"Remembering Steve Barbour. He loved Paris. This is my last image of Steve along with a photo of Paris by Lluis Ripoll used by permission. I like to think he is always, now, in Paris. City of Light. Hail and farewell, my friend." Adam Bridge
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Almost Wordless Wednesday
From our dear friend, Adam Bridge, who was a great help to Steve after he was moved to Skilled Nursing at Christmastime. This was originally posted on Adam's Instagram account and when it came up on my feed, I was immediately reduced to tears. Deeply meaningful and moving.
"Remembering Steve Barbour. He loved Paris. This is my last image of Steve along with a photo of Paris by Lluis Ripoll used by permission. I like to think he is always, now, in Paris. City of Light. Hail and farewell, my friend." Adam Bridge
"Remembering Steve Barbour. He loved Paris. This is my last image of Steve along with a photo of Paris by Lluis Ripoll used by permission. I like to think he is always, now, in Paris. City of Light. Hail and farewell, my friend." Adam Bridge
Monday, January 13, 2020
Losing my Husband - Twice
This past week has been a monumental journey for my husband Steve, and me. I flew to California to be with him. My sister sent me a photo she took of Steve in the Skilled Nursing unit where we lived. I was horrified by the changes in him, the deterioration of his poor body. I wanted to get out there and try to spend some time with him while I could.
And I did. And it was very, very good. We held hands, spoke words of love and forgiveness, and one day took a nap together in the hospital bed, cuddled together, and he managed to squeak out one word, "Nice."
Three days after I arrived he began to transition out of this life. I've seen this often enough to know what it is, and the hospice nurse confirmed it. His daughter put a play list of his favorite music on his iPhone and we let it run continuously. Sometimes, lying there, seemingly 'out of it,' he would raise a hand into the air to conduct the orchestra, which is something he always did. I found this rather embarrassing when we were at a concert because he would wave both hands rather vigorously and people around us would glance over to see what all the commotion was about!
After a long week with him, his second daughter arrived from the east coast. On Friday afternoon I left the daughters to be with him. I went to lunch with local friends, and in the afternoon my dear friends from the Napa Valley drove over to be with me. We ate dinner at our favorite watering hole, I drank a Manhattan in honor of Steve (his favorite cocktail) and we reminisced all through dinner. Afterward we repaired to their hotel where I spent the night with them.
The phone rang at 5:00 in the morning. I knew what that meant.
Now I am home. There is so much to process. The enormity of all that happened last week sneaks up on me and I am utterly reduced to a bottomless pit of sadness. Sometimes I can't even believe what has transpired.
For now, dear reader, I will share some fun pictures that remind me that Steve and I lived a wonderful life for a very short time, and that we laughed our assess off. Frequently. Loudly. As it should be.
And I did. And it was very, very good. We held hands, spoke words of love and forgiveness, and one day took a nap together in the hospital bed, cuddled together, and he managed to squeak out one word, "Nice."
Three days after I arrived he began to transition out of this life. I've seen this often enough to know what it is, and the hospice nurse confirmed it. His daughter put a play list of his favorite music on his iPhone and we let it run continuously. Sometimes, lying there, seemingly 'out of it,' he would raise a hand into the air to conduct the orchestra, which is something he always did. I found this rather embarrassing when we were at a concert because he would wave both hands rather vigorously and people around us would glance over to see what all the commotion was about!
After a long week with him, his second daughter arrived from the east coast. On Friday afternoon I left the daughters to be with him. I went to lunch with local friends, and in the afternoon my dear friends from the Napa Valley drove over to be with me. We ate dinner at our favorite watering hole, I drank a Manhattan in honor of Steve (his favorite cocktail) and we reminisced all through dinner. Afterward we repaired to their hotel where I spent the night with them.
The phone rang at 5:00 in the morning. I knew what that meant.
Now I am home. There is so much to process. The enormity of all that happened last week sneaks up on me and I am utterly reduced to a bottomless pit of sadness. Sometimes I can't even believe what has transpired.
For now, dear reader, I will share some fun pictures that remind me that Steve and I lived a wonderful life for a very short time, and that we laughed our assess off. Frequently. Loudly. As it should be.
