Friday, November 30, 2007

Watching the Fountain with Marcie

I never thought I would settle down when I met Marcie. I was never one for multiple partners or anything so sordid as that, but I had always been serially monogamous.

I had one great love before Marcie, my first love, and that woman's transformation into a practical and calculating person with little but wants and wounds from what she was had taught me hard lessons. But I was not embittered, simply wary and less willing to put my heart on the line to any dangerous degree.

When I met Marcie, my plan was and had been to simply love who I could as I could for as long as I could. That changed soon enough. I do not think I had been with her a year before I was so besotted that I asked her to marry me, and meant it. She turned me down and said I should slow down.

As yesterday's poem reveals, she had a change of heart. I was unsure of the whole situation, but was glad she had come around. Six years later, that is.

The point of this is that I felt soon after I fell in love with Marcie that I had loved her for a very long time. This was something remarked on by Marcie as well. "I feel like we have been together for a lifetime, honey," she said. "I feel like I have known you since I was a little girl."

This phenomenon many of us have faced and some of us are privileged to experience it every day. The feeling is not limited to romance. Rescuers, Poets, and even Elvis have experienced the feeling. It must have some merit. I am susceptible to an willing to indulge that perhaps I have known Marcie for lifetimes.

Enter into this sentiment-cum-phenomenon the movie The Fountain. Taking place in three eras, it tells the tale of a man seeking to meet eternity with his love and to become one with both.

Marcie rented this from Netflix after having seen it in the theaters. It was a prelude to very difficult talks she wanted to have with me that I had avoided. I watched it with her. She cried and I joined her a little, but tried more to soothe her.

When the chemotherapy drugs and sleeping pills had finally sent her to sleep on my chest, both of us laying on the couch, I absorbed the meaning, the message Marcie was sending and the hope she wanted me to have in my despair. I held her there for a long time, but she awoke and I saw her to bed, holding her in the hot late summer night.

I have added the film to the list of items in my Amazon Store (Left column). Watch it with a loved on, especially if you have that special feeling, as we always did, of having known and loved them forever.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Marcie's laugh and another poem

A recent email about a particular part of Marcie we all loved (her sweet laugh) triggered a lot of good memories. Thank you, friend. A long time ago, I started writing Marcie a poem that wound its way through the stages of our relationship, including that first laugh. I shared it with her, but I intended it to be ongoing, and I would add to it over tiem

I lost it, unfortunately, but there is some hope. Marcie usually kept everything that I wrote to her, and I printed the poem several times. I found new pictures just this week, and I will find this poem somewhere as well, I suppose. For now, I have rewritten it, and I know at least some of it was true to the first version.

I also have decided to update it, and it will remain a work in progress.

In your thrall

I saw you in the castle square
when Amyrillis bloomed red.
You glanced at me and lingered there,
then finally spoke, and said,
"If you would speak to me then do,
but do not waste my ear.
For I have met many just like you,
and know your tricks, my dear."

I took you in, red hair, blue eyes
round hips and ivory skin
Hands on your hips, defiant guise
I saw your fire within.
"Is it a trick?" I asked you there,
"To gaze upon you thus?
Or do you hide some other care,
mayhap we could discuss?"

You flipped your pixie locks aside,
then harrumphed and walked away.
But a smile was on your lips, I spied,
and I saw a playful sway.
To have you then I set my mind
and sought you out each day
Until the stars were thus aligned
and Venus had her way.

You cast your spell with laughter's voice
I pursued you even more.
You played me well, I had no choice
but with ardor to adore.
I had my princess like a thief,
who sneaks through in the night.
Hid in your wardrobe, your relief
My stealth for your delight.

You christened me your cavalier.
and charged me when you toured,
to wait, be firm, to persevere.
You left, I stayed, endured.
You filled my ears with tales of lands,
of places you had been.
I only cared to fill my hands
with your fiery locks again.

