Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘My Chinese Checkered Past’ Category

Elizabeth Taylor: R.I.P. … and thanks

Posted in Celebrities, Celebs, Family, My Chinese Checkered Past, News, Older women, On getting older, tagged on March 24, 2011| 13 Comments »

In a swimsuit much like Mother's

There was a period of time when, as a child, I was pretty sure that Liz Taylor was my mother. No, not that I was her love child being raised in another family, but that she and my mother were one and the same.

National Velvet convinced me my mom could ride horses and should, therefore, buy me one. For reasons I completely get now, that didn’t go over so well.

Both born in 1932, my mom and Liz led somewhat parallel lives in that married-a-whole-buch-of-times-with-loads-of-drama sort of way, so even when I grew old enough to read headlines it would occasionally be confusing.

They also looked very much alike … two brunette, busty beauties skilled in grand entrances that drew the eye of every man in the room.

I distinctly recall walking down Market Street in San Francisco shortly after Butterfield 8 opened and seeing Ms. Taylor’s face looming large from posters outside cinemas and thinking, “That could be Mom.”

Of course, my mother was not a movie star, simply a suburban housewife spending her time giving me Toni home perms and sewing up pjs and playsuits for me and my brothers, but that didn’t seem … to me … to impact negatively on her glamour one bit. I can still conjure an image of her strolling into the Steinhart Aquarium in Golden Gate Park in a skin-tight black and white sheath dress, high heels and a HUGE hat as my brother and I checked out the crocodiles and all the men in the place checked out my mom.

I wasn’t allowed to see many of the films Liz starred in until I was old enough to have made the jump necessary to know the difference between the woman who’d married Richard Burton and the one who’d divorced my dad, so it took a while to catch up to the cultural assessment that had one a world famous celeb and the other just my mother, but the blend continued nonetheless.

Now Elizabeth Taylor is dead and my mom is not well. Both lived. Both aged. Both did life in the way that life must be done.

I love you, Mom, and, Liz … I thank you for sharing yourself and adding to my childhood confusion.

Read Full Post »

Karmageddon

Posted in love, Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, Religion, tagged , on March 23, 2011| 12 Comments »

Karmageddon

A portmanteau of “Karma” and “Armageddon.” References “shit hitting the fan” in an extreme way while acknowledging one’s contributions to that event.

Specifically, when all the (usually unpleasant) stuff you’ve done comes back to you at once.

And ain’t that a bitch?

A recent spate of aspersions cast toward me and whatever karmatic debt I face has me contemplating, and … You know what? … I’m pretty okay.

More than okay, actually, since the scale has been rather more heavily weighted on the “reap” side than the “sow” of late, so I’m just waiting for that pendulum swing that has things leveling out, if not lucky enough at the mo to do more than stock away some karma points for future use.

As she has planted, so does she harvest; such is the field of karma.
~Sri Guru Granth Sahib

There are those, however, for whom the Four Horses Asses of the Apology have yet to all arrive at the stable for their big shit, so Karmageddon looms. Shame.

The karma game is not one of holding and folding, even though the element of knowing when to walk away and when to run may be part of it. It’s more Monopoly than poker, but where investments in goodness have bigger payoffs than houses on Park Lane and consequences can be more dire than landing in gaol until the next roll of the dice. (And, yes, it’s the British version I’ve seen for years, so can’t recall the Atlantic City board.)

Of course, goodness doesn’t always happen and even the sweetest of us will sometimes sour the mix, but the karma-conscious can manage pre-geddon maneuvers … sincere apologies, compensatory gestures, explanations that don’t include excuses and the like.

In a bit of interesting timing, Superhero Bobby posted a Bruce Lee quote on his facebook page this morning that ties in nicely:

Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them.

Yes … that “admission of guilt” thing goes a long way toward sidestepping Karmageddon, and it does take guts.

As we all know, Bruce Lee was no wimp, so one would have to assume that in seeking forgiveness he would have been courageous enough to admit mistakes, not only to those perhaps wounded by them, but also to himself, and since karma is all about lessons, that would seem to be the salient point.

Although justification may come easily to one who’s wronged another, it too often lands on the “this is going to bite you on the ass someday” side of the karma scale, and regret, being an internal manifestation … and frequently self-serving … doesn’t tend to tip things toward the reward side, either, unless it is strong enough to keep one from screwing up so badly in the same way ever again.