Wednesday, December 11, 2019
When Things Fall Apart, We Get Back up Again
We had a wonderful last trip to France in April. We both had a strong notion it would be his last trip abroad, and so we wanted to go to the land he loved the most. Parts of the trip were difficult; driving all over Normandy was nightmarish and exhausting, particularly for me because I was the one driving. He'd lost the ability to drive the year before.
Still. We spent time with friends in their idyllic country home outside of Strasbourg, being shown many little villages and farms within a day's drive. A ancient castle, too, and a grouping of houses built into the side of a mountain of rock. We shared Easter with them and their extended family and truly felt at home. Imagine. Easter in Alsace-Lorraine, eating traditional pastries and local cheeses and honey.
Although he had his diagnosis and was slowing down, he was up for the trip. We flew first class for the comfort. We took our time, and we saw a lot. We returned home very happy. At least I was. I didn't know what was to come in June.
It happened, and I left. It was pure anguish for the both of us.
He let me know yesterday that he will be moving to Assisted Living, and he could barely speak -- a gravely set of words said over the phone. And then the call cut out. I called him back and he didn't answer. I went limp.
I've spent so much time being angry with him, blaming him and cursing him. Today, after his call, my chest caved, and tears rolled down my cheeks and the dog looked at me like, "what happened to you, lady?" I've spent the time since that broken call finishing my novel, "The Book woman of Troublesome Creek," loading the dishwasher for another round, calling Home Depot to check on the status of a delivery and other such mundane tasks. The tears continue their roll...I cannot stop them.
I watched an interview between Stephen Colbert and Anderson Cooper about grief. Grief can be about death (as in the case of this video) or other kinds of endings, like marriages. Stephen's outlook on life is so raw and real (and compassionate), and it stems from his Catholic upbringing but is also, as he states, a central tenet of Buddhism as well: life is suffering. It truly is. And if we know this down to our bones (or our soul) we can embrace that, and embrace all the miraculously good things that come to us in this life as well.
Which brings me to my final thought: My marriage may have ended in a really shitty way, but that doesn't change the fact that I had six years of living and loving well, and for that I am extremely grateful. My old love, a very proud and accomplished man, is in a real predicament now, and he is suffering mightily. So I cry for him and his pain. I cry for myself, and I cry for what might have been. I turn, once again, to Pema Chodron's book, "When Things Fall Apart." I go forward. There is no other choice.
Monday, June 24, 2019
Monday Musings
I was listening to music today, and this song came on. It's one that I've always loved -- for the music more than the words. I looked up the words today, and, wow. The universe works in mysterious ways.
Shotgun Down the Avalanche
I'm riding shotgun down the avalanche, ooh
Tumbling and falling down the avalanche, ooh
Tumbling and falling down the avalanche, ooh
So be quiet tonight
The stars shine bright
On this mountain of new fallen snow
But I will raise my voice into the void
You have left me nowhere to go
The stars shine bright
On this mountain of new fallen snow
But I will raise my voice into the void
You have left me nowhere to go
I love you so much and it's so bizarre
A mystery that goes on and on and on
This is the best thing and the very most hard
And we don't get along
A mystery that goes on and on and on
This is the best thing and the very most hard
And we don't get along
After countless appeals
We keep spinning our wheels
On this mountain of new fallen snow
So I let go the catch and we are over the edge
You have left me nowhere to go
We keep spinning our wheels
On this mountain of new fallen snow
So I let go the catch and we are over the edge
You have left me nowhere to go
I'm riding shotgun down the avalanche
Sometimes you make me lose my will to live
And just become a beacon for your soul
But the past is stronger than my will to forgive
Forgive…
And just become a beacon for your soul
But the past is stronger than my will to forgive
Forgive…
Monday, June 17, 2019
Monday Musings
I watched an excellent movie: Echo in the Canyon. The musical goings on in 1965 through 67 in Laurel Canyon, Los Angeles. If you were influenced by Buffalo Springfield, The Mamas and the Papas, The Byrds, The Beach Boys, this movie is for you. Jakob Dylan produced the movie and does the interviews with Jackson Browne, Brian Wilson, Steven Stills, Michelle Phillips, Eric Clapton, Roger McGuinn, and David Crosby. Mr. Dylan produced a concert featuring current musical artists singing all the old folk/rock songs. Funny thing, this movie really changed my perception of the Beach Boys. I won't give away why, but watch it yourself and see. It was also very nice to get out of the house, be on my own for the afternoon.
