So, the weeks passed.
Dave came here in February for his birthday (and he got food poisoning when I took him out to celebrate his birthday...we spent the entire weekend dealing with that....).
He came back again for my birthday (and we picked out my engagement ring).
Then, I went to Oklahoma for a week in May.
By the time I went there, we had set our date.
While I was there, D and I worked out a basic outline for our wedding ceremony.
We talked about writing our own vows, and we discussed who would do the ceremony. We came up with ideas, and made reservations, for our honeymoon.
I went home and contacted my realtor, and asked my friend to marry us.
My place went on the market June 1.
I listed with someone I thought would do a good job, because I knew him and his wife from many years of working together at the Renaissance Faire.
I figured, while he had not the best rep with the rennies, this is his LIVELIHOOD...he was bound to do an actually GOOD job at THIS!!
Long story short is that he did not.
He dropped the ball.
He stopped returning my calls. He never put together the virtual tour he promised. He didn't list the property correctly. He never installed a key box (so no other realtors could access the property if he was not here to open the door).
He didn't show up when he said he would....and I had to fire him.
Had. To.
Because, you see, through these weeks and months, I had built up an idea in myself that moving to Oklahoma was now something I WANTED TO DO.
I was not comfortable with the "wait and see," lack luster attitude that my realtor seemed to have. I needed someone to be aggressive, and get this place SOLD!
The process of going from the original idea of moving, to putting my place on the market and preparing to move, took me through the gambit of thoughts and feelings.
Anyone who has uprooted their life to make it better has, no doubt, gone through this.
So, by the time I listed my property, I was READY to GO!!
And then, in the midst of the housing market being bad, the CONDO market took a sudden, sharp drop of 80%.
Yes, that's EIGHTY.
In the course of one month.
SO, not only did I hire a lazy realtor who did not do his job, but, add to the mix the fact that the condo market had been healthy ONE MONTH before I listed, and then it, too, collapsed like the rest of the housing market.
As a result of my realtor's shortfalls, what I ended up doing was hiring his boss. She assured me that, though the market had changed drastically since I listed, this property would be seen, and someone would place an offer in 2 weeks.
As of today, I am still on my second realtor, and my condo has been shown exactly 3 times since June 1st.
No offers.
But I do have to say that the new realtor did put up the virtual tour immediately. She installed a key box on her first visit, and she has been responsible for the 3 showings that have happened.
So...anyway...my husband lives in Oklahoma.
His son moved out of their apartment to make way for my arrival.
My condo is the one reason I am not there yet.
There are several factors at play here that keep me in place, that are related to the condo.
First of all, and most importantly, is my health.
Second is my desire to not have to actually PAY someone to buy my home! I have already dropped my price to the level at which I will be making NOTHING on the sale. My investment will have been for naught other than a roof over my head for the time I have been here.
The investment will not have grown one penny in that time. It's 6 years now.
Anyway, regarding my health, I have previously been diagnosed with adrenal insufficiency, and adrenal exhaustion.
My adrenals do not know how to function properly, so stress effects me more intensely than someone with normal adrenals.
The ideal situation would be the one that causes the least stress. That would be true for anyone, but for someone with stress related illness, it's multiplied.
That low stress scenario would be :
list condo
get married
sell condo
move
adapt to new home
adapt to being away from friends and family
get new job
start new job
etc....
The worst possible scenario for my health would be:
list condo
get married
condo does not sell
get job in oklahoma while still living here
quit present job on a friday
take TWO DAYS OFF to move, adapt to new home, and adapt to being away from friends and family (all during this two day weekend, because there will BE NO OTHER TIME for it)
start new job the following monday (this would be the only way i could afford to continue to pay my mortgage)
keep paying mortgage on home i no longer live in, making it impossible for me to contribute to my new household
OR
list condo
get married
condo doesn't sell
try to find a tenant
ask tenant to pay $1500 a month rent for a one bedroom
(so i can afford to pay my mortgage, the association dues, AND a manager to keep an eye on things)
move
etc.
OR
list condo
get married
condo doesn't sell
find a tenant willing to pay through the nose for a 1 bedroom
move
etc
tenant causes damage or disruption
i have to pay fines
I have had many people ask me "why don't you just pack up and GO?"
Do you think it's that easy? Perhaps when you see it all put the way I have above, you will understand my motives more clearly.
I could just pack up and go. Default on my mortgage and file bankruptcy, and ruin my health. Yeah, great idea.
But I really would prefer to start my life with D on a better note.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
"Complete satisfaction...."
My ex fiance...you know....the one who cheated on me with my married friend while I was living with him, taking care of his kids, doing his laundry and cooking, cleaning his house....
that one?
He works for a company whose motto is "Our goal...Complete satisfaction."
Well, I received a little dish of complete satisfaction at his expense this evening.
An undisclosed source, really the only person I interact with at all who knows us both anymore, said to me "Are you ready for some gossip?"
Not, for a moment, thinking it would be about HIM...I said "Sure!"
She said "I've seen your wedding pictures. Your husband is very good looking. Your ex....is not."
She went on to elaborate that he has lost much of his hair, yet he still wears what there IS of it in a scraggly pony tail.
He has grown fat and bloated and unhealthy, and, to quote her directly, "He is just NOT aging well!"
Bwahahahahahahahahaha!!!
For a man who once thought he was god's gift to all womankind, and who centered his entire life on how handsome he was....this is very, very bad news.
For the woman who was once his wife to be, who was totally in love with him back then, and who was completely heart broken by his man-whore ways....this is very, VERY satisfying news!!
Bwahahahahahahaha!! I can't stop laughing!!!
that one?
He works for a company whose motto is "Our goal...Complete satisfaction."
Well, I received a little dish of complete satisfaction at his expense this evening.
An undisclosed source, really the only person I interact with at all who knows us both anymore, said to me "Are you ready for some gossip?"
Not, for a moment, thinking it would be about HIM...I said "Sure!"
She said "I've seen your wedding pictures. Your husband is very good looking. Your ex....is not."
She went on to elaborate that he has lost much of his hair, yet he still wears what there IS of it in a scraggly pony tail.
He has grown fat and bloated and unhealthy, and, to quote her directly, "He is just NOT aging well!"
Bwahahahahahahahahaha!!!
For a man who once thought he was god's gift to all womankind, and who centered his entire life on how handsome he was....this is very, very bad news.
For the woman who was once his wife to be, who was totally in love with him back then, and who was completely heart broken by his man-whore ways....this is very, VERY satisfying news!!
Bwahahahahahahaha!! I can't stop laughing!!!
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Decisions, decisions
So, I have now come to the place in the story where D and I have promised ourselves to one another.
We did not set a date, nor make any firm decisions, for quite some time after that.
We didn't even discuss, in serious terms, who was going to have to move, until after 2008 arrived.
In fact, we had a very long, somewhat difficult, phone discussion on New Year's Day of this year. It took place on that day, because we had promised one another last year that 2008 would be the year of decision making.
It was at my impetus that we begin the discussion on the first day of the year, rather than putting it off, and putting it off. If we don't do it now, we're not going to, was my reasoning.
We are, as we well know, not that young any more. Time is of the essence, in many ways.
So, on January 1, 2008, we talked on the phone for several hours. During that conversation, D finally admitted that he could not, and would not, consider moving to Chicago.
He had, at one point, discussed the possibility with great enthusiasm.
However, by Jan. 1, he had not mentioned it in any kind of serious way since he had gotten a promotion earlier in 2007.
In fact, he stopped talking about the possibility altogether.
This was not lost on me. My past experience with the cheater had trained me to notice when my partner stops saying or doing things that had once been a regular part of his behavior.
Anyway, D's been at his current place of employment for something like 27 years.
He has no degree, yet he has worked his way up, and now has a highly technical, advanced position with the company.
If he were to try to move jobs, he'd never find anything with the same benefits, pay, or seniority at this stage of his life.
His job is what limited the discussion to the fact that I will have to move, and I have no choice, if I want to live with him, and start our life together now, rather than after he retires.
Period.
My job and my business are movable. His job is not. His job, in a nut shell, is our security, and our future, and I would have to give up my entire life as I know it, in order for us to have a marriage.
That sounds dramatic and exaggerated, but it really isn't, if you think about it.
I have lived here, in this town, for 23 years.
I have lived in this area of the country, in the same county, for my entire life. My dad lived in the same town, in this county, for his entire life.
Members of my family still live in the house I grew up in.
All of my parents, grand parents, and great grand parents are buried in the same cemetery.
This has been the only home I have ever known, or understood. My roots run very deeply here.
I have struggled to build a life for myself, especially over the past 6 years of being on my own.
I have long-standing friendships, a secure job, a home of my own, a business, and a well established hobby/pass time that involves others.
Trying to accept the idea of having to move away from everyone, and everything, that I have ever known, and that I have worked and sweated and cried for, for the sake of love, has been a very difficult, and heart-wrenching proposition.
It took me many months to move through the process.
I also have a dear friend or two who just didn't seem to quite GET IT, and they were, at moments, less than kind to me in the evolution of this process.
While they may have been through similar circumstances, they were much younger (and less established) when they went through it, and they really do not have any idea of what this is like for me personally. I've never been away from home for more than a couple of weeks at a time!
I respected THEIR past experience, why could they not respect my present experience?
I had hoped for more compassion than "Oh, just put on your big girl pants and deal with it!!"
I eventually presented this idea to my family and friends a little at a time, and was met with, shall we say, some less than happy responses.
The look on my niece's face utterly broke my heart. I had massage clients collapse in tears!
The stress has been overwhelming, and has had an impact on my health.
I have gone years at work without taking a sick day, and this year, which is only 3/4 of the way over, has seen me take several sick days already.
