hi-ya! Pretty funny stuff! She's a 70's disco hottie that was a hit in Australia (no surprise considering Olivia Newton John, the Bee Gees and ABBA all being so popular there as well)
Feel free to submit your favorites
Peace to the Planet....
(hmmm... that could work as a name for a band too..)
Monday, April 4, 2011
The ex's Hex from Texas
I've always been a sucker for good (or any) alliteration*, and this phrase kept coming to mind this weekend.
As previously noted, my ex is much further along in the process of moving forward than I am. As in- she had a boyfriend (the Hex from Texas-let's just call him Hex) before I had moved out of the house she and I shared. Painful. (By the way, it's true, everything IS bigger in Texas-even assholes as it turns out!) So in the meantime I've been dealing with the shock, jealousy and pain of this and the subsequent divorce. A year later now, I feel like I may be starting to get my feet under me, although a little wobbly still. In other words it doesn't take much to knock me down, emotionally speaking.
So why was this alliterative phrase coming to mind this weekend? Well, because Hex came for the weekend. The ex and Hex have been maintaining a long distance relationship for (at least) the past year. This must take a lot of work, I think to myself, if only she had worked this hard on our relationship! (Irony and alliteration in one post-stay tuned folks!) No, this is not the ex's and the Hex's first visit-she's been to Texas several times and he's been here several times as well-including enjoying Thanksgiving dinner here, in my old home, with my old wife, AND with MY KIDS! More pain!. (I have much to be thankful for but this was a particularly trying Thanksgiving for me.) Like salt in the wound, you know? (Oooh-now we've got a simile and a cliche in one sentence!) But it is always worse when he visits here-it's in my face, on my turf (this is the town I grew up in), in my old home, in my old bed etc. The last time Hex showed up, the ex actually asked if she could take the kids (during my time with them) so that they could have some (bonding!) time with Hex. (Yup-she's got a pair-eh?)
I'll give the ex credit- at least she let me know Hex was going to be around, showing me much appreciated consideration (sarcasm? check!). Seriously, at least I was prepared (by that I mean obsessively overwrought with anguish) so that when I went to pick up the kids for the weekend I wouldn't be caught off guard by my first face to face with Hex.
What I wasn't prepared for was more salt in the wound coming from my six year old son (unintentional, of course-he's blissfully self centered [age appropriate-I like to think] and unaware of much about the divorce other than Mom and Dad now live apart.) I'm pretty sure my son loves me (insecure sarcasm? check!) but he is definitely a Mama's boy, always was. So naturally, when leaving for his time with me, this makes saying goodbye to Mom hard (on all three of us). He's fine when the transition is a pick up at school. He loves his time with me and certainly doesn't spend it pining for Mom or even asking to call etc. But it's definitely, and infinitely more difficult when I have to take him from her, and even worse still when this happens at her place (the only home he's ever known until I got my apartment). So I was prepared for some of the usual difficulties when this situation arose this weekend. And I was prepared for the uncomfortable nature of the Hex's mere presence. But, what I was not prepared for was my son begging to stay with Mom so he could be with Hex! OUCH! This was a different kind of pain, a different kind of jealousy. Damn, the ego does take a beating....
Luckily I had a secret weapon-Dunkin' Donuts! (as I said, I was prepared for the usual stuff-thankfully it worked for the unexpected stuff also) Yes, the lure of Dunkin' Donuts (America runs on Dunkin'....it's true!) did the trick, we left without tears from him and without further embarrassment and ego bruising for me. Not only did the donuts smooth the transition for my son, but they had the unexpected and pleasant benefit of being a bit of salve to my own, lightly salted, wounds. (Pun? not exactly, but I tried...a play between two cliches maybe?)
As the great philosopher, Homer, once said "Mmmmmm, donuts!"
(There we go! Pun? Check!)
So while not quite having it all, this post did have a heaping helping, including; alliteration, irony, simile (no metaphor-dang it!) cliche, sarcasm, puns and even a moral (be prepared!) Now if I could only figure out how to get the e in cliche to have the proper accent (acute, not grave, I believe, although I always thought my French teacher Mme. Marquis was said it with a "G" like accent a-goo. Now thinking I should change the name of the blog to "Wild Tangents"-just a thought....(would also make a great name for a band!)
Peace to the Planet....
*I'm going with this definition of alliteration-thank you dictionary.com
the commencement of two or more stressed syllables of a word group either with the same consonant sound or soundgroup (consonantal alliteration)
As previously noted, my ex is much further along in the process of moving forward than I am. As in- she had a boyfriend (the Hex from Texas-let's just call him Hex) before I had moved out of the house she and I shared. Painful. (By the way, it's true, everything IS bigger in Texas-even assholes as it turns out!) So in the meantime I've been dealing with the shock, jealousy and pain of this and the subsequent divorce. A year later now, I feel like I may be starting to get my feet under me, although a little wobbly still. In other words it doesn't take much to knock me down, emotionally speaking.
So why was this alliterative phrase coming to mind this weekend? Well, because Hex came for the weekend. The ex and Hex have been maintaining a long distance relationship for (at least) the past year. This must take a lot of work, I think to myself, if only she had worked this hard on our relationship! (Irony and alliteration in one post-stay tuned folks!) No, this is not the ex's and the Hex's first visit-she's been to Texas several times and he's been here several times as well-including enjoying Thanksgiving dinner here, in my old home, with my old wife, AND with MY KIDS! More pain!. (I have much to be thankful for but this was a particularly trying Thanksgiving for me.) Like salt in the wound, you know? (Oooh-now we've got a simile and a cliche in one sentence!) But it is always worse when he visits here-it's in my face, on my turf (this is the town I grew up in), in my old home, in my old bed etc. The last time Hex showed up, the ex actually asked if she could take the kids (during my time with them) so that they could have some (bonding!) time with Hex. (Yup-she's got a pair-eh?)