I had brunch with Dad, Mom and Sister for Father's Day. We ate upstairs, though Dad is really bored with the standard Sunday buffet fare. Far easier, however, than getting out to a restaurant! This is one of my favorite photos of Dad and me, and it was taken about 7 or 8 years ago when we were at a baseball game, which we used to go to often.
We had recently moved to Sacramento, and Mom was barely mobile at that point (after her second hip break) so Dad and I would go to the games.
I'm not a huge fan of organized sports, but I'd go for him, and the pork sliders and the $2 beer. Good times.
The things we do for those we love, eh?
I've been doing a lot for my husband over the years -- all the mundane but necessary tasks to keep hearth, home and health in good shape. He did a lot for me as well. I shared this life with someone who enjoyed many of the same things I enjoyed, and whose values aligned with mine. Who is smart, and funny.
He gave me a life that was comfortable and financially secure -- for the first time in my adult life I wasn't living paycheck to paycheck. It was a welcomed relief. Sure, he has his quirks, but do I. Welcome to the human race! I thought we had a good life. I thought I had found my forever partner. We had each other to rely on. Now? Not so much.
I turn once again to Pema Chodron for some good heart advice.
“If someone comes along and shoots an arrow into your heart, it’s fruitless to stand there and yell at the person. It would be much better to turn your attention to the fact that there’s an arrow in your heart.”
And here I am. Paying attention to my heart.
Monday, July 31, 2017
Monday Musings
When I was born, my great grandparents must have been in their early 70s. Oscar and Ada lived in the rolling hills of El Cajon, east of San Diego. Ada's sister, Lou Goodale Bigelow, lived in a cottage that was attached to her sister's house by a breezeway. The house was on a few acres of orange trees on a hill behind the house. I remember the dry clumpy dirt plowed between the rows, and how hard it was to traverse this landscape with my small child feet. I mostly stayed out of the orchard, and spent my time on the tree swing beneath the enormous walnut tree just outside the front of the house. The old tree dwarfed the house and was a prolific producer. My sisters and I would gather up walnuts by the bag full. No doubt these nuts were not ready to eat, but Great Grandmother (which we always called her, as she was very proper) always had walnuts on hand for us to crack, pick, and munch. Such a simple and memorable treat for a child.
Oscar was an exceptionally tall and very broad man, even in his later years. He had a large squarish head with wide cheekbones and a prominent nose. I remember his hands, so large they were, that I doubt I've ever met a living soul with any hands that could rival his. These hands served him well on the farm, and in the auto shop he would later run with his brother Clyde. I never met Clyde, he was gone before my time, but he if shared these physical traits with Great Grandfather, they must have been a formidable pair. Clyde must have been a Herculean man, for as a young man with a new family, he homesteaded a farm for many years. Put it together from scratch, starting with a dirt dugout.
Ada, on the other had, was a petite woman with delicate features and beautiful tapered fingers. As a child I knew her as a white haired, stooped old lady, whose skin was always soft and cool, even on a blistering summer day. Always impeccably dressed, she kept a tidy house that was adorned with Hummel figurines and lace curtains. Fine china on the sideboard never left their nesting place, as far as I could tell. Her house was not one for running in, though I don't ever remember her scolding any of the children. We just knew, whether by parental instruction or pure instinct, that we had to be on our best behavior in her house. The one place we could let our hair down a bit was the back porch. It was a large screened in affair, with a concrete floor painted red, white wicker furniture, and the cat bed. This is where kitty lived, not in the main house. She was a long-haired variety, and elusive even on the porch, which ran the length of the house. It, too, was tidy, but less formal and it allowed us to sprawl on the furniture without risking disapproval. On hot summer days, the concrete floor was cool and inviting, and always spotless. It was a refreshing spot to lie down, and hope the cat would amble over for a pat.