Most recently, for a freak injury to my lower back.
Anyway, after a few months, D and I decided to go ahead and set a date, and get this ball rolling.
I talked to my family about this, and my sister suggested we get married on Grandma's birthday, July 12th.
She suggested this for a couple of reasons....for one thing, she and her husband got married on the 12th of December, and the number 12 had always seemed to be a good thing for them.
They've been married, happily and successfully, for 28 years, or something like that. So, surely, the "12 factor" couldn't hurt.
Also, it was the weekend AFTER a busy holiday, which would make it more convenient for most people.
There was never any question about WHERE D and I wanted to get married....we would do it in the spot where we shared our first kiss. Where he had proposed. Where I had experienced other significant moments in my life....The Spruce Plot in the Morton Arboretum.
(the parking lot closest to the Spuce Plot, incidentally, is Arboretum parking area #12)
This is an area of the preserve that was planted by Sterling Morton himself in the 1920's, as an experiment to see if the land around DuPage county was rich enough to grow good lumber for the booming housing industry in what was becoming Chicagoland.
Now, as part of the preserve, the Spruce Plot is a quiet, almost magical place where the pine scent wafts down from above, the trail is soft with needles, and the sounds of suburbia are muffled, and far away.
We set the date, I contacted a realtor and listed my property for sale, and we crossed our fingers.
The rest was entirely up to me.
We did not set a date, nor make any firm decisions, for quite some time after that.
We didn't even discuss, in serious terms, who was going to have to move, until after 2008 arrived.
In fact, we had a very long, somewhat difficult, phone discussion on New Year's Day of this year. It took place on that day, because we had promised one another last year that 2008 would be the year of decision making.
It was at my impetus that we begin the discussion on the first day of the year, rather than putting it off, and putting it off. If we don't do it now, we're not going to, was my reasoning.
We are, as we well know, not that young any more. Time is of the essence, in many ways.
So, on January 1, 2008, we talked on the phone for several hours. During that conversation, D finally admitted that he could not, and would not, consider moving to Chicago.
He had, at one point, discussed the possibility with great enthusiasm.
However, by Jan. 1, he had not mentioned it in any kind of serious way since he had gotten a promotion earlier in 2007.
In fact, he stopped talking about the possibility altogether.
This was not lost on me. My past experience with the cheater had trained me to notice when my partner stops saying or doing things that had once been a regular part of his behavior.
Anyway, D's been at his current place of employment for something like 27 years.
He has no degree, yet he has worked his way up, and now has a highly technical, advanced position with the company.
If he were to try to move jobs, he'd never find anything with the same benefits, pay, or seniority at this stage of his life.
His job is what limited the discussion to the fact that I will have to move, and I have no choice, if I want to live with him, and start our life together now, rather than after he retires.
Period.
My job and my business are movable. His job is not. His job, in a nut shell, is our security, and our future, and I would have to give up my entire life as I know it, in order for us to have a marriage.
That sounds dramatic and exaggerated, but it really isn't, if you think about it.
I have lived here, in this town, for 23 years.
I have lived in this area of the country, in the same county, for my entire life. My dad lived in the same town, in this county, for his entire life.
Members of my family still live in the house I grew up in.
All of my parents, grand parents, and great grand parents are buried in the same cemetery.
This has been the only home I have ever known, or understood. My roots run very deeply here.
I have struggled to build a life for myself, especially over the past 6 years of being on my own.
I have long-standing friendships, a secure job, a home of my own, a business, and a well established hobby/pass time that involves others.
Trying to accept the idea of having to move away from everyone, and everything, that I have ever known, and that I have worked and sweated and cried for, for the sake of love, has been a very difficult, and heart-wrenching proposition.
It took me many months to move through the process.
I also have a dear friend or two who just didn't seem to quite GET IT, and they were, at moments, less than kind to me in the evolution of this process.
While they may have been through similar circumstances, they were much younger (and less established) when they went through it, and they really do not have any idea of what this is like for me personally. I've never been away from home for more than a couple of weeks at a time!
I respected THEIR past experience, why could they not respect my present experience?
I had hoped for more compassion than "Oh, just put on your big girl pants and deal with it!!"
I eventually presented this idea to my family and friends a little at a time, and was met with, shall we say, some less than happy responses.
The look on my niece's face utterly broke my heart. I had massage clients collapse in tears!
The stress has been overwhelming, and has had an impact on my health.
I have gone years at work without taking a sick day, and this year, which is only 3/4 of the way over, has seen me take several sick days already.
Most recently, for a freak injury to my lower back.
Anyway, after a few months, D and I decided to go ahead and set a date, and get this ball rolling.
I talked to my family about this, and my sister suggested we get married on Grandma's birthday, July 12th.
She suggested this for a couple of reasons....for one thing, she and her husband got married on the 12th of December, and the number 12 had always seemed to be a good thing for them.
They've been married, happily and successfully, for 28 years, or something like that. So, surely, the "12 factor" couldn't hurt.
Also, it was the weekend AFTER a busy holiday, which would make it more convenient for most people.
There was never any question about WHERE D and I wanted to get married....we would do it in the spot where we shared our first kiss. Where he had proposed. Where I had experienced other significant moments in my life....The Spruce Plot in the Morton Arboretum.
(the parking lot closest to the Spuce Plot, incidentally, is Arboretum parking area #12)
This is an area of the preserve that was planted by Sterling Morton himself in the 1920's, as an experiment to see if the land around DuPage county was rich enough to grow good lumber for the booming housing industry in what was becoming Chicagoland.
Now, as part of the preserve, the Spruce Plot is a quiet, almost magical place where the pine scent wafts down from above, the trail is soft with needles, and the sounds of suburbia are muffled, and far away.
We set the date, I contacted a realtor and listed my property for sale, and we crossed our fingers.
The rest was entirely up to me.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Getting old?
After four and a half days of intensive dance conditioning and training, all I had was a little lower back pain. I was SO thrilled!!
Then the day after I got back, I was doing laundry, and carrying a full basket toward the door, when I tripped on the corner of a rug and hurt my back.
It was feeling a lot better by yesterday, after a lot of stretching, and going to the chiropractor a couple of times.... and then....all I did was bend slightly at the waist, yesterday at the office, and something gave way.
I was in instant, excruciating pain. The pain started medially, next to the bottom of my spine, and radiated toward the left. It felt either like something was tearing, or like it was going into a gradual spasm from one end to the other.
I called my chiropractor, and she got me in last night. Driving to get there was a nightmare of pain. She did not do any adjustment, just ice, soft tissue work, and stretching. She also put me in a back brace, and called it a psoas sprain.
The pain fills the area between the INSIDE of my left sacroiliac joint, down toward the front of my left hip joint. So it basically goes through the left half of my pelvis.
This is exactly where the psoas muscle is....so it's pretty clear what's going on.
I was awake almost all night with pain. I only find relief lying a certain way, and with as much as I toss and turn on a GOOD night, last night was pretty sleepless. I'd fall asleep, and move, and wake up from the pain.
Ibuprofin takes the edge off, thankfully.
SO, I called in sick from work, because when I got up, I could barely walk.
I talked to the HR person, and assured her that, while yesterday's event happened at work, I do not intend to make this into a worker's compensation issue.
I know my body's history, and I know physiology, and I have too much integrity to try to turn this situation to my advantage.
This could just as easily have happened at home, feeding the cat, or picking up the mail.
She didn't seem to care, but I did, so I had to tell her that.
I return to the chiropractor tonight, unless she wants to see me earlier in the day, now that I am off work. She may send me for xrays. Great...more driving.
This is my first inkling of not being a teenager anymore. It's depressing!
Then the day after I got back, I was doing laundry, and carrying a full basket toward the door, when I tripped on the corner of a rug and hurt my back.
It was feeling a lot better by yesterday, after a lot of stretching, and going to the chiropractor a couple of times.... and then....all I did was bend slightly at the waist, yesterday at the office, and something gave way.
I was in instant, excruciating pain. The pain started medially, next to the bottom of my spine, and radiated toward the left. It felt either like something was tearing, or like it was going into a gradual spasm from one end to the other.
I called my chiropractor, and she got me in last night. Driving to get there was a nightmare of pain. She did not do any adjustment, just ice, soft tissue work, and stretching. She also put me in a back brace, and called it a psoas sprain.
The pain fills the area between the INSIDE of my left sacroiliac joint, down toward the front of my left hip joint. So it basically goes through the left half of my pelvis.
This is exactly where the psoas muscle is....so it's pretty clear what's going on.
I was awake almost all night with pain. I only find relief lying a certain way, and with as much as I toss and turn on a GOOD night, last night was pretty sleepless. I'd fall asleep, and move, and wake up from the pain.
Ibuprofin takes the edge off, thankfully.
SO, I called in sick from work, because when I got up, I could barely walk.
I talked to the HR person, and assured her that, while yesterday's event happened at work, I do not intend to make this into a worker's compensation issue.
I know my body's history, and I know physiology, and I have too much integrity to try to turn this situation to my advantage.
This could just as easily have happened at home, feeding the cat, or picking up the mail.
She didn't seem to care, but I did, so I had to tell her that.
I return to the chiropractor tonight, unless she wants to see me earlier in the day, now that I am off work. She may send me for xrays. Great...more driving.
This is my first inkling of not being a teenager anymore. It's depressing!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
The engagement story
It was July of 2007.
He came into town on the 20th..I had to work that day, so he was here at my place all day. THAT sucked, but the cool part was that he went out walking around town looking for a place to buy me flowers!! (aw)
I came home to my love, and a beautiful bouquet!
We had dinner out that night, and he mentioned that he had a plan for Sunday, but that he couldn't elaborate on it just then...only that we had to be sure to get to the Renaissance Faire on SATURDAY.