When finally I heard the call
to journey north, to learn,
you went there first to found our hall,
and bring the hearth to burn.
Among the giants, in the cold,
you kept me warm but sighed.
Two winters passed and not a day,
not one more could you last.

So south again, where friend and kin
now awaited our return.
And autumn's eve, among the din,
I thought that I could discern
a sadness in my fairy love,
a frown upon your face.
I knew then what you fretted of,
embarrassment, disgrace.

You called me to the parapets
where sullied pennants waved.
You asked me as you waved your arm,
"Is it me who has been saved?
Am I to wait for you, my knight,
until I am too aged?
For you to marry me, despite
our seven years engaged?"

I pulled you close and as you cried,
gently reminded you
That I was he you once denied,
the chance to marry you.
"But if you now believe me worth
a year, a life, an age,
then I will bend my knee to earth
and end this long engage."

We flew, without our friends and kin,
to initiate new life
We swore ourselves and once again
I'd won, this time a wife
"I will not fail to honor you,
nor fail to hold your faith."
"And I will not abandon you,
to wander as you wait."

To family and firmament
we made our union known.
No challenge to our testament
our lives now shared, our own.
We went to battle, and to fair
unbeatable and strong.
My fiery heart, your fiery hair,
and nothing could go wrong.

Until one day as I averred
the wrongs of one corrupted,
your cries rang out and I deferred
my probing interrupted.
You said it was the mark of death,
but I could not believe.
For it was you, to every breath
my soul, my heart, did cleave.

So off again, this time to war,
you were scarred and then rebuilt.
When you flowered in hope once more,
your bloom began to wilt.
I carried you, watched over you
my life, my love, my queen.
And treasured every breath of you,
each day, each night, each scene.

I was your cavalier, my love,
I was your questing knight
but now I quest for remnants of
your red-haired, fairy light.
And though the ashes of our life
rain down around my head
I will not quit my geas, sweet wife
even if I am dead.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Technical Issues

Due to a camera that did not record what I needed it to, I will have to postpone sharing Marcie's last list. Rest assured, it is coming and I am ready to share it. I will also be talking about a movie I watched very recently with Marcie which just wrung my soul out.

Bah. Hours wasted on a file that was corrupt. Bad batteries! Bad!

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

A Treasure Trove is Found

While looking through the closets today after work, I stumbled across Marcie's photo albums. Pictures of her travels around the world, from her youth and her early adulthood abounded. Though I was just hit over and over at how much I have lost, it was a wonderful thing to find. I will post more substantially tomorrow.

Expect selections from her albums sometime this weekend. Good night, folks


Monday, November 26, 2007

Marcie's Shrine

In the days following Marcie's death, I decided that I was going to need a shrine for her. I have finally decided to share it. It has all of her favorite scented candles, scent beads and little items that remind me of her and our times together.

At the risk of creating discomfort, here is a picture of the shrine. To be honest, I was relieved at how the picture turned out. I do not have a digital SLR camera, so it was taken with the same little digital no-name Point and Shoot cheapie the films are shot with.

As a tip for would-be dark photographers with ill-suited equipment, I set the little 5.1 megapixel camera to ISO 200 emulation, flash off, and used a little bean bag to prop it for the shot and keep it steady as the overly long exposure was completed.

The picture of my beautiful bride is one I framed and matted myself, and it is the print from the memorial that some of you may have never seen. The candles, in addition to the hearts and jars from the reception, include all of her candles from around the house, scented or not. The working fountain is one I made her for its calming effect.

Unseen behind the little incense holder in the forground is a collection of Marcie's coins from around the world. The delicate petals on the lower level are the orchid blooms from Jane's mother, which finally fell off this evening, as if to tell me to do this with them.

The runners were her favorites, and they match. Two show from the top of the higher table, and a longer one runs under her vessel and the lower candles, lengthwise. The bowls and the little square saucer contain her scent beads and her bits of tumbled, colored glass.