Aunty Lou, as we called her, lived what seemed to be a fairly solitary life across the breezeway. Retired from photography and painting, having sold her studio to her long time friend Jeanette, she lived 30 feet from her family in a cottage that was locked away in time. We didn't visit often, and I never quite knew what to say to her. She was ancient, and eccentric, and her dwelling was filled with heavy Victorian furniture, including a very uncomfortable horse hair couch. Dark curtains kept the light out, and it seemed an altogether otherworldly place to my young self. She died in her sleep when I was young, perhaps 8 years old. Died in that substantial Victorian four poster bed with its dark wood and fancy scroll work. I think this was my first experience of death, and I didn't quite understand how she could be 'gone.'
As an adult I have become knowledgeable about all of their lives when they were young. I have quite a collection of photographs of these ancestors throughout their existence. As newlyweds, young parents, middle aged with grown children and grandchildren. Their lives before I knew them, full of vitality and struggle, travels and tedium, all that living encompasses. I am thinking a lot of them now, now that my parents are experiencing their own great grandchildren. Those kids only know my folks as old folks. And who knows for how long they will know them?
My parents were never overly enamored of spending time with their grandchildren, but they seem to take a keener interest in the latest generation. I wonder what my grand children will remember of them? It's impossible to motivate young children to take an interest in older folks whom they don't visit that often. There is little connection, and little interest in what these somewhat strange grown ups are all about. Better to go lie on the cool concrete floor and play with the cat while the adults get on with their endless conversation.
Oscar was an exceptionally tall and very broad man, even in his later years. He had a large squarish head with wide cheekbones and a prominent nose. I remember his hands, so large they were, that I doubt I've ever met a living soul with any hands that could rival his. These hands served him well on the farm, and in the auto shop he would later run with his brother Clyde. I never met Clyde, he was gone before my time, but he if shared these physical traits with Great Grandfather, they must have been a formidable pair. Clyde must have been a Herculean man, for as a young man with a new family, he homesteaded a farm for many years. Put it together from scratch, starting with a dirt dugout.
Ada, on the other had, was a petite woman with delicate features and beautiful tapered fingers. As a child I knew her as a white haired, stooped old lady, whose skin was always soft and cool, even on a blistering summer day. Always impeccably dressed, she kept a tidy house that was adorned with Hummel figurines and lace curtains. Fine china on the sideboard never left their nesting place, as far as I could tell. Her house was not one for running in, though I don't ever remember her scolding any of the children. We just knew, whether by parental instruction or pure instinct, that we had to be on our best behavior in her house. The one place we could let our hair down a bit was the back porch. It was a large screened in affair, with a concrete floor painted red, white wicker furniture, and the cat bed. This is where kitty lived, not in the main house. She was a long-haired variety, and elusive even on the porch, which ran the length of the house. It, too, was tidy, but less formal and it allowed us to sprawl on the furniture without risking disapproval. On hot summer days, the concrete floor was cool and inviting, and always spotless. It was a refreshing spot to lie down, and hope the cat would amble over for a pat.
Aunty Lou, as we called her, lived what seemed to be a fairly solitary life across the breezeway. Retired from photography and painting, having sold her studio to her long time friend Jeanette, she lived 30 feet from her family in a cottage that was locked away in time. We didn't visit often, and I never quite knew what to say to her. She was ancient, and eccentric, and her dwelling was filled with heavy Victorian furniture, including a very uncomfortable horse hair couch. Dark curtains kept the light out, and it seemed an altogether otherworldly place to my young self. She died in her sleep when I was young, perhaps 8 years old. Died in that substantial Victorian four poster bed with its dark wood and fancy scroll work. I think this was my first experience of death, and I didn't quite understand how she could be 'gone.'