(we had talked about getting matching Celtic knot rings (he's half Welsh, too!), sort of as a way to stay connected when we are apart--which is, obviously, most of the time--so I just figured he wanted to do some kind of little ritual around having these rings....little did I know....!!!)
So we went to Faire on Saturday, and he LOVED it. I took him to my favorite place for sterling jewelry, and he picked us out a pair of rings.
That night, he asked me if I wanted to do something with them to bless them, since I do that "Witchy stuff." I said sure, and created a spontaneous blessing ritual that we did together.
Next morning, he was up WAY early, clinking dishes in the kitchen. I tried to go back to sleep, but he was making too much noise in this tiny place!
SO I got up. He made me breakfast, and asked if we could take a trip to the Arboretum, specifically to the place where we first kissed.
Sure, says I.
"I have some chores and errands to do, but we can go to the Arboretum. What would you rather do first? The errands, or the Arb?"
He emphatically chose going to the Arb first!
Then he asked if we could take WINE into the Arboretum. "No," says I, "but if we don't TELL anyone, who's going to know?"
(and I'm thinking..what does he want with WINE in the MORNING?)
So he asked where my thermos was, and he opened this bottle of mead he had bought on Friday, and poured a bit of it into the thermos. Then he packed up one of his favorite little stoneware mugs of mine, and I went and took my shower.
Then he showered. He asked me to get the rings, and I went to put them in his shirt pocket, and he stopped me...he dropped the rings into his pocket himself, and we were off to the Arboretum by around 9:30 or 10.
We drove in to the parking area close to "our spot," and got out of the car. He grabbed the tote bag, took my hand, and we walked down the trail.
By the time we got to our spot, his hand was shaking, and I was starting to get this niggling idea that maybe this wasn't just about exchanging friendship rings!!
He laid the rings out on the stone bench, unwrapped the mug, and poured the mead. Then he took a big breath, and said "I really didn't want to have to read this off of a piece of paper, but that's the only way I am going to get through this."
And he pulled a folded paper out of his shirt pocket (the same shirt pocket he had stopped me from touching earlier), and, with a shaking voice, read me the poem he had written his proposal into.
He even used the phrase "I plight thee my troth." (how perfect is that for me???!!!)
I, of course, burst into tears and threw my arms around his neck.
He laughed a bit uneasily and said "That's not really an answer. I need an answer...for all I know, you could tell me to f* off."
I assured him that I was not going to tell him to f* off, and that he should KNOW that!! I said that the tears on my face were pure joy.
I took some of the tears, and anointed his ring with them. I said that I really was at a total loss for words, other than to say "yes," and "what you said," as I placed his ring on his hand.
Then he put my ring on my hand.
He said there was no need for me to say anything else....the only word that mattered was "yes." We toasted with our wine to seal the deal!
He came into town on the 20th..I had to work that day, so he was here at my place all day. THAT sucked, but the cool part was that he went out walking around town looking for a place to buy me flowers!! (aw)
I came home to my love, and a beautiful bouquet!
We had dinner out that night, and he mentioned that he had a plan for Sunday, but that he couldn't elaborate on it just then...only that we had to be sure to get to the Renaissance Faire on SATURDAY.
(we had talked about getting matching Celtic knot rings (he's half Welsh, too!), sort of as a way to stay connected when we are apart--which is, obviously, most of the time--so I just figured he wanted to do some kind of little ritual around having these rings....little did I know....!!!)
So we went to Faire on Saturday, and he LOVED it. I took him to my favorite place for sterling jewelry, and he picked us out a pair of rings.
That night, he asked me if I wanted to do something with them to bless them, since I do that "Witchy stuff." I said sure, and created a spontaneous blessing ritual that we did together.
Next morning, he was up WAY early, clinking dishes in the kitchen. I tried to go back to sleep, but he was making too much noise in this tiny place!
SO I got up. He made me breakfast, and asked if we could take a trip to the Arboretum, specifically to the place where we first kissed.
Sure, says I.
"I have some chores and errands to do, but we can go to the Arboretum. What would you rather do first? The errands, or the Arb?"
He emphatically chose going to the Arb first!
Then he asked if we could take WINE into the Arboretum. "No," says I, "but if we don't TELL anyone, who's going to know?"
(and I'm thinking..what does he want with WINE in the MORNING?)
So he asked where my thermos was, and he opened this bottle of mead he had bought on Friday, and poured a bit of it into the thermos. Then he packed up one of his favorite little stoneware mugs of mine, and I went and took my shower.
Then he showered. He asked me to get the rings, and I went to put them in his shirt pocket, and he stopped me...he dropped the rings into his pocket himself, and we were off to the Arboretum by around 9:30 or 10.
We drove in to the parking area close to "our spot," and got out of the car. He grabbed the tote bag, took my hand, and we walked down the trail.
By the time we got to our spot, his hand was shaking, and I was starting to get this niggling idea that maybe this wasn't just about exchanging friendship rings!!
He laid the rings out on the stone bench, unwrapped the mug, and poured the mead. Then he took a big breath, and said "I really didn't want to have to read this off of a piece of paper, but that's the only way I am going to get through this."
And he pulled a folded paper out of his shirt pocket (the same shirt pocket he had stopped me from touching earlier), and, with a shaking voice, read me the poem he had written his proposal into.
He even used the phrase "I plight thee my troth." (how perfect is that for me???!!!)
I, of course, burst into tears and threw my arms around his neck.
He laughed a bit uneasily and said "That's not really an answer. I need an answer...for all I know, you could tell me to f* off."
I assured him that I was not going to tell him to f* off, and that he should KNOW that!! I said that the tears on my face were pure joy.
I took some of the tears, and anointed his ring with them. I said that I really was at a total loss for words, other than to say "yes," and "what you said," as I placed his ring on his hand.
Then he put my ring on my hand.
He said there was no need for me to say anything else....the only word that mattered was "yes." We toasted with our wine to seal the deal!
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Building walls, and tearing them down again
After what happened with Rich, I decided to wrap my heart in barbed wire, and be VERY selective about who I would let come near it.
I had, as I have mentioned before, truly loved him, and had opened my heart to him utterly, only to have him trash it like it was nothing.
In retrospect, I know that during my processes of losing lovers, over and over and over, I developed a pretty sad set of assumptions about myself.
First to loosen the barbed wire was Canada Dave. I think I really loved him, but his circumstances were such that, right when we were first involved, he moved home to Ontario. It was just bad timing. (he still has a place in my heart...he never actually did anything to hurt me!) We never had the TIME to find out what might have been...so I re-wrapped the barbed wire about my heart, and moved on.
After that, I had let the barbed wire fall away with Teece, only to have him abandon me, too.
So, over time, I figured that, since my ex husband had abandoned me in favor of drugs and alcohol, and then my ex fiance had abandoned me for one of my best friends (who was married), and then, one after the other, the guys I actually tried to develop relationships with were dropping like flies....mostly without any explanation....
there must be something fundamentally wrong with me.
That was how it was. What else could it be?
That, and I also decided that love didn't really exist. It was a fallacy. A fantasy.
So, I built walls around my heart, and put the barbed wire back around it, and became so closely guarded and shielded that I would not, COULD not, let myself "fall" again.
If love was a made up fairy tale, anyway, what would it matter?
I'd simply learn to accept being single, and I'd look forward to the day when I could be the crazy cat lady in the old old house, with 47 cats, and people coming to me to cast spells for them.
This is what D had to deal with when we first were involved. My fear was so thick, so insurmountable, that I was unable to match his affections for quite some time.
Despite all of this, he somehow managed to fall for me, head over heels, hook line and sinker, pretty quickly.
This, in itself, was very scary for me. I think, at one point, I told him to "Cut it out!"
He had warned me of his tendency to "focus" on things, and that he had suspected that he would "focus" on me pretty easily. He did.
When we were first in touch, he was instantly smitten, so he tells me, and it just cascaded from there.
Yet, the poor guy was persistent in dealing with my hesitation to jump in with him.
He kept saying "I'm not going anywhere. You're it."
He assured me that there wasn't anything wrong with ME. He said that the character flaws all belonged to the men who had mis-treated me, and who had broken or mis-used my heart.
He said he recognized the jewel that I had kept hidden behind the walls and barbed wire, and he would wait for me to accept that.
He started telling me he loved me.
He meant it.
All I could say was ... "I know." Because I DID know he loved me. I could hear it in his words. See it in his eyes (when we had the chance to be on webcam), and just feel it as something that was literally TRUE.
It really didn't take that long for the holes in the mortar to begin. Several weeks into this process, while D was on vacation visiting the Universe and hobbitt, I finally said "I love you too" to him at the end of a conversation.
I thought he was going to burst with joy!
But the process of actually tearing down the walls, and cutting away the barbed wire, took several months.
There are still remnants of it there, I think, in my insecurities and uncertainties.
But he asked me to marry him anyway, despite my reserve. Last year, on July 22nd, during a visit here (only his third). He proposed in the most beautiful, and perfect, of ways.
We had only been together three times in person, but we had spent so many countless hours talking, and getting to really know one another, that it seemed like we had spent FAR more time together than three long weekends.
The walls came down, leaving only a few bricks, and some mortar. The barbed wire was cut away, and I allowed myself, finally, to fall in love.
I had, as I have mentioned before, truly loved him, and had opened my heart to him utterly, only to have him trash it like it was nothing.
In retrospect, I know that during my processes of losing lovers, over and over and over, I developed a pretty sad set of assumptions about myself.
First to loosen the barbed wire was Canada Dave. I think I really loved him, but his circumstances were such that, right when we were first involved, he moved home to Ontario. It was just bad timing. (he still has a place in my heart...he never actually did anything to hurt me!) We never had the TIME to find out what might have been...so I re-wrapped the barbed wire about my heart, and moved on.
