Hey! Where is Sharon? It's been a week! Where's that well traveled rascallian. Her voice is sui generis! It has been missed.
I don't want to be overly ebullient, but... I'm dying to know.
Her stories about her gran baby, our tiny little cynosure. We want pictures. The stories will be mirabile dictu!
We've been waiting to hear about her peripatetic wanderings. How was the weather? How was the drive?
Our impressions remain inchoate.
I miss Sharon. I miss her writings. I miss her self. Her edge. Her humor and her wit.
sui generis unique
ebullient. enthusiastic cheerfully overflowing
cynosure, focal point center of attention
mirabile dictu wonderful to be told
peripatetic traveling from place to place
inchoate. unformed and indistinct, emerging.
sharon. priceless.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
hurt
i am feeling loss really heavily today. i am puzzling it out. i am morose and moody and feeling mean. i want to be around people. and i want to be alone.
i just left someone hanging. trying to make me feel better she made a joke at an inappropriate time. she realized it was inappropriate and apologized and tried to make it right and just sadly stepped all over herself. and while the compassionate, nice guy JC would have normally put her at ease and just took it all in stride.. this new JC.. the one who is looking more intensely at himself than ever before.. who is beginning to see who he really is.. with more clarity.. just logged out. left her mid-apology.. mid-stumble. normally, i would feel guilt. and although i felt no guilt for just leaving, i cant say i didnt feel sympathy. she is a nice girl.
im tired of the facade. normally i would just pretend to be happy.. to be the me that so many people think they know. i just want to be. and being me doesnt mean i want or need to be helped. the moment i drop the facade, most people assume i need help. im a grown man. i dont need help. i just need to be. damn assumptions. only a few people really know me well. i like to think they know who they are. :)
so i am feeling loss. and i am hurting.
im feeling alone. and trying to make peace with it.
living lonely is alright. accepting it.. is another story..
its a lump that is so hard to swallow..
the enormous jagged lump of reality.
it would surprise most people to find out that i dont like humans in general.
on the one hand, i find them fascinating.. otherwise, i find them to be disgusting and insufferable.. tiring.. boring.. predictable.. disappointing.
every once in a while though.... im surprised and delighted.
doesnt happen often.
happens less and less the older i get.
maybe because im just not as willing to let people in.
im just not as curious or interested in people as i used to be.
maybe because im just so damn tired of hurting.
its easier to push people away. than to let them in just so they can hurt me someday.
*****
why do we bother to connect
why do we bother to put energy into deep meaningful relationships
why do we need to feel understood
why do we need to feel at all
it only leads to pain
excruciating inner pain
i formed a bond with her.. one that was like no other. surreal
i let her in! and it was amazing and beautiful.. and we had something really special. but she left. and it cut me to the quick. she came back to pull out her roots. and i felt the empty.. again. and i replaced the empty with bitterness. with anger. with sorrow. and yet again, she came back because the roots.. they were so deep they snapped off.. and she dug and dug and pulled and pulled.. while i stood by. but she couldnt remove them, and found my roots as deep as hers. so she left them there, maybe hoping they would wither, then smiled, and said 'i love you', 'you shouldnt ever doubt my love'..
but i do
'til death'...
i lost my mom
i lost my lydia
i lost my son
i lost my brother
i lost my tina.. MY TINA..
i will soon lose my dad
i will lose close friends
and bax
with every loss i lose a little bit of me. and i reach out only to be snapped back into reality.
now. i. retreat.
Did you look in the Freezer?
I've been watching my husband for a while slip his gears a little like a tranny that needs to be rebuilt. We were at the restaurant last night and suddenly handling a credit card and paying a check was a bit too complicated for him. I remember the smooth way he used to pay the check. No thought to it. Hand the card out, calculate the tip, and slip the card back in the wallet and never stopping the conversation or looking down at it for more than a second. Not last night. First he looks at the check, then he reads it carefully. then he fishes for the card. and on the second try picks it out of his wallet. He stops to calculate the tip, his mouth moving with concentration and looks to me to see if I agree. Then he loses the credit card. It was there one second and gone from his hands like a magician palmed it. Impressive, but he wasn't in on the trick. He had pushed it out of view in the check holder pocket, while picking up the receipts. We shake our heads and laugh together as he fumbles with older fingers trying to coax it out of hiding.
We used to finish each other's sentences. Now we both get lost and have to go back and pick up the conversation. We don't remember names of shows we used to enjoy. We can't remember song lyrics like we used to. When we look through photo albums, he asks me. "who is that? I don't remember this one." Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't either.