I'll give the ex credit- at least she let me know Hex was going to be around, showing me much appreciated consideration (sarcasm? check!). Seriously, at least I was prepared (by that I mean obsessively overwrought with anguish) so that when I went to pick up the kids for the weekend I wouldn't be caught off guard by my first face to face with Hex.
What I wasn't prepared for was more salt in the wound coming from my six year old son (unintentional, of course-he's blissfully self centered [age appropriate-I like to think] and unaware of much about the divorce other than Mom and Dad now live apart.) I'm pretty sure my son loves me (insecure sarcasm? check!) but he is definitely a Mama's boy, always was. So naturally, when leaving for his time with me, this makes saying goodbye to Mom hard (on all three of us). He's fine when the transition is a pick up at school. He loves his time with me and certainly doesn't spend it pining for Mom or even asking to call etc. But it's definitely, and infinitely more difficult when I have to take him from her, and even worse still when this happens at her place (the only home he's ever known until I got my apartment). So I was prepared for some of the usual difficulties when this situation arose this weekend. And I was prepared for the uncomfortable nature of the Hex's mere presence. But, what I was not prepared for was my son begging to stay with Mom so he could be with Hex! OUCH! This was a different kind of pain, a different kind of jealousy. Damn, the ego does take a beating....
Luckily I had a secret weapon-Dunkin' Donuts! (as I said, I was prepared for the usual stuff-thankfully it worked for the unexpected stuff also) Yes, the lure of Dunkin' Donuts (America runs on Dunkin'....it's true!) did the trick, we left without tears from him and without further embarrassment and ego bruising for me. Not only did the donuts smooth the transition for my son, but they had the unexpected and pleasant benefit of being a bit of salve to my own, lightly salted, wounds. (Pun? not exactly, but I tried...a play between two cliches maybe?)
As the great philosopher, Homer, once said "Mmmmmm, donuts!"
(There we go! Pun? Check!)
So while not quite having it all, this post did have a heaping helping, including; alliteration, irony, simile (no metaphor-dang it!) cliche, sarcasm, puns and even a moral (be prepared!) Now if I could only figure out how to get the e in cliche to have the proper accent (acute, not grave, I believe, although I always thought my French teacher Mme. Marquis was said it with a "G" like accent a-goo. Now thinking I should change the name of the blog to "Wild Tangents"-just a thought....(would also make a great name for a band!)
Peace to the Planet....
*I'm going with this definition of alliteration-thank you dictionary.com
the commencement of two or more stressed syllables of a word group either with the same consonant sound or soundgroup (consonantal alliteration)
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Beautiful Boy- a (very) short story
She stood in line at the grocery store, mesmerized by the boy in front of her. He was about nine or ten, with dark, short cropped hair complemented by eyes of the deepest blue and perfect smooth skin somewhere between mocha and olive. Too young to be called handsome, she settled on beautiful; a beautiful boy...
Captivated, she couldn't help but stare. She watched him contemplate and agonize over his choice of candy bar and, after deciding at last (a Snickers), she chuckled to herself as he sneaked it onto the conveyor with his mother's groceries. Upon noticing the candy bar, his very ordinary looking mother sighed, remembering the bribe she had offered in the car before entering the store. Even still, she groused loudly to the boy and cashier "$1.29 for a CANDY BAR?!" only half teasing.
The boy snagged the candy bar before the bagger could get his hands on it. As his mother paid, he tore the wrapper off and ate hungrily, but slowly, savoring the treat.
His ordinary mother grabbed the beautiful boy's hand and headed for the door. He looked back at the woman with a chocolaty smile, turned again, and left.
No longer transfixed, the woman started emptying the contents of her cart on to the conveyor, thinking sadly of her own son, missed and loved dearly. This ordinary woman's own beautiful boy.
Captivated, she couldn't help but stare. She watched him contemplate and agonize over his choice of candy bar and, after deciding at last (a Snickers), she chuckled to herself as he sneaked it onto the conveyor with his mother's groceries. Upon noticing the candy bar, his very ordinary looking mother sighed, remembering the bribe she had offered in the car before entering the store. Even still, she groused loudly to the boy and cashier "$1.29 for a CANDY BAR?!" only half teasing.
The boy snagged the candy bar before the bagger could get his hands on it. As his mother paid, he tore the wrapper off and ate hungrily, but slowly, savoring the treat.
His ordinary mother grabbed the beautiful boy's hand and headed for the door. He looked back at the woman with a chocolaty smile, turned again, and left.
No longer transfixed, the woman started emptying the contents of her cart on to the conveyor, thinking sadly of her own son, missed and loved dearly. This ordinary woman's own beautiful boy.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Good Therapy
Had a good session with Maddie, my therapist, this morning. Although it didn't get off to a good start-the roads were a little slick, so she was late, (first appointment of the day), and I was jacked on caffeine, raring to go. So for the first fifteen minutes I was basically doing a speedy monolog, filling her in on the ups and downs since our last session. This included numerous reflections that I have had and shared here on the blog. By the time I came up for air I had had a new revelation. I like my visits with Maddie, but today I mostly kept recanting snippets and thoughts of my posts. Telling her about "my new blog" (first and only blog) and how it was helping. Blogging allows me the time to reflect, to feel, to share , and to let go. It's been really good for me and helpful in the process of moving forward. Plus I admitted to her and (myself) that although I started writing simply for myself, I now enjoy the feedback and interplay-I like having an audience, I like writing, and I like the minor attention it has garnered. It feels good to have someone reading what I write. Maybe even appreciate what I write or how I write.