No, it’s all about the lessons learned and, although there are some who appear to get through life avoiding the morals and messages, Karmageddon awaits. In one way or another paybacks happen, shit hits fan and messes are made, and it matters not if you throw in your hand and run like hell, you’re still going to end up with shit all over you.

Personally, I prefer to keep things clean from the get-go, and failing in that, to tidy after myself as I go.

My actions are my only true belongings. I cannot escape the consequences of my actions. My actions are the ground upon which I stand. ~Thich Nhat Hanh

Read Full Post »

Illusions Aside: And the appeal would be … ?

Posted in Family, love, Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, Sex, tagged , , on March 22, 2011| 30 Comments »

Seems a good time to take a bit of a breather from the woes of the world and rein my focus for the day in to the realm of the woes of the woman. Don’t get me wrong, as I’m certainly not saying that many of those woes don’t have the same testosterone-driven cause, but not even I would go as far as to blame earthquakes and tsunamis on the penis-laden.

It’s this article that prompts today’s post, titled, “Why Remarry?”, a look at the idea of doing it again from one not chuffed about the idea.

The other day a younger friend, a woman in her twenties, called to share news of her engagement. She’s been dating a great-seeming guy for about a year, and she sounded exuberant, glowing, over the moon. “Congratulations, Eleanor! I’m so happy for you.” Yadda, yadda, yadda, and we wrapped up the call.

The truth is, as a divorced woman in her forties, it’s hard for me to get excited about anyone’s impending nuptials. Very hard to pretend the divorce and adultery statistics don’t exist, to push into the background my own painful memories of marital discord, the tedium and pain of having the same fights over and over again, the feeling of being unloved and trapped. What I mostly feel for Eleanor and others like her is a jaded sense of “Good luck dear. I’ve been there. Enjoy the good parts and take care of yourself when it’s bad. And try to have some sort of long-term back-up plan.”

No kidding.

Cynical? Sure. And why not? It’s been no bed of roses for so many of us, and the prospects aren’t looking so good through the filter we now attach to those tinted glasses.

Most men require a lot of care. They want to be fed; they require copious dry cleaning; they’re physically large and take up space; they demand attention in ways large and small. All these things are well and good, and I’m often happy to do my part. But why would I sign myself up to have to do it, 24/7? Sex on demand is a beautiful thing, but having the bed to oneself sometimes is equally a treat. Once the kids are old enough to go out and get around on their own, the feeling of liberation is pure bliss. Being able to do whatever you want, whenever you want, in your own home! People have fought wars for less. Do you really want to give that up?

Good question! And giving it up in exchange for a lying, cheating bastard who’ll run you ragged, support only what builds him up and may very likely end up leaving you in the lurch? Hm.

Given that the rate of divorce in first marriages in the US is 45% to 50%, and for second marriages that jumps to 60% to 67%, finding bliss seems an illusion, at best.

The not-doing-it-again thing is going around in the world of Western woman, and the idea of opting for single has caught on big time:

According to the 2007 US Census, for those 25 and older, 52 percent of men and only 44 percent of women are likely to remarry after death or divorce. The New York Times analyzed the data and reported that for the first time in recorded history, more women are living without a husband than with one.

… I’ve been surveying girlfriends on this subject, and 14 out of 15 of my married friends, all women over 40, look mortified when I tell them that the subject of marriage has been raised in my current relationship. “No! Don’t do it!” is the swift cry. After that they all say “Why? What for? Isn’t it perfect as is? Living apart, seeing him when you want to? What could be better?” One women at a recent dinner party, married for sixteen years, told me that if she were to find herself single again, not only would she not remarry, she wouldn’t ever have another relationship again!

Okay, that may be a bit harsh, and there are those in the 50% to 55% of marriages who are actually pleased with their situations, content, happy even. Off hand, out of all my friends all over the world I can think of about five women who would change neither their man, nor their circumstance, for anything.

