It’s not like me to insert a period in titles. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever done it. To me, a period represents finality, permanency – the end of a story. For this reason, I found it fitting to do so today. I hope everyone ‘gets’ my wording this post as if I were having a conversation with David – it’s just something I need to do. Somehow, some way… I feel he will see this. I do hope I’m right, because I never got to say goodbye to him.
The last time we spoke was mid-July, this abominable year of 2020. It was then you told me your arthritis was so bad you had to leave your job for good. I feel in my soul that this killed a big part of you, though you didn’t say it at the time.
We’d first met in junior high school and became friends. Later in adulthood, fate made us family by way of us each marrying a sister and brother. “Small world”, as they say. We went through much in life while being there for each other. Funerals, weddings, lifes ups and downs. Now your own funeral will be in a few days. As the tears fall, I try to come to grips with the fact I’ll never have you in my life down here anymore.
If there were a destiny meant for you down here – it was you being a Father. Brittany and Leanne, your two beautiful daughters, were your everlasting sunshine in an often bleak and gray world. You relished and appreciated both, spending every spare second with them. I often told you your smile was never bigger than when you had them with you. “Dad Day!!”, you would call it. I can’t imagine two daughters having a better dad. I am so glad they had YOU.
Although not related by blood, you were the closest thing to a brother I ever had in this life down here. Each being ‘only children’, I issued you that rightful Brother title shortly after the ending of my 21-year marriage. You often laughed at me for it, but knew deep down it’s what I considered you. We went from being ‘in-laws’ to just brother and sister. Many conversations of what we both endured over the course of each of our marriages strengthened our bond throughout the years. I confided in you with 100% trust – knowing you understood, empathized, and would never share any of my secrets. I will SO miss this, David. I already do.
We used to talk about wishing for a sibling in life, which I suppose many ‘only children’ do. I knew losing your Mom and Dad early in life had to be very hard on you, you’d tell me often how much you missed them. I’ll never forget the day you called me at work a couple years back, I immediately thought something was wrong since you never called me there. Through tears, you told me you’d just found out you had a sister you never knew about. I was thinking, I’d never heard you cry before. Those were tears of joy, of course! You were so very happy… a sister you never knew about. You’d said you instinctively called ME to share the news. I now have to admit David, there was a twinge of jealousy there. Perhaps you realized this when at the end of the conversation I said, “I’M still your sister, always remember that”. I do think you picked up on that little green factor.
You constantly reminded me of how lucky Keith and I were to have found each other. I can tell you, he loved you too – very much. Guys don’t make a habit of telling each other that, so I want to make sure you know. Life isn’t always fair. As your sister, I was always trying to find you a ‘forever mate’. God knows, you didn’t need any help in that area. But, I never stopped trying. I wanted that “forever” for you that I knew in my heart you wanted, too. So, please forgive me for my antics in that area. Especially for some of the heartbreak it brought you along the way.
Lord, how you loved my sausage gravy biscuits. When you and Brandy would stay over with Keith and I, I’d make sure you had some to take home for later. I’m sure your faithful brown lab Brandy got some too. You also loved my chili (hope those weren’t just your kind words). Due to some constraints, I’d struggled with true home cooking until later in life, but you always made me feel like I was good at it.
I don’t want to close this. Dammit, David. I miss you… already.
Our dear friend Angie will forgive me for this – you loved Angie so. After her Mama’s funeral which we’d both gotten lost en route to, at your insistence I followed you back to Charlotte. We talked on the phone while listening to our favorite tunes, flying down the country roads. Back in town, we drag raced via interstate for over twenty miles at completely foolish speeds. I’d never driven that fast in my life… I wonder if you had, as well. You told me later that was the most free you’d felt in your entire life. I felt it too. Guess adrenaline’ll do that to you, especially us old farts.
Go and be free, brother. Until that beautiful reunion. Know that your sister loves you so. Forever.
Fathers Day is right around the corner. My father left this world for the Good Place a year and a half ago. Although certain parts are foggy, other parts seem so fresh, still.
He lived in a little house across town, quite spacious to be considered a duplex. It was an older ranch style, brick, well-built and had a nice yard. The road he lived on was called “Circles End Circle” and it was just that… a large circle. How Dad loved walking his dog around that large circle, which was made more attractive by way of the entire center being a well-kept grassy field. As I remember, the inside of that circle measured larger than a football field. The continuous view of the grassy field made for well more than a leisurely stroll, and you certainly could say you got your steps in with just one trip around it.