As an adult I have become knowledgeable about all of their lives when they were young. I have quite a collection of photographs of these ancestors throughout their existence. As newlyweds, young parents, middle aged with grown children and grandchildren. Their lives before I knew them, full of vitality and struggle, travels and tedium, all that living encompasses. I am thinking a lot of them now, now that my parents are experiencing their own great grandchildren. Those kids only know my folks as old folks. And who knows for how long they will know them?
My parents were never overly enamored of spending time with their grandchildren, but they seem to take a keener interest in the latest generation. I wonder what my grand children will remember of them? It's impossible to motivate young children to take an interest in older folks whom they don't visit that often. There is little connection, and little interest in what these somewhat strange grown ups are all about. Better to go lie on the cool concrete floor and play with the cat while the adults get on with their endless conversation.
Monday, August 24, 2015
Monday Musings (He's Four now)
I'll say it again, being a grandparent is one of the most lovely, fun, endearing things I've ever experienced. My grandson was here for 3 nights and I loved every minute of it. We had him all to ourselves one night, while his parents were at a wedding and stayed at a hotel.
We know his bedtime routine -- his folks have it down pat so that he hardly ever fights it. As I was steering him towards tooth brushing and potty going, I knocked on the bathroom door to give him his night time disposal underwear, otherwise known as "pull ups." He balked a bit when I opened the door, and I asked him if he wanted privacy. He did. So I told him he could have his privacy and I just wanted to give him the pull ups. I dropped them inside and closed the door.
I took just a few steps down the hall when I heard him calling for me. I walked back to the door and, staying outside, asked him what he wanted. His reply? "Bubbe, you're the BEST!"
Good Gawd but my heart melted.
We know his bedtime routine -- his folks have it down pat so that he hardly ever fights it. As I was steering him towards tooth brushing and potty going, I knocked on the bathroom door to give him his night time disposal underwear, otherwise known as "pull ups." He balked a bit when I opened the door, and I asked him if he wanted privacy. He did. So I told him he could have his privacy and I just wanted to give him the pull ups. I dropped them inside and closed the door.
I took just a few steps down the hall when I heard him calling for me. I walked back to the door and, staying outside, asked him what he wanted. His reply? "Bubbe, you're the BEST!"
Good Gawd but my heart melted.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
La Luz de mi Vida
Two great things this Tuesday: it rained all night, took a little break and is now raining again. The other: my grandson is here and he is so much fun I can hardly stand it.
During the break, we set up a cozy bed for him on the porch. It snuggled in it for all of two minutes before running in circles making airplane sounds. Over and over and over again.
Then, all in a hurry, the sky darkened and there was a perceptible humidity increase in the air. I grabbed the hammock, his mom grabbed the cushions, and in we came.
Now there's a fire burning nice and hot, and mi nieto is sleeping on his cushion in the guest bedroom. How I wish I could take him to Cuba with me. He would be my entree into Cuban society. I would teach him simple phrases in Cubano (all I am capable of) and get him a Panama hat to wear jauntily on his blond little head. Maybe someday...maybe the next trip.
My daughter and mi luz drive home tonight. Sigh. Never long enough. That's an abuela for you.
Eso es una abuela para usted.
This luscious rain is not even remotely enough to ease our drought woes, but it is nice to have and means I can skip watering the vegetables and flowers for a few more days. Sweet.
Friday, April 3, 2015
TGIF (On What is Important)
Happy Friday, all!
My husband and I were honored to be a part of a very special ceremony this morning. Friends of ours had their adoption ceremony today. Our friends, Jack and his husband, JT, have been on a 16 month journey to create their family with three dear brothers who desperately needed a forever family. Today was the final stamp of approval by the Judge (as if it was ever in doubt). The courtroom was packed with at least 25 friends and family.
The most touching part of the ceremony was when the Judge asked each boy, individually, if they wanted to be adopted today. Each child responded, "YES!" and was asked to sign a document. Even the littlest guy was able to scrawl a flourishing signature of sorts. I was tearing up, mindful of the eyeliner I applied a couple of hours before. Oh well.
So, while blow hards and bigots across our country are denying rights to my brothers and sisters in Dorothy, here is this wonderfully loving and stable couple who have rescued three children from a life of unspeakable hardship and have fulfilled their own dream to have a family of their own.