Sure, we tend to hope that we could be one of those women … those living-happily-ever-after-til-death-us-do-part girls … which is my lame excuse for having been down the aisle THREE BLOODY TIMES. And, of course, I’m far from alone in that dream …

I’ve concluded that for me, the biggest draw lies in the smidgen of chance that I could experience something I’ve never had before, the old fairy tale that makes youngsters like Eleanor want to get married. Maybe it would be fantastic. Maybe we’d continue to hold each other in the night in this perfect way, resolve our differences with relative ease. Maybe the emotional rewards would trump most discomfort? That he’d be my partner and best friend always? Hmmm.

Yeah … that.

And what is it with that?

Thankfully, it’s Lent, so my mind isn’t going anywhere near those sorts of thoughts until at least after Easter, and given the level of shit I’ve been wading through lately avoidance is likely to last a hell of a lot longer than forty days.

Should I someday find myself again thinking in terms of sharing not only my life, but my space and legal status with a man, having somehow manage to rid my mouth of that nasty, ashy taste that lingers … well … you may find me writing:

Remind me again what the appeal might be …

Read Full Post »

Your haunting ghosts tonight …

Posted in Health, Hopeful thoughts, Island life, Loss, love, Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, On getting older, Sex, Seychelles, tagged , , , , , on March 7, 2011| 20 Comments »

I'll haunt the fuck outta you.

“The tender word forgotten, The letter you did not write, The flower you might have sent, dear, Are your haunting ghosts tonight” ~ Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

This post is not about a plea for sympathy, stirring up pre-grief or needing any bolstering, so, please, don’t react to the read with anything but the humor I intend to provoke.

The fact of anyone’s matter is that life is short, and then you die, so getting shook up about being assured that IS the future seems a silly, silly thing to do. We’d all live better if we did it as though each was our last day … the reality being each could be … and we do ourselves a disservice when we force such thoughts from our minds.

Sure, it all gets a bit busy and complicated to spend much time contemplating checking out, but letting the idea of the party continuing on without us soak in isn’t a bad thing. In fact, it helps a lot in enjoying the one we’re dancing in right now.

My biology dictates my life will not be long. My genetic code has more dashes than dots, minuses that shave minutes and hours and days and weeks and years from my tree of life, and that’s a fact I learned long ago to accept. Being rather okay with the idea that I’ll someday be dead, I’m grateful for the time I have … however long that might be.

I’ve made some really crappy lifestyle choices, often don’t eat right or get a good cardio workout nearly often enough. I have vices, am not picky about organic or GM, and have been known to have sex without a condom.

The fact that happened with “committed” partners and didn’t always provide protection brings up the other shit that has and will take a toll on my span … the effect of stress brought on by letting shitty people have power.

From the incompetent, lying peeps who are supposed to provide Internet connectivity, to the lyin’, cheatin’ scoundrels who pledged much more than that, disappointing results create huge pressures. Those who believe karma is the tit-for-tat to be expected would suggest I’ve earned the grief, and if that is the case I’ve most certainly paid off much of what debt I incurred in previous lives. (I must have been a real peach to have earned such pits!)

Today being today, I’m rather liking the idea of that haunting thing (Thanks for that, Jules!), seeing my face, a la Jacob Marly, popping up on door knockers … or someone else’s knockers … with a “Hey, asshole! Boo, fuckin’ BOO!, invading dreams (Why should YOU get any sleep, Fuckwad?), ratting pots and pans, creating havoc, breaking guitar strings mid-song over and over and over again, cutting Skype connections, hiding cell phones, giving icy-cold pinches to warm body parts … ooooh, the list goes on and on.

I could be good at this, but in the meantime I’ll enjoy the sunshine, the sound of birds, conversations with great friends and all the joyful wonders I have, and wait for an Internet connection to happen that will allow me to post this blog.

Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse! Betelgeuse!

Read Full Post »

Them’s Healy Words …

Posted in Loss, love, Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, Poetry, Sex on March 6, 2011| 12 Comments »

To spite his face ...

Driven to Destruction

What drives a girl to suffer
the pain of being lied to
when she has the tools to buffer
and she knows the words are false?

If it’s evidence she’s wanting
… some handle on the facts …
there’s not too much trouble hunting
proof that leads to the last waltz

No man is quite so clever,
some are dumb, and that’s one fact,
And it’s really rarely ever
we’re not hep to all the schmaltz

But we stumble over “Mi amor”
and find we’ve fallen in
that deep hole without our armor
What’s with that shit impulse?