Dad and I really weren’t close until after the ending of my 20+ year marriage. After my separation, he stepped into his father role as well as any man ever has. Heck, I guess you could even call us best buds. After a lifetime of not having him around, I relished the attention from him. That should not suggest that I didn’t understand the deeper meaning of that attention… which is, Dad loved me. For the first time in my adult life, I truly understood that. I wasn’t just a black sheep any longer, at least not to him. He couldn’t wait to talk to me on the phone at night, to describe new events that happened throughout his day. He would go out of his way to let me know he loved me – and each occasion meant the world to me. One day he showed up at my work with a fresh-baked banana bread loaf (my God, he made the best banana bread). We’d go to the farmers market together, church, and events happening uptown. It was everything I’d ever wanted but never really knew I needed from my father. He knew it, I knew it… and we were both thankful.
Yep, I grew to know that house of his pretty well.
Years later, when routine hospital visits for his failing health became the norm, he would always want me there. Each time I’d walk in the room, his smile would grow as big as Disney. One of his favorite stories to tell was of how hot he was in the ER, and I’d fanned him. Something so very simple. On more than one occasion he told me I kept him calm. I still feel this is probably the biggest compliment I’ve ever been given.
Enter dementia. That big, awful, damned demon unleashed it’s wrath. Like cancer, I hate dementia with every fiber of my being. Those who have never had to witness a loved one battle dementia will never understand the toll it takes on a family. Dad withstood it for a while at home, until it started biting its ugly teeth deep into his brain. Soon came the walks outside during the wee hours. Then his phone calls telling me the painters were invading his home, he was afraid of them. Finally phone calls from the police asking me to please come over to try and coax him out of his bedroom.
That last call from the police ushered in the last time he would ever physically reside in his house. As I walked though the living room to his closed bedroom door, I knocked softly and said “Dad, it’s Bonnie”. He opened the door immediately, blue eyes welling up with tears and hugged me tight. Now, Dad couldn’t hug tight because of the lung removal a decade earlier, and he was always mindful of that. But the dementia had made him forget about all that. That hug was probably the tightest one I’d ever had from him. To say I’ll always cherish it is an understatement… the tears flow as I write about it.
Many things happened after he left that house, which I won’t go into since it’s really a moot point. The memory remains of him and how his soul was just larger than life. Even though we joined forces later in life rather than earlier, I wouldn’t trade a single thing. Not a one.
Happy Heavenly Fathers Day, Dad. I sure miss you.
Even with the passage of many years… I guess there are some things that really don’t change.
Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out.
It is to me, at least.
My circle of friends is small, and that’s by choice. Once you’ve been burnt by a select few throughout the course of a lifetime, it becomes pretty easy to build up that old retaining wall – to keep the nicely filtered water safe inside and disastrous tidal waves out. The quality level of my true friends is nothing short of stellar now – that’s what is important to me. I love having a friend I know so well that half the time we actually finish each other’s sentences. With most every subject, Lou and I end up having the same opinion. On the rare occasions we don’t agree on something, we still respect each others opinions. Neither of us have ever tried to change each other, nor persuade the other into doing something we’re uncomfortable with. Because a ‘real’ friend would never do that.
Lou and I have joked for years now about how we would be perfectly content to drive home from work on Friday and not leave out again until Monday rolls around. Once home from work on a weekday, we won’t start our car and go out again until the next workday. Doesn’t matter if we’re in need of something, it has to wait. You’d literally have to light a fire under both our asses to get us back out. Like many others, we both have a dog waiting for us to get home. Fact is, any type of errand after work requires careful prioritizing because of our pets – but I don’t know a pet-lover out there that begrudges this. I wouldn’t trade a thing.
I’m not complaining about any of this – quite the contrary. It makes me happy going straight home and and staying home. I’m not a socially active person by nature, never have been. Once in a while Keith and I will have a family event to attend over the weekend which we enjoy. I just find joy in weekends which have no plans whatsoever – aside from the rare impromptu day trip with him.
Speaking of my husband. He’s a hard-working man who works out of state all week and only comes home on the weekends. After so long it became routine like anything else – I just got used to it. I am not afraid. I’ve got my fearless boy Mojo, a fully loaded S&W and a quite sophisticated home security system. All that said, when the weekend finally does get here I relish my time with him. Since the weekend is all we have, we definitely make the most of every moment together. Hey, I realize it could always be worse – he could be deployed overseas for months or even years. I’m thankful for the time I do have with him and everything else we’ve been blessed with.