He went outside to close up all the car windows from the downpour. I got out this am and there is a window all the way down. He looks at it, I look at it. We look at each other, and I give him a big hug in the driveway. We snuggle for a while in the soft falling rain. We were young once and rain was our favorite time together.
Going to leave for work is a flurry of 'where are my keys' Again with the keys? Twice in as many days? Last time they were in the glove compartment of the car. I don't get up. I'm comfortable. My sore legs are up on an ottoman. Okay second time through the house, if I don't help, he will lose more things looking for them. Up I go. Under his pillow? No. In the medicine cabinet? No. Let's see, this room is done, Off to the kitchen to look in cabinets.
He comes down the hall, presses them into my hands and smiles. They are ice cold. He also has two huge Ice Cream pops in hand. We sit down and eat together.
"Freezer?" Yup. It's not the first time the keys have ended up in the fridge. And these ice cream pops are great
I love him dearly and things will need to be a lot more simple before much longer. He's done with intricate complicated things. But he is perfect.
We used to finish each other's sentences. Now we both get lost and have to go back and pick up the conversation. We don't remember names of shows we used to enjoy. We can't remember song lyrics like we used to. When we look through photo albums, he asks me. "who is that? I don't remember this one." Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't either.
He went outside to close up all the car windows from the downpour. I got out this am and there is a window all the way down. He looks at it, I look at it. We look at each other, and I give him a big hug in the driveway. We snuggle for a while in the soft falling rain. We were young once and rain was our favorite time together.
Going to leave for work is a flurry of 'where are my keys' Again with the keys? Twice in as many days? Last time they were in the glove compartment of the car. I don't get up. I'm comfortable. My sore legs are up on an ottoman. Okay second time through the house, if I don't help, he will lose more things looking for them. Up I go. Under his pillow? No. In the medicine cabinet? No. Let's see, this room is done, Off to the kitchen to look in cabinets.
He comes down the hall, presses them into my hands and smiles. They are ice cold. He also has two huge Ice Cream pops in hand. We sit down and eat together.
"Freezer?" Yup. It's not the first time the keys have ended up in the fridge. And these ice cream pops are great
I love him dearly and things will need to be a lot more simple before much longer. He's done with intricate complicated things. But he is perfect.
my dad..
my dad was a telephone I&R man (installation and repair). he was the guy who came to your house to repair basically anything that went wrong with your telephone.. inside the house or out. he worked long hours. he worked in an industry that was constantly changing and constantly in upheaval. the job was both physically and mentally draining.. and he was good at it. he loved his job.
1972 - 1999
in '72 he worked on open wire party lines and crank phones. people resisted change. they updated to aerial lines and buried cable and clunky old rotary phones. and then, finally, they sent him to school for fiberoptics. the technology changed and my dad took it in stride. he took pride in his work. his was a blue collar job.. he could have half-assed.. but instead, he made sure each job was done right. he says his work was a challenge, because each job was a different situation. he had to be a detective and problem solve. he taught me work ethic.
i remember my 8th grade year in school.. because that was the year my dad thought he was going to lose his job. that was the year they de-regulated and busted up the ma bell monopoly.. and the telephone industry was ushered into a whole new era of technological change. but he didnt lose his job. he took a better, more stable job a couple towns over, which demanded more hours of overtime but made things more manageable financially. that was the year he got sick with CMV virus, Hystoplasmosis, and Mononucleosis all at once. i remember he didnt get off the couch for 2 weeks straight.. and he quit smoking. he worked until july of 1999 when he suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and ended up in the ICU for a month. he had stopped taking his blood pressure meds... my dad is a walking miracle.
my dad's a smart man. an intellectual. instilled a love of words in us. he was a stickler for correct pronunciation and usage of words. i would say he was fairly knowledgeable about a lot of different things. he was well read. he knew enough about any topic to contribute to conversation. he was inquisitive and introspective. i could always talk to him. his presence in my life was heroic in nature. both my parents were my heros. they were perfect.
my dad didnt want my mom to work. she complied. they struggled financially when we were little. but we never knew it. we had clothes on our backs, food in our mouths, a roof over our heads.. and love. it never occurred to us to play one parent against the other when we wanted something.. because they were always of one mind.
he is the reason i sing. i tell him this. he is humble, and disbelieving. each night, he would swing one of the 3 of us up onto his shoulders, hop up the stairs with the others close behind, plop us in bed.. my sister at his side.. and sing. sometimes he would read a book. but there was always song. beautiful brown eyes (the words changed to blue), if i had a hammer, elijah rock, you'll never walk alone, amazing grace, scarlet ribbons.. we sang a lot. we sang on the front porch during heat storms.. serenading the entire neighborhood. we sang in the garden. we sang in harmony around the kitchen table the day of grandpa's funeral.