Those lyin’, cheatin’ scoundrels
pull the wool so carefully,
but we catch on to the hound’s, hell!
then ache as we convulse

So …

What drives a girl to suffer
the pain of being lied to
when she has the tools to buffer
and she knows the words are false?

Two years on a tightrope

Tensile strength’s a wondrous thing
when strung ‘tween heav’n and hell
and balancing upon a string
has often served me well

I’ve found a step in some directions
moves me toward a goal
(though a predilection for erections
leaves me less than whole … )

Scampering back a step or two
toward heaven? or toward hell?
and I’m remembering what I knew …
All lessons learned too well.

On one end, there’s my future
the other holds my past
but either end can injure
and both could be my last

I’ve walked the rope almost two years
between his needs and mine
broken promises and tears
unraveling the twine

Possible? It never was,
with this I learned to cope,
withstanding lies and all because
our world was hung on hope

The tensile strength is ebbing
the tightrope’s come undone
it’s loosed the complex webbing
keeping he and me as one

It’s snapped, that rope, and left me
hanging inches from the earth
my safety net has saved me;
still in tact and know my worth

There’ll someday be another
with the strands all forged anew
Yes, there will be other lovers
and, yes, someone will be true

Read Full Post »

Placing Segments of Rainbows in Some Sort of Order

Posted in Children, Family, Loss, love, Men, Music I like, My Chinese Checkered Past, On getting older, Poetry, tagged , , , , , on March 2, 2011| 14 Comments »

Anse Soleil rainbow

The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched.
~Henry David Thoreau, Walden

I woke this morning to an odd dream, not unpleasant, set in Victoria Lodge, a fab Five Star B&B in North Devon that belongs to my friend, Jacqueline. It’s a beautiful place in a lovely English village on the Bristol Channel where I passed my days walking Jac’s sweetie of a greyhound through the Valley of the Rocks as I pondered my future.

Jac’s friendship and hospitality were huge gifts, and her house was my bolt-hole, a life-saving haven, a calm harbor in a storm-tossed sea.

I awoke with a smile, although wondering why such strong images of that time and place presented today …

until …

I drifted into full consciousness and realized today’s date: 2 March.

It was on this day in 2008 my husband of 15 years informed me of his betrayal and plans to hit the ejector seat button on our life together. Nope, didn’t see that coming, and the sideswipe almost send me careening off a cliff.

Mark was the man I’d left my life behind for, my trusted partner in building a future from scratch, in parenting two children, the only person I’d ever felt completely safe with.

Shit happens.

Three years have come and gone, and although I can too vividly recall the moment life’s path forked drastically I’m still following my feet. The road’s been rocky and strewn with potholes and no few twists have needed navigating, but it is what it is.

I’m surprised to find this date so deeply burned into my psyche that a dream as profound as this morning’s presents even with no conscious connection, but it’s often my inner awareness that keeps better track than my waking mind. I’m too busy to dwell upon losses and it’s the future I must look to, not the shadows of what might have been.

I’ve taken my lumps and my lessons … and the gifts that came with. I’ve had some amazing moments that could not have happened if the path had not diverted and managed to love and be loved again. There’s been music created and named for me, some magical experiences, joy-filled pauses that required a change in circumstance to occur.

Three years ago, I could no more have predicted a moonlit proposal or a romantic wander through ancient pyramids than a visit to Mars, but those happened and wouldn’t have had the shit not happened, too.

Of course, Sam and Cj are blessings, and they alone provide all the “reason” there would ever need to be for the path to have wandered where it did.

So, there are no regrets … simply memories and the knowledge that what happens, happens, and will keep on happening. There is more life behind me than ahead, but that’s no reason to live in the past. The future won’t play out as long, but I’m still in the game, and although I have no expectation that the rest of my road will be smooth there will be reasons to smile.

Today, as I remember my losses, I look forward to gains with gratitude for the fact that it’s rarely been dull.

The last year alone provided enough not-dull to spawn a raft of words (Check out “It Gets Verse”, a book of poems that spilled out in 2010.), and continues to inspire.

So, on that note, I’ll close with a bit more wisdom gathered, more experience collected, more words strung together as life goes on …

Scoundrel

What is it with a man
who has it in his head
that no matter the hour
and the fact that I’m in bed
can’t stop his hands from dialing
my number every night
with a need to tell me often
how his life is now a fright?