I’ve never been a bar person by choice. Ever. There’s something very sad to me about bars. Again, just my personal preference and opinion. We do enjoy having dinner with our parents on occasion. I don’t socialize with friends on a ‘regular’ basis aside from maybe a couple times a year, then it’s usually just for dinner or when someone is moving away or some life-changing event like that. I do not enjoy shopping – while I know this is weird for a woman, trust me when I say I’m totally okay with it. I guess the most social I’ve been in my entire life was last summer while I was busy planning our wedding, which I’ll admit about killed me. Literally had to be somewhere or meet up with someone 3-4 times a week. My stress and anxiety levels were off the charts. It was during this time that my friend Lou even sacrificed her own after-work time (something we both hold sacred, remember?) to plod the hot summer streets with me to help search for a wedding dress. I remember that after the wedding was over, I couldn’t wait to get back to my old ‘rut’. And so I did. I didn’t walk… I literally RAN back to it.
Ah… the aroma of sweet familiarity. Mmmm – smells SO so good. Just. Breathe. It. In. And Relax.
So what’s the point of all this, Bon? This is getting a little monotonous.
Apparently there are some out there bearing a false impression that I have a moral obligation to restructure my time to deligate more of my after-work hours to socialize. This has even included pressured attempts during the weekend when Keith comes home from working out of town all week. Needless to say, my patience level has bottomed out on this.
It’s not like I’ve been silent about my stand on the subject. It’s not a hidden secret on a game show being held for a big reveal later to floor everyone. I’ve expressly stated on several occasions that I’m a homebody and choose to spend my time after work at home, and my weekend time with my husband – but it’s all been blatently ignored.
My question is this… having made this a wide-open fact, why on earth would someone push the envelope, again and again? And if you do find yourself attempting to change or reroute how a person thinks – what kind of friend does that make you? And why would a person want to spend more time with you if you’re trying so hard to inflict your preferred method of thinking on them? Why would any real friend do that?
My reasoning is, a real friend wouldn’t.
I will not change the way I choose to spend my time, and I refuse to be bullied into it. Of course I realize there are exceptions to every rule. But if dire circumstances ever did warrant a change, my family and close friends would be those who took precedence. This 46 year-old broad has worked 40+ hours a week my entire adult life (attending several years of college during that), and traveled from one side of hell to the other in an attempt to start a new life. I have earned my right to spend my time after work however I damn well please. So I’m gonna clear something up real quick-like, once and for all. If you have a problem with how I spend MY time – weeknights or weekends – I strongly suggest that you start keeping it to yourself.
I will not apologize to anyone for being a homebody. It’s who I am, and I won’t apologize for being me. So quit right now trying to change me.
That is all.
Now if you’ll excuse me – I’m home for the evening. So I’m gonna fix myself something to eat and watch Dr. Phil.
The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned. ~Maya Angelou
This past weekend was jam-packed with moving to my new home. I’m completely in now, and so are my babies. It’s a big adjustment for both dog and cat – of course, more so with Mojo the Border Collie. I’ve been told by a few people that it can be done, and I’m praying they’re right.
I hired movers for the first time in my life, and what a huge blessing they were. It was a hard move nonetheless, as I got in there and helped too. I simply don’t have it in me watch someone work to move my stuff and not get in there and help my self. The movers told me I ‘worked like a boy’… which I personally took as a huge compliment.
Right now, I feel like a fish out of water.
But the hard part’s over. At least, I like to think so. Next… some much-needed maintenance and repair on the old heart is on my itinerary.
I love wind chimes.
Maybe it’s because they’re one of the few things left in life that are non technology-related. Maybe it’s because it’s the first thing I bought myself a couple of months prior to moving and starting a new life in 2008. Or maybe it’s because they provided such good company during the times I felt alone.
I paid only ten dollars for this set of windchimes, which is a steal for chimes (I know mine isn’t such a vintage set, but I’ve grown accustomed to their harmonial sounds). I’m sure at times my neighbors could’ve shot me for the relentless chime songs coming from my third floor condo, but I never got any complaints.
My chimes are still with me, though now weathered and worn. Much like an old flag proudly waving, both require that common denominator of wind in order to perform their duties. I’ve always thought weathered and worn adds character to pretty much anything. Weathered and worn tells stories.
This morning I ran across the Mother of all Windchimes -they’re called Corinthian Bells. I can’t afford them, but if I ever can you can bet I’ll have a set. Aside from the beautiful music of a harp – I’ve never heard anything quite as lovely. Thought I’d share one more video (not mine) showcasing this beautiful set – it’s so sweet. The end of this video made it an instant favorite of mine… and who couldn’t use a little more sweetness in their day?
