Category Archives: Love

Old People

Old People

I miss all my old people.  Funny thing is that I didn’t miss most of them much after they died.  They were well-old enough to die naturally.  I doubt they were in much more pain at death than they were over the last few months of life.  All those aches and pains probably got some relief when the power shut off to their brains. Anniversaries of all my old great aunts and uncles are scattered throughout the year.  Sometimes I remember, sometimes it’s just another day.  Of course at the time they departed there were tears and feelings of empty sadness, but life kept me moving forward.

Now, years later, it is a different kind of sadness.  My emotions have forgotten that they are dead.  Gramma and Grampa are just at their house a few towns over.  Or so it feels.  The sadness comes when I feel the need to pick up the phone and call them as if they are in their 60s, alive and well.  I don’t remember them so much as the frail, elderly people who I saw pass away.  I remember them active and relatively young enough to be a source of information and entertainment (stories of days gone by).

I miss the little things.  How they acted so interested in me.  How they looked down on me with a smile that people only give children in their family.  I can remember my great aunt’s face, all old and wrinkled, when she smiled as if she thought I was so cool.  She was born in 1909.  To her a game boy was beyond even a Jules Vern novel.

It’s weird for me to miss things about the past.  I don’t miss many things that people normally do.  Like my childhood friends.  We were going to be friends forever and now I loath the thought of ever having to awkwardly run into any of them around town.  I never had a reason to dislike all my old people.  They were situations to manage of course, but that was a given need for a elderly family member.  Unlike my old friends, nothing else in life has fully filled the void left by that by-gone generation.

There’s nothing to do with these feelings about them.  I can reminisce with those who knew them too.  Or look through old family photos.  but it all just leads to the same thing, welling up in tears of sadness that gets stronger with the thought that my parent’s generation is next.

San Francisco

San Francisco

Jane sat leaning on her bedroom’s bay window soaking up the sun on her face while she pretended she was laying on the beach in her hometown. Even though this was the first day in a week that the sun had broken through the dense San Francisco fog, the air outside, helped by the whooshing wind, still sent an annoying chill down her neck whenever she got lazy about tying her scarf correctly.

“It’s always 50 degrees here,” was her latest mantra since it was the first thing that came to mind every time people asked how she was enjoying her freshman year of college.

“Getting into a lot of trouble, I bet!” was another common one. She would stare back blankly or shrug. It wasn’t that she wasn’t enjoying herself; it was that her usual sources of fun no longer existed and the new ones being experienced weren’t reliable old friends she could turn too to ward off her boredom or need for excitement. They were simply fun new experiences with no predictable reoccurrence in her daily routine.

There was plenty going on. Parties, drunken dorm room chats, drama between roommates, and all the usual college campus life experiences that she came there to check out. She had new friends who were getting themselves into all sorts of random situations, but she was still on the outside of it all. Simply going with the flow and wasn’t sure how to breakout of herself.

Her boyfriend wasn’t helping. Even though he was staying home for college they wanted to stay together and still felt connected in their distance relationship, his opinions held her back. She bought a CD off a street performer playing the cello and played it over the phone feeling certain that John would appreciate it but all he said was, “why would you buy a shitty CD off a street performer? I can download something just like it for free online.” She sighed, “I just thought it sounded pretty that’s all. Besides it was only $5.00.” She changed the subject, “Are you coming to visit this weekend? Is your brother’s friend still driving up?” He complained, “Ugh, it is such a long drive, it’ll take like 6 hours.”

He complained. “He was never a good traveller,” his mom explained to her once. “I don’t remember a single time that we drove to Las Vegas without him throwing up. We resorted to sleeping pills once he was old enough, but then he just felt groggy and cranking for hours after we got there.”

He made the drive and was dropped off at his brother’s apartment in Berkley. When she called to tell him which train to take into the city, he was reluctant to take the 45 minute train across the bay from “We’re having a good time here, why don’t you just come join us.” She took the train.

She arrived late after having gotten side tracked by some usual dorm drama and a long deserved nap. He met her at the train station with a big hug and beer ridden kiss and suddenly she felt better. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Nothing, I just think I had a bad day, should be better now, I’m glad you’re here,” she replied with a deep breath and progressive smile. He took her hand and they slowly wandered to his brother’s place.

My Puppy

My Puppy

I cry for her before she’s gone, My puppy.

She’s not a puppy anymore.  I won’t have her forever.

Is she my favorite of the dogs of my lifetime?  Perhaps yes perhaps no.

I will never say, who could ever compare, they are all my favorites.

I love them all so so deeply.

Just one for a lifetime, that’s all I need, but I am blessed with many.

Only a very few so far.

I can do the math.

One day my puppy will be gone.

I will have a new puppy, of any age, that I will also fall in love with.

I will keep her also until her dying day.

I bare this burn of mourning, perhaps too young.

It is easy with humans, they often bring death upon themselves.

Through old age or stupidity or mismanagement of the body.

But puppies, oh if I could have them all back.

I’d keep them forever.

They don’t know any better and they are so loveable.

I cry for her in advance, not because I expect she’ll be gone soon, but because I miss all the rest of my little sisters.

Such sweetness and fun lost yet more born to find.