I don’t want to hear his needing
or his fucking endless pleading
for the chance to maybe seeding
a new bed

He has sown those seeds to women
who have no idea he’s givin’
it about around the world from here to there
(And I wish so he’d get out my damned hair)
But me, I learned my lesson
and no longer spend time guessin’
if he’s lying or he’s truthful
cuz there’s no doubt that what’s useful
it’s the only motivation
he can bear

He’s as shallow as a puddle
and although he seems a muddle
he has all his ducks so lined up in a row
that he’s aimed upon his targets
and the women he has marks up
are too clueless in their thoughts
that he’s their beau.

He is yours if you deliver
and he’ll have you all a quiver
just as long as there’s a payoff in the end
For he goes nowhere ‘les it’s paid for
but you’re guaranteed a lay, for
he’s a horny little bugger,
(Ask his “friends”!)

So, Yo! New girls …

Never say I didn’t warn you
Give your heart and see it torn, you
should really pay attention when I say
he’s a lyin’, cheatin’ scoundrel
fewer morals than a hound, you’ll
be knowing this already in a way
But you’re probably ignoring
all the signs that you’re deploring
and pretending that I have gone away

And I have, at least I try to
but he’ll never let it lie, too
much ego in the man to let me be
Plus he loves the life that I live
and he’s hoping I might still give
him what I have, or half,
and all for free
with not even any word of
honesty, that’s just unheard of
in that world of his that’s all about “ME, ME!”

Yes … I live and learn and live some more, catch whatever stardust floats by, grasp at rainbows and ride out … and write out … the rough bits.

It is what it is, intangible and indescribable as a tint of morning.

Read Full Post »

Infidelity is not an old guy in Cuba

Posted in Family, love, Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, Sex, tagged , , on February 27, 2011| 11 Comments »

Castro on cheating

Infidelity Castrate ... or something like that

Not that I’m proud of it … or pleased …but I’ve seen infidelity from just about every angle there is.

Cheating has been part of the family tradition for a couple of generations, so my exposure started early, and when I saw this story titled, “AshleyMadison’s CEO Thinks Affairs Help Keep Marriages Together–Do You?”, I simply had to click on the link, even though I’d never heard of Ashley Madison.

Do affairs lead to divorce? Noel Biderman, the CEO of AshleyMadison.com, the web’s premier site for wannabe adulterers, doesn’t think so. With 8.5 million users and paying customers in over 10 countries including the U.S., Canada, Australia, England, Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Ireland, New Zealand and Sweden, Biderman (a former sports agent turned Internet mogul), believes that if people were more flexible in allowing sexual encounters outside of marriage, there would be fewer divorces.

It took only a fraction of a second to get over being surprised that such a site would exist, and so profitably, which was even less time than required to formulate my answer to the “Do they … ?” thing.

Yes. They do, and my own track record is proof: my first husband left me for someone else; my second husband left someone else for me; I left my second husband for my third who eventually left me for his bit on the side.

Sure, we could say that all these matches were doomed, but that would be missing a chance to deal with the cheating issue, and cheating most certainly was somewhere near the top on the “What’s wrong with this picture” list.

The fact that “wannabe adulterers” have gone online is handy for this Biderman dude, and I’m only slightly annoyed I didn’t think of this …

What he did invent–after learning that between 10 to 30 percent of people on traditional dating sites were married–is a company that is creating both controversy and cash, with $60 million in profits expected this year.

The article has references to movies I’ve not seen, people I’ve not heard of and such, but attempts at points for calling a spade a spade aren’t flying.

There’s a reason movies like Hall Pass or the marketing campaign of Las Vegas where “What Happens In Las Vegas Stays in Las Vegas” with bachelor parties and weekends away are popular. It’s out there in the culture that people want this and I would argue it’s been good for Las Vegas. Prohibition never works.

Good for Las Vegas? Okay … but that doesn’t equate to affairs saving marriages, which is the message Biderman is apparently handing out.

People have needs. Sex is only a part of marriage. You have children to raise and mortgages to pay and if you look at the data, children in dual parent households do better in school and have less problems with drugs and alcohol. Divorce affects your friends and extended family. So clearly walking out the door because of a severely bruised ego can also be looked at as a selfish act. It’s the easy way out. I think the harder choice is to have honest discussions about needs and ways to move forward in a relationship and reach compromises.