Now, I have a few good friends and a supportive family-all willing to listen, and they have. But there is something different about the process of writing, editing, rewriting etc. that allows me to dig deeper within myself, giving me a better perpective on things. There is also something different about putting it out there for anyone to read
So now I'm thinking of continuing the sessions with Maddie, but a little less frequently. She is a family/marriage therapist and she was seeing my ex and I as a couple, when we were at the end-stage (though the ex was there to "explore her feelings" {or lack thereof} and I was there to try and do something anything, to save our marriage). Now I see Maddie solo. Sometimes this is good-since she knows the ex and what she was thinking feeling at the end of our marriage. Sometimes not so good- as I'm trying to move forward and figure out how to live my life, Maddie often steers the conversation back to the ex. I guess it cuts both ways-working for me and against me.
In the mean time, I'll keep blogging, steering the dialogue where I want it to go.
Peace to the planet...
Now, I have a few good friends and a supportive family-all willing to listen, and they have. But there is something different about the process of writing, editing, rewriting etc. that allows me to dig deeper within myself, giving me a better perpective on things. There is also something different about putting it out there for anyone to read
So now I'm thinking of continuing the sessions with Maddie, but a little less frequently. She is a family/marriage therapist and she was seeing my ex and I as a couple, when we were at the end-stage (though the ex was there to "explore her feelings" {or lack thereof} and I was there to try and do something anything, to save our marriage). Now I see Maddie solo. Sometimes this is good-since she knows the ex and what she was thinking feeling at the end of our marriage. Sometimes not so good- as I'm trying to move forward and figure out how to live my life, Maddie often steers the conversation back to the ex. I guess it cuts both ways-working for me and against me.
In the mean time, I'll keep blogging, steering the dialogue where I want it to go.
Peace to the planet...
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
New house mate
Had a new housemate move in a while back. Sleeps all day, nocturnal but quiet at night. No problem til early this morning-woke at 4am to the stinking result of a feud with another of his friends. Fucking skunks...Yes, my new house mate is an uninvited one, a black and white one, a stinky one. It apparently has taken up residence in the crawlspace below my kitchen; when it sprayed you couldn't even smell it outside on the porch (underneath which is its main access) but you could smell it through all three floors of my apartment! So I did my best to mitigate the olfactory stank; opened doors and windows for about an hour (until it got down to 45 degrees or so, too bad it didn't happen last week when it was 50-60!), lit candles and incense, hit the carpet with odor powder stuff and vacuumed, mopped the hard floors with heavy dose of Lysol, and sprayed everything including the kids with Febreeze.
All of which helped...to create a mix of very pleasant, if slightly chemical, scents...and skunk
All of which helped...to create a mix of very pleasant, if slightly chemical, scents...and skunk
Monday, March 21, 2011
seasons in haiku-in honor of the first day of Spring
past the fallen tree
dancing waters also sing
songs we alone hear
buzzing green alive
silent clouds are witnesses
sunrise on the hill
hear and feel and smell
windsong caressing your nose
flames fall to embers
perfect crystals shine
though fallen from dark grey skies
the earth laughs; transformed
dancing waters also sing
songs we alone hear
buzzing green alive
silent clouds are witnesses
sunrise on the hill
hear and feel and smell
windsong caressing your nose
flames fall to embers
perfect crystals shine
though fallen from dark grey skies
the earth laughs; transformed
Friday, March 18, 2011
lovin' haiku
Posted an impromptu haiku the other day and was thinking...I love everything about them. They are concise, and have a simple, clean beauty to them (not mine necessarily-I ended up reading some before and a bunch after the post). I also researched their form, history and components and found out that I unintentionally included a common element (nature/season) into my own, kinda neat. I wish I could read/speak Japanese because it sounds like there are definite differences between the two languages-plus, they even look cool in Japanese-especially with the characters written vertically. Check some out for yourselves-a nice one posted in the comments to that post by Marina and also here http://www.haikupoetshut.com/
ripples in water
tsunami devestation
small rings get bigger
Peace to the Planet...
ripples in water
tsunami devestation
small rings get bigger
Peace to the Planet...
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Haiku for today
sloshing and sliding
sun on the melting sidewalk
snow on a Spring day
-TG
Peace to the planet...
sun on the melting sidewalk
snow on a Spring day
-TG
Peace to the planet...
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Someone Like You
Tried listening to Adele's "Someone Like You" again last night-didn't tear up but couldn't listen to the whole thing either. What amazes me is for someone to have that kind of perspective while still experiencing the pain, and feeling "miserable and lonely" as she was.