How do I start this, I sit here and wonder to myself. Do I even want to write about it at all? Not really. Do I need to? Probably. Problem is, my fingers don’t want to do the talking either. What the hell am I afraid of writing? Hello out there… brain to fingers – get to moving, babies. I need to get this out.
More ‘stuff’ over at the old house to go sort through. When my ex contacted me about it last week, I thought there was maybe just a bag or two to pick up. It was this time about four years ago when we were busy ‘splitting’ stuff. We stayed busy ‘splitting’ for months on end – after all, you do tend to accumulate a shitload throughout twenty-one years. So we split, split and split some more. When the emotions would get too high, we’d quit and start up again the next day, splitting again. I remember the pictures were the hardest – boxes and boxes of them.
I thought everything had been done. Nope… there’s more. Let’s go take care of it – it’s Goodwill or bust, ya know.
I’ve only had to go back over to the house a handful of times during the last several years. I don’t like driving through the neighborhood. I don’t like going down the street. I do NOT WANT to go in the house, as my daughter insisted on today “Mom, Dad knows you’re gonna be here to go through this stuff – I told him and he’s okay with it.” And so I commenced inside, where neatly stacked in her old room was a good-sized pile that came from the attic. Old baby clothes, stuffed animals, my old knitting materials, some outdated clothes, a few things that belonged to my grandmother, some of my old toys as a kid, all the missing Halloween decorations, and cards. If I failed to mention it before, I do not like going through cards.
Just when I think I’m a step ahead of the game, a day like today comes and knocks me back down a notch. Reminds me that I might not be as strong as I think I am. Was. Whatever. I must swallow the fact that I will forever have these demons, I’ve just realized they aren’t going to go away. What is it? No matter, for what’s done is done. My biggest demon? Failure. Still haven’t moved past that effing failure thing.
Through the years, I’ve learned a neat little trick. I can usually disguise the funk with a smile – on a good day, maybe even season it up with my boisterous laughter. It’s a trick my Mammaw taught me, albeit unconsciously. Ordinarily, it works. Until I’m alone. But that’s what matters, right? It’s just enough to get ya through a tight spot, when someone might be looking. Alone… well, you’re just that. On your own.
I guess the passage of time really isn’t all that when it comes to healing, or growing, or progressing, or whatever it is they say you do. I realize there are good days and bad, for all of us. As for me, I’m just thankful for that huge smile I was born with.
I honestly cannot think of anything this morning but how cold I am. It was 12º when I got up and it’s not expected to even reach freezing today. I’m starting to wonder if I really live in the Carolinas. I came (not so happily) bouncing into work sporting a newfound cold, twenty-plus layers and knockoff uggs. Today I came complete with Tussin CF®, Chloraseptic® and Afrin®. And hey, it’s warm in here! I am set.
Couldn’t miss today, anyway – the company Christmas luncheon is at noon. Oh, how wonderful it feels to say that word – Christmas! Christmas Christmas Christmas Christmas. Seems as though I’ve heard the word more this year than ever before, and I love it! So we’ll get catered in today (12 degrees this morning, good day for catering in, wouldn’t ya say?) by an awesome caterer, and enjoy some good team-building time. And errr, food. Did I mention the caterer was awesome?
So I gotta go there – my pet-peeve for the day/week. Yeah, we’ll make it for the week. How about those smartass know-it-alls in life? You know, those people who have the need to knock anything you say either down, top it with their own (new and improved) version, or generally insinuate a less than intelligent status on your part. Sometimes I grow weary of ‘petting’ them – of being nicey-nice in order to smooth things over when something is said that falls into the category of know-it-all. Of being ever-agreeable so as not to appear argumentative. I’d love to do a case-in-point, however that would pretty much lay everything out on the table and somehow I can’t bring myself to do that. Sometimes though, I wonder why I don’t just come right on out and say what I feel, and not worry so much about how it’s perceived. Once in a rare while I’ll turn those tables… and it actually feels good.
It’s becoming increasingly tougher to teach this old dog new tricks anyway.
Tricksters, tricksters!! They’re all tricksters… all of them!! 😆
After a hearty Cracker Barrel breakfast on Sunday morning, K suggested driving down to the newest indoor fleamarket to walk some of the food off, to which I happily obliged.