There is the idea that negative ions feed the spirit and calm the nerves. The salt rock candle is the only way to make those ions without creating ozone and a shock hazard. The ions also apparently feed ghosts in some popular trains of thought. Wonderful.

I always light the lower stage last, and the two stick candles in particular. They flank her ashes, which are encased in their container within the Indian box in the center of the picture. Both have little bells in their bases.

I gave one of those belled candles to Marcie when she was initially bedridden to summon whoever was there to help her. She used it a few times, and she always seemed to smile when I came to her at its call. So, when I am lighting them, they ring a bit, and their gentle little tolls give me a good memory of her, and help to make the whole scene that much more meditative and serene.

In other words, not creepy, just gentle and comforting. I'll get better shots of our Marcie's picture and some shots from other angles of the shrine when I can.

Good night, folks.


Sunday, November 25, 2007

A Few of the Hardest Times

My moments with Marcie toward the end were sometimes soul-crushingly hard for me.

A few which came and went toward the end, beyond their inbuilt painfulness, were simply unmanageable, not because they were happening in general, but because of my baby's nature, and because they seemed to rip little pieces of her away.

They were so bad that I found myself thanking the stars that her mother, her brother, her friends and my family were not there to see it at all. But they have been eating at me, because I did not let people know how much utter destruction I handled alone.

I will simply list them here, so I can write about them more fully later, if I can get it together. They still push me to the edge. I will address them to Marcie, because these things happened at times when she may have been out of reach.
  • When you held my hand and your voice was gone, I am sorry I could not understand. I think you meant to tell me something more than what I could read your lips to say, but that "I love you" was enough, and the rest you put so much effort and sincerity in is a loss I lament and wonder about daily.
  • I am sorry I could not lift you into our room from that damn hospital bed. I was afraid to have you fall out, I was even more afraid to drop you. I should have taken the chance so I could have held you.
  • The night your eyes pupils became different in your size. I saw it coming and I could not stop it. I held you but you I knew I could not hold you here.
  • The day I brought you home and they had not done anything to rehabilitate you. I could not believe how your legs had turned to mush in that nursing home. I cried in private after every time I exercised your legs, and I was shattered when you no longer could resist rangte of motion when asked. But I fibbed, said "good," then kissed you.
  • The night you died. Oh, Marcie. I wanted to force the life back into you, to pump you full of life, to stop the infection in your lungs by sheer will. I should have just held your hand. I am glad I did read to you, but I wish it had another day to.
  • The days we had when you told me that I had to let another woman "experience me," your plans to prepare for death and your wishes for your birthday, to see a movie and have a dinner. The day of our date you had to go to the hospital.
  • The day you told me you could see the changes in me and they made you sad, that I deserved to be happier. Oh, baby. I am so grateful for you, and I will be happy again someday. Give me time.
One evening Marcie "caught" me hiding my tears. I had just changed her diaper as she slept at about 2 in the morning, something which did not bother me in and of itself. Knowing my little Irish queen, my Macha, had that indignity to deal with, though, did.
She woke and caught my eye. I smiled reassuringly as I put her lotion on her legs.
"Oh, honey, you've been crying," she said, taking my hand in her weak little fingers.
I said, "Oh, I'm fine, honey. I just had a tear or two."
She would have none of it, and she sighed and gave my hand a squeeze. Her mumbling, warbled voice was clear, if quietly so, for a minute. "Honey, you've been crying a lot," she said, pouting. "I know. I know because your eyes are green right now, and that's a very rare, very hard cry for you. And I want you to know it's fine. Just let it out."
With another squeeze, she breathed deeply and was out like a light. I hugged her but did not cry any more. I just stayed resting, holding her in her little hospital bed until I heard her lightly snore.

I don't know that anyone will know such small, intimate things as she did. There were so many other little ways we knew each other. My eyes are very green now. Good night, folks.