It just dawned on me that what may help give Adele that perspective is her youth. I am often guilty of feeling sorry for myself but I think most would agree that it is probably easier to be able to look forward to starting over in your twenties than in your forties (suddenly I'm one of those people with "baggage"). But maybe not. It would also seem easier (not easy) to move on after a relationship of five or ten years than one of twenty or thirty years. Again, maybe not, maybe it's just me. I truly wish I could be one of those people who wants "nothing but the best for you" as Adele sings, for their ex, but I'm just not there. Not yet anyway. Not that I want bad things for the ex (though, admittedly there have been "fantasies" but that's all they are, fantasies). What I am is one of those people who simply wish that she felt the depth of pain and misery that I do (Adele's line-"I had hoped you'd see my face and be reminded that for me it isn't over"). I know it hasn't been easy for her either and she has had her share of pain, but the ex appears to have had a much easier time moving on. Makes me wonder. Not too great for the ol' ego when you're that easy to get over.
But here's the thing, and it's what I really connect with in "Someone Like You", the ex has already settled into a very serious relationship and I am still alone (not that I want a relationship {yet} for myself, definitely not there yet either). How can I feel happy about that? "Guess she gives you things I didn't give to you" Adele sings, leaving me to think that I could have and should have done more in my marriage. But it also makes me think- how was I suppose to fulfill needs the ex not only didn't communicate to me but didn't even realize (she now admits) that she had?
"Never mind, I'll find someone like you"-that's right Adele, and if I'm lucky I'll find someone even better, or better for me anyway. Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste...had enough of the bitter, getting closer to the sweet.
It just dawned on me that what may help give Adele that perspective is her youth. I am often guilty of feeling sorry for myself but I think most would agree that it is probably easier to be able to look forward to starting over in your twenties than in your forties (suddenly I'm one of those people with "baggage"). But maybe not. It would also seem easier (not easy) to move on after a relationship of five or ten years than one of twenty or thirty years. Again, maybe not, maybe it's just me. I truly wish I could be one of those people who wants "nothing but the best for you" as Adele sings, for their ex, but I'm just not there. Not yet anyway. Not that I want bad things for the ex (though, admittedly there have been "fantasies" but that's all they are, fantasies). What I am is one of those people who simply wish that she felt the depth of pain and misery that I do (Adele's line-"I had hoped you'd see my face and be reminded that for me it isn't over"). I know it hasn't been easy for her either and she has had her share of pain, but the ex appears to have had a much easier time moving on. Makes me wonder. Not too great for the ol' ego when you're that easy to get over.
But here's the thing, and it's what I really connect with in "Someone Like You", the ex has already settled into a very serious relationship and I am still alone (not that I want a relationship {yet} for myself, definitely not there yet either). How can I feel happy about that? "Guess she gives you things I didn't give to you" Adele sings, leaving me to think that I could have and should have done more in my marriage. But it also makes me think- how was I suppose to fulfill needs the ex not only didn't communicate to me but didn't even realize (she now admits) that she had?
"Never mind, I'll find someone like you"-that's right Adele, and if I'm lucky I'll find someone even better, or better for me anyway. Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste...had enough of the bitter, getting closer to the sweet.
Damn. Made it all the way through (sniff, sniff). But with her pipes and singing with such emotion, who doesn't feel the heartbreak? I used to be big on avoidance, emotions or otherwise, but I've realized that it's sometimes OK, and often beneficial to let myself really feel the pain, letting it wash over me. It's better (and easier) than holding it in or holding on to it indefinitely.
Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead.... indeed....
Peace to the Planet....
Sunday, March 13, 2011
I am not holier (or smarter) than thou, I am just as stupid....in different ways
I am a stead fast believer in honesty, integrity and even good manners. I have moral standards for myself and for those I surround myself with. Does this mean I am perfect, never lie, and always do the right thing? Of course not. It just means that's the expectation I have for myself. Does that mean I think I am better than you if you don't do the same? Absolutely not. We all have our own conscience and morals, little angels and devils on our shoulders telling us good from bad, but problems do arise when our angels and devils are telling us different things.
I have been accused several times by my ex of being holier than thou-"You think you're better than me" etc. I understand why she felt this way because I can give off a sanctimonious air-especially when I had been hurt so badly by some of the things she did to me. Things, I made clear to her, that I would or could never have done to her. So I can see where she would think that I was getting all high and mighty. While I may have intended her pain with my words, wanting her to perhaps feel some of my pain, making my point wasn't done to put myself up on a high horse (too easy too fall off). It was simply a difference in our little angels and devils. Different-not better or worse...
You see there are also choices and decisions I have made that she probably wouldn't have. I have done my share of regretful things, stupid things. So while I may occasionally point out the faults of others it's not without fault of my own.
For example-I had enjoyed marijuana for many years on a regular basis (see...not so holy after all... unless you're a Rasta). For reasons that I understand, but still don't agree with, many people feel the way about my use of pot the way I feel about honesty and integrity. More accurately the inverse is true-some people are fine with telling a lie or working the system a bit in their favor-me, not so much. While others, like me, feel that it's OK to partake in a bit of reefer even though it's against the law, others, not so much. So there is just a difference in our tolerance for certain behaviors. I found smoking pot relaxing, pleasurable and enjoyed it responsibly the way many enjoy a drink or two. But it is also a health risk and happens to be illegal (for now...but that's a blog for another day!) I had my justifications and rationalizations for smoking and they worked for me for a very long time.
That was the poor decision part-here comes the "me stupid" part. Being a bit of a stoner you occasionally do or say stupid stuff, I mean your stoned right? Well one night I went to bed stoned and left my pipe out in plain sight. I had done this on occasion before but what made me feel really stupid about it this time was that my eleven year old son found it the next morning. "What's this Dad?".......shit! Somewhere inside I had known this might happen but had never been able to (or wanted to?) come up with a good story-I got all George Washington, stayed true to myself, and thought "I cannot tell a lie". Ironically I believe George was confessing to his father while I was confessing to my son.