There was no agenda, nor any certain thing we were looking for. The few times we’ve been to the place (ah, air-conditioning is a must) we’ve come away empty-handed – but it’s all good. K loves antiques, and is quite educated about them. Honestly, for me, it’s the walking around together and ‘discovering things’ with each other that matters so – it seems to go unsaid that he feels the same way. So we walk, hold hands and talk, and look… and happen upon it…
The print is entitled, Making Friends. The artist is Burton Dye, and the debut date was 1986. Same graduation year, and same high school… yes, yet more nostalgia.
K just finished remodeling his own bedroom, and in doing so moved into a larger room in his house. The color of paint he chose was a light to medium sort of periwinkle blue – it hints of blue, gray and lavender, and translates to airy and soothing. In combination with his dark furniture and just the right amount of beautiful sunlight the room gets, it was an exquisite choice.
Flashback to the picture. There it sat, amongst it’s competition, all of which were neatly lined along the floor of the vendor. Just like magnets, both of us were instantly drawn to this one. Print no. 1241 of 1900, it said – and it was very much in mint condition. Still in it’s original frame and matte, the wood frame has two tiny periwinkle blue pinstripes down all four sides that matches the matte – these were only visible up close.
The print is an image of a small boy with blonde hair, sitting along the shore of a riverbank to feed a flock of geese and goslings. The boy’s portrayal in the print is nothing less than that of pure innocence. I have yet to share my own perception of the art with K.
Shown is a young, innocent boy – soon to be in search of the finer things in life, which Capricorns are so noted for – but also appreciating the simple things. His love for animals is well-noted… as well as his love for the water – and fishing. The boy’s youth still leaves much to the imagination, such a large future lies ahead of him. With the comparable difference being light brown instead of blonde hair, I think the profile of this young lad so very closely coincides with that of K’s own childhood pictures. I think it’s fair to say this print has captured a piece of my heart for many years to come now…
Well, it’s now August. I can’t believe how fast this summer has gone by. This summer, and well, the whole year for that matter.
August 1st is a special day for me. It’s the one-year anniversary of mine and K’s first date. I can’t believe it’s been a year already…We love reminiscing about how nervous we both were on that Saturday night a year ago. Being that we hadn’t seen each other in so many years, I opted to walk down and meet him in my parking lot instead of the added stress for both of us with him coming up to the condo. The walk down all the steps from the third floor seemed to take forever, and I was hoping to God I wouldn’t trip and fall down them in my heels. There, leaning back against the hood of his car in true 60’s Greaser fashion, was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen – grinning like the Cheshire Cat on Alice in Wonderland. As I went up to hug him, my heart was about to beat out of my chest and I hoped he couldn’t see it. On that first date we ended up going to a place right across the river to eat, then catching the latest Harry Potter movie. Guess you could say we’ve been kinda stuck like glue together ever since, and well, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I’ve got more up the ole’ dayplanner sleeve that I’ve nostalgically saved, but posting some of those monumental moments on here just wouldn’t be fitting. But hey, don’t I get a pat on the back for not kissing him on the first date? Or is that more deserving of a slap? **dumbass**
It should go without saying that having a high level of mutual respect for each other is a must-have in every successful relationship. Just a couple of weeks ago, K’s ex made a grave attempt to worm her way back into his life – even being so desperate as to use their daughter as bait. The transparency of the lies she told were obvious to everyone. Of course, there was also a hidden agenda behind the facade. You see, she’s faced with much certainty of losing her case in court, and trust me when I say it’s gonna be sweet retribution for a man who was put through absolute hell for so many years. But not to worry – I didn’t just take his word for it. A woman with even half a brain will do her research on a prospective partner. I’m friends with a couple of people who actually know this woman… and she is indeed lower than a snake.
Last night he and I went out and did a little pre-celebrating. The restaurant we ate at last year has since closed down, and word has it that the local pub and grill across the street has the same owners, just took on a different name. He suggested going there for nostalgia’s sake, so we did. The food and drinks were excellent but the service really sucked! Upon learning that we were ‘only’ ordering appetizers and drinks (which still resulted in over a $30 bill) the waitress apparently decided we were deserving of neither good service nor a good attitude. As with most things though, we joked and took this in stride, and moved on across the street to the much more upscale restaurant that my own daughter works at. Of course, we got excellent service there – along with the additional bonus of us all getting to spend some quality time together and cut up for a while. 🙂 She was right… we shoulda just went there in the first place.