After that, I had let the barbed wire fall away with Teece, only to have him abandon me, too.
So, over time, I figured that, since my ex husband had abandoned me in favor of drugs and alcohol, and then my ex fiance had abandoned me for one of my best friends (who was married), and then, one after the other, the guys I actually tried to develop relationships with were dropping like flies....mostly without any explanation....
there must be something fundamentally wrong with me.
That was how it was. What else could it be?
That, and I also decided that love didn't really exist. It was a fallacy. A fantasy.
So, I built walls around my heart, and put the barbed wire back around it, and became so closely guarded and shielded that I would not, COULD not, let myself "fall" again.
If love was a made up fairy tale, anyway, what would it matter?
I'd simply learn to accept being single, and I'd look forward to the day when I could be the crazy cat lady in the old old house, with 47 cats, and people coming to me to cast spells for them.
This is what D had to deal with when we first were involved. My fear was so thick, so insurmountable, that I was unable to match his affections for quite some time.
Despite all of this, he somehow managed to fall for me, head over heels, hook line and sinker, pretty quickly.
This, in itself, was very scary for me. I think, at one point, I told him to "Cut it out!"
He had warned me of his tendency to "focus" on things, and that he had suspected that he would "focus" on me pretty easily. He did.
When we were first in touch, he was instantly smitten, so he tells me, and it just cascaded from there.
Yet, the poor guy was persistent in dealing with my hesitation to jump in with him.
He kept saying "I'm not going anywhere. You're it."
He assured me that there wasn't anything wrong with ME. He said that the character flaws all belonged to the men who had mis-treated me, and who had broken or mis-used my heart.
He said he recognized the jewel that I had kept hidden behind the walls and barbed wire, and he would wait for me to accept that.
He started telling me he loved me.
He meant it.
All I could say was ... "I know." Because I DID know he loved me. I could hear it in his words. See it in his eyes (when we had the chance to be on webcam), and just feel it as something that was literally TRUE.
It really didn't take that long for the holes in the mortar to begin. Several weeks into this process, while D was on vacation visiting the Universe and hobbitt, I finally said "I love you too" to him at the end of a conversation.
I thought he was going to burst with joy!
But the process of actually tearing down the walls, and cutting away the barbed wire, took several months.
There are still remnants of it there, I think, in my insecurities and uncertainties.
But he asked me to marry him anyway, despite my reserve. Last year, on July 22nd, during a visit here (only his third). He proposed in the most beautiful, and perfect, of ways.
We had only been together three times in person, but we had spent so many countless hours talking, and getting to really know one another, that it seemed like we had spent FAR more time together than three long weekends.
The walls came down, leaving only a few bricks, and some mortar. The barbed wire was cut away, and I allowed myself, finally, to fall in love.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The dating scene
Oh my goodness, there is nothing much worse than having to start dating after your 40th birthday has long since come and gone.
I can't imagine what it must be like for those who start after they turn 50!
For me, as a mild mannered, shy and reserved sort of person, there weren't a whole lot of options.
I didn't have any money to belong to any clubs or anything.
I did not, and still do not, enjoy going to bars.
I had never once seen an eligible man in the library, bookstore, or grocery store.
None of my friends were forthcoming with introductions, and the one who DID have someone for me to meet misjudged both me, and her friend, pretty extremely!
Anyway, I turned to the "innernets" (yes, I know it's not really spelled that way...but our president does not) for my first forays into dating since my divorce.
My husband was gone, my ex fiance and his married whore of a girlfriend were gone...and I was on my own.
I actually didn't waste a lot of time getting myself "out there." My brother always said about that, that I was an optimist from the beginning.
I remember him advising me, upon my being devastated and utterly heart-broken by Rich (I HAD actually, totally, utterly, loved that guy once), that no one was going to just magically appear at my door. He said that I'd have to get out there and make myself visible, and available, in order to meet someone.
I always had some kind of faith that there was someone out there for me....somewhere. So, I took my brother's advice, and, when I was ready, started looking.
I went to Match.com. I went to eHarmony. I went to a few that don't exist anymore. I went to Yahoo. I went to that one based on your Spirituality...can't remember the name of it now. I went to one based on your i.q. test results.
I tried them all.
Over the course of 5 or so years, starting when I was 41ish, I became acquainted with dozens of men on line. Emails and flirting and chatting on line.
When it felt safe, and they had begged enough, I would share my phone number.
When things progressed to the right level, I would agree to meet them.
Over those 5 or so years, I met 23 men. Most of them once. Most of them should have had big, bright red "L's" tattooed on their foreheads.
While I will admit that I did meet several very nice men, the vast majority of them should have been drowned at birth, or at the time of their divorce, just to save woman-kind from having to deal with their lies, their arrogance, and their stupidity.
No, really!
I had a whole list made up at one point, and in one of my former blogs, I wrote stories about some of the most memorable encounters.
Some of the names I gave to my "mystery dates" were:
Mullett Man John (he was my first actual date since I had met my ex husband, since Rich and I never actually dated)
Cheese head lawyer Bill (he considered it a compliment to tell me that it was nice that my thighs were not so fat as to hang over the sides of the chair at the restaurant he took me to.)
Bad hygiene Jamie (ew)
Woman hating Jeff (this guy was out to prove that all women could be categorized, compartmentalized, and controlled.....one date was too many with this one!)
Sociopath Simon (gawd)
Disappearing Designer Teece (I actually had a relationship with this one. After a few months, he came over every weekend. He met my friends. He had said he was falling in love with me....and then he just....vanished. Completely. Never heard from him again. See my poem :The White Crow:
Spanky Joe (don't ask)
Rotting teeth homeless Krist (yes, even I knew how to really hit bottom)
Very large ex-Mormon David
Mystery man Tommy (one moment, he can't wait to date me...the next minute, he stops calling and emailing, and stands me up....ok then!)
Short Scott
and, yes, even Married Gary!! ("I really like you, and want to see you again, but before we have our next date, there's something you need to know....because I really like you, and I don't want to go forward if you're uncomfortable with it....")
There were also a host of others I have now, mercifully, forgotten.
Ultimately, the last guy I was involved with, Jeff, was very sweet, very generous, and very interested in me.
Sometimes.
When we would get together, we'd have a great time. Lots of lively conversation, we'd go to movies, or stay in and play back gammon....and he was an utterly amazing kisser.
But he would only contact me when he was looking for some action, after a while.
Every 3 weeks to every month. I wanted a real relationship. He wanted someone to hook up with when he felt like it.
Nope. That was not for me.
By this time, 23 men, and 5 years into it, I was becoming disillusioned, frustrated, and bitter. These things were starting to come through in my blogs, my every day conversation, and in my every waking moment, so it seemed.
I'd had enough, and was really, truly ready to give up.
Now, mind you, I'd said that I was going to give up after each let-down. After Teece disappeared. After rotting tooth homeless guy proved to be a liar and a fake. After Gary said he was married. After Jeff stopped wanting to see me every day, and switched to once every several weeks....
...but I'd never really, actually given up.
Apparently, my friend, The Universe, was getting tired of hearing me say that I was going to. She was also noticing that bitter edge to my attitude.
(she's not really The Universe...that's one of her personas on the ever mysterious innernets)
So she emailed her friend D. She asked him first, if he would be at all interested in meeting her friend (me).
From what I heard, he was VERY enthusiastic and interested. Like a puppy dog being offered a treat, actually, was what it brought to mind.
She then emailed me. My response was "What can it hurt. It's not like Oklahoma City is close enough to be dangerous!"
And...so...it began.
She introduced us via email. He emailed me first, I think, and that first day, we exchanged 4 emails.
Not a day has passed since then that we have not been in some kind of contact.
After a couple of months of spending HOURS on the phone, on the innernets, and on the webcam, talking and getting acquainted...and falling in love....I invited D to come and visit me.
"It's not like Oklahoma City is close enough to be dangerous."
Yeah, right.
I can't imagine what it must be like for those who start after they turn 50!
For me, as a mild mannered, shy and reserved sort of person, there weren't a whole lot of options.
I didn't have any money to belong to any clubs or anything.
I did not, and still do not, enjoy going to bars.
I had never once seen an eligible man in the library, bookstore, or grocery store.
None of my friends were forthcoming with introductions, and the one who DID have someone for me to meet misjudged both me, and her friend, pretty extremely!
Anyway, I turned to the "innernets" (yes, I know it's not really spelled that way...but our president does not) for my first forays into dating since my divorce.
My husband was gone, my ex fiance and his married whore of a girlfriend were gone...and I was on my own.
I actually didn't waste a lot of time getting myself "out there." My brother always said about that, that I was an optimist from the beginning.
I remember him advising me, upon my being devastated and utterly heart-broken by Rich (I HAD actually, totally, utterly, loved that guy once), that no one was going to just magically appear at my door. He said that I'd have to get out there and make myself visible, and available, in order to meet someone.
I always had some kind of faith that there was someone out there for me....somewhere. So, I took my brother's advice, and, when I was ready, started looking.
I went to Match.com. I went to eHarmony. I went to a few that don't exist anymore. I went to Yahoo. I went to that one based on your Spirituality...can't remember the name of it now. I went to one based on your i.q. test results.
I tried them all.
Over the course of 5 or so years, starting when I was 41ish, I became acquainted with dozens of men on line. Emails and flirting and chatting on line.
When it felt safe, and they had begged enough, I would share my phone number.
When things progressed to the right level, I would agree to meet them.
Over those 5 or so years, I met 23 men. Most of them once. Most of them should have had big, bright red "L's" tattooed on their foreheads.