Also ironic is how my morals, in juxtaposition, collided. I could break the law but couldn't lie about it. After telling my son and daughter about my usage, answering their questions as honestly as possible, and then hearing my own flimsy justifications (they had sounded so good to me for all those years...) I did the only thing left to do and that was to stop smoking pot.
They knew I was no angel before this (yet another irony; at dinner the night I had left the pipe out I had shared a story about getting kicked off the soccer team my senior year in high school because I got caught smoking cigarettes) but clearly this took me down a notch in the eyes of my children, I felt bad for myself and even worse for them. But how can I ask them to be honest and to do the right thing, even when it's the hard thing, if I'm not willing to do it myself? So I like to think of this as one of those teaching moments (one I hope never to have to repeat). I also hope that someday they will appreciate that their old man was straight with them even after doing stupid stuff.
Peace to the Planet...
I have been accused several times by my ex of being holier than thou-"You think you're better than me" etc. I understand why she felt this way because I can give off a sanctimonious air-especially when I had been hurt so badly by some of the things she did to me. Things, I made clear to her, that I would or could never have done to her. So I can see where she would think that I was getting all high and mighty. While I may have intended her pain with my words, wanting her to perhaps feel some of my pain, making my point wasn't done to put myself up on a high horse (too easy too fall off). It was simply a difference in our little angels and devils. Different-not better or worse...
You see there are also choices and decisions I have made that she probably wouldn't have. I have done my share of regretful things, stupid things. So while I may occasionally point out the faults of others it's not without fault of my own.
For example-I had enjoyed marijuana for many years on a regular basis (see...not so holy after all... unless you're a Rasta). For reasons that I understand, but still don't agree with, many people feel the way about my use of pot the way I feel about honesty and integrity. More accurately the inverse is true-some people are fine with telling a lie or working the system a bit in their favor-me, not so much. While others, like me, feel that it's OK to partake in a bit of reefer even though it's against the law, others, not so much. So there is just a difference in our tolerance for certain behaviors. I found smoking pot relaxing, pleasurable and enjoyed it responsibly the way many enjoy a drink or two. But it is also a health risk and happens to be illegal (for now...but that's a blog for another day!) I had my justifications and rationalizations for smoking and they worked for me for a very long time.
That was the poor decision part-here comes the "me stupid" part. Being a bit of a stoner you occasionally do or say stupid stuff, I mean your stoned right? Well one night I went to bed stoned and left my pipe out in plain sight. I had done this on occasion before but what made me feel really stupid about it this time was that my eleven year old son found it the next morning. "What's this Dad?".......shit! Somewhere inside I had known this might happen but had never been able to (or wanted to?) come up with a good story-I got all George Washington, stayed true to myself, and thought "I cannot tell a lie". Ironically I believe George was confessing to his father while I was confessing to my son.
Also ironic is how my morals, in juxtaposition, collided. I could break the law but couldn't lie about it. After telling my son and daughter about my usage, answering their questions as honestly as possible, and then hearing my own flimsy justifications (they had sounded so good to me for all those years...) I did the only thing left to do and that was to stop smoking pot.
They knew I was no angel before this (yet another irony; at dinner the night I had left the pipe out I had shared a story about getting kicked off the soccer team my senior year in high school because I got caught smoking cigarettes) but clearly this took me down a notch in the eyes of my children, I felt bad for myself and even worse for them. But how can I ask them to be honest and to do the right thing, even when it's the hard thing, if I'm not willing to do it myself? So I like to think of this as one of those teaching moments (one I hope never to have to repeat). I also hope that someday they will appreciate that their old man was straight with them even after doing stupid stuff.
Peace to the Planet...
Friday, March 11, 2011
Hair today...
When I was a preteen kid I remember looking forward to growing up (you know-all grown up, like 17 or 18) and everything it had to offer-a driver's license, dating, a part-time job (for money-not work, I was young not stupid), voting, college, etc. Being a child of the macho man 70's and early 80's I also hoped and aspired to a chest and face full of hair.
So I was truly pleased, a few years later, when a few meager hairs sprouted on my scrawny chest, and the light fuzz on my lip grew into heavy fuzz. My chin grew a few stray looking whiskers that were so embarrassing they demanded a weekly (weakly?) shave, so I did, but my sideburns filled in nicely and demanded to be rocked, so I did (70's-80's remember?). I had high hopes, and reasonably so, my Dad had a pretty hairy chest and had always sported a full beard- rivaled only by my Grandmother's 'stache.
Clearly facial and body hair was in the family genes. Had I paid closer attention I might have also noticed that it was also in the family ears and noses (and on backs). Sadly the hirsute gene, as is quite common, was accompanied by the baldness gene, a cruel and ironic twist.
By my early twenties I could and did grow a nice full beard....just as my hairline started to recede. By thirty I was resigned to a bald (present and) future. I truly am fine with being bald. Would I like a full head of hair? Sure. Would I undergo surgery to have hair transplants that look like tansplants? No. Would I spend lots of money indefinitely and take medication indefinitely in an attempt to re-grow hair? No. Would I spend a lot of money once to take one dose of medication or form of treatment? Hmmmm...maybe. But as I said, I am resigned to baldness. Hell, some women even find it attractive, to the point that it has even became a trend for guys with hair to shave it all off! (Thank you Michael Jordan).