I have a good friend that’s decided to bite the bullet and start blogging. Not only is she an extremely smart and beautiful lady, but well-versed. I’m willing to bet she will enjoy it – and I look forward to reading. I’ll be sure to cue you in on the page when she gets it up and running.
Many of us have been subjected to broken trust and loyalty throughout our lives – some more than others. The last thing you need is to keep it all to yourself… what you need is to be heard. An outlet, a source which you may unload on every once in a while. A while back I suggested that a blog might be the very venue my friend needed. It provides an opportunity to be heard, a chance to voice anything and/or everything you’ve wanted to say for a long time now. She asked me ‘do you think the word bitch in my title would be offensive and draw negative feedback?’ To which I replied chuckling, ‘ya know, there’s always going to be something that offends someone out there.’ And that’s true, no matter what.
It got me to thinking about life in general, and how it is we’ve arrived at the point of being a functioning adult human being… exactly what it is that has made up the mindset, emotions and character of who we are now. Do I believe that we continually change throughout life? Yes. Do I believe that what we’ve been through in the past actually shapes the person we are today, as well as the person we are to become? Absolutely. We will not be the exact same person a year from now as we are today. These changes will be determined by the events and occurrences within our lives, and how we choose to react or deal with them. Like my grandmother always told me… ‘bunny-rabbit…it ain’t always easy’.
So remind me please of why I’m up at 4:30am perched behind the keyboard. Maybe it’s because after lying in bed for over two hours prior with my brain scrambling at 200+mph, I opted for the only escape hatch in sight – my computer. Yes, today should be a nice little productive day at work. Seriously, I’m thinking maybe I can just submerge myself in the huge workload I’m supposed to have coming and forget about everything in my personal life for a few to eight hours.
I’m living the whole once upon a time theatrical bit. I don’t know what it’s gonna take in life for me to realize that there are no fairy tales, nor fairy tale endings. The reality is, no matter how happy you are, or how happy you think your partner may be – there’s always going to be that third person infiltrator. Hell, maybe fourth fifth and sixth, for that matter. They may come sooner, they may come later, but make no mistake – they always show up. And sometimes, they just walk right on into the house without even knocking. Without being asked or invited. Because that’s what a little harlot infiltrator will do. Oh, sorry… just thought I’d throw an example in there for ya.
Oh, girl… you should always ‘fight for your man’! Love will prevail… stand tall and don’t let anyone infiltrate what you have, break out the big guns!
Ummm – nuh.
I am not in my twenties or even thirties anymore. Trust me when I say the old ‘fire in me’ can still be ignited – but it won’t be happening for the soul purpose of an attempt to save a relationship. I learned a long time ago that doesn’t work… it simply cannot be that one-sided. So what am I saying? That I am well past the point of exhausting myself in a heated battle or debate over a) how a partner should handle said infiltration, b) addressing the harlot personally, because it’s not me who should be taking care of the situation, c) launching an all-out war, thereby leaving not a shred of doubt as to how I really feel… or d) any or all of the above. No, instead, I’ll just opt to gracefully take a step back. If the situation continues… well, I don’t know how graceful it’ll be, but I will be bowing out completely.
It’s the century-old question. Can men and women have a happy healthy relationship along with having a close friend(s) of the opposite sex? And remain friends, notwithstanding an affair? How about if that ‘friend’ existed before you came along, and you’ve always noticed or ‘felt’ this closeness between the two of them?
There are boatloads of opinions out there on this. Instead of a theological approach on the subject, I’m instead opting to provide you with my very own raw opinion. A Bon-view, as I like to call it. This ain’t gonna be pretty… could even get messy – might be a good idea to go ahead and don those rubber gloves from underneath your kitchen sink.
All joking aside, most man-moves can, are, and will forever be excused in the fact that they are men. I’ve grown not only to expect this, but to accept it as a fact of life.
Now, onto what I’ve learned.
Virtually any area of infidelity is contingent upon the type of woman that is playing along.
That’s right, I just said it. I believe the woman to be the deciding factor in whether an infidelity is to occur in a relationship, whether she’s the relationshipee or the outsider. Folks I’ve seen it, I’ve lived it… it’s a fact. And I seriously beg a debate.
Ladies… have you any wonder about the woman your man speaks so eloquently of, whether or not they were ‘friends’ before you came along? You’d damn well better have. Men… how about that guy friend of your girlfriend’s that she’ll meet for lunch from time to time, talk with on the phone, etc.? Is it really platonic? True enough, it could be platonic in both cases. The end result, though, will be determined by **none other than** the woman’s own moral convictions and willpower.