Love, babies. That's what it's all about. Love, that's what Jesus preached. Love, it's what the world needs now. Love, sweet love.
Have a glorious weekend!
My husband and I were honored to be a part of a very special ceremony this morning. Friends of ours had their adoption ceremony today. Our friends, Jack and his husband, JT, have been on a 16 month journey to create their family with three dear brothers who desperately needed a forever family. Today was the final stamp of approval by the Judge (as if it was ever in doubt). The courtroom was packed with at least 25 friends and family.
The most touching part of the ceremony was when the Judge asked each boy, individually, if they wanted to be adopted today. Each child responded, "YES!" and was asked to sign a document. Even the littlest guy was able to scrawl a flourishing signature of sorts. I was tearing up, mindful of the eyeliner I applied a couple of hours before. Oh well.
So, while blow hards and bigots across our country are denying rights to my brothers and sisters in Dorothy, here is this wonderfully loving and stable couple who have rescued three children from a life of unspeakable hardship and have fulfilled their own dream to have a family of their own.
Love, babies. That's what it's all about. Love, that's what Jesus preached. Love, it's what the world needs now. Love, sweet love.
Have a glorious weekend!
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
Mon Cher
It's his birthday. We got a short ride in before it got too blasted hot. Isn't he handsome? Oh, la la.
So young at heart, so young a spirit, and I hope to be in half as good of shape when I am his age. He inspires me. We were having a bagel at Noah's this morning, talking about the older population in our town. I just read an article stating that we are a majority now, here. If you look around, what you see is, by and large, a very fit demographic. White hair is commonly seen on older bodies that have excellent muscle tone, are on the slender side, and damn if they aren't just HAPPY. They're also rocking their yoga or bicycle clothes. It all gives me great hope for a healthy future. And I want a long one, because I can't get enough of this man.
Passez une merveilleuse journée, mon cher!
So young at heart, so young a spirit, and I hope to be in half as good of shape when I am his age. He inspires me. We were having a bagel at Noah's this morning, talking about the older population in our town. I just read an article stating that we are a majority now, here. If you look around, what you see is, by and large, a very fit demographic. White hair is commonly seen on older bodies that have excellent muscle tone, are on the slender side, and damn if they aren't just HAPPY. They're also rocking their yoga or bicycle clothes. It all gives me great hope for a healthy future. And I want a long one, because I can't get enough of this man.
Passez une merveilleuse journée, mon cher!
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Monday, August 4, 2014
It's Marrying Day
We're a modern couple. We move in first, and then we get married. Tomorrow we go to the courthouse for a civil ceremony that will be very casual and witnessed by my parents.
We are eschewing a 'wedding,' feeling that is it quite unnecessary and not "us" at all. I already feel married, actually. At 57, a traditional wedding feels rather comedic. We will have our civil ceremony and then go to lovely lunch at Biba with my parents, who are tickled pink at this wonderful turn of events in my life. The Mister and I feel this is a serious undertaking, and it has great meaning for us. We feel it is private, intimate, and simple in its lack of fuss and bother. It's the way we want it, and at our ages, we get to do what WE WANT!
I never saw this coming. The Mister was the biggest surprise of my adult life. I thought I was a dyed in the wool lesbian, or, at least as I tended to say, a "bisexual lesbian." Sexual politics can be weird sometimes, and I've know former gay and bisexual people who ended up with opposite sex partners only to lose the friendships with their queer compadres. Or trans people who lost all their queer friends--and maybe hetero friends as well. I, however, am a lucky woman, who has the full support and love of my queer friends, my straight friends and family, my trans family, my hippie family and my republican family. Truly a rainbow! But it happens, I believe, because LOVE is LOVE and people can see it a mile away. They love you, and they are happy for you.
As we sat in our new home this evening, exhausted from another day of unpacking, we shared a cocktail, cheese and crackers, and marveled at how perfect this all is. I could almost succumb to L'Embarras des richesses, but I won't. Because when life is this good, it's time to full-on celebrate. To be humble, for certain, but to luxuriate in one's good fortune.