Being OK with losing your hair is one thing, having it reappear in other, unexpected, places is another thing altogether. Seriously, I wanted hair on my chest, not on my back!
I wanted hair, I got hair... coming out my ears, literally. And on my ears. And in my nose. And on my nose. Yes, now I find myself trimming or shaving hair in the strangest of places-be careful what you wish for kids. Which brings me back to another pre-teen memory of looking through a mail order catalog containing something called a battery operated nose hair trimmer and thinking "What the??? why would anyone ever need to trim inside their nose?".... Now I am left thinking "Where is that Hammacher-Schlemmer catalog?"
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Memories
Talk about life being a learning process...I always thought a memory was just that , simply a memory, static and unchanging (fading a bit maybe...). Bad memories get filed away, left alone, drawn on only to put something worse in perspective. Good memories are relished, relived, retold and treasured. But what happens when a good memory is now more pain than pleasure?
How does that happen? I certainly never thought about it and never really considered the possibility. Not before my divorce. The dichotomy has been slapping me in the face as I have been going throught the painful process of having my life and marriage torn apart.
I have one of those screensavers that is a slideshow of all my photo files. It's great-pictures of the kids through the years, current shots randomly followed by baby photos, silly faces, vacations, soccer games, ballet recitals. Then there are the shots of me and the ex dressed to the nines for a friends wedding, self taken shots (my signature-arm extended, subjects slightly off center) of us on the beach kissing, birthdays or better (worse?) both of us elated and exhausted (her more than me) after the birth of our son. Painful. It's hard to fathom when I stop and realize that; two years ago these images/memories brought a smile, a year ago they brought a bit of hope, and now they bring pain and regret.
I think my ex is further along in the process (in fact I know she is) because she is (still/again?) able to look back on these things fondly. Maybe someday I will too but I am definitely not there yet. Yes they were good times, happy times, times I appreciated in the moment, but not enough-I took them for granted. Or rather I took for granted the fact that they would continue indefinitely. That's where the pain comes from-not from the good memory, but the realization that there will be no more. Not that I don't think I will ever have anything in the future to be happy about or to look back on happily. But it's the break in the continuum, an end of that particular timeline. The shared history and shared experiences are not lost, but they won't continue either. That meant a lot to me. We had been together nearly twenty years- that's a lot of history shared. But because we're not together, we don't really share that history-it's just something we have in common.
Time (or what happens during that time-also known as life) is like magic-it has an amazing way of putting things in (a different) perspective. Whether it's marriage or divorce, births or deaths, basically beginnings or endings-everything changes over time, and our perspective on memories-good or bad-is no exception.
I do look forward to a time in the future when I have created a new history, with new memories, and new shared experiences that will stay that way-shared.
Peace to the planet...
How does that happen? I certainly never thought about it and never really considered the possibility. Not before my divorce. The dichotomy has been slapping me in the face as I have been going throught the painful process of having my life and marriage torn apart.
I have one of those screensavers that is a slideshow of all my photo files. It's great-pictures of the kids through the years, current shots randomly followed by baby photos, silly faces, vacations, soccer games, ballet recitals. Then there are the shots of me and the ex dressed to the nines for a friends wedding, self taken shots (my signature-arm extended, subjects slightly off center) of us on the beach kissing, birthdays or better (worse?) both of us elated and exhausted (her more than me) after the birth of our son. Painful. It's hard to fathom when I stop and realize that; two years ago these images/memories brought a smile, a year ago they brought a bit of hope, and now they bring pain and regret.
I think my ex is further along in the process (in fact I know she is) because she is (still/again?) able to look back on these things fondly. Maybe someday I will too but I am definitely not there yet. Yes they were good times, happy times, times I appreciated in the moment, but not enough-I took them for granted. Or rather I took for granted the fact that they would continue indefinitely. That's where the pain comes from-not from the good memory, but the realization that there will be no more. Not that I don't think I will ever have anything in the future to be happy about or to look back on happily. But it's the break in the continuum, an end of that particular timeline. The shared history and shared experiences are not lost, but they won't continue either. That meant a lot to me. We had been together nearly twenty years- that's a lot of history shared. But because we're not together, we don't really share that history-it's just something we have in common.
Time (or what happens during that time-also known as life) is like magic-it has an amazing way of putting things in (a different) perspective. Whether it's marriage or divorce, births or deaths, basically beginnings or endings-everything changes over time, and our perspective on memories-good or bad-is no exception.
I do look forward to a time in the future when I have created a new history, with new memories, and new shared experiences that will stay that way-shared.
Peace to the planet...
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The Keeper of what exactly?
I just wanted to blog really. An anonymous journal. A blank page awaiting some words. Wisdom? uh... no. Simply a place to clear my mind, express some feelings, share some thoughts with the webosphere. I am writing for myself and didn't care if anyone read it and if they did, I didn't care what they thought.
So in the otherwise very simple process of starting a blog, you need to come up with a name for the blog and a profile name (you know, posted by....). Somehow I came up with The Keeper. At the time, it made sense and had meaning. I wanted to keep it pretty anonymous (ranting on exes can get a little dicey and possibly lead to legal danger) so that precluded use of my real name. (However, I am starting to think about changing my name legally to The Keeper-first name The, last name Keeper.) But as I found myself trying to explain it to my friend Piggy, I could no longer remember what had led me to the name The Keeper(...hmmm should I capitalize all the time, like God? {or Him as those who follow use the pronoun?}).