And there, for me, is the key … honest discussions … and I seriously doubt that’s a prerequisite for subscribing to the site.

It’s not the extracurricular sex that destroys relationships, it’s the lies that happen on the way to consummation that poison the consommé. Sex can be just sex, a biological release, a bit of slap and tickle, but when the road leading to it is paved in deception it morphs into something more potentially damaging.

The difference between a quick fuck and drawn out wooing online, by phone or in person is as wide a divide as from a burp to betrayal — one just happens, while the other builds into … well, a relationship. Even when built on nothing more substantial than lies and ego-feeding, a bond is created, and for one who is already bonded attaching lines to another is a duplicitous double-cross.

It takes balls to step up and accept responsibility for wants and negotiate honestly when unquenchable desires must be addressed, but if there’s respect, that can happen.

I was a sports agent and saw how the wives of athletes had this 50 mile rule. As long as it’s not at home, they didn’t ask questions. When the guys came home off-season they were with their wives and families and no questions asked.

Fine, as long as that ‘no question’ thing goes both ways. That’s not often the case, however, and too many are so crap at judging distance that the corner bar … or the next room … can be misjudged as 50 miles, but some have no more control than a dog … which is why neutering is a good idea … for dogs …

Whatevahhh …

Read Full Post »

“Chasing the past, I stumbled into the future.” ~T.A. Sachs

Posted in Children, Family, Loss, love, Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, tagged , , on February 18, 2011| 18 Comments »

My early blessings ... Jenn and Jaren


Spending time, as I have lately, chasing the past, I can’t help but fall into that familiar spiral of circular thinking that is: “What if?”.

Regrets? Yes, I have a few, and more than I want to mention, partly because there’s not a fucking thing I can do to change much now, and also because My Way never felt anywhere within my power or control. Sure, I took the road seemingly less traveled more than once, but in retrospect I see how often the path was laid at my feet even when I thought I was striking out in untested directions. In truth, I’ve just been along for the ride.

If I had it to do over again, what would I do differently? Hm.

Some of the most significant events in my life were considered doom-and-gloom negatives, but avoiding them was not only not an option at the time but would not be on any list of steer clears in a retrospectively-influenced re-do.

Getting pregnant at seventeen was not looked upon as any sort of gift when it happened; in fact my swelling belly was thought quite the harbinger of the end of things. Birth control was illegal for anyone under 18 even though the Summer of Love had just happened, my parents were outraged, my boyfriend, chagrined, and all my plans that were to lead to successful ease-of-life faded faster than cells reproduced in my womb. Having two kids by age nineteen boded ill for the future, as did being married and divorced by twenty-three.

Would I rearrange any of that now? No way, at least not any of the bits I could influence. Jenn is an amazing woman … smart, funny, successful, loving, talented, the best daughter in the world and a wonderful mother. Jaren was incredible in ways no one else will ever be, and although losing him has been the hardest misery I’ve ever faced, I wouldn’t have missed even that.

Leaving my family behind in the US and moving half way around the world only to be left high and dry some years later sounds like a stupid fucking move, especially when it meant losing all those years with Jenn and Jaren and ending up hardly knowing my fabulous granddaughter, but would I spin the globe in reverse and take all that back?

How could I? Not with Sam and Cj in my life.

I could no more skip the misery of Mark than I can regret the years of him. Shit. I can’t even lament wasting some of the last of my cute on Ernesto … after all, he gave good moment and there’s music left over and I’m not sorry about that … but I do wish we’d been in Mexico that Christmas. I should have gone. (And last night’s phone-in hug from a Mexican jungle for Jaren’s birthday garnered him another ‘good moment point’ since hugs can be eternal in many comforting ways.)

Now that I think about it, most of my regrets involve things I didn’t do rather than anything I actually did. There’s a lesson in there somewhere …

If there had ever been money enough I would have spent more time flying back and forth and bringing Jenn and Addie and Jaren to me often … very often … but there never was. Would I change that? You bet! But those aren’t cards I’ve been dealt, so wasn’t able to play that hand. Would I get on a plane tomorrow and spend time with my mother while there’s still a chance she’ll know me? Yep. But until I sell this place that is not an option.