While I will admit that I did meet several very nice men, the vast majority of them should have been drowned at birth, or at the time of their divorce, just to save woman-kind from having to deal with their lies, their arrogance, and their stupidity.
No, really!
I had a whole list made up at one point, and in one of my former blogs, I wrote stories about some of the most memorable encounters.
Some of the names I gave to my "mystery dates" were:
Mullett Man John (he was my first actual date since I had met my ex husband, since Rich and I never actually dated)
Cheese head lawyer Bill (he considered it a compliment to tell me that it was nice that my thighs were not so fat as to hang over the sides of the chair at the restaurant he took me to.)
Bad hygiene Jamie (ew)
Woman hating Jeff (this guy was out to prove that all women could be categorized, compartmentalized, and controlled.....one date was too many with this one!)
Sociopath Simon (gawd)
Disappearing Designer Teece (I actually had a relationship with this one. After a few months, he came over every weekend. He met my friends. He had said he was falling in love with me....and then he just....vanished. Completely. Never heard from him again. See my poem :The White Crow:
Spanky Joe (don't ask)
Rotting teeth homeless Krist (yes, even I knew how to really hit bottom)
Very large ex-Mormon David
Mystery man Tommy (one moment, he can't wait to date me...the next minute, he stops calling and emailing, and stands me up....ok then!)
Short Scott
and, yes, even Married Gary!! ("I really like you, and want to see you again, but before we have our next date, there's something you need to know....because I really like you, and I don't want to go forward if you're uncomfortable with it....")
There were also a host of others I have now, mercifully, forgotten.
Ultimately, the last guy I was involved with, Jeff, was very sweet, very generous, and very interested in me.
Sometimes.
When we would get together, we'd have a great time. Lots of lively conversation, we'd go to movies, or stay in and play back gammon....and he was an utterly amazing kisser.
But he would only contact me when he was looking for some action, after a while.
Every 3 weeks to every month. I wanted a real relationship. He wanted someone to hook up with when he felt like it.
Nope. That was not for me.
By this time, 23 men, and 5 years into it, I was becoming disillusioned, frustrated, and bitter. These things were starting to come through in my blogs, my every day conversation, and in my every waking moment, so it seemed.
I'd had enough, and was really, truly ready to give up.
Now, mind you, I'd said that I was going to give up after each let-down. After Teece disappeared. After rotting tooth homeless guy proved to be a liar and a fake. After Gary said he was married. After Jeff stopped wanting to see me every day, and switched to once every several weeks....
...but I'd never really, actually given up.
Apparently, my friend, The Universe, was getting tired of hearing me say that I was going to. She was also noticing that bitter edge to my attitude.
(she's not really The Universe...that's one of her personas on the ever mysterious innernets)
So she emailed her friend D. She asked him first, if he would be at all interested in meeting her friend (me).
From what I heard, he was VERY enthusiastic and interested. Like a puppy dog being offered a treat, actually, was what it brought to mind.
She then emailed me. My response was "What can it hurt. It's not like Oklahoma City is close enough to be dangerous!"
And...so...it began.
She introduced us via email. He emailed me first, I think, and that first day, we exchanged 4 emails.
Not a day has passed since then that we have not been in some kind of contact.
After a couple of months of spending HOURS on the phone, on the innernets, and on the webcam, talking and getting acquainted...and falling in love....I invited D to come and visit me.
"It's not like Oklahoma City is close enough to be dangerous."
Yeah, right.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Breathe, eat, sleep, dance
a view from the dining hall into the main dance classroom at camp
click to enlarge, and sorry it's so dark!
My bunk in the dorm at dance camp, including Aswad bint Al Waha (my stuffed black cat)
click image to enlarge
It was four and a half days of intensive dance training, and dance conditioning classes (a total of 5 hours a day), and in middle eastern drumming. There were a couple of lecture classes, fabulous food, amazing camaraderie, spectacular dancers to observe during class, and total separation from every day life.
No tv, no radio, no internet, and no cell towers close by!
Oh, and the food was plentiful and delicious....and, because of all of the sweating, no one worried about how much they were eating! We were always STARVED for every meal, because we literally used up all of the calories from the last one!
The teachers were Cassandra, Habiba, Yasmina Amal, and drumming with Nicole.
The dance classes were separated into units on middle eastern dance technique, and units on both "cabaret" style dance, and "folkloric" dance.
THEN, there were also units on choreography, where we were taught complete choreographies for performance.
Cabaret style is what most people think of when they think of middle eastern, or "belly," dance. Sinuous movement, utterly feminine, and with sparkly costuming (which is, incidentally, VERY expensive!!)
Folkloric style is much different, and more what you might call "ethnic." Last year, we learned Khaleegy, the women's dances of the Arabian lands. Still sparkly, but not what you would typically consider to be "belly" dance, either.
This year, it was Tunisian dance.
Tunisian dance is COMPLETELY not what you would consider belly dance! Look it up some time! (there are some cool pictures on Nicole's website--look for the dancers with the water jugs on their shoulders)
The Tunisian classes were especially intense, because the movements are very focused on twisting the hips, while "in releve`," or, rather, on the balls of your feet. Always.
I had to cut out of the choreography class after a while, because I have issues with my left foot, and those issues started to effect my left ankle. Because my arch is falling on the left side (thanks for THAT gene, Dad!), my ankle functions differently, and the seriously intense pressure from Tunisian technique, for hours a day, turned out to be too much for it.
I found that supremely frustrating!
Anyway, part of Dance Camp is a big show, for which we spend months preparing.
The audience is FAR more dance-savvy than any other one might perform for at any other time of one's dance year!!
The audience is ALSO probably the most enthusiastic one may ever come across!
This is because, by "show night," we have all formed new friendship bonds, and have all sweated and cried together during the intensive training classes....and everyone knows, you cheer loudly when your friends are on stage!
Last year, I did a solo, and a duet with one of the other members of my troupe, Rasha al Warda. We won a performance award for that duet.
This year, we did a trio, our full troupe at the moment, and then, I also did a COMEDY themed duet with the OTHER member of the troupe, Jawhara. We won a performance award for the comedy!
I have been told that it's highly unusual for one to win an award at two consecutive dance camps!!
Then, on the last night, the amazing teachers put on a stunning show, which is followed by an all-out dance party. There is henna, and food, and "adult beverages," and live music, and, of COURSE, dancing.
I had the SUPREME honor of being asked to sit in with the musicians for the party. I was invited to do this by the drumming teacher herself, and then again, by the "main" teacher of the entire week, Cassandra of Minneapolis.
THAT was really, really a HUGE honor for me.
Unfortunately, because I was "with the band," I didn't get to have my henna time, so no henna art on my hands or feet this year. OH well...I had plenty of that for my wedding day!
All in all, it was a wonderful, challenging, affirming, and educational experience.
I learned much about myself, as I did last year, regarding my limitations, as WELL as my capabilities!
In addition, I learned that I am in much better shape than I expected to be! I only took one pain killer all weekend, for my ankle, and I never even thought about my hot packs until Saturday morning, when the only soreness or pain I had was across my lower back.
THAT taught me that my posture had not been good on Friday!
I had fully expected to be sore, or worse, in actual pain, the whole time, and was very pleased, and surprised, to find that I was not. (Aside: Last year, when I was in what I thought was better physical condition, I used my hot packs every night, and took several pain killers!)
I feel rejuvenated and inspired...AND, I lost 3 pounds!!
Unfortunately, it rained almost the entire time we were there (as it seems to have done across the upper midwest as well...there was horrible flooding on the way home, and a big detour that added hours to our home bound trip). The constant rain at camp made it impossible to spend any time enjoying the lake, and the level of humidity made the sweat factor overwhelming at times.
The humidity levels were probaby at 98 to 100 % the entire time. When you're working out like that, and sweating, and there's no where for the sweat to GO because it can't evaporate....it's unpleasant.
But, that was the only thing that put a ... um... damper on the trip!
We didn't realize, either, that there was widespread flooding back home, and that the flooding was horrible between where we were, and home!
When we got into Indiana, we had to be re-routed off of our highway, because it was under 4 feet of water! Our trip took over 8 hours, where it should have only been just under 6.
We also didn't know about hurricane Ike, so I would like to put out there that I am sending prayers and good vibes to all of the people in Ike's path whose lives were impacted.
Monday, September 8, 2008
"Ch" #2
And now, the "ex fiance" story.
Rich moved in to the house next door to ours the winter of 1998/1999. He was a single dad, whose kids would visit on the weekends, and on Wednesdays.
He liked gardening, and was a musician, and he first spoke to me out in the driveway, when I was leaving to go to my podiatrist to have my broken foot checked on.
It was all very innocent and neighborly.
We became friends, and I started taking guitar lessons from him, and he became a client of my massage business.
He had lots of interest in natural health, and alternative Spirituality, and we always had LOTS to talk about. We'd spend hours together.
It didn't really matter, because my husband was never around, anyway.
But, I maintain that it was all very innocent and neighborly.
Until I told Rich that I was thinking of divorcing Butch.
I'd had enough of being left alone, and things had not been good at all between me and Butch since that day in 1997 when he'd yelled at me.
I was scared, but I was SO done with wasting my life in a dead relationship.
When I told Rich that I was considering divorce, he said "You should divorce him. They guy's an IDIOT! I can tell how lonely you are. He doesn't know how good he's got it, because he's never home. Doesn't he SEE YOU?? You're gorgeous! You deserve SO much better. You deserve someone who will really love you. Like me."
Uh.
What?
"I knew the moment we met. But you're married. How could I say anything? I've been sitting over here tearing my hair out over you. I see you come and go, we wave, we say hi. And it's been KILLING ME."
He went on and on.
He said everything a woman wants and needs to hear. Everything a woman day dreams about hearing from a very, very handsome man!!