[side note{as noted in first post I do enjoy the use of parenthesis} but...which ones to use<there are at least four possibilities> and where do you put punctuation?(in fact I think I may have set a record using four non-letters in a row immediately preceding this side note.).].
Back to my non-point, which was, the name The Keeper had such deep and significant meaning that I can no longer remember what the hell that meaning was.
If you're still with me, I'm impressed, cause I think I lost myself a few paragraphs ago.
But I do really like the name, The Keeper, so although I don't remember it's original significance I thought I would just riff on it for a while. No, I'm not a goal keeper, but I respect the position. Am I the keeper of truth? Hardly-but I am big on honesty. The keeper of the faith? That depends...faith in what? humanity, love, your spouse, yourself...no, yes, no, yes. Wasn't the crypt keeper some late night horror show dude/puppet/character? Wasn't really that into horror, and he/it just wasn't my style...For a long time I thought I was a keeper-but my ex thought otherwise. Maybe I just wasn't a keeper for her. Must be that I'm a keeper for someone else...Keep on truckin'. Keep on Keepin' on (not a bad motto in shitty times).
Now I mentioned writing for myself, which I do, and I also mentioned anonymity, which has already been lost. But I realised after my first post that although I was writing for myself, I did want someone to read it (not sure why-actually, here's a thought-sharing feels good whether it's sharing a cookie or sharing your feelings and you can't share if there is no one there). So of course I had to tell someone (and of course he had to put it on facebook!) and....looky, looky, a few people have read the thing, even fewer actually like the thing, some have even commented both here and via facebook (keep'em coming!) and one person (so far) has actually become a follower (hello Marina). To my surprise I do care if people read it, I do care if people like it, comment on it, or follow it. But that's just me, The Keeper, Keepin' it real (heyyyy... maybe that was it).
So what's in a name really? That's a tough one no matter how you look at it. All I know is that after my first post I googled, pinged and searched everywhere for my blog. Although I did not find my "The Keeper", I did find that here are a whole bunch of other keepers out there. Not very original, I guess. But it's a damn good thing that there's a history feature on web browsers, otherwise I never would have found the thing again...
Peace to the planet...
So in the otherwise very simple process of starting a blog, you need to come up with a name for the blog and a profile name (you know, posted by....). Somehow I came up with The Keeper. At the time, it made sense and had meaning. I wanted to keep it pretty anonymous (ranting on exes can get a little dicey and possibly lead to legal danger) so that precluded use of my real name. (However, I am starting to think about changing my name legally to The Keeper-first name The, last name Keeper.) But as I found myself trying to explain it to my friend Piggy, I could no longer remember what had led me to the name The Keeper(...hmmm should I capitalize all the time, like God? {or Him as those who follow use the pronoun?}).
[side note{as noted in first post I do enjoy the use of parenthesis} but...which ones to use<there are at least four possibilities> and where do you put punctuation?(in fact I think I may have set a record using four non-letters in a row immediately preceding this side note.).].
Back to my non-point, which was, the name The Keeper had such deep and significant meaning that I can no longer remember what the hell that meaning was.
If you're still with me, I'm impressed, cause I think I lost myself a few paragraphs ago.
But I do really like the name, The Keeper, so although I don't remember it's original significance I thought I would just riff on it for a while. No, I'm not a goal keeper, but I respect the position. Am I the keeper of truth? Hardly-but I am big on honesty. The keeper of the faith? That depends...faith in what? humanity, love, your spouse, yourself...no, yes, no, yes. Wasn't the crypt keeper some late night horror show dude/puppet/character? Wasn't really that into horror, and he/it just wasn't my style...For a long time I thought I was a keeper-but my ex thought otherwise. Maybe I just wasn't a keeper for her. Must be that I'm a keeper for someone else...Keep on truckin'. Keep on Keepin' on (not a bad motto in shitty times).
Now I mentioned writing for myself, which I do, and I also mentioned anonymity, which has already been lost. But I realised after my first post that although I was writing for myself, I did want someone to read it (not sure why-actually, here's a thought-sharing feels good whether it's sharing a cookie or sharing your feelings and you can't share if there is no one there). So of course I had to tell someone (and of course he had to put it on facebook!) and....looky, looky, a few people have read the thing, even fewer actually like the thing, some have even commented both here and via facebook (keep'em coming!) and one person (so far) has actually become a follower (hello Marina). To my surprise I do care if people read it, I do care if people like it, comment on it, or follow it. But that's just me, The Keeper, Keepin' it real (heyyyy... maybe that was it).
So what's in a name really? That's a tough one no matter how you look at it. All I know is that after my first post I googled, pinged and searched everywhere for my blog. Although I did not find my "The Keeper", I did find that here are a whole bunch of other keepers out there. Not very original, I guess. But it's a damn good thing that there's a history feature on web browsers, otherwise I never would have found the thing again...
Peace to the planet...
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Dreams
Like music(last post), dreams are a powerful thing. One's hopes and ambitions are certainly powerful, but I'm writing about the dreams you have when you're asleep, in another world, with no control or consciousness to guide you.
A good dream can have you waking with a smile, a great start to the day. Sometimes you wake too soon, wanting more, or wanting to replay and relive the whole thing, because dreams are funny...they fade too fast, at least the good ones. Sometimes you can't remember much or anything at all specific but you still wake with a great feeling, and start the day out on the right foot.