I believe in celebrating and honoring love in all its manifestations. It is as varied as we are. I feel incredibly lucky, and deserving of this solid love.
We got a chance
Hot dog darlin'
We got a chance
No more no more
Fly-by-night romance
We got this solid love
Love has always made me
Feel so uneasy
I couldn't relax and just be me
More like some strange disease
Than this solid love
Tested and blessed darlin'
I'm gonna give you my very best
You're my hope
You're my happiness
You
Open my heart you do
Open my heart
You do
Yes you do
Joni Mitchell, 1982
We are eschewing a 'wedding,' feeling that is it quite unnecessary and not "us" at all. I already feel married, actually. At 57, a traditional wedding feels rather comedic. We will have our civil ceremony and then go to lovely lunch at Biba with my parents, who are tickled pink at this wonderful turn of events in my life. The Mister and I feel this is a serious undertaking, and it has great meaning for us. We feel it is private, intimate, and simple in its lack of fuss and bother. It's the way we want it, and at our ages, we get to do what WE WANT!
 |
| photo by The Mister |
As we sat in our new home this evening, exhausted from another day of unpacking, we shared a cocktail, cheese and crackers, and marveled at how perfect this all is. I could almost succumb to L'Embarras des richesses, but I won't. Because when life is this good, it's time to full-on celebrate. To be humble, for certain, but to luxuriate in one's good fortune.
I believe in celebrating and honoring love in all its manifestations. It is as varied as we are. I feel incredibly lucky, and deserving of this solid love.
We got a chance
Hot dog darlin'
We got a chance
No more no more
Fly-by-night romance
We got this solid love
Love has always made me
Feel so uneasy
I couldn't relax and just be me
More like some strange disease
Than this solid love
Tested and blessed darlin'
I'm gonna give you my very best
You're my hope
You're my happiness
You
Open my heart you do
Open my heart
You do
Yes you do
Joni Mitchell, 1982
Voici pour vous ma douce homme, Je t'aime tellement beaucoup.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Staying Balanced
My guy and I are preparing his house for sale. Yes. Biggggg News (more later). The Yoga cd is one I claimed for myself while packing many to be donated to the local public radio station. The music is just what I need now to ground myself and keep my head from spinning.
People may say we're crazy, selling a perfectly delightful home, but we plan on marrying and want to have a house that is ours together, in a smaller town close to where we are now. It's exciting, and it's exhausting. But mostly it is exciting.
Me, the one who swore she'd never marry again. Yes, me. Never say "never." It's bound to propel you in the direction you say you don't want to go. But I do want to go. This man is a gift from heaven, I tell you. After 25 years of being with women partners (and a wife), it was a surprise to find myself so attracted to this fellow. But there you go. Never say "never." Life offers up such surprises and new directions. Just when you take your eye off the game, a foul ball zips past your head. Gawd. A baseball metaphor.
Speaking of which, we are going to be at a nationally televised River Cats game on Thursday (CBS at 7:05 Pacific). They're playing Las Vegas (hear me, Linda Lou?) and we'll be right behind the RC dugout. Catch us if you can!
Nothing like baseball to keep me balanced. Oh, that and BBQ before the game.
People may say we're crazy, selling a perfectly delightful home, but we plan on marrying and want to have a house that is ours together, in a smaller town close to where we are now. It's exciting, and it's exhausting. But mostly it is exciting.
Me, the one who swore she'd never marry again. Yes, me. Never say "never." It's bound to propel you in the direction you say you don't want to go. But I do want to go. This man is a gift from heaven, I tell you. After 25 years of being with women partners (and a wife), it was a surprise to find myself so attracted to this fellow. But there you go. Never say "never." Life offers up such surprises and new directions. Just when you take your eye off the game, a foul ball zips past your head. Gawd. A baseball metaphor.
Speaking of which, we are going to be at a nationally televised River Cats game on Thursday (CBS at 7:05 Pacific). They're playing Las Vegas (hear me, Linda Lou?) and we'll be right behind the RC dugout. Catch us if you can!