So by now am I sounding like a paranoid schizophrenic? Okay, I’ll give you that. The paranoid schiz in me was instilled by another, and it’s a daily struggle to keep that part of me buried. Maybe I arrived that way after realizing there will always be certain women out there that need the attention so badly they’ll resort to anything – including infiltration of a known relationship, be it marriage or other. The attention whore, for lack of a better word. Believe me ladies, when I tell you they are out there. Worse yet? They could be the very one that you perceive to be a good friend. Having been on the receiving end of the infidelity stick, I can tell you it’s humiliating and mentally draining – to say the very least.
So to wrap up my little rant for the day, in short – this is what I believe… and this is what I’ve lived. I want so very badly to protect myself in the future from this very damaging act. But just what is the answer? I realize that trust should be the key. Keyword, should.
Ladies, back to you…
Another Independence Day is upon us. I could really turn this blog into a political rant, but I’ll save that for another day. I will say that if you had warned our forefathers of the resulted socialistic thumb this country is being held under, they’d have probably packed bags and jumped ship back to England.
The weather has been absolutely amazing, the low was a record 56 Friday night with the highs in the upper 80’s on Saturday. SO uncharacteristic of the 4th of July! And I’ll definitely take it. It’s actually enjoyable to be outside in these temps, we’re all getting a break from hiding behind the a/c indoors.
I’ve really enjoyed the weekend so far, what with all the extra free time and all. Yesterday, a good friend of mine was in my neck of the woods, so she stopped by and I fixed us all a bite of lunch. I’d been wanting her to meet my guy anyway, so it worked out great – it was a good visit.
Yesterday afternoon I packed my bags, grabbed my feline and headed over to my guy’s house for the rest of the weekend. Camille really loves it here and we always get a bunch of laughs out of her antics. Ah who am I kidding, I love it here too. ♥
Just when I think he’s done it all, that there’s nothing left that can capture my heart and make me love him even more, K proves me wrong. Last night, he grabbed me in his arms, looked down at me and said, ‘You know what? After tomorrow, we will have officially spent every holiday of the year together.’ I’ll tell you right now that stole my heart all over again. I should be used to that by now…
I’m loving this life I’m in, and ever-appreciative of the treasure that I’ve found in him. I know I’ve harped on about second chances many times before, but in truth I can never do it enough. We’re older now, and hopefully wiser. When a blessing of this magnitude is bestowed upon you, it can never turn into something that’s taken for granted – and it never will. ♥♥
Although there have been multiple studies done that actually suggest the opposite – it’s my own experience that we get more emotional as we get older. I’m not talking about the more generalized emotions – being happy, angry, fearful, etc., but the more ‘philosophical’ ones. The types of emotions that tend to make a person ‘linger’ a bit more on the past, or ‘delve back’.
Is it true though? Do we get more emotional as we age? I can only comment on what I’ve seen personally, which is that I’ve seen more than a couple of mature men cry when reflecting back on certain times in their lives – in particular, times they wish they could go back and change. In each instance, the individuals appear different now than how I was told they used to be. Different how? It’s kind of hard to put into words. Softer-spoken, and rarely if ever angered – just to name a few.
What changes in us chemically as we get older that tends to make us more ’emotional’? And is it ever possible for a person to ‘change’? I don’t know the answer to the first question. As for the second one, I believe wholeheartedly the answer is yes. Maybe I’m wrong, but I consider being more emotional and ‘in-tune’ with yourself and others to be change. One thing I do know – the pill of regret is seldom swallowed. One of the saddest things you’ll ever see is a person reflecting back on losing the best thing they ever had in life.
I was ushered in through the foyer, past the living room and down the hallway. The doorknob to the right was turned, and the door opened for me to enter the room.
The room itself was bigger than I remember, and had a radiant, almost heavenly look about it. I immediately noticed that it was cleaner, whiter, and less congested. It was almost pristine – with much extra room to move around. Just as quickly as the door closed behind me, they appeared.
My dogs. The dogs I had to leave behind through a marriage separation, now well over two years ago. And they were smiling. C’mon now, no bashing… any dog-lover out there knows what I’m talking about. They DO smile.
I don’t remember actually getting down on the floor, but in the next moment that’s exactly where I was, and where I remained. Chance and Rebel were all over me, and I was all over them. They were both clean as a whistle and smelled so good. There also was no gray in them whatsoever. The dogs weren’t pups, but they certainly weren’t old men, either! Along the empty sides and corners of the room, there were lots of clean blankets and sheets, all neatly folded – there must have been 8-10 of them scattered throughout the room. As time went on I kept grabbing them, unfolding each one and spreading them out for us, all while continuing to love on them. I remember thinking, ‘boy is someone gonna be mad at me for unfolding and messing up all these linens…’, but the dogs were loving it, and loving me. All three of us were so happy and comfortable, in that room.