Bad dreams are, for me, the total opposite in every way. Obviously they are bad, not good. But they can start your day in a foul mood, and seem to stick with you no matter how hard you try to forget. Instead of wanting to replay or relive them you want to delete them. And for some, these become recurring dreams-talk about hard to forget!
The past two mornings I woke experiencing one of each.
This morning was not so good-my dream was basically a replay of the last year of my life, an endless and brutal hashing of divorce details (kids, money, business) and therapy with my ex. Talk about waking in a foul mood! I had just lived through this and am now starting to put it behind me and then I have to deal with it again...in my sleep!
Now yesterday was a different story. It's a little fuzzy and vague, like dreams often are. The memory of it begins with me hanging with some old (college?) friends that I had reconnected with, having a good time talking, eating, and drinking at some restaurant. But what really had me waking with a smile was the woman I met (the woman of my dreams?), the owner/waitress at the restaurant. Nothing erotic-honest. It started with eye contact several times across the room, followed by simple small talk. As we were all leaving I was (pleasantly) surprised when she approached, arms wide, demanding a hug goodbye. I gladly obliged and this time I surprised myself when I kissed her. Now in reality, I am quite shy, and not at all forward with women. But in my dream there had been a definite connection, plus it was a dream, I must have felt emboldened by her advance and seized the moment. Of course the dream ended there, and I woke wanting more- not sex necessarily (although...)but wanting to know more about her (can't even remember what she looked like-odd!) and wanting more of that good feeling-somebody likes me, wants me, and I like and want her too.
I felt as strongly about my ex as I could ever conceive of feeling, and I never had a doubt that she felt the same toward me (guess I took that for granted, eh?). But suddenly it was over (for her). Because of this I have had extreme doubt that I would ever be able to trust in my feelings for someone else or their feelings for me. But my dream has given me hope as well as confidence, combining to form an optimism I hadn't felt in a long time. That's the power of dreams.
This has been much more succinctly and beautifully related by one of my favorite bands-The Allman Brothers' song "Dreams"
Just one more morning, I had to wake up with the blues
Pulled myself outta bed, put on my walking shoes
went up on the mountain, to see what I could see
the whole world was fallin', right down in front of me
Cause I'm hung up on dreams I'll never see
Ah, help me baby, this will surely be the end of me
Pull myself together, put on a new face
Climb down off the hilltop, baby
Get back in the race
Cause I'm hung up on dreams I'll never see
Ah, help me baby, this will surely be the end of me, yeah
to enjoy the amazing jam as well as the meaningful lyrics check this out
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwxsF9FCE0Q
Peace to the planet...
A good dream can have you waking with a smile, a great start to the day. Sometimes you wake too soon, wanting more, or wanting to replay and relive the whole thing, because dreams are funny...they fade too fast, at least the good ones. Sometimes you can't remember much or anything at all specific but you still wake with a great feeling, and start the day out on the right foot.
Bad dreams are, for me, the total opposite in every way. Obviously they are bad, not good. But they can start your day in a foul mood, and seem to stick with you no matter how hard you try to forget. Instead of wanting to replay or relive them you want to delete them. And for some, these become recurring dreams-talk about hard to forget!
The past two mornings I woke experiencing one of each.
This morning was not so good-my dream was basically a replay of the last year of my life, an endless and brutal hashing of divorce details (kids, money, business) and therapy with my ex. Talk about waking in a foul mood! I had just lived through this and am now starting to put it behind me and then I have to deal with it again...in my sleep!
Now yesterday was a different story. It's a little fuzzy and vague, like dreams often are. The memory of it begins with me hanging with some old (college?) friends that I had reconnected with, having a good time talking, eating, and drinking at some restaurant. But what really had me waking with a smile was the woman I met (the woman of my dreams?), the owner/waitress at the restaurant. Nothing erotic-honest. It started with eye contact several times across the room, followed by simple small talk. As we were all leaving I was (pleasantly) surprised when she approached, arms wide, demanding a hug goodbye. I gladly obliged and this time I surprised myself when I kissed her. Now in reality, I am quite shy, and not at all forward with women. But in my dream there had been a definite connection, plus it was a dream, I must have felt emboldened by her advance and seized the moment. Of course the dream ended there, and I woke wanting more- not sex necessarily (although...)but wanting to know more about her (can't even remember what she looked like-odd!) and wanting more of that good feeling-somebody likes me, wants me, and I like and want her too.
I felt as strongly about my ex as I could ever conceive of feeling, and I never had a doubt that she felt the same toward me (guess I took that for granted, eh?). But suddenly it was over (for her). Because of this I have had extreme doubt that I would ever be able to trust in my feelings for someone else or their feelings for me. But my dream has given me hope as well as confidence, combining to form an optimism I hadn't felt in a long time. That's the power of dreams.
This has been much more succinctly and beautifully related by one of my favorite bands-The Allman Brothers' song "Dreams"
Just one more morning, I had to wake up with the blues
Pulled myself outta bed, put on my walking shoes
went up on the mountain, to see what I could see
the whole world was fallin', right down in front of me
Cause I'm hung up on dreams I'll never see
Ah, help me baby, this will surely be the end of me
Pull myself together, put on a new face
Climb down off the hilltop, baby
Get back in the race
Cause I'm hung up on dreams I'll never see
Ah, help me baby, this will surely be the end of me, yeah
to enjoy the amazing jam as well as the meaningful lyrics check this out
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwxsF9FCE0Q
Peace to the planet...
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