He said he honored the vows of marriage, and promised to honor me, and my marriage, until it was over, by not pursuing a physical relationship.
But this was it. I was the one. He was sure of it. And he would wait.
As this started to sink in, I allowed myself to be washed away by feelings of rapture!
To me, at that time, Rich was perfection.
Guitar player, smart, funny, magnificently handsome, into herbal medicine and natural health, interested in studying alternative Spirituality, into gardening...and...most surprising and delightful of all...WAY, WAY into ME!!!
I went forward with the divorce process. I told my husband. I contacted a lawyer. I got us started in mediation.
A few months passed. Rich and I still hung out together a lot. I got to know, and fell in love with, Rich's kids.
I had become swept up by his declarations of love, and I had fallen COMPLETELY and utterly in love with him.
But not one kiss. Not anything.
Just some really long, standing hugs. Being in Rich's arms filled me with a sense of security, of wholeness, and of rightness, that I had never, EVER felt before.
I figured out at that time that I had never really been truly in love before. Not for real. THIS was requited, and respectful, and passionate...and wonderful.
Rich did not approach me for our first kiss until I had completed the mediation process, and the divorce papers were being drawn up. At that point, he said he couldn't hold back any more, he had to kiss me.
We came up for air several hours later. Wow. NEVER had I had a "make out"session like that before. Incredible.
BUT-- Rich and I did not "consummate" our relationship for another 2 months after that...not until Butch had signed the divorce papers, which I had to give back to my lawyer before the court date.
It was 10 days or so before the court date. The house was sold, the papers were signed, the marriage was over. But the judge hadn't signed off on the divorce yet.
SO, in that way, I suppose I did technically cheat on my husband. If you think of it in terms of technicalities.
But the reality was that my husband had cheated on ME for YEARS....by spending more time with his addictions and his buddies than he did with me.
By the time he had signed the papers, Butch knew that Rich and I were in love. He was LIVID, and bitter, and angry.
But I was not yet having sex with Rich, and, no matter what I told Butch, he would not believe me.
To this day, Butch is convinced that I was whoring around on him the whole time we were married.
Whatever.
Anyway, I had been searching for room mates and affordable apartments, and I was having no luck at all.
Surprisingly, Butch suggested I ask Rich if I could move in with him.
I didn't think this was a good idea, but I was in love with Rich, and ready to be free with our relationship....so I mentioned it to Rich.
He said he had never planned on letting me find an apartment or a stranger for a room mate. He would insist on my coming to live with him.
So I did.
I moved across the driveway, and moved in with the man who had promised me the world.
By Christmas, he had proposed.
We talked on his cell phone every day, many times a day. He got me a cell phone so we could be in touch at all times.
Time went on. I took care of his kids. I cooked and cleaned and did laundry.
I was ready for him every night. Yes, EVERY night. And I loved it.
And I waited.
I waited for him to start saying he loved me again.
I waited for the diamond and sapphire ring he'd promised me.
I waited for us to start talking about a wedding date again.
And then he started not coming home until 1 am. 2 am. 5 am.
He stopped saying "we" and "us," and when I'd say "I love you," he'd just say "me too."
We took a vacation to Mexico. We made improvements on the house. We hung out with his family.
But then he stopped coming with me for my family events.
He stopped answering his cell phone when I would call.
He stopped answering my text messages.
And one day. It dawned on me.
It was Karen.
And it was.
After the confrontation, I started to pack. I started the search for a place to live.
He begged me not to go. He admitted that he'd been stupid. Please don't go. Stay. Marry me.
No.
I slept on the couch from October until I moved. He stayed out late, as he had been doing, screwing Karen.
We managed to avoid one another most of the time during those very awkward weeks.
I moved out on Winter Solstice. I spent that Christmas alone (he, apparently, got someone to let him into my security building, and he left a stuffed stocking on my door).
I was devastated to have to say good bye to his kids and his mom.
He showed up at my place with his kids on new year's day.
He would not leave me alone.
He said he COULD not leave me alone. He loved me.
I said "You don't love me...you love Karen...remember? You chose her the moment you touched her the first time."
I told him he had to leave me alone for a while. I needed time to process the fact that he had DUMPED ME FOR one of my BEST FRIENDS!!
I told him HE needed to make a choice, too.
I said that I could not carry on contact of any kind if he was going to be having an affair with someone else, who was MARRIED to boot.
It was too painful...because I LOVED HIM. Really, truly loved him.
Did he FORGET why I LEFT HIM??
He gave me 2 months, and then he said he couldn't live without me. He'd made his choice. He wanted me instead of her.
"PLEASE come see me on Valentine's day. I'll make you dinner."
So, I went. He gave me a ring. Not an engagement ring, but a sort of "pre engagement" ring that was a gold claddagh with sapphires. (He's Irish)
We attempted reconciliation. He proposed AGAIN.
It went well for about 6 months.
Then, he stopped answering my calls and texts.
He stopped saying "we" and "us," again, and he stopped talking about that actual engagement ring, and about the other plans we'd made.
I confronted him again.
He confessed again.
It was Karen again.
I said " You know what? You're perfect for each other. You're both lying, cheating sluts."
And I left him again.
This time, I was stronger, wiser. Angrier.
I also became convinced, after this experience, that men really ARE ass holes. That love does NOT exist, and that I must have something WRONG WITH ME to cause the men in my life to abandon me like they had.
Yeah, I was in great shape for a long time after that episode.
And Rich and Karen? I have no idea. I at least hope she had sense enough to divorce HER HUSBAND.
She probably did. She probably got the house. That's probably where they live now.
They deserve one another. I can only say that I am sorry I won't be around when they get their payback for all of the pain they caused.
Rich moved in to the house next door to ours the winter of 1998/1999. He was a single dad, whose kids would visit on the weekends, and on Wednesdays.
He liked gardening, and was a musician, and he first spoke to me out in the driveway, when I was leaving to go to my podiatrist to have my broken foot checked on.
It was all very innocent and neighborly.
We became friends, and I started taking guitar lessons from him, and he became a client of my massage business.
He had lots of interest in natural health, and alternative Spirituality, and we always had LOTS to talk about. We'd spend hours together.
It didn't really matter, because my husband was never around, anyway.
But, I maintain that it was all very innocent and neighborly.
Until I told Rich that I was thinking of divorcing Butch.
I'd had enough of being left alone, and things had not been good at all between me and Butch since that day in 1997 when he'd yelled at me.
I was scared, but I was SO done with wasting my life in a dead relationship.
When I told Rich that I was considering divorce, he said "You should divorce him. They guy's an IDIOT! I can tell how lonely you are. He doesn't know how good he's got it, because he's never home. Doesn't he SEE YOU?? You're gorgeous! You deserve SO much better. You deserve someone who will really love you. Like me."
Uh.
What?
"I knew the moment we met. But you're married. How could I say anything? I've been sitting over here tearing my hair out over you. I see you come and go, we wave, we say hi. And it's been KILLING ME."
He went on and on.
He said everything a woman wants and needs to hear. Everything a woman day dreams about hearing from a very, very handsome man!!
He said he honored the vows of marriage, and promised to honor me, and my marriage, until it was over, by not pursuing a physical relationship.
But this was it. I was the one. He was sure of it. And he would wait.
As this started to sink in, I allowed myself to be washed away by feelings of rapture!
To me, at that time, Rich was perfection.
Guitar player, smart, funny, magnificently handsome, into herbal medicine and natural health, interested in studying alternative Spirituality, into gardening...and...most surprising and delightful of all...WAY, WAY into ME!!!
I went forward with the divorce process. I told my husband. I contacted a lawyer. I got us started in mediation.
A few months passed. Rich and I still hung out together a lot. I got to know, and fell in love with, Rich's kids.
I had become swept up by his declarations of love, and I had fallen COMPLETELY and utterly in love with him.
But not one kiss. Not anything.
Just some really long, standing hugs. Being in Rich's arms filled me with a sense of security, of wholeness, and of rightness, that I had never, EVER felt before.
I figured out at that time that I had never really been truly in love before. Not for real. THIS was requited, and respectful, and passionate...and wonderful.
Rich did not approach me for our first kiss until I had completed the mediation process, and the divorce papers were being drawn up. At that point, he said he couldn't hold back any more, he had to kiss me.
We came up for air several hours later. Wow. NEVER had I had a "make out"session like that before. Incredible.
BUT-- Rich and I did not "consummate" our relationship for another 2 months after that...not until Butch had signed the divorce papers, which I had to give back to my lawyer before the court date.
It was 10 days or so before the court date. The house was sold, the papers were signed, the marriage was over. But the judge hadn't signed off on the divorce yet.
SO, in that way, I suppose I did technically cheat on my husband. If you think of it in terms of technicalities.
But the reality was that my husband had cheated on ME for YEARS....by spending more time with his addictions and his buddies than he did with me.
By the time he had signed the papers, Butch knew that Rich and I were in love. He was LIVID, and bitter, and angry.
But I was not yet having sex with Rich, and, no matter what I told Butch, he would not believe me.
To this day, Butch is convinced that I was whoring around on him the whole time we were married.
Whatever.
Anyway, I had been searching for room mates and affordable apartments, and I was having no luck at all.
Surprisingly, Butch suggested I ask Rich if I could move in with him.
I didn't think this was a good idea, but I was in love with Rich, and ready to be free with our relationship....so I mentioned it to Rich.
He said he had never planned on letting me find an apartment or a stranger for a room mate. He would insist on my coming to live with him.
So I did.
I moved across the driveway, and moved in with the man who had promised me the world.
By Christmas, he had proposed.
We talked on his cell phone every day, many times a day. He got me a cell phone so we could be in touch at all times.