if i close my eyes.. i can see him younger... my age. i can see him in his tan shirt and brown work pants, keys and change jingling in his pocket, tromping in his work boots.. taking a few minutes to play a little ball with us before the last bit of daylight is lost. i can see him behind the troybilt, cigarette dangling from his lip, tilling up and down row after row of our 2 acre garden. i remember jumping in his footsteps.. feet turned out like a duck. i can remember sitting at the dinner table and asking if the vegetables came from our garden.. or asking him a simple question, seeing the twinkle of mischief, and all 3 of us turning to look at ma.. my sister asking 'is that right ma?'.. dad just laughing. my brother and i have his nose, and that twinkle.. i pass a mirror and i see him out the corner of my eye.
now my dad sits in his easy chair all day watching television. he talks about working on the old truck my brother conned him into buying.. or the garden he is planning this year.. or ma. his ongoing war with the moles in his yard amuses me to no end.. i call him elmer, and then i hear a little smile in his voice.
i miss his smile. he doesnt laugh much anymore. the twinkle is gone.
1972 - 1999
in '72 he worked on open wire party lines and crank phones. people resisted change. they updated to aerial lines and buried cable and clunky old rotary phones. and then, finally, they sent him to school for fiberoptics. the technology changed and my dad took it in stride. he took pride in his work. his was a blue collar job.. he could have half-assed.. but instead, he made sure each job was done right. he says his work was a challenge, because each job was a different situation. he had to be a detective and problem solve. he taught me work ethic.
i remember my 8th grade year in school.. because that was the year my dad thought he was going to lose his job. that was the year they de-regulated and busted up the ma bell monopoly.. and the telephone industry was ushered into a whole new era of technological change. but he didnt lose his job. he took a better, more stable job a couple towns over, which demanded more hours of overtime but made things more manageable financially. that was the year he got sick with CMV virus, Hystoplasmosis, and Mononucleosis all at once. i remember he didnt get off the couch for 2 weeks straight.. and he quit smoking. he worked until july of 1999 when he suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and ended up in the ICU for a month. he had stopped taking his blood pressure meds... my dad is a walking miracle.
my dad's a smart man. an intellectual. instilled a love of words in us. he was a stickler for correct pronunciation and usage of words. i would say he was fairly knowledgeable about a lot of different things. he was well read. he knew enough about any topic to contribute to conversation. he was inquisitive and introspective. i could always talk to him. his presence in my life was heroic in nature. both my parents were my heros. they were perfect.
my dad didnt want my mom to work. she complied. they struggled financially when we were little. but we never knew it. we had clothes on our backs, food in our mouths, a roof over our heads.. and love. it never occurred to us to play one parent against the other when we wanted something.. because they were always of one mind.
he is the reason i sing. i tell him this. he is humble, and disbelieving. each night, he would swing one of the 3 of us up onto his shoulders, hop up the stairs with the others close behind, plop us in bed.. my sister at his side.. and sing. sometimes he would read a book. but there was always song. beautiful brown eyes (the words changed to blue), if i had a hammer, elijah rock, you'll never walk alone, amazing grace, scarlet ribbons.. we sang a lot. we sang on the front porch during heat storms.. serenading the entire neighborhood. we sang in the garden. we sang in harmony around the kitchen table the day of grandpa's funeral.
if i close my eyes.. i can see him younger... my age. i can see him in his tan shirt and brown work pants, keys and change jingling in his pocket, tromping in his work boots.. taking a few minutes to play a little ball with us before the last bit of daylight is lost. i can see him behind the troybilt, cigarette dangling from his lip, tilling up and down row after row of our 2 acre garden. i remember jumping in his footsteps.. feet turned out like a duck. i can remember sitting at the dinner table and asking if the vegetables came from our garden.. or asking him a simple question, seeing the twinkle of mischief, and all 3 of us turning to look at ma.. my sister asking 'is that right ma?'.. dad just laughing. my brother and i have his nose, and that twinkle.. i pass a mirror and i see him out the corner of my eye.
now my dad sits in his easy chair all day watching television. he talks about working on the old truck my brother conned him into buying.. or the garden he is planning this year.. or ma. his ongoing war with the moles in his yard amuses me to no end.. i call him elmer, and then i hear a little smile in his voice.
i miss his smile. he doesnt laugh much anymore. the twinkle is gone.
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