The tears continue to fall as I write this. This particular visit occurred in a dream I had last night, on Tuesday night.
I believe it all started when I asked my daughter to take a picture so I could see them. I was at work Monday when I received them, and it immediately made me cry. My girlfriends at work saw this and were very sweet and caring – they are good friends and fellow animal-lovers to boot, so they understood without even saying anything. Just to see how gray the little and big guy’s faces had both gotten in two years was shocking – in particular Rebel’s, the boxer.
I’ve tried to force them out of my mind for a long time now because it’s just been too painful to think about. That still remains the case. I guess somehow, unfortunately, love really is associated with pain. Whatever the case is, I do still miss them greatly.
It was a good visit. No, it was better than good. The visit was awesome, even perfect. I hope they visit me again soon. Or should I say… allow me to visit them.
Whoever first told me life gets harder as you get older sure knew what they were talking about. I believe it was my mother. We live in an age of a failing world (okay I know that sounds drastically morbid – but it is, let’s face it). We’ve done so much damage to the environment that it’s irreparable, with the continuance of damage ongoing still – today, tomorrow, next week, next year. The economy sucks, and people are struggling financially. The entire world is crime-ridden and it seems even more so in the US. Too many people have lost their religion, that is if they ever had it to begin with.
For these reasons it makes me that much more appreciative of the soul that has come into my life. My brightness. The person who actually makes me better. Brighter.
It all started last July 29th when we started messaging each other (I still have every email correspondence we’ve ever sent). Our first date was August 1st. Man, were we ever both nervous. I’ll never forget coming down those stairs and seeing him leaning back against the hood of his car… lookin’ so cool. 🙂 It’s one of those memories that I hope never fades with age.
No one is perfect – but I’m so beyond perfect that it’s hilarious. I have so many little quirks and eccentricities that need tweaking. I get agitated and worked up easily. He keeps me grounded. I frequently find myself trying to accomplish too much and freaking out when my goals aren’t met. He is teaching me to take life slower. We both have trust issues when it comes to relationships, and have since learned that it’s okay to let our guards down with each other. That in itself was a feat that took some time – time that we look back on and smile at now.
Yep, we’re getting older all right. But that’s not always a bad thing. After all, if we’re lucky enough, we might can capture a little wisdom from it. The kind of wisdom that allows us to be appreciative of the best things in life – that which is right in front of us.
Hats off to second chances….
Although being a parent can be one of the most rewarding responsibilities in life, it’s also well-known to be the toughest.
Parenting. Everyone has their own idea of what it means, a mental list of what all it entails. There are no two sets of individual views that are exactly alike, because even if they possess similarities – the end result is always the same. Bottom line, God really does break the mold when he finishes making each and every one of us.
No matter how old they get, we as parents will never stop worrying about our children. As a young lady, I used to shrug that sentence off when my very own Mother would say it, usually throwing in the old eye-roll. I remember how I used to feel when I was young. As a young adult, I believed my parents either thought I wasn’t smart enough in my own decision-making, or I perceived them as trying to ‘rain on my parade’. Boy have I ever made some wrong choices in life that I’d been forewarned about. When I would fall down, there would be no “I told you so’s”. What happened then, when I fell? My Mother knelt down to me and cried along with me.
It’s hard when you see the wants in life overpowering the needs. I’m talking about the real needs. The Necessities. I was always told, ‘just worry about getting what you need… your wants will come later’. I still have a lot of wants, but that’s okay, I have most everything I need. The week-to-week struggle to maintain daily life definitely takes it’s toll sometimes – but I never forget to be thankful for a good job. Because of that, there is gas in my car and food in my belly. And by the Grace of God, a roof over my head.
Control is no longer an option. There comes a time when our babies wings are finally developed enough to soar the skies – we can’t and shouldn’t hold them back. But sincere advice, cordially delivered, is an option. And as a lifelong loving parent, a God-given right. I only pray for the realization of basic needs to overpower the wants. Any parent who genuinely loves their children only wants the best for them – for them to have sincere happiness, health and prosperity. As for what the future holds – if there ever is an instance of falling down… I will do the only thing that I’m able to do as a parent.
I will kneel down and cry along with them.