Life is what it is when it is, though, and for this moment I’m here chasing my past and thinking how to stumble into the future. If I had any advice to share from the bottom of this spiral it would have to be not to don’t do anything you think might be important, and not to think you have endless time for doing it later. Seems to me it’s easier to apologize for … and recover from … stuff you did than to regret what you never got around to doing.

I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes.
~Carl Sandburg

Even when it’s ashes of roses …

Read Full Post »

Mothers should not outlive their children … that’s just wrong …

Posted in Children, Family, Loss, love, Music I like, My Chinese Checkered Past, tagged , on February 17, 2011| 4 Comments »

Jaren Eli Combes 17 Feb. 1971 - 2 June 2009

February 17, 1971
7:41 am
6 pounds 13 ounces of blue-eyed joy bouncing baby boy
Jaren Eli Combes

He should be 40 today, but he didn’t get enough time … not nearly enough.

Click here for a story about Jaren’s birth … and here for a bit about his death.

The only gift I can still give him I share with you now. The music was a Christmas gift to me a few years ago, a beautiful song I had played at Jaren’s funeral that seemed a fitting background then, and for these images of my beautiful son. It is actually called “Eternal Hug”, although I call it “Maternal Hug”, an apt summation of a mother’s love …

And some of his words that bang a gong loudly …

Out of Mind
© Jaren Eli Combes 2002

What if I cared, felt gravity
or had clever opinions?
What if I was close,
or easily reached?
Kill this separation.
I know you couldn’t know
you’d wake and tear me up
Never let it go — thought
you’d all had enough
And if there was a way
I’d fuck it up somehow
Dropped off all your screens
Don’t have to see me now

Got you to ignore
not worth it for me
seems it was contagious
Don’t try anymore
Best I believe
I got here on purpose
I know you couldn’t know
You’d wake and tear me up
Never let it go
thought you all had enough
If you gave me time to change
You’d have given up by now
And shallow as I am
Somehow I still drown.

And some of his music …

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.
~Edna St Vincent Millay

Yes … I miss you like hell, my boy. I miss you like hell …

Read Full Post »

“There is no distance on this earth as far away as yesterday.” ~Robert Nathan

Posted in Family, Loss, love, Men, My Chinese Checkered Past, tagged , , , on February 16, 2011| 10 Comments »

Scott and me

This is a week that makes it far too clear that time is not linear as my present drowns in past and future is put off for some days while I wallow.

February 16th in 1985 was a wedding day … my second, and the first as an adult and that didn’t come with a shotgun. It was a lovely, warm Sacramento Saturday, almost too warm for my gray suede wedding getup, and our living room was done up nicely for the event.

It was Scott I was marrying, and after five years of cohabitation it seemed a good idea at the time. My mother, thinking that formalizing the relationship was daft, asked me what the hell I was doing, and my son, a teen at the time, walked me down the stairs that served as aisle and “gave me away”.

The marriage carried on for nine interesting years before Scott and I went our separate ways with no animosity and continuing contact across the globe. We had been through so much together, traveled the world, expanded our horizons both personally and professionally, shared families and occasions and experiences and histories, laughed and cried and fought and loved and lived in each others’ skin as much as those together for so long can.

The well of memories including him is deep, and there’s no little of him left in my corners. I can still easily conjure his smile, the goofy way he danced, his hands on the steering wheel as he drove the “pink” Porsche way too fast, his attempts at false bravado when intimidated. I can see him in an overcoat in the snow in Hyde Park, shooting photos in a temple in Borneo, with a beer in his hand on a boat down the Sacramento River, greeting EVERYONE at Al the Wop’s and Harlow’s and slamming back oyster shooters on our way to Gleason’s Beach.

I also remember him on this day in ’85 looking gorgeous in a new tux as he promised all that stuff one promises when marrying, listening politely when his mother decided to sing along with the harpist, handing around the new video camera for my brothers to record the event (And how I wish that VHS tape hadn’t crumbled in this heat and humidity.). It was a great and hopeful day.

On the 30th of January 2008, Scott killed himself, and although we had talked often on what we’d shared I never properly thanked him for that February the 16th. I’ll do that now: Thank you, Scott.

I am a miser of my memories of you
And will not spend them.
~Witter Bynner

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »