So the anniversary came and went, but my account would not let me log in. Hmm... perhaps a sign?
No, not a sign at all :) My previous home account changed and was delayed. In addition to a nice meal and a bottle of wine, our anniversary generally meant Marcie and I would review the year.
All I have to go on is what she decided to give me in the last months we had. Basically, she foreshadowed a lot of what I have come to understand and live through.So, without further ado, a conversation for Marcie about all the things that she knew and I doubted.
Lessons To Remember:
You told me I was a tough nut to crack, and I believe you now. You meant people would misunderstand me, especially my ferocity and passion. You said I was stronger than most women could or would even try to handle, and I wanted to doubt you.
I see what you mean. I don't fall for simplistic manipulations, and I also don't let them go, but rather call them out. People prefer that others play the game. I promise I won't.
On the other hand, I have been a bit frosty lately. I am trying to soften, to be more open, to be less crystalline and to be accepting of the foolishness people indulge in. I am making progress in that way.
I made a lot of progress with someone who I knew was a tough nut herself. I learned what I could.
I move forward and am finding that the simple calculus you applied... that all people have potential in their minds, lives, and hearts, and in unequal amounts, has validity. I opened a heart. It will blossom. I opened my mind. It will not overcome my heart, though.
That is always what you worried about, that some person would wring me dry and leave me broken. You were right to worry, more to say so, and good to me in that you just offered your wisdom. But I think I know what has value, and I am stronger than that. I recognize my worth.
And if I open a heart or two that was closed, then we'll share that passing joy and sigh in my dreams when you come. On this anniversary, your gentleness and ferocity of spirit reminds me that to all there is a moment, be it glory or comeuppance.
But you remind me that, no matter the injury or the depth of someone's fall, there is redemption in love, and it must always be on offer.
Thank you for yours, my sweet.
Showing posts with label Frank. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frank. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Lessons in the Mansion of my Heart-Conclusion?
I woke into the dream and the warmth of her on my lap. She was listening but looking at me often and smiling. I didn't understand the whole thing at all, everything was in broken stutters and rapid clicking and syllables, all running together in bits I could discern then not.
For some reason, I decided to speak, "I don't think I understand," I said. "Could you repeat that more slowly?" I asked, looking at the last person to speak, a man who had a vaguely familiar face.
"The point is that we don't break down all the barriers we build up until we come here, because they don't come with us," he said. "So, we were discussing how barriers are built, and how much easier things are when they never are put in place."
I nodded, and he continued.
"Barriers are protection, and they keep us from feeling vulnerable, even when they are figurative," he said. "But barriers limit us, not just the world around us, so it's more of a weakness to have them than a strength."
Gary cut in at this point and I looked up at him. Marcie squeezed my hand... "Listen..."
"The main discussion is about the stuff outside your house, there, Frank," he said. You build the barrier, you don't just lose the contact with the people you want to lose it with, or the exposure to them, but a lot of other things never some to knock on your door."
I looked out through the weird window and the mountains beyond and saw piles of stone and wood, barbed wire and building materials. a small assemblage of vehicles, tractors and trucks, seemed to be parked close by.
"That would be one big wall, and a lot of barrier to get through or over," Gary said, continuing as I inspected the faraway scene. "We were just talking about how few fences you have, but how much of a maze your world is to navigate as is."
I nodded. I looked into Marcie's eyes, their blue brilliant and glowing a bit, as I was used to now in these dreams.
Marcie whispered, "Honey, if you build it up, you'll never tear it down, and someday it will just be you in a crumbling mansion, with no way to get out from behind it and grow." Somehow, silently, the class disappeared, and she was all that was left, and stroked my nape as she talked to me quietly, melodically.
I looked in her eyes and smiled, bit my lip, "Well, a lot of things keep landing on my doorstep that I don't want because the house is so open."
"You don't have to answer every time, and you don't have to ask people in past the foyer, and you don't have to let the ones you keep into the innermost part of your heart, you just have to keep making room when you need to, and let people wander around and out, if they want." she said.
I nodded and gulped, and she cupped my face, something only she ever really did in all my life. It had been so long since I felt it, I had almost forgotten that special touch. But it was so vibrant, real. I felt hot tears.
"Don't make a fortress out of your mansion, because I love that place the way it is, and so do you," she said. "Just keep it in mind, and keep your heart open. I know you'll get more joy out of being the wild and untamed man you should be than some crazy hermit in a castle."
I looked up and realized she meant more than just my thoughts to be less open, and that some of the other ideas I had in my life may be just as strong for barriers as a hard heart.
"Okay, I will wander but I won't isolate myself," I said. "But sometimes I am going to need to retreat. It's all way too much sometimes, and I am not my best when it is."
She nodded and smiled, "You know where our friends are, and you know who really loves you, so don't retreat, just go love them back a little."
The dream ended with a kiss, and my pillow and face were wet. It was 5:25 AM, so I stayed up and watched the sun rise over Mt. Helix. It was cold in the morning again, but I did not really feel it overmuch. When the ground was lit, I went home.
For some reason, I decided to speak, "I don't think I understand," I said. "Could you repeat that more slowly?" I asked, looking at the last person to speak, a man who had a vaguely familiar face.
"The point is that we don't break down all the barriers we build up until we come here, because they don't come with us," he said. "So, we were discussing how barriers are built, and how much easier things are when they never are put in place."
I nodded, and he continued.
"Barriers are protection, and they keep us from feeling vulnerable, even when they are figurative," he said. "But barriers limit us, not just the world around us, so it's more of a weakness to have them than a strength."
Gary cut in at this point and I looked up at him. Marcie squeezed my hand... "Listen..."
"The main discussion is about the stuff outside your house, there, Frank," he said. You build the barrier, you don't just lose the contact with the people you want to lose it with, or the exposure to them, but a lot of other things never some to knock on your door."
I looked out through the weird window and the mountains beyond and saw piles of stone and wood, barbed wire and building materials. a small assemblage of vehicles, tractors and trucks, seemed to be parked close by.
"That would be one big wall, and a lot of barrier to get through or over," Gary said, continuing as I inspected the faraway scene. "We were just talking about how few fences you have, but how much of a maze your world is to navigate as is."
I nodded. I looked into Marcie's eyes, their blue brilliant and glowing a bit, as I was used to now in these dreams.
Marcie whispered, "Honey, if you build it up, you'll never tear it down, and someday it will just be you in a crumbling mansion, with no way to get out from behind it and grow." Somehow, silently, the class disappeared, and she was all that was left, and stroked my nape as she talked to me quietly, melodically.
I looked in her eyes and smiled, bit my lip, "Well, a lot of things keep landing on my doorstep that I don't want because the house is so open."
"You don't have to answer every time, and you don't have to ask people in past the foyer, and you don't have to let the ones you keep into the innermost part of your heart, you just have to keep making room when you need to, and let people wander around and out, if they want." she said.
I nodded and gulped, and she cupped my face, something only she ever really did in all my life. It had been so long since I felt it, I had almost forgotten that special touch. But it was so vibrant, real. I felt hot tears.
"Don't make a fortress out of your mansion, because I love that place the way it is, and so do you," she said. "Just keep it in mind, and keep your heart open. I know you'll get more joy out of being the wild and untamed man you should be than some crazy hermit in a castle."
I looked up and realized she meant more than just my thoughts to be less open, and that some of the other ideas I had in my life may be just as strong for barriers as a hard heart.
"Okay, I will wander but I won't isolate myself," I said. "But sometimes I am going to need to retreat. It's all way too much sometimes, and I am not my best when it is."
She nodded and smiled, "You know where our friends are, and you know who really loves you, so don't retreat, just go love them back a little."
The dream ended with a kiss, and my pillow and face were wet. It was 5:25 AM, so I stayed up and watched the sun rise over Mt. Helix. It was cold in the morning again, but I did not really feel it overmuch. When the ground was lit, I went home.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Lessons in The Mansion of my Heart-3
Preface: I have been trying to revisit this for the last week, but it did not return until last night. I stopped thinking about the dream and just slept, doing a little breathing exercise to relax and fall deeply asleep.
However, Marcie did pop into a dream I was having about a hike in Humboldt County.
I was wandering around the forest above Humboldt State with some long-lost Zendik pals and my old dog Spot, which was weird but comforting, and I essentially knew I was dreaming.
Nom said, "Fen, redhead alert!" and I followed his finger, seeing a flash of red hair and some blue disappearing over a hill in a clearing.
We hiked out of the redwoods and over the little rise and Marcie was there, picking a little white gardenia from what looked like a hedge of them.
"Hi, hon," she said. "Try to come home. I am going to put some of these gardenias in bowls of water and put them around the house, then I want to work on the fence."
I nodded and she hugged me, a cool, almost cold kiss on my neck no less nice for the fell of her against me, and she was gone."
"Dude, that was your wife?" Dawna asked.
"Yep, that was her," I said, beaming with pride.
"Well, we're heading up the mountain, maybe you should head home?" she said, and she winked and wiggled a bit.
I blushed in the ears. "Yes, maybe I should."
Spot barked and ran down the hill ahead of me. I chased him then jumped, and soon was floating down towards Arcata.
And I awoke.
However, Marcie did pop into a dream I was having about a hike in Humboldt County.
I was wandering around the forest above Humboldt State with some long-lost Zendik pals and my old dog Spot, which was weird but comforting, and I essentially knew I was dreaming.
Nom said, "Fen, redhead alert!" and I followed his finger, seeing a flash of red hair and some blue disappearing over a hill in a clearing.
We hiked out of the redwoods and over the little rise and Marcie was there, picking a little white gardenia from what looked like a hedge of them.
"Hi, hon," she said. "Try to come home. I am going to put some of these gardenias in bowls of water and put them around the house, then I want to work on the fence."
I nodded and she hugged me, a cool, almost cold kiss on my neck no less nice for the fell of her against me, and she was gone."
"Dude, that was your wife?" Dawna asked.
"Yep, that was her," I said, beaming with pride.
"Well, we're heading up the mountain, maybe you should head home?" she said, and she winked and wiggled a bit.
I blushed in the ears. "Yes, maybe I should."
Spot barked and ran down the hill ahead of me. I chased him then jumped, and soon was floating down towards Arcata.
And I awoke.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
A question answered by an older poet
Someone at an Irish bar asked me a few days ago where Marcie's grave was and if I visited. I said, "She visits me!" At her quizzical look, I explained Marcie's cremains were in the house and slowly being spread over the world.
When I see this lass again, which may be far in the future, I will share this poem I found, which itself is Irish:
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there... I did not die...
When I see this lass again, which may be far in the future, I will share this poem I found, which itself is Irish:
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry—
I am not there... I did not die...
Friday, October 9, 2009
Lessons in The Mansion of my Heart
So there we were, riding in a bus. We had done this often in our early years, but this was no ordinary commute. We were sitting in luxury, and everyone was chatting about their classes and plans for the week.
"Isn't this awesome?" Marcie asked, smiling and sipping her blue-tinted glass, recently filled with a Cosmo a man with a cart shook for her as her passed.
"It certainly is big, and it certainly seems expensive," I said.
"We already paid for it and it doesn't cost a thing!" she laughed, her victorious chuckle the same as always, the rise at the end making her sound as if she were getting away with something.
I nodded and sipped, and felt the bus slow a bit. It was almost silent, I noted, save for voices and music.
The bus intercom said in a gentle voice, "We have arrived and you may proceed to the exits for disembarkation. Personal belongings left on board will be returned to your domiciles. Greetings from the faculty and staff of the University."
We stepped off the bus onto a perfect blacktop, shaded by trees. People walked everywhere, pretty much dressed in white and with dashes of color. Marcie took my hand and tugged.
A group of people rode by on horseback. "Do you recognize that horse?" she asked excitedly, her mouth open a bit as she cocked her head.
I nodded and smiled. The horse my uncle Charley had at the ranch in La Posta, then raced in Tijuana to some success. People tied off and a light bell rang out.
"Let's go eat!" she said and pulled me along, running. Her hair was almost down to her butt, and was lustrous.
She had never looked healthier, if thinner and more toned, I thought. She was just radiating youth and health, and I basked in it.
She turned and kissed me on the lips. "Oh! That's very sweet of you to think," she said. "But save it for later. We're having the best roast ever."
I sat and soon two tunic-clad servers arrived. One served Marcie yet another Cosmo, putting a glass of water in front of me. The other placed plates of roast and rose potatos, asparagus and tomatoes before us.
I woke as I tried to take a bite. I stared at the plain white walls of my room, gulped and covered my head with a pillow. I was lucky, and soon fell asleep again, straight into the dream.
We were hurrying, "I am so glad you woke up," she said. "You were just out like a light. Get dressed, we have a class in like 10 minutes."
I felt the sense of urgency and dressed quickly, enjoying the slide of some light and smooth material over my shoulders as she put on makeup. A cat jumped in her lap, and I recognized him instantly.
"Garfield, please get down," she said.
He did, and he rubbed against my leg then sat leaning against it. I felt a tear in my eye. I had missed him these last 20 years, save for a fleeting dream of him in my 20s.
I stroked his long, grey tabby-pointed head and listened to his Siamese vocalizations. Marcie touched my shoulder and I looked up.
"Let's take him to class with us," she smiled. "He will be fine."
"Come on, Garfield!" she said and he trotted, then galloped past her as she opened the door.
We held hands again and walked along a richly appointed hallway to a staircase. He yowled from the floor below and chatted us up happily as we approached. The door opened and I began to step out with her but stopped at the message above the door.
"Some people have little cottages for hearts, and they never really have more than one person in them at any time," it read. "Mine is a mansion, and every wing grows with each person I come to love."
"Some people stay in the mansion and share in my celebrations, some wander out and back, and still others drift away forever," I said, remembering this conversation with a friend. "All of them have their own rooms, and some may leave them a mess, but inevitably they all have a place here."
I gulped and Marcie looked up at me, "I put it up a little while ago. I thought it was the best description of this place I would ever hear."
I looked around and realized where I was, looked at the pictures on the wall and a never-ending directory of faces and people, a reservation book of sorts. I looked to her and her gentle smile warmed me more.
"So you live in my heart?" I asked her. "And this is it?"
"This is just a part of it," she said. "And you live in your heart, too. That's why I stay here, and that's why I want to stay here. I want to see what you do with what I helped you build."
I kissed her on the forehead and held her tightly against me, and she stroked my back.
"Are we late?" I asked. "For class, I mean?"
"No," she said. "You're learning right now, and I think class is over for the night."
And before I could protest that it was still daylight, I woke again to the memory of her smell, Angel and cool, cosmopolitan-laced breath.
"Isn't this awesome?" Marcie asked, smiling and sipping her blue-tinted glass, recently filled with a Cosmo a man with a cart shook for her as her passed.
"It certainly is big, and it certainly seems expensive," I said.
"We already paid for it and it doesn't cost a thing!" she laughed, her victorious chuckle the same as always, the rise at the end making her sound as if she were getting away with something.
I nodded and sipped, and felt the bus slow a bit. It was almost silent, I noted, save for voices and music.
The bus intercom said in a gentle voice, "We have arrived and you may proceed to the exits for disembarkation. Personal belongings left on board will be returned to your domiciles. Greetings from the faculty and staff of the University."
We stepped off the bus onto a perfect blacktop, shaded by trees. People walked everywhere, pretty much dressed in white and with dashes of color. Marcie took my hand and tugged.
A group of people rode by on horseback. "Do you recognize that horse?" she asked excitedly, her mouth open a bit as she cocked her head.
I nodded and smiled. The horse my uncle Charley had at the ranch in La Posta, then raced in Tijuana to some success. People tied off and a light bell rang out.
"Let's go eat!" she said and pulled me along, running. Her hair was almost down to her butt, and was lustrous.
She had never looked healthier, if thinner and more toned, I thought. She was just radiating youth and health, and I basked in it.
She turned and kissed me on the lips. "Oh! That's very sweet of you to think," she said. "But save it for later. We're having the best roast ever."
I sat and soon two tunic-clad servers arrived. One served Marcie yet another Cosmo, putting a glass of water in front of me. The other placed plates of roast and rose potatos, asparagus and tomatoes before us.
I woke as I tried to take a bite. I stared at the plain white walls of my room, gulped and covered my head with a pillow. I was lucky, and soon fell asleep again, straight into the dream.
We were hurrying, "I am so glad you woke up," she said. "You were just out like a light. Get dressed, we have a class in like 10 minutes."
I felt the sense of urgency and dressed quickly, enjoying the slide of some light and smooth material over my shoulders as she put on makeup. A cat jumped in her lap, and I recognized him instantly.
"Garfield, please get down," she said.
He did, and he rubbed against my leg then sat leaning against it. I felt a tear in my eye. I had missed him these last 20 years, save for a fleeting dream of him in my 20s.
I stroked his long, grey tabby-pointed head and listened to his Siamese vocalizations. Marcie touched my shoulder and I looked up.
"Let's take him to class with us," she smiled. "He will be fine."
"Come on, Garfield!" she said and he trotted, then galloped past her as she opened the door.
We held hands again and walked along a richly appointed hallway to a staircase. He yowled from the floor below and chatted us up happily as we approached. The door opened and I began to step out with her but stopped at the message above the door.
"Some people have little cottages for hearts, and they never really have more than one person in them at any time," it read. "Mine is a mansion, and every wing grows with each person I come to love."
"Some people stay in the mansion and share in my celebrations, some wander out and back, and still others drift away forever," I said, remembering this conversation with a friend. "All of them have their own rooms, and some may leave them a mess, but inevitably they all have a place here."
I gulped and Marcie looked up at me, "I put it up a little while ago. I thought it was the best description of this place I would ever hear."
I looked around and realized where I was, looked at the pictures on the wall and a never-ending directory of faces and people, a reservation book of sorts. I looked to her and her gentle smile warmed me more.
"So you live in my heart?" I asked her. "And this is it?"
"This is just a part of it," she said. "And you live in your heart, too. That's why I stay here, and that's why I want to stay here. I want to see what you do with what I helped you build."
I kissed her on the forehead and held her tightly against me, and she stroked my back.
"Are we late?" I asked. "For class, I mean?"
"No," she said. "You're learning right now, and I think class is over for the night."
And before I could protest that it was still daylight, I woke again to the memory of her smell, Angel and cool, cosmopolitan-laced breath.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Almost Home..
So tonight on the way back from my friend Vince's in Phoenix, I nearly died. I hit a big rock in a pile of rubble and went a little on two wheels, steered and fishtailed, then oversteered and did a donut on highway 8, stopping barely in time.
But what happened in my head as it all was going on really is why this is here.
I just remember thinking as the car spun toward the edge of the Tecate Divide, "Oh, man... and I am almost home." One hour left on the road and I was going to fly off and down.
I was calm and everything was in slow motion. I accepted it, even as I tried every trick in the driving book to recover.
"I was almost home, this cannot be happening," I thought.
Then time caught up with perception and the world stopped with my car. I thought maybe I wasn't here any longer for a second, out of my body and looking at the great ravine outside my car window. Then I heard the crickets and the radio.
I was facing the wrong way and had lightly smacked my front driver's side fender against a boulder a bit as I had come to a stop. I looked for lights and slowly pulled around to face the right way.
I felt an urge and parked, then puked into the chasm almost as soon as I rounded my back fender. I stopped retching, the radio in my car static-babbling and the crickets chirping away in the high mountains.
I felt exhilarated and pondered the great mountains I loved all around me. The same mountains Marcie only loved when there was rain and greenness or snow to see. The ones she went to with me, "just because" when there wasn't any of those things to enjoy.
The exhilaration faded. I gulped and gathered my senses and thought of Seamus waiting for his meal. I washed my mouth with some mouthwash and lots of water, then drove down the mountain.
And even though I was thinking on an entirely different level in the rush of the near-accident, all I could think coming down the hill was that I was calm in the face of my assumed sure death not because I wanted to die, or because I was ready.
It was just that whatever happened, I was, at that moment, going to make it home.
But what happened in my head as it all was going on really is why this is here.
I just remember thinking as the car spun toward the edge of the Tecate Divide, "Oh, man... and I am almost home." One hour left on the road and I was going to fly off and down.
I was calm and everything was in slow motion. I accepted it, even as I tried every trick in the driving book to recover.
"I was almost home, this cannot be happening," I thought.
Then time caught up with perception and the world stopped with my car. I thought maybe I wasn't here any longer for a second, out of my body and looking at the great ravine outside my car window. Then I heard the crickets and the radio.
I was facing the wrong way and had lightly smacked my front driver's side fender against a boulder a bit as I had come to a stop. I looked for lights and slowly pulled around to face the right way.
I felt an urge and parked, then puked into the chasm almost as soon as I rounded my back fender. I stopped retching, the radio in my car static-babbling and the crickets chirping away in the high mountains.
I felt exhilarated and pondered the great mountains I loved all around me. The same mountains Marcie only loved when there was rain and greenness or snow to see. The ones she went to with me, "just because" when there wasn't any of those things to enjoy.
The exhilaration faded. I gulped and gathered my senses and thought of Seamus waiting for his meal. I washed my mouth with some mouthwash and lots of water, then drove down the mountain.
And even though I was thinking on an entirely different level in the rush of the near-accident, all I could think coming down the hill was that I was calm in the face of my assumed sure death not because I wanted to die, or because I was ready.
It was just that whatever happened, I was, at that moment, going to make it home.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Work is in progress...
I have started writing the book in earnest when I have time and inspiration, but am holding it all offline until it is ready for submission and editing. Thank you for the words of encouragement, folks :)
I will be posting a personal blog for myself soon enough as this process evolves, and let some of you readers in on my current activities and work. My journey does continue, and in some new directions you might want to hear about.
In the mean time, I will post some poems and such when I can and as I decide what to put and what not to put in the printed book.
After (and if) it goes to print, I will be revamping this site, moving it to a new server and generally using the new version as a promotional nexus and to provide other loved ones their own spots to write again.
As always, if you would like to contribute your own memories and thoughts on Marcie and her life, please email me and I will post it here. Anything that ends up in the book will get you a credit :)
Heck, maybe it will be an anthology of sorts (or perhaps a separate supplement :).
I will be posting a personal blog for myself soon enough as this process evolves, and let some of you readers in on my current activities and work. My journey does continue, and in some new directions you might want to hear about.
In the mean time, I will post some poems and such when I can and as I decide what to put and what not to put in the printed book.
After (and if) it goes to print, I will be revamping this site, moving it to a new server and generally using the new version as a promotional nexus and to provide other loved ones their own spots to write again.
As always, if you would like to contribute your own memories and thoughts on Marcie and her life, please email me and I will post it here. Anything that ends up in the book will get you a credit :)
Heck, maybe it will be an anthology of sorts (or perhaps a separate supplement :).
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Old friends and plans to put in place
Marcie knew my friend Chris Cerutti pretty well and was able to help him out with a ride home once when we worked together. I've known him since the old Gashaus days. It was good to hear from you, man!
He lives in Portland now, and contacted me on Facebook. Interestingly enough, this is a place I am considering moving, along with San Francisco, Hong Kong and Canada. Maybe I will pop in for a visit. I have an offer of a spare room on the table. Sweet!
Then again, things can get sticky here in San Diego. We'll see what's what as some new and interesting opportunities continue to develop. Television work? Heh. We'll see for sure. Anyways, more this week as I try and wrap up a big project for a client.
He lives in Portland now, and contacted me on Facebook. Interestingly enough, this is a place I am considering moving, along with San Francisco, Hong Kong and Canada. Maybe I will pop in for a visit. I have an offer of a spare room on the table. Sweet!
Then again, things can get sticky here in San Diego. We'll see what's what as some new and interesting opportunities continue to develop. Television work? Heh. We'll see for sure. Anyways, more this week as I try and wrap up a big project for a client.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Visits:Tea with Marcie
I had a little visit that I sorely needed.
I was inexplicably sitting at the Kensington Coffee Company in my slippers. I knew it was likely okay to do so, but I also knew it was not what I might choose, myself, to do.
I was also drinking tea. I noticed another cup across from me and I recognized the burnt red shade Marcie had always work to work.
It was the same, unmeasurable and unquantifiable presence I could not predict which washed over me next, and I knew by this that it was real. A visit.
I started straightening my clothes out, checked my face in the mirror and cleared my throat. As I started to roll up my sleeves, I felt hands on my shoulders and the light touch of a kiss on my neck.
"Oh, sweetie," she said, her lipstick and perfume (Fendi) mixing in my nostrils. "Don't worry about it, you look fine."
She sat and put her purse back down under her chair and smiled with that mischievous grin she had perfected.
She was beautiful, as if she could be anything less. But all her earthly charms, her glowing hair back-lit in the sun, her perfect skin and blue, blue eyes, all of them were on full display.
"I just had to come by and have you out for some tea," she said. "I love you."
She got up, leaned down and kissed my cheek and smiled. "I have to get back to work, but I will see you soon."
I don't know what her work might be. I do know I look forward to another visit. I'll keep you informed.
F.
I was inexplicably sitting at the Kensington Coffee Company in my slippers. I knew it was likely okay to do so, but I also knew it was not what I might choose, myself, to do.
I was also drinking tea. I noticed another cup across from me and I recognized the burnt red shade Marcie had always work to work.
It was the same, unmeasurable and unquantifiable presence I could not predict which washed over me next, and I knew by this that it was real. A visit.
I started straightening my clothes out, checked my face in the mirror and cleared my throat. As I started to roll up my sleeves, I felt hands on my shoulders and the light touch of a kiss on my neck.
"Oh, sweetie," she said, her lipstick and perfume (Fendi) mixing in my nostrils. "Don't worry about it, you look fine."
She sat and put her purse back down under her chair and smiled with that mischievous grin she had perfected.
She was beautiful, as if she could be anything less. But all her earthly charms, her glowing hair back-lit in the sun, her perfect skin and blue, blue eyes, all of them were on full display.
"I just had to come by and have you out for some tea," she said. "I love you."
She got up, leaned down and kissed my cheek and smiled. "I have to get back to work, but I will see you soon."
I don't know what her work might be. I do know I look forward to another visit. I'll keep you informed.
F.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
On time and being
Sometimes, we had no time for each other. Those empty reaches of our love still haunt me, too. There was so much we could have done with it.
We had opposing schedules often. Sometimes, I would be in school and working while she held down her 9-5 or 8-5, even 7 to 4 schedule. These times were made even rougher by her and my need to run everywhere to maintain our harried modern life.
They feel so vastly squandered now. I should have insisted on a midweek, standing date. I should have demanded more than a meal and silence as I worked online and she watched TV.
I should have. There was no guarantee it would have helped, though. Not with Marcie. Demands were the easiest path to refusals with her, especially if they raised her ire or she felt there was a point to be made.
We did have halcyon days when my work was light and she could call on me to run errands. I remember working for the learning annex and running a check on all of their distribution boxes in San Diego.
It might take two days per week, and only a few hours then, unless there were problems. I wrote for the paper on the side from home. She could call and I would be off to serve, with joy and pride in it.
These were the days of our greatest romantic resurgence. It only ended with her disease.
"I love you," she said. "Things are so good right now, and i was very worried about you. About us."
She was smiling and covered in the summer sheets as the light of an early summer evening flowed in indirectly from our apartment window. But she was biting her lip.
"I know," I said. "I feel like we're back in our 20s again, meeting during the day for dates and at night for... this."
I smiled and she stuck her tongue out with a little near-silent "ha-ha" that was more likely at the top of the range of her voice than actually quiescent. We slid together and cuddled.
I was thinking of the times we had missed and sighed, squeezing her a little as she rested her head on my chest.
"I feel like I missed out a lot when i was working two jobs," I said. "I know we both did..."
"Shhh..." she hushed me, pecking me on the cheek and holding my hand in both hers, squeezing.
She agreed, by her squeeze, fierce and strong, but she never believed in crying over spilled milk, especially in the wake of joy.
And so, taking that cue from her, I will feel her calm reassurance and simple agreement, remember the smell of her and the joy of her when we had nothing but time for each other, and smile.
And, for now, I will "shh..."
We had opposing schedules often. Sometimes, I would be in school and working while she held down her 9-5 or 8-5, even 7 to 4 schedule. These times were made even rougher by her and my need to run everywhere to maintain our harried modern life.
They feel so vastly squandered now. I should have insisted on a midweek, standing date. I should have demanded more than a meal and silence as I worked online and she watched TV.
I should have. There was no guarantee it would have helped, though. Not with Marcie. Demands were the easiest path to refusals with her, especially if they raised her ire or she felt there was a point to be made.
We did have halcyon days when my work was light and she could call on me to run errands. I remember working for the learning annex and running a check on all of their distribution boxes in San Diego.
It might take two days per week, and only a few hours then, unless there were problems. I wrote for the paper on the side from home. She could call and I would be off to serve, with joy and pride in it.
These were the days of our greatest romantic resurgence. It only ended with her disease.
"I love you," she said. "Things are so good right now, and i was very worried about you. About us."
She was smiling and covered in the summer sheets as the light of an early summer evening flowed in indirectly from our apartment window. But she was biting her lip.
"I know," I said. "I feel like we're back in our 20s again, meeting during the day for dates and at night for... this."
I smiled and she stuck her tongue out with a little near-silent "ha-ha" that was more likely at the top of the range of her voice than actually quiescent. We slid together and cuddled.
I was thinking of the times we had missed and sighed, squeezing her a little as she rested her head on my chest.
"I feel like I missed out a lot when i was working two jobs," I said. "I know we both did..."
"Shhh..." she hushed me, pecking me on the cheek and holding my hand in both hers, squeezing.
She agreed, by her squeeze, fierce and strong, but she never believed in crying over spilled milk, especially in the wake of joy.
And so, taking that cue from her, I will feel her calm reassurance and simple agreement, remember the smell of her and the joy of her when we had nothing but time for each other, and smile.
And, for now, I will "shh..."
Friday, January 2, 2009
So hard to let us go
Marcie was strong. She cried, and then she sometimes held it all in, too. But she always broke down when she talked about the people she would leave behind.
"Oh, my mom," she said. "My mom is going to be devastated. I don't know what she's going to do."
I held her hand and she squeezed it as the tears oozed from her eyes and she gulped. I ached to my core.
I hated to see her cry. In all my time with Marcie, I had never gotten used to the idea of seeing her unhappy or in pain, or sad in any way. I always thought that she should feel nothing but happiness, unrealistic as that was.
Of course, if she cried in any case because of me, and that was not unheard of, it usually ended in immediate efforts to reconcile and a sense of great guilt. It didn't matter if I was right.
It was never right for me to see her upset.
But when Marcie cried the most with me was when she reviewed her life, very discreetly, in the form of her friends and family, and her thoughts of how her departure would impact them.
When her thoughts turned to all of those lives her own was entangled with, she spoke clearly and thoughtfully, viewing each person through their own unique lens, colored and shaped by the moments they shared together.
She would call me and sit with me on the couch, or lay in the bed with me, and nearer the end, call me to her side.
I was left in these beautiful and heartrending moments in a state most who know me would say was unfathomable. Speechless and overwhelmed is not my native mien.
She feared for everyone she knew. She hoped for them, too. She lamented the loss of their future experiences together and her support of them. She smiled and then cried at the goals people had set, which she was sure she would not see achieved.
She would often think of people before they visited her, and talk to me about them. She practiced her strolls down memory lane to help her organize her thoughts before she met them.
"I want to make sure that she... I hope he doesn't midn if I bring up... I wonder if she would mind if..." she was always planning and listing and preparing.
I am always grateful that we were so enmeshed in each other that we could finish each others' thoughts and read each others' minds. Marcie was not as at ease with it, even if it was second nature.
Though I might annoy Marcie when I finished hers in better times, she let that go in her last few months and would smile and grip my hand. It was not me wearing her down, she just needed the help.
Her thoughts started out where she wanted to be, but the disease would take them afar or stall her. She would look at me and ask without words. It was relief when i got it right.
"Yes, exactly," she said. "ExACTly. Thank you, sweetie."
"No, thank you," I would say.
She usually smiled at that. I did not tell her that every thought I helped her finish was another precious thing to know her by and another taste of her to savor for me as she drifted away.
She did this for weeks at a time, and I was devastated. I did not know what to say to all of her touching memories and thoughts on our friends. I felt the loss all of her friends would experience as she relayed it in her wise and sweet way.
She was getting depressed one day when speaking of a friend who was distant, one we had not been able to contact. I was at a loss, feeling despair as she wondered what had happened in her life.
I looked down and she said, "I promised to get in touch, I should have a long time ago," she said.
I sighed and finally something worthwhile came out of me. But to say them to her, to give her an inkling that I knew the road was to end for her, after resisting the thought for so long, broke me completely.
"I think that she, like everyone else you are thinking about, will miss you very badly, baby," I said. "But I think that they are all going to be very grateful to have someone like you to make their lives as rich as you do, just like I do."
She started crying but my thought was not complete, and I was falling apart, too.
"I think," I said, squeezing my eyes shut against the flood, "That you have done more for all the people in your life in the time they have had with you than anyone else ever will, and with such joy and spirit and fire..."
She covered her mouth wand closed her eyes as I rubbed her other hand in mine. I kissed her on the cheek.
"I just think you don't have to worry about people, because even if you aren't here to do things for them, they will be here to do things for other people like you have," I said. "It's something you do by just being yourself, you inspire people."
I gulped and smiled at her and I said, "I am sure you'll find a way to keep doing what you do best."
I hugged her and she wept with me. There were more conversations like this. Her loved ones came and went. Her memories and worries of them were and are are theirs to share, not mine and not here.
But for me, I am hoping that one little legacy, Marcie's inspiring ways, her cheerleading and wisdom-sharing and life well-lived, will remain as strong their lives as it is in mine, and in these pages.
"Oh, my mom," she said. "My mom is going to be devastated. I don't know what she's going to do."
I held her hand and she squeezed it as the tears oozed from her eyes and she gulped. I ached to my core.
I hated to see her cry. In all my time with Marcie, I had never gotten used to the idea of seeing her unhappy or in pain, or sad in any way. I always thought that she should feel nothing but happiness, unrealistic as that was.
Of course, if she cried in any case because of me, and that was not unheard of, it usually ended in immediate efforts to reconcile and a sense of great guilt. It didn't matter if I was right.
It was never right for me to see her upset.
But when Marcie cried the most with me was when she reviewed her life, very discreetly, in the form of her friends and family, and her thoughts of how her departure would impact them.
When her thoughts turned to all of those lives her own was entangled with, she spoke clearly and thoughtfully, viewing each person through their own unique lens, colored and shaped by the moments they shared together.
She would call me and sit with me on the couch, or lay in the bed with me, and nearer the end, call me to her side.
I was left in these beautiful and heartrending moments in a state most who know me would say was unfathomable. Speechless and overwhelmed is not my native mien.
She feared for everyone she knew. She hoped for them, too. She lamented the loss of their future experiences together and her support of them. She smiled and then cried at the goals people had set, which she was sure she would not see achieved.
She would often think of people before they visited her, and talk to me about them. She practiced her strolls down memory lane to help her organize her thoughts before she met them.
"I want to make sure that she... I hope he doesn't midn if I bring up... I wonder if she would mind if..." she was always planning and listing and preparing.
I am always grateful that we were so enmeshed in each other that we could finish each others' thoughts and read each others' minds. Marcie was not as at ease with it, even if it was second nature.
Though I might annoy Marcie when I finished hers in better times, she let that go in her last few months and would smile and grip my hand. It was not me wearing her down, she just needed the help.
Her thoughts started out where she wanted to be, but the disease would take them afar or stall her. She would look at me and ask without words. It was relief when i got it right.
"Yes, exactly," she said. "ExACTly. Thank you, sweetie."
"No, thank you," I would say.
She usually smiled at that. I did not tell her that every thought I helped her finish was another precious thing to know her by and another taste of her to savor for me as she drifted away.
She did this for weeks at a time, and I was devastated. I did not know what to say to all of her touching memories and thoughts on our friends. I felt the loss all of her friends would experience as she relayed it in her wise and sweet way.
She was getting depressed one day when speaking of a friend who was distant, one we had not been able to contact. I was at a loss, feeling despair as she wondered what had happened in her life.
I looked down and she said, "I promised to get in touch, I should have a long time ago," she said.
I sighed and finally something worthwhile came out of me. But to say them to her, to give her an inkling that I knew the road was to end for her, after resisting the thought for so long, broke me completely.
"I think that she, like everyone else you are thinking about, will miss you very badly, baby," I said. "But I think that they are all going to be very grateful to have someone like you to make their lives as rich as you do, just like I do."
She started crying but my thought was not complete, and I was falling apart, too.
"I think," I said, squeezing my eyes shut against the flood, "That you have done more for all the people in your life in the time they have had with you than anyone else ever will, and with such joy and spirit and fire..."
She covered her mouth wand closed her eyes as I rubbed her other hand in mine. I kissed her on the cheek.
"I just think you don't have to worry about people, because even if you aren't here to do things for them, they will be here to do things for other people like you have," I said. "It's something you do by just being yourself, you inspire people."
I gulped and smiled at her and I said, "I am sure you'll find a way to keep doing what you do best."
I hugged her and she wept with me. There were more conversations like this. Her loved ones came and went. Her memories and worries of them were and are are theirs to share, not mine and not here.
But for me, I am hoping that one little legacy, Marcie's inspiring ways, her cheerleading and wisdom-sharing and life well-lived, will remain as strong their lives as it is in mine, and in these pages.
Monday, December 8, 2008
A longer road than I wanted
It has been a busy season, for sure. I have started a business, begun preparations for a move and also started selling things from our home. After working from a computer screen all day, it is hard to simply tack Marcie on.
Work behind the scenes continues on her book and my trip. We'll see how the financial situation out there looks when the time is nigh. In the mean time, I have planned to spread her ashes in special places locally, as well.
I will post a thought and maybe a poem for each when I undertake them.
For now, I look out on a world once filled with her and more beautiful for it, still beautiful but so much less without her. I do not look forward to each day, but I no longer dread them.
That's an improvement.
With love,
F.
Work behind the scenes continues on her book and my trip. We'll see how the financial situation out there looks when the time is nigh. In the mean time, I have planned to spread her ashes in special places locally, as well.
I will post a thought and maybe a poem for each when I undertake them.
For now, I look out on a world once filled with her and more beautiful for it, still beautiful but so much less without her. I do not look forward to each day, but I no longer dread them.
That's an improvement.
With love,
F.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
A day in the sun...
I was recently returned a flash memory card with some precious memories on it. I decided that I would share Marcie's joy at a trip kindly provided by our friends Walt and Lisa Soto... out along the California Coast, sailing.
It was a beautiful and enjoyable day, and a perfect one for Marcie, whose taste buds were finally ready for regular food again.
We were definitely in a recovery mode, and she was so tired but strong and pleased with the end of chemo and the beginning of what she thought would be a simple recovery.
For now, though... her joy, as I captured it in pictures, and our friends. Also, a picture of a marine mammal and his harem, as she demanded I get a shot or two...
It was a beautiful and enjoyable day, and a perfect one for Marcie, whose taste buds were finally ready for regular food again.
We were definitely in a recovery mode, and she was so tired but strong and pleased with the end of chemo and the beginning of what she thought would be a simple recovery.
For now, though... her joy, as I captured it in pictures, and our friends. Also, a picture of a marine mammal and his harem, as she demanded I get a shot or two...
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Anniversary
You were here.
I smelled your perfume around me.
I felt your warmth beside me.
I heard your voice behind me.
I tasted your lips against me.
I knew your soul as my own.
I saw your face before me.
You were mine.
I woke to you each morning.
I lived for you every day.
I ran to you each evening.
I held you every night.
I cherished every moment.
We were one.
We lived in our communion.
We loved and feared in union.
We walked beside each other.
We shared with one another.
We faced the world together.
We were strong.
Our love seemed never ending.
Our faith was unrelenting.
Our passion was unbridled.
Our bond could not be broken.
Our hearts could conquer all.
I am thankful.
Your loving touch transformed me.
Your gentle ways reformed me.
Your happy manner healed me.
Your patient probes revealed me.
Your lightness helped me soar.
I am here.
I know you are around me.
I know your warmth's beside me.
I know your voice will guide me.
I'll taste your lips against me.
I'll see your face before me.
I smelled your perfume around me.
I felt your warmth beside me.
I heard your voice behind me.
I tasted your lips against me.
I knew your soul as my own.
I saw your face before me.
You were mine.
I woke to you each morning.
I lived for you every day.
I ran to you each evening.
I held you every night.
I cherished every moment.
We were one.
We lived in our communion.
We loved and feared in union.
We walked beside each other.
We shared with one another.
We faced the world together.
We were strong.
Our love seemed never ending.
Our faith was unrelenting.
Our passion was unbridled.
Our bond could not be broken.
Our hearts could conquer all.
I am thankful.
Your loving touch transformed me.
Your gentle ways reformed me.
Your happy manner healed me.
Your patient probes revealed me.
Your lightness helped me soar.
I am here.
I know you are around me.
I know your warmth's beside me.
I know your voice will guide me.
I'll taste your lips against me.
I'll see your face before me.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Letter To Marcie - Cooking
To my dear Marcie,
I wanted to thank you about something I do almost every day, which I enjoy, and which I might have given up if it were not for you. Cooking.
I know, I know. I knew how to cook when we met. But you gave me the right and the appreciation for my cooking that made me wanty to cook. You inspired me to branch out, to try new vegetables, foods and tastes.
Most of all, you did not snicker when I told you I knew how to cook.
I learned how to cook passively until my early youth. Watching my father and grandma Pruett, my mother in much younger years, and my Aunt Gemma lent me a curiosity I never had the approval to pursue at home. But I watched and memorized their tricks.
My Aunt Gemma let me cook an omelet once. She was impressed that I had learned to flip it without breaking it. I was 12.
In foster care, I gravitated to the kitchen to observe the preparation of mass meals and learned how to cook in bulk, but with flavor. It was wonderful, and I occasionally got to help, even preparing my first meal for others in a group home at 16.
We had baked chicken breast with carmelized onion and lemon-soaked garlic on top, a side of home-made french fires, a salad with my own dressing, and vegetables were carrots and broccoli, lightly steamed and served with a ramekin of teriyaki and veggie broth.
I did not cook much except for myself after that farewell meal, but I always wanted to again.
You cooked for me and opened the world of French and Italian cuisine. You showed me that different potato types had different uses, not all peppers are green and bell, and convinced me to make my own sauces, fusing the tastes I knew well with those you loved.
You expanded me (in more ways than one). You gave me cooking. I don't know if that kind of inspiration will come from any women I might meet in the future.
You also let me experiment, you let me cook for you, and you honed my skills with knives and tools and techniques, and you taught me a little baking, though I will never be the better of the two of us in that department, either.
What I appreciate most was that you understood that I did not cook to threaten your domestic standing or make you irrelevant, and that if I was better at some style of food than you were, you left it to me.
You did not make me feel less anything for my little hobby, and making you smile when I cooked was always a proud and happy thing. Thank you for doing that every time, even when I know I had as many misses as hits in my cuisine.
There is so much more. Until next time...
Love,
F
I wanted to thank you about something I do almost every day, which I enjoy, and which I might have given up if it were not for you. Cooking.
I know, I know. I knew how to cook when we met. But you gave me the right and the appreciation for my cooking that made me wanty to cook. You inspired me to branch out, to try new vegetables, foods and tastes.
Most of all, you did not snicker when I told you I knew how to cook.
I learned how to cook passively until my early youth. Watching my father and grandma Pruett, my mother in much younger years, and my Aunt Gemma lent me a curiosity I never had the approval to pursue at home. But I watched and memorized their tricks.
My Aunt Gemma let me cook an omelet once. She was impressed that I had learned to flip it without breaking it. I was 12.
In foster care, I gravitated to the kitchen to observe the preparation of mass meals and learned how to cook in bulk, but with flavor. It was wonderful, and I occasionally got to help, even preparing my first meal for others in a group home at 16.
We had baked chicken breast with carmelized onion and lemon-soaked garlic on top, a side of home-made french fires, a salad with my own dressing, and vegetables were carrots and broccoli, lightly steamed and served with a ramekin of teriyaki and veggie broth.
I did not cook much except for myself after that farewell meal, but I always wanted to again.
You cooked for me and opened the world of French and Italian cuisine. You showed me that different potato types had different uses, not all peppers are green and bell, and convinced me to make my own sauces, fusing the tastes I knew well with those you loved.
You expanded me (in more ways than one). You gave me cooking. I don't know if that kind of inspiration will come from any women I might meet in the future.
You also let me experiment, you let me cook for you, and you honed my skills with knives and tools and techniques, and you taught me a little baking, though I will never be the better of the two of us in that department, either.
What I appreciate most was that you understood that I did not cook to threaten your domestic standing or make you irrelevant, and that if I was better at some style of food than you were, you left it to me.
You did not make me feel less anything for my little hobby, and making you smile when I cooked was always a proud and happy thing. Thank you for doing that every time, even when I know I had as many misses as hits in my cuisine.
There is so much more. Until next time...
Love,
F
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Letter to Marcie: Politics
So, I am sitting here after a long election night, thinking of you and some of the things we used to talk about. I remember how we meshed politically immediately, you care for people and disdain for close-mindedness a good match to my own.
Remember when you found out Hillary was running? I remember we didn't agree on her as a good choice. I was mostly concerned with electability, because she polarized people so much. You were mostly happy a woman couls be running for president.
Well, Hillary didn't make it in. Obama did. I remember that I liked Edwards but I preferred Obama, while you liked Obama from the beginning and thought Edwards might have more important things to do.
Yeah, he did. But he did worse than neglect those, it turns out.
At any rate, the only person we both decided we did not hate on the other side, John McCain, was their choice for a Republican candidate.
Hillary and Obama fought a running, bruising battle that saw her even invoke potential assassination a la Bobby Kennedy... a definite low moment. In the end, Obama prevailed and our polarized party pulled together for a big battle.
McCain was not doing well at first, but he managed to shake things up by picking a woman as his running mate... Srah Palin. Wow, what a crazy, apparently ignorant thing she was. She helped for all of five minutes.
Obama just moved forward with poise and grace, and he won. We have that Black president you thought would never happen. What a moment it was when they called it for Obama. People cried, sweety. I didn't until I got home.
Regardless that Palin claimed she could see Russia from her front door in Alaska, or that she did not know that Africa was a continent, or that she did not know who was part of NAFTA, consider that the Republicans offered the first female vice president
while the Democrats offered the first black president.
Looks like America was in the mood for the greater of two changes. Strange, huh?
I am pretty proud of my country right now. I wish we had been here to toast it and discuss it, as we did every election.
I walked my precinct again for the Dems, and man was it heartening. It was similar to 2004 but there were some great things missing... like you.
I missed my hug when I came home, your smile and your pride and encouragement for me, but I know that you are watching, and I know some time I will hear about it all... the good and the bad, since you departed me. Maybe in a dream, who knows?
I miss you, but the world is being kinder to me these days, and I just feel like somehow you are helping that along in your own way.
I love and miss you,
F.
Remember when you found out Hillary was running? I remember we didn't agree on her as a good choice. I was mostly concerned with electability, because she polarized people so much. You were mostly happy a woman couls be running for president.
Well, Hillary didn't make it in. Obama did. I remember that I liked Edwards but I preferred Obama, while you liked Obama from the beginning and thought Edwards might have more important things to do.
Yeah, he did. But he did worse than neglect those, it turns out.
At any rate, the only person we both decided we did not hate on the other side, John McCain, was their choice for a Republican candidate.
Hillary and Obama fought a running, bruising battle that saw her even invoke potential assassination a la Bobby Kennedy... a definite low moment. In the end, Obama prevailed and our polarized party pulled together for a big battle.
McCain was not doing well at first, but he managed to shake things up by picking a woman as his running mate... Srah Palin. Wow, what a crazy, apparently ignorant thing she was. She helped for all of five minutes.
Obama just moved forward with poise and grace, and he won. We have that Black president you thought would never happen. What a moment it was when they called it for Obama. People cried, sweety. I didn't until I got home.
Regardless that Palin claimed she could see Russia from her front door in Alaska, or that she did not know that Africa was a continent, or that she did not know who was part of NAFTA, consider that the Republicans offered the first female vice president
while the Democrats offered the first black president.
Looks like America was in the mood for the greater of two changes. Strange, huh?
I am pretty proud of my country right now. I wish we had been here to toast it and discuss it, as we did every election.
I walked my precinct again for the Dems, and man was it heartening. It was similar to 2004 but there were some great things missing... like you.
I missed my hug when I came home, your smile and your pride and encouragement for me, but I know that you are watching, and I know some time I will hear about it all... the good and the bad, since you departed me. Maybe in a dream, who knows?
I miss you, but the world is being kinder to me these days, and I just feel like somehow you are helping that along in your own way.
I love and miss you,
F.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Letter to Marcie-Sweet days in the sun
The fall sunset, so special still...
Saturday I was watching one happen from the rooftop of Park Manor Suites as two new friends tied the knot. I so remember seeing one just like it one cool November evening and I glanced over to old Mister A's.
"This was way too expensive," you said.
I nodded. It was. But I wanted to have a special night with you, and I had gotten it. And all the extra hours in the world could not make that any less of a thrill. I was so in love with you.
The fires up north created a spectacular backdrop to the ceremony Saturday. It was so close to our night above the city, I swear.
I felt you hold my hand again as I closed my eyes and clasped my little glass of Crown Royal. I listened to the wind and the crowd and went back. I remembered the smell of your Fendi and the slinky slide of your top against my chest as we swayed.
I remembered the long kiss and the feel of your nose in the crook of my neck, then the soft weight of your head against my chest and your hair in my hands as I rubbed your nape gently.
"I love you," you said.
It was just one of the many times you had, but it is distinct. And Saturday I danced with mothers and grandmothers and wives and two new brides, and thought of you. And I smiled for them because of it.
Love,
F.
Saturday I was watching one happen from the rooftop of Park Manor Suites as two new friends tied the knot. I so remember seeing one just like it one cool November evening and I glanced over to old Mister A's.
"This was way too expensive," you said.
I nodded. It was. But I wanted to have a special night with you, and I had gotten it. And all the extra hours in the world could not make that any less of a thrill. I was so in love with you.
The fires up north created a spectacular backdrop to the ceremony Saturday. It was so close to our night above the city, I swear.
I felt you hold my hand again as I closed my eyes and clasped my little glass of Crown Royal. I listened to the wind and the crowd and went back. I remembered the smell of your Fendi and the slinky slide of your top against my chest as we swayed.
I remembered the long kiss and the feel of your nose in the crook of my neck, then the soft weight of your head against my chest and your hair in my hands as I rubbed your nape gently.
"I love you," you said.
It was just one of the many times you had, but it is distinct. And Saturday I danced with mothers and grandmothers and wives and two new brides, and thought of you. And I smiled for them because of it.
Love,
F.
Letter to Marcie-Halloween
It's another little gift you gave me. In 1993, I had not celebrated Halloween for 10 years. I just didn't see the sense in it. But you prevailed upon me to take another look at the holiday.
"So I was thinking we shoul do something for Halloween," you said.
'Hmm... dinner, dancing and gymnastics?' I thought. 'Maybe in costume for the last two? Helllloooooo nurse!'
"Well, what do you have in mind, Miss Stoddard?" I asked, trying to be suave.
"Let's go to Ralph's and get pumpkins to carve!" you blurted out. "We'll have some dinner and then we'll hand out candy. It'll be great. We get a few kids and all of my crazy neighbors come every year for candy. It'll be so fun!"
I guess the silence on the other end of the line tipped my hand. I was a bit taken aback, certainly. "I don't really do that on Halloween, usually," I said.
"Well, what do you do?" you asked, the edge of pre-annoyance (my name for that 'why didn't you just agree with me like you are supposed to' tone you had) definitely there.
"Well, usually I just hang out with friends and maybe go dancing or drinking or hit the beach for a bonfire," I offered. The truth was, I just used it as an excuse to party. I hadn't worn a costume in a decade.
"Well, I love Halloween and I would really like it if you would come over and carve a pumpkin with me, but I understand if you want to go out and get drunk with your friends," you said, matter-of-factly. "Some people need to do that."
Oh, it did sting, but it was effective. "No, that does sound fun," I said. "I'll tell you in class tomorrