I feel the pain in his voice...this song stirs something in me. It's intoxicating--slow down and listen to the words. Conor is an incredible musician.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Johnny Miller
I dreamed of you. I don’t know why, it’s been so long- eight years. Then to actually to run into to you was like the Fates trying to tell me something, but I’ve grown deaf to their advice for sometime now. Seeing you brought back those memories, sometimes not so nice memories. I secretly loved you. It grew in the time that we knew each other, became great friends, and finally, roommates. After a while, I felt your love, back. But unfortunately, I was with Brian, your friend long before you knew I was alive. The three of us in one house…oh, if only reality television was big back then…
We had a connection, of that I was sure. A deep one that humans search an entire life for and usually never find. You know, it goes by many names: knight in shining armor, companion, lover, partner, soul-mate. You were some of those things. You were more.
You brought out the best and worst in me, sometimes both at the same time. But through it all, you accepted me for what and who I was- mistakes and all. And you never expected me to change, in fact, you didn’t want me to change anything. God, I loved you for that. That quality is so difficult to find. It’s amazing how people want you to change for them the minute they have you. Brian wanted me to change everything. Why did he want me, to begin with, anyway? Why couldn’t I’ve met you first?
If only I had met you first; if only we weren’t afraid of telling Brian how we felt about each other. Fear and guilt entered our minds and those demons were stronger than our love. If only we realized that not saying anything would divide us forever. You married a woman that you despise now. I stayed with Brian until I nearly destroyed myself. If only we realized where our fear would lead us to. Would we have changed anything?
Curiosity is a human’s thorn, deeply embedded and very difficult to pull out with out leaving a scar. Do you think of me sometimes, at all? Do you think of what might have been if we’d give in and damned them all to hell? On rare occasions I think of you, those times, and what might have been.
I now look at the man I eventually married, long after you, and I’m grateful. So damned grateful, because everything turned out just as it should be. I’m sorry yours didn’t. And as for Brian— who the hell cares!
We had a connection, of that I was sure. A deep one that humans search an entire life for and usually never find. You know, it goes by many names: knight in shining armor, companion, lover, partner, soul-mate. You were some of those things. You were more.
You brought out the best and worst in me, sometimes both at the same time. But through it all, you accepted me for what and who I was- mistakes and all. And you never expected me to change, in fact, you didn’t want me to change anything. God, I loved you for that. That quality is so difficult to find. It’s amazing how people want you to change for them the minute they have you. Brian wanted me to change everything. Why did he want me, to begin with, anyway? Why couldn’t I’ve met you first?
If only I had met you first; if only we weren’t afraid of telling Brian how we felt about each other. Fear and guilt entered our minds and those demons were stronger than our love. If only we realized that not saying anything would divide us forever. You married a woman that you despise now. I stayed with Brian until I nearly destroyed myself. If only we realized where our fear would lead us to. Would we have changed anything?
Curiosity is a human’s thorn, deeply embedded and very difficult to pull out with out leaving a scar. Do you think of me sometimes, at all? Do you think of what might have been if we’d give in and damned them all to hell? On rare occasions I think of you, those times, and what might have been.
I now look at the man I eventually married, long after you, and I’m grateful. So damned grateful, because everything turned out just as it should be. I’m sorry yours didn’t. And as for Brian— who the hell cares!
Scenes from a public bathroom
It’s an upscale mall in the 'burbs. It’s the kind of place where the bathrooms are marble and granite. Where even the most serious sufferers of germaphobia could actually relax…at least for a while. I fall into that group of germaphobics.
After I take a pee, I diligently wash my hands in the nice large, marble sink with lots of divinely smelling soap. The paper towels are folded and stored near the sink for easy reach--placed in a cut-out niche in the marble.
A woman with long, blond hair washes her hands at the same time. We read over for a paper towel at the same time.
“Oh, go ahead,” I say, smiling.
“No, you go.” She looks at me oddly as if I’m strange for being polite.
“Uh, okay…” I grab the paper towel and wipe my hands.
She is looking around like she’s pondering how she got there.
“Is this our only option?” she queries, waving her hands towards the paper towels as they’ve offended her somehow.
“Pretty much.”
Sigh….”Fine!” She storms out.
After I take a pee, I diligently wash my hands in the nice large, marble sink with lots of divinely smelling soap. The paper towels are folded and stored near the sink for easy reach--placed in a cut-out niche in the marble.
A woman with long, blond hair washes her hands at the same time. We read over for a paper towel at the same time.
“Oh, go ahead,” I say, smiling.
“No, you go.” She looks at me oddly as if I’m strange for being polite.
“Uh, okay…” I grab the paper towel and wipe my hands.
She is looking around like she’s pondering how she got there.
“Is this our only option?” she queries, waving her hands towards the paper towels as they’ve offended her somehow.
“Pretty much.”
Sigh….”Fine!” She storms out.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
A painting of "The Lady of Shallot" by Waterhouse. The poem, written by Alfred Lord Tennyson, would send delightful shivers down my spine when I would recite it. Poor Elaine, dying of heartbreak. Loving Lancelot and never having it returned.
The poem was also made popular by Anne Shirley in Kevin Sullivan's adaptation of "Anne of Green Gables" starring Megan Follows.
I recently found my copy of Idylls of the King, an incredible piece of work. I am enjoying my visit with Tennyson.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
From Poetry Class...
No Longer No More
Love no longer resides
In these walls, slowly torn
Day by day, hour by hour
Resentment no more
Lauds its power
These arms that held
You when there were tears;
These fingers that caressed
You and held your fears
Now find comfort in emptiness
The key turns after your gone
I hold my breath and wait
No bitter eyes to greet me;
No anger to torture me
I breathe in relief.
Love no longer resides
In these walls, slowly torn
Day by day, hour by hour
Resentment no more
Lauds its power
These arms that held
You when there were tears;
These fingers that caressed
You and held your fears
Now find comfort in emptiness
The key turns after your gone
I hold my breath and wait
No bitter eyes to greet me;
No anger to torture me
I breathe in relief.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Scenes from Wednesday
My husband is off this week; it's so much fun to have him at home. We woke up early and by mid-morning, I had the incredible urge for breakfast from McDonalds (those damn Egg McMuffins!)
The time: 10:30am. Thirty minutes to scoot in the car and zoom two exits down to the nearest location. My poor husband, relaxing in his cute PJ's with his laptop in his lap, jumped when suddenly I booked it down the stairs.
"I need a Egg McMuffin and I have 30 minutes to get there!"
"Uh..okay." he says, confused. Usually I'm not up until noon. Hey, I like sleeping late. I throw at him a t-shirt and some shorts and head out the door (poor dear) as he trudges out behind me and we make record time to MickeyD's, thankfully just in time before breakfast ends.
Wal-mart is located in the same shopping center. Why not be productive and get a few things for the house we need? As we're munching on our yummy hash browns (the best part of the meal) we see a girl pushing her cart out to her car, bags fill to the brim, she did A LOT of shopping...damn girl...you go!
She puts everything in her new, black BMW, how nice, she looks 16. (No, jealousy here, really, I love my 10 year old Volvo.)
Then she drives away. The cart? She leaves it directly BEHIND the truck parked next to her. Not the at the side, the front, etc. Who cares that the cart corral is two feet away? I mean it's so far!!!
The large woman gets out of her car as we are walking past. She pulls down her stretch pants to adjust her stockings in the middle of the open parking lot.
One: do I really need to see your butt crack at 11am? And two: why are you wearing stockings when its 80 degrees out?
Wow. People amaze me; the things you miss when you sleep late.
The time: 10:30am. Thirty minutes to scoot in the car and zoom two exits down to the nearest location. My poor husband, relaxing in his cute PJ's with his laptop in his lap, jumped when suddenly I booked it down the stairs.
"I need a Egg McMuffin and I have 30 minutes to get there!"
"Uh..okay." he says, confused. Usually I'm not up until noon. Hey, I like sleeping late. I throw at him a t-shirt and some shorts and head out the door (poor dear) as he trudges out behind me and we make record time to MickeyD's, thankfully just in time before breakfast ends.
Wal-mart is located in the same shopping center. Why not be productive and get a few things for the house we need? As we're munching on our yummy hash browns (the best part of the meal) we see a girl pushing her cart out to her car, bags fill to the brim, she did A LOT of shopping...damn girl...you go!
She puts everything in her new, black BMW, how nice, she looks 16. (No, jealousy here, really, I love my 10 year old Volvo.)
Then she drives away. The cart? She leaves it directly BEHIND the truck parked next to her. Not the at the side, the front, etc. Who cares that the cart corral is two feet away? I mean it's so far!!!
The large woman gets out of her car as we are walking past. She pulls down her stretch pants to adjust her stockings in the middle of the open parking lot.
One: do I really need to see your butt crack at 11am? And two: why are you wearing stockings when its 80 degrees out?
Wow. People amaze me; the things you miss when you sleep late.
If I could live anywhere, it would be here...
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One of the many beautiful beaches--Cornwall, United Kingdom |
Monday, September 13, 2010
Serious Purging
My husband is on vacation this week. Are we going anywhere? Nope. I am using this week to PURGE. Clothes, shoes, and the ever popular--junk-collected-over-the-years-that-you-swear-you'll-use-sometime. Right now, I'm exhausted! I've been doing the "100 thing challenge" mentioned earlier in another post.
They were right, it's easier said than done.
I cannot part with my books, which are many. I count my books as ONE item...which is allowable according to many who are participating in this challenge. I am proud of the eight large garbage bags of clothes and shoes that are now sitting in my station wagon ready to be donated to Goodwill. My goal for day one: whittle down my wardrobe to only two weeks worth of clothes. God, laundry will be a breeze. Wouldn't that be nice for a change?
They were right, it's easier said than done.
I cannot part with my books, which are many. I count my books as ONE item...which is allowable according to many who are participating in this challenge. I am proud of the eight large garbage bags of clothes and shoes that are now sitting in my station wagon ready to be donated to Goodwill. My goal for day one: whittle down my wardrobe to only two weeks worth of clothes. God, laundry will be a breeze. Wouldn't that be nice for a change?
Wanderings...
I have gypsy blood...not really. That's what my father says to explain why I feel the need to move, change, reinvent my life, and the such. When I had more time and less responsibilities in my youth, I would change my hair color from black to brown to red to blond to platinum in a two to three month cycle. Now I settle for changing it up to a ponytail rather than wearing it down. My hair is my natural color and, surprise! I don't miss weekly dye jobs.
But I still have the urge to move. To venture to another state, hell, even another country (Britain). This urge that has gripped me since my youth doesn't seem to dissipate even in my 38th year. Sometimes, it is easy to ignore that desire propelling me on some new adventure. Recently, it's not so easy. The urge is at at an all time high. Now what? We've just moved to another state two years ago and I really need to give it a chance. I just miss the water. We used to live near the ocean, literally five minutes, but now it takes us two hours to reach the shore.
Maybe we'll be near the water again someday.
But I still have the urge to move. To venture to another state, hell, even another country (Britain). This urge that has gripped me since my youth doesn't seem to dissipate even in my 38th year. Sometimes, it is easy to ignore that desire propelling me on some new adventure. Recently, it's not so easy. The urge is at at an all time high. Now what? We've just moved to another state two years ago and I really need to give it a chance. I just miss the water. We used to live near the ocean, literally five minutes, but now it takes us two hours to reach the shore.
Maybe we'll be near the water again someday.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Scenes From The Beach
The sun sits high in the sky. Shortly, it will be the the end of summer as people flock to the shore for Labor Day. My husband and I are among the seagulls. I kept meaning to go all summer but my procrastinating nature won out and we never seemed to make it. Mainly, it's the "getting there" that is the problem; the drive that lasts two excruciating hours, mostly on the dreaded turnpike. Nonetheless, we finally made it unscathed and, for that, I am thrilled. I am even more thrilled that we found parking only two blocks from the beach.
We unload our plethora of things--I am obviously not a "beach towel only" kinda girl. I need a minimum of a comfy beach chair, food and drinks, of course good reading material, and the vital--super, extremely large beach umbrella built in with SPF 50 protection (ain't it great they know how to do that?) Hey, I'll be thanking myself in about 40 years when I don't look like a dried up piece of bacon.
We set up close to the water. My husband gets the umbrella up and now I just sit and relax...or at least try to. This is the perfect place to people watch. Also, there is a warm breeze thanks to a parting Hurricane Earl and if feels like heaven on my face. Interesting people are all around: masses swarm the surf, diving head first, dangers be damned; the large foreign group to the left speaking in quick, sharp tones; the loud family behind us with kids running around in nothing but diapers and hopefully lots of sunscreen; their cherubic faces are endearing as they squeal in delight and fear, both from the water and being chased their vigilant parents; all while two lifeguards sit in their lofty chairs gazing out to the water and hopefully watching for disasters as they flex their muscles to each other.
Must be nice to sit and be by the water all day. Maybe I'm in the wrong profession, I think to myself until I see them leap off their perch, rip of their hoodies, and dive into the water--all very Baywatch, I might add (and hurrah! They are watching...I feel very safe now.) I did find myself looking around for David Hasselhoff (guess he was busy that day.) Cue the music...hey where is that red canister/floaty thing that they're supposed to have draped across their tan, sculpted bodies. Oh, yeah, wait....this is not Hollywood I remind myself as the slightly pudgy one makes to the the struggling swimmer first. The other lingers behind. Finally, they both pull out what appear to be a dead body. Nah, it's a woman and obviously swimming is not her thing since she couldn't pull herself out of the ocean and was mercilessly bashed around by the waves. Finally making it on the sand, she's just passes out. They try to sit her up to no avail. Poor dear, I think and tell myself to avoid the water. No need to embarrass myself. She is subsequently taken away to recover.
The crowd disperses and life goes on. I barely have time to relax next to my husband when a flying beach umbrella (never thought about using this as weapon before...interesting) takes flight and almost impales the kissing couple in front of us. Yikes--a little to the left and we'd read about their unfortunate demise due to a cruel twist of fate in the morning papers. Good thing the Gods were smiling on them.
I'm quite enjoying myself until I almost get my head bashed in by a soccer ball. I immediately give the three dudes tossing it around an evil eye, but, of course they are oblivious to any inconvenience or potential harm they are causing others around them. I mean, why stay further back on the sand where there are large, open places to play when you could position yourself closer to the shore and around other adults and small children? I mean why be considerate? After all, consideration and common courtesy are overrated.
I guess I've mastered my "look of death" since the oldest guy stares at me and eventually moves them back and away from people. Or maybe it could have been the few choice words beginning with "f" and ending with "g" and don't forget the "bastards." Hey usually I'm and nice person, until you almost take off my head with a soccer ball. I kind of like my head.
I look over at my husband...still looking good... and hot, if I do say so myself. Darn...if only there was no one on the beach...we'll just leave the rest of those thoughts alone...for now.
Instead, I lay back on my fancy beach chair. Damn, this is nice, I think. Until the little kid kicks sand on me...ahhh...beach life at its best.
We unload our plethora of things--I am obviously not a "beach towel only" kinda girl. I need a minimum of a comfy beach chair, food and drinks, of course good reading material, and the vital--super, extremely large beach umbrella built in with SPF 50 protection (ain't it great they know how to do that?) Hey, I'll be thanking myself in about 40 years when I don't look like a dried up piece of bacon.
We set up close to the water. My husband gets the umbrella up and now I just sit and relax...or at least try to. This is the perfect place to people watch. Also, there is a warm breeze thanks to a parting Hurricane Earl and if feels like heaven on my face. Interesting people are all around: masses swarm the surf, diving head first, dangers be damned; the large foreign group to the left speaking in quick, sharp tones; the loud family behind us with kids running around in nothing but diapers and hopefully lots of sunscreen; their cherubic faces are endearing as they squeal in delight and fear, both from the water and being chased their vigilant parents; all while two lifeguards sit in their lofty chairs gazing out to the water and hopefully watching for disasters as they flex their muscles to each other.
Must be nice to sit and be by the water all day. Maybe I'm in the wrong profession, I think to myself until I see them leap off their perch, rip of their hoodies, and dive into the water--all very Baywatch, I might add (and hurrah! They are watching...I feel very safe now.) I did find myself looking around for David Hasselhoff (guess he was busy that day.) Cue the music...hey where is that red canister/floaty thing that they're supposed to have draped across their tan, sculpted bodies. Oh, yeah, wait....this is not Hollywood I remind myself as the slightly pudgy one makes to the the struggling swimmer first. The other lingers behind. Finally, they both pull out what appear to be a dead body. Nah, it's a woman and obviously swimming is not her thing since she couldn't pull herself out of the ocean and was mercilessly bashed around by the waves. Finally making it on the sand, she's just passes out. They try to sit her up to no avail. Poor dear, I think and tell myself to avoid the water. No need to embarrass myself. She is subsequently taken away to recover.
The crowd disperses and life goes on. I barely have time to relax next to my husband when a flying beach umbrella (never thought about using this as weapon before...interesting) takes flight and almost impales the kissing couple in front of us. Yikes--a little to the left and we'd read about their unfortunate demise due to a cruel twist of fate in the morning papers. Good thing the Gods were smiling on them.
I'm quite enjoying myself until I almost get my head bashed in by a soccer ball. I immediately give the three dudes tossing it around an evil eye, but, of course they are oblivious to any inconvenience or potential harm they are causing others around them. I mean, why stay further back on the sand where there are large, open places to play when you could position yourself closer to the shore and around other adults and small children? I mean why be considerate? After all, consideration and common courtesy are overrated.
I guess I've mastered my "look of death" since the oldest guy stares at me and eventually moves them back and away from people. Or maybe it could have been the few choice words beginning with "f" and ending with "g" and don't forget the "bastards." Hey usually I'm and nice person, until you almost take off my head with a soccer ball. I kind of like my head.
I look over at my husband...still looking good... and hot, if I do say so myself. Darn...if only there was no one on the beach...we'll just leave the rest of those thoughts alone...for now.
Instead, I lay back on my fancy beach chair. Damn, this is nice, I think. Until the little kid kicks sand on me...ahhh...beach life at its best.
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