Time went on. I took care of his kids. I cooked and cleaned and did laundry.
I was ready for him every night. Yes, EVERY night. And I loved it.
And I waited.
I waited for him to start saying he loved me again.
I waited for the diamond and sapphire ring he'd promised me.
I waited for us to start talking about a wedding date again.
And then he started not coming home until 1 am. 2 am. 5 am.
He stopped saying "we" and "us," and when I'd say "I love you," he'd just say "me too."
We took a vacation to Mexico. We made improvements on the house. We hung out with his family.
But then he stopped coming with me for my family events.
He stopped answering his cell phone when I would call.
He stopped answering my text messages.
And one day. It dawned on me.
It was Karen.
And it was.
After the confrontation, I started to pack. I started the search for a place to live.
He begged me not to go. He admitted that he'd been stupid. Please don't go. Stay. Marry me.
No.
I slept on the couch from October until I moved. He stayed out late, as he had been doing, screwing Karen.
We managed to avoid one another most of the time during those very awkward weeks.
I moved out on Winter Solstice. I spent that Christmas alone (he, apparently, got someone to let him into my security building, and he left a stuffed stocking on my door).
I was devastated to have to say good bye to his kids and his mom.
He showed up at my place with his kids on new year's day.
He would not leave me alone.
He said he COULD not leave me alone. He loved me.
I said "You don't love me...you love Karen...remember? You chose her the moment you touched her the first time."
I told him he had to leave me alone for a while. I needed time to process the fact that he had DUMPED ME FOR one of my BEST FRIENDS!!
I told him HE needed to make a choice, too.
I said that I could not carry on contact of any kind if he was going to be having an affair with someone else, who was MARRIED to boot.
It was too painful...because I LOVED HIM. Really, truly loved him.
Did he FORGET why I LEFT HIM??
He gave me 2 months, and then he said he couldn't live without me. He'd made his choice. He wanted me instead of her.
"PLEASE come see me on Valentine's day. I'll make you dinner."
So, I went. He gave me a ring. Not an engagement ring, but a sort of "pre engagement" ring that was a gold claddagh with sapphires. (He's Irish)
We attempted reconciliation. He proposed AGAIN.
It went well for about 6 months.
Then, he stopped answering my calls and texts.
He stopped saying "we" and "us," again, and he stopped talking about that actual engagement ring, and about the other plans we'd made.
I confronted him again.
He confessed again.
It was Karen again.
I said " You know what? You're perfect for each other. You're both lying, cheating sluts."
And I left him again.
This time, I was stronger, wiser. Angrier.
I also became convinced, after this experience, that men really ARE ass holes. That love does NOT exist, and that I must have something WRONG WITH ME to cause the men in my life to abandon me like they had.
Yeah, I was in great shape for a long time after that episode.
And Rich and Karen? I have no idea. I at least hope she had sense enough to divorce HER HUSBAND.
She probably did. She probably got the house. That's probably where they live now.
They deserve one another. I can only say that I am sorry I won't be around when they get their payback for all of the pain they caused.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
What is "home?"
january in the spruce plot
I spent a good deal of time today out in the woods.
I visited the spot where my husband and I were married, and I walked on trails by myself, with no other people to be seen.
It has often been said by me that my heart beats with the heart of nature, and when I am in the woods, no matter where those woods are, I feel truly at home.
The peace of nature feeds me. I used to have an entire blog dedicated to my observations of nature, and the impacts of nature in my life.
So, the woods are one version of home. The quiet. The pulsing life. The green. All make me feel at home.
On the other hand, the dwelling place where I have settled myself is also my home. Where I have my books, my music, my things, my personality represented in how I decorate.
My sanctuary, where I feel at home, literally, and comfortable in my solitude.
The place that I work to maintain. The place that I struggle to pay for on my own.
There is much to be said for that.
But no matter what, the only thing that really means home is being with the one I love.
It doesn't matter where we are. I "GET" that now. We could be living in a cardboard box under a bridge. The only thing that would matter would be that we were together.
When I am with him, that is my true home.
In his arms, I am safe. I am cherished beyond reckoning. I am loved. I am respected. I am wanted. I am needed. I am cared for.
It doesn't matter where we live. If we are together, we will both be....home.
And, at the moment, THAT is the "crux."
We live 800 miles apart. We have not seen each other since our honey moon. We don't know when we will see each other again, because the economy is so bad, and the cost of travel is so high.
I was in the woods today, where I normally feel peace, and, instead, I wept for loneliness.
I came home to make my supper, and my sanctuary feels cold and empty.
I need to be with my husband.
My life will not be right until that happens.
Like he says, everything else is small stuff. Nothing else matters.
I need to go home.
Friday, September 5, 2008
The first marriage
So anyway...
We dated for what felt like a long time. He was my first date, my first kiss, my first boyfriend...my first...everything.
Butch turned out to be a pretty good guy. He was very respectful, and he seemed to honestly love me.
As far as I knew at that time, Scott was not interested (see previous post), and there were no other contenders, so I just enjoyed the fact that Butch seemed really smitten with me.
Then, one day, while we were participating in the frenzy of getting ready for Butch's sister's impending wedding, he proposed.
It sort of blind sided me. I wasn't in love with the guy. But there were no other contenders.
I loved him as best I could, and he was so good to me at that time.
I thought about my options.
I was about to graduate from Jr. College, I worked at the local public library, and lived at home with mom and dad.
I had saved my money from work, and had bought a car, but the likelihood of being able to finish college was very, VERY slim.
Reagan was president, and there had been HUGE cuts to education funding.
Despite my family's best efforts to get financial aid so I could finish school, we were turned down at every spot along the way. We couldn't even get loans.
There was no money, period, and I'd have to work for a several years, saving every penny, and continue to live at home, before I could even think about going on with my undergrad education.
I was really tired of living at home with mom and dad. They both smoked like chimneys, drank like fish, and I was becoming someone who was heavily into natural health, whole foods, and a healthy lifestyle. I felt stifled and uncomfortable living at home.
I was 20 years old, and ready to roll!
SO, I saw an opportunity. And I accepted the proposal. I wasn't in love, but I was ready to roll!
My mother was livid. She had always referred to Butch as "the idiot," and she really wanted me to finish school.
My dad was patient and full of calm advice.
"What if you get pregnant? What if he loses his job? He doesn't have an education, either. You have to think about all of those things. You're very young, and you might be making a very big mistake.
I think your mother's right this time."
But I was ready to roll. SO, I rolled.
We got married that fall, after I'd turned 21. It was tough, but we got along great, and, somehow, we actually survived!!
(I never did finish school...it's just too expensive!)
Cut to about 4 years later.
Butch had lost his job at the office supplies store, and had been through several jobs, ultimately winding up at a lumber store (where, as I hear it, he still works).
I'd left my job at the library, and had gone through a few office jobs, in search of something that paid better, and had discovered that what I really wanted to do, was become a massage therapist, and work in the healing arts.
Butch had started to become VERY interested in marijuana. Not just a casual user. He was completely addicted.
He started to drink. A lot.
He started to write bad checks to get cash to make purchases of illegal substances.
And, the worst part, he started to withdraw, and let his personality change. He became moody, and distant, and emotionally crippled.
In 1997, while my father was dying of cancer, Butch actually YELLED at me, because I asked him to take time off from his FUN activities, to come and help me care for my dying father.
It was in that moment, in 1997, after 14 years of marriage, that I knew the marriage was over. It just took me a few more years to act on it.
But first, let me say that by the time we had been married that first 4 years, we had become room mates.
He continued to become more deeply addicted, and to be more involved with his pot head friends and their favorite activity, frisbee golf.
I'd really like to make this short and sweet.
I worked really hard at trying to keep our marriage alive. I got us involved in things I hoped we would do together (including, but not limited to, working at the Renaissance Faire), and he just became addicted to those things.
I joined Al-Anon.
I went to therapy.
I talked BUTCH into finding a therapist! HE WENT TO THERAPY, and became addicted to therapy!!
None of it did any good, and ultimately, I was the only one still working on the marriage.
So, by 1997, we'd been sleeping in separate rooms for 10 years, living separate lives, even after we bought a house (I did all of the house hunting on my own, and paid the down payment with money left me by my grandmother), there just wasn't a real marriage there anymore.
It doesn't work when only one person is trying.
SO, as our 17th wedding anniversary approached, in 2000, I filed for divorce.
(an example of how much Butch had changed: he once was very loving and kind to everyone he knew, ESPECIALLY me...but when we were in the process of mediation, I found a lump in my left breast. Do you want to know what he was most concerned about? That the breast lump would make his insurance premiums go up. He actually tried to have me taken OFF of his insurance before I could go for my biopsy, so that I would have to pay for all of my bills out of my own pocket....fortunately for me, that was illegal, and he was not able to DO IT!!)
Anyway, we underwent voluntary mediation, agreeing on everything BEFORE it ever went to the judge. This was my idea, and my lawyer agreed.
Everything was amicable and even. He agreed that it was best, now, even though he said he had NO IDEA that anything was even wrong when I told him I wanted a divorce.
How he could have had no idea, I will never know. We never saw eachother! We never did anything together. There had not been sex for 3 years, because he was impotent.
And before that, it was maybe once every 18 months or so, and most of those attempts failed for the same reason!
So, after we completed mediation, Butch didn't have to DO anything, which was just how he liked it....he didn't even have to show up in court.
So he didn't.
He signed the papers at our kitchen table, and went out to play frisbee golf and get stoned with his buddies.
The house was sold, the belongings divided...and we both had a place to go.
And, just like that....it was over.
We dated for what felt like a long time. He was my first date, my first kiss, my first boyfriend...my first...everything.
Butch turned out to be a pretty good guy. He was very respectful, and he seemed to honestly love me.
As far as I knew at that time, Scott was not interested (see previous post), and there were no other contenders, so I just enjoyed the fact that Butch seemed really smitten with me.
Then, one day, while we were participating in the frenzy of getting ready for Butch's sister's impending wedding, he proposed.
It sort of blind sided me. I wasn't in love with the guy. But there were no other contenders.
I loved him as best I could, and he was so good to me at that time.
I thought about my options.
I was about to graduate from Jr. College, I worked at the local public library, and lived at home with mom and dad.
I had saved my money from work, and had bought a car, but the likelihood of being able to finish college was very, VERY slim.
Reagan was president, and there had been HUGE cuts to education funding.
Despite my family's best efforts to get financial aid so I could finish school, we were turned down at every spot along the way. We couldn't even get loans.
There was no money, period, and I'd have to work for a several years, saving every penny, and continue to live at home, before I could even think about going on with my undergrad education.
I was really tired of living at home with mom and dad. They both smoked like chimneys, drank like fish, and I was becoming someone who was heavily into natural health, whole foods, and a healthy lifestyle. I felt stifled and uncomfortable living at home.
I was 20 years old, and ready to roll!
SO, I saw an opportunity. And I accepted the proposal. I wasn't in love, but I was ready to roll!
My mother was livid. She had always referred to Butch as "the idiot," and she really wanted me to finish school.
My dad was patient and full of calm advice.
"What if you get pregnant? What if he loses his job? He doesn't have an education, either. You have to think about all of those things. You're very young, and you might be making a very big mistake.
I think your mother's right this time."
But I was ready to roll. SO, I rolled.
We got married that fall, after I'd turned 21. It was tough, but we got along great, and, somehow, we actually survived!!
(I never did finish school...it's just too expensive!)
Cut to about 4 years later.
Butch had lost his job at the office supplies store, and had been through several jobs, ultimately winding up at a lumber store (where, as I hear it, he still works).
I'd left my job at the library, and had gone through a few office jobs, in search of something that paid better, and had discovered that what I really wanted to do, was become a massage therapist, and work in the healing arts.
Butch had started to become VERY interested in marijuana. Not just a casual user. He was completely addicted.
He started to drink. A lot.
He started to write bad checks to get cash to make purchases of illegal substances.
And, the worst part, he started to withdraw, and let his personality change. He became moody, and distant, and emotionally crippled.
In 1997, while my father was dying of cancer, Butch actually YELLED at me, because I asked him to take time off from his FUN activities, to come and help me care for my dying father.
It was in that moment, in 1997, after 14 years of marriage, that I knew the marriage was over. It just took me a few more years to act on it.
But first, let me say that by the time we had been married that first 4 years, we had become room mates.
He continued to become more deeply addicted, and to be more involved with his pot head friends and their favorite activity, frisbee golf.
I'd really like to make this short and sweet.
I worked really hard at trying to keep our marriage alive. I got us involved in things I hoped we would do together (including, but not limited to, working at the Renaissance Faire), and he just became addicted to those things.
I joined Al-Anon.
I went to therapy.
I talked BUTCH into finding a therapist! HE WENT TO THERAPY, and became addicted to therapy!!
None of it did any good, and ultimately, I was the only one still working on the marriage.
So, by 1997, we'd been sleeping in separate rooms for 10 years, living separate lives, even after we bought a house (I did all of the house hunting on my own, and paid the down payment with money left me by my grandmother), there just wasn't a real marriage there anymore.
It doesn't work when only one person is trying.
SO, as our 17th wedding anniversary approached, in 2000, I filed for divorce.
(an example of how much Butch had changed: he once was very loving and kind to everyone he knew, ESPECIALLY me...but when we were in the process of mediation, I found a lump in my left breast. Do you want to know what he was most concerned about? That the breast lump would make his insurance premiums go up. He actually tried to have me taken OFF of his insurance before I could go for my biopsy, so that I would have to pay for all of my bills out of my own pocket....fortunately for me, that was illegal, and he was not able to DO IT!!)
Anyway, we underwent voluntary mediation, agreeing on everything BEFORE it ever went to the judge. This was my idea, and my lawyer agreed.
Everything was amicable and even. He agreed that it was best, now, even though he said he had NO IDEA that anything was even wrong when I told him I wanted a divorce.
How he could have had no idea, I will never know. We never saw eachother! We never did anything together. There had not been sex for 3 years, because he was impotent.
And before that, it was maybe once every 18 months or so, and most of those attempts failed for the same reason!
So, after we completed mediation, Butch didn't have to DO anything, which was just how he liked it....he didn't even have to show up in court.
So he didn't.
He signed the papers at our kitchen table, and went out to play frisbee golf and get stoned with his buddies.
The house was sold, the belongings divided...and we both had a place to go.
And, just like that....it was over.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
How I met "ch" #1
So, where was I?
Oh yeah, getting around to telling the story of when I was first married, and struggling to survive.
Maybe I should start with how I met my ex.
I met my ex husband when I was on the verge of being 19 years old.
At that time, I was heavily involved in the "renewal culture" of the Episcopal church. This culture involved extensive retreat programs geared for specific age groups, and other demographics, such as married couples.
There was the high school level program, called "Happening," and the adult program, called "Cursillo," and the newest program, geared toward 18-25 year olds, was called "Search."
I had been staffing Happenings for a couple of years, since "making" my first Happening at age 16, and was gung ho to participate in the first Chicago area "Search" event when it happened.
My plan was to "make" a Search, and then get involved in the staffing opportunities, to help bring this renewal experience to my new demographic.
Search #1 was held at a church up in Rockford, that had accommodations for people to stay the entire weekend, in a "lock in" type of situation.
I have forgotten many of the details of the crowd, but I do remember that there was this guy in my discussion group who reminded me of the class clown in high school.
I had been out of high school for a year, and I was ready to move on. This guy, on the other hand, was a year OLDER than me, and still seemed comfortable in that role.
I pretty much dismissed him. He went by the name "Butch," for one thing. How juvenile was THAT?
As the retreat progressed, and I got deeper into the renewal, and deep spirituality of the event, he started to become more annoying.
I found myself wishing that I could switch to a different discussion group, but then, I realized something.
If I planned to pursue a career as a minister (which I did at that time), I would have to learn tolerance, and understanding, for people who annoy me!
Oddly, once I made that realization, he and I started to get along better, within the context of the retreat.
We even spent one of our breaks tossing a "frisbee" around. He was, apparently, HIGHLY impressed that I was a girl who knew how to throw, AND CATCH, a frisbee disc with relative skill!
Cut to a week after the retreat.
The phone rings. My dad calls my name...the phone call is for me.
It's Butch.
He asked me out on a date.
I had never been on a date before. The butterflies hit my stomach with a force unheard of before in my experience!
I said yes.....
He came that next Saturday night, and took me out for dinner.
I was, in a word, terrified.
As I watched his arrival in front of the house, I said something to my dad. I don't remember now what it was, but my dad was so sweet and calm.
He said, "Just be yourself, babe. Relax and have fun."
Oh yeah, getting around to telling the story of when I was first married, and struggling to survive.
Maybe I should start with how I met my ex.
I met my ex husband when I was on the verge of being 19 years old.
At that time, I was heavily involved in the "renewal culture" of the Episcopal church. This culture involved extensive retreat programs geared for specific age groups, and other demographics, such as married couples.
There was the high school level program, called "Happening," and the adult program, called "Cursillo," and the newest program, geared toward 18-25 year olds, was called "Search."
I had been staffing Happenings for a couple of years, since "making" my first Happening at age 16, and was gung ho to participate in the first Chicago area "Search" event when it happened.
My plan was to "make" a Search, and then get involved in the staffing opportunities, to help bring this renewal experience to my new demographic.
Search #1 was held at a church up in Rockford, that had accommodations for people to stay the entire weekend, in a "lock in" type of situation.
I have forgotten many of the details of the crowd, but I do remember that there was this guy in my discussion group who reminded me of the class clown in high school.
I had been out of high school for a year, and I was ready to move on. This guy, on the other hand, was a year OLDER than me, and still seemed comfortable in that role.
I pretty much dismissed him. He went by the name "Butch," for one thing. How juvenile was THAT?
As the retreat progressed, and I got deeper into the renewal, and deep spirituality of the event, he started to become more annoying.
I found myself wishing that I could switch to a different discussion group, but then, I realized something.
If I planned to pursue a career as a minister (which I did at that time), I would have to learn tolerance, and understanding, for people who annoy me!
Oddly, once I made that realization, he and I started to get along better, within the context of the retreat.
We even spent one of our breaks tossing a "frisbee" around. He was, apparently, HIGHLY impressed that I was a girl who knew how to throw, AND CATCH, a frisbee disc with relative skill!
Cut to a week after the retreat.
The phone rings. My dad calls my name...the phone call is for me.
It's Butch.
He asked me out on a date.
I had never been on a date before. The butterflies hit my stomach with a force unheard of before in my experience!
I said yes.....
He came that next Saturday night, and took me out for dinner.
I was, in a word, terrified.
As I watched his arrival in front of the house, I said something to my dad. I don't remember now what it was, but my dad was so sweet and calm.
He said, "Just be yourself, babe. Relax and have fun."
Monday, September 1, 2008
Cubs Game!
Just a quick note....a friend from the Radio Paradise community is gifting me with 3 free tickets to today's Cubs game!
I will try to take some fun pics and add them later! (EDIT: DONE!! see above! Both pictures taken well before the game started. We were 2 hours early to get good seats in the bleachers...by lead off time, the park was PACKED!!! Click image for larger view!)
To those of you blessed with the American holiday today, have a great Labor Day ! I know I will!
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