 

 

We all have a Cinderella complex

We all have a Cinderella complex

Men like to tell women that fairy tales don’t exist.  I believe that this happens because women are more prone to wearing their emotional needs on their sleeves.  It is easy to walk up to someone and tell them fairytales don’t exist when they have “Looking for my dream man” written on their T-shirt or Stilettos.  But we all have our fairytale dreams where we envision our savior coming down and taking away some sort of internal torment.  For many they turn to Jesus and say that the savior has already come, we have just to learn from his teachings.  Others hope for the future to bring us what we desire.

We sit and dwell and work out all the details so that we don’t miss the opportunity once he presents himself.  In every fairy tale there is a discomfort that drives us to want relief.  Prolonged exposure to the discomfort makes us externally accepting of the situation but internally scheming for our way out.  Unfortunately for us women, men are always a disappointing solution because they don’t honestly provide relief, they provide a distraction that in itself causes more problems.

 

 

Summoning past lovers

Summoning past lovers

In a brief moment of despair at not being in love for far too long, I summoned up my favorite lover from my memory.  After dancing the softness of his skin and reliving the sparkling spot in my soul where his memorizing eyes met mine, I finally remembered what it felt like to be in love again.  For a brief second the portal between us opened again, long enough for me to whisper “but i love you…”  Swooning once again in a state of ecstasy, he awoke from my spell, “Mareks…Mareks, darling are you still there?” said a sweet voice over the phone. “Hm, hmm, yes yes, uh blue, blue is a great color for the guest bedroom, look I’ve got to go, I’ll call you back when I’m on my way home” he replied….”Love you too….cheers….bye”.  He nervously stood up and looked out the window over Sydney Harbour.  He remembered too.

On Panic

On Panic

In my latest lull, I flashed through my book of stars at light speed, taking note of how neatly organized the constellations finally looked as I blew by.  Along the way, I danced a few steps along the edges of the brightest shapes and I couldn’t help but to try in vain, just once more, to grasp the bulbs that have been burning bright for perhaps too long.  All that I loved but sadly lost and hated but was forced to find still radiate despite my efforts to smolder them with crushing fingers over my palms.  Panic is my only savior.  With panic at my side I am at once reminded not to linger too long in memory’s gaze, not to soak up all that I can neither touch again nor fix.  With Panic I become bold and brave enough to turn away from Passion’s siren call.  But Panic is fleeting, he is only there to pull me away, back into the safety of the orderly world.  And there I always end up, stranded in the emptiness of his departure, half happy to have gotten out with my emotions intact, half tempted to go back and somehow recreate all those moments of the past where I really felt alive.

In Love with the Idea of Someone

In Love with the Idea of Someone

I think my habit of falling in love with the idea of things isn’t helping. Well it does help because it allows me to construct an ideal picture to guide my path, but the planning and discovering of what elements would be perfect to put in my situation distracts me from other things. Gosh, I’m trying to say that I shouldn’t fall so in love with ideas, yet all my support to that statement points to “I love falling in love with ideas.” sigh… I just love it so I’m just going to keep doing it. There is no rational way of saying that I shouldn’t dream so much, because dreaming has in fact proven to be the catalyst of all my travels.

But it poses a problem when I am not sure whether I love someone, or just love the thought of them. It is a tricky way of thinking about people. Because whatever data I have gathered is filtered through my brain and my dreams are end products that I use to see if I’m on the right track. If too much negativity manifests in my mind at the thought of you, then I take that as a sign that this isn’t working. If I get a positive reading, then we’re good.

Data selection is key here because when I have a good reading and I’m really enjoying the thoughts someone provokes, I tend not to want to hear anything that will spoil my inner fun. So if I think I need to gather more fuel for my fire (i.e. information), I will still chose to find positive things to outweigh any negatives I happen to run across in the process.

Love is strange in that it has a built in component that makes me refuse to find reason not to love someone.

Anyways, I do not see that it is a bad thing if someone is in love with the idea of a person; however, if that is the only thing about them that makes you love them, then you’re not really in love with them at all. You’re in love with the parts of them you can create. So this Pygmalion effect essentially is misdiagnosed as love, probably because of the euphoria and sense of completeness that is only attainable in my mind…

On Favorite Things

On Favorite Things

I’ve been taking note of my favorite things and I’ve found that I have far more favorites than I imagined. The most obvious favorites, like specific food or clothing, have easily identifiable reasons for why they are a favorite. There are so many others that I found, which I didn’t realize fall into the favorite category but have now been placed there because of my more detailed observation. The most difficult to categorize are objects for which there are no substitutes because of who I received them from or how long I’ve had them. But the most favorite by far, I realize, are the things I do not let other people see or touch because I would be just that heart broken if they ruined or slandered it in some way.

Dreams and Loving Lula

Dreams and Loving Lula

There I was pacing the halls of my palace, wondering how on earth the evil god of the northern tribes managed to kidnap some of my protected soldiers from their post on the border with the tribal plains. “I spent weeks putting the barrier up with the best wizards in the country, and even tested the fact that those soldiers were physically incapable of crossing the barrier, either by their own will or force. How could it possibly have failed???” I exclaimed in a fit of fury to my humble adviser, Grumbambly, from the planet Gamb. His six eyes worryingly gazed out the window as my personal body guard approached through the courtyard to deliver, what I knew was a devastating…. lick on my hand….? “Lula! No, I’m trying to sleep Boo. Okay Okay you can climb in bed too, but, no, don’t take up the whole thing… no I can’t be petting you constantly, alright give me a snuggle…yes, thank you for cleaning my hand, I love you too…All Done! Sleep time, Lula, Sleep time….”