Nothing like baseball to keep me balanced. Oh, that and BBQ before the game.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
Art Saves Souls
"Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life." ~ Pablo Picasso.
I urge you to take a few minutes and watch this video. Look at these smiling kid faces, see the love and joy that a safe space and creative expression gives them. Help them get their new Art House.
You'll feel great. Promise.
Every neighborhood should have an Art House for kids! What a different world this would be. See this: Art Saves.
You'll feel great. Promise.
Every neighborhood should have an Art House for kids! What a different world this would be. See this: Art Saves.
Friday, February 14, 2014
TGIF - On St. Valentine's Day
[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Monday, December 16, 2013
Enchantment
Arms
raised in the desert,
Succulent
saguaro standing alone,
Purple
martin, ground squirrel
And
dry scrub, your only companions.
It
must be your meaty center
Pulsing
with green living juice
That
draws me on my hands
And
knees, longing for your lusciousness.
Why
else would I touch your spines?
Brush
my cheek against your trunk,
Red
rivulets running down my face
While
I plead for you to yield?
Solitary
cactus,
Indifferent
to my thirst and blood,
Incapable
of knowing anything
About
this woman and her body.
How
you bleed me,
Your
barbs lodged deep inside
--
The spines will not come out
Despite
my tender (sometimes frantic) ministrations.
I
have barred my door
To
keep me from my nocturnal journeys,
But
I am tenacious and sickly thrilled
By
your ancient silence,
Your
flowers that bloom in the night.
You
may stand a hundred years,
Or I
might come wild eyed with my machete
To
finish the story, unleashing my inner Kali.
Let the sun bleach our bones on
the barren terrain.
by Tara Crowley
inspired by, what else? Tortured Love.
Monday, November 11, 2013
To Thine Own Self Be True
For the last year I have been doing a great deal of work to dig deep and wrestle with the codependent aspects of myself. Codependency will always lead you down the wrong path, and what's even worse is that you take others with you. I'm working on being in harmony with my inner voice, because she usually speaks the truth. I need to listen to her, I mean me. This, from an article in Psychology Today:
"Not surprisingly, surveys show that, on average, people who scored higher on tests for authenticity are more satisfied with life, have higher self-esteem and are generally happier. As Mohandas Gandhi put it so well, ‘happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony’."
I am usually confused when it comes to knowing what is compassion and empathy, and what is codependency, because I'm seriously codependent. (If you're codependent and you know it, clap your hands!)
Polonius had it right, that when one is true to themselves they seek to be true with everyone else.
"Not surprisingly, surveys show that, on average, people who scored higher on tests for authenticity are more satisfied with life, have higher self-esteem and are generally happier. As Mohandas Gandhi put it so well, ‘happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony’."
I am usually confused when it comes to knowing what is compassion and empathy, and what is codependency, because I'm seriously codependent. (If you're codependent and you know it, clap your hands!)
Polonius had it right, that when one is true to themselves they seek to be true with everyone else.
"And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man."
Without self-awareness, one keeps repeating patterns that ill serve them.
This, of course, all revolves around dating and contemplation of a long-term relationship. Here's an interesting article on the role of dating. We all (or most of us) seek love, and it is a rare and often tricky thing to get to know someone. We all come with our baggage, we all come with our hopes and dreams. The important thing is to be self-aware and self-loving so that you can hear and trust that inner voice that tells you if something or someone is a healthy choice for you, or not. The voice often does not make sense at first blush...it's called denial. But I am discovering that that voice is the only sane thing I've got, and I'd better listen up. I've been involved, too many times, with people who were good souls and essentially decent, but were not right for me. Often, the 'not right' things were so opaque that I ignored them. But they mattered, and my ignoring them did not make them matter less.
I now know that I don't have to justify and ruminate on the 'not right things.' I just have to acknowledge that they are there and they are telling me not to move forward. I don't get involved with bad people; I get involved with good people who are not right, for whatever reason, for me.
So, here's a shout out to the power of the inner voice. I'm letting it guide me in the right direction this time.
How are you at listening to your inner voice? Has it served you well? I'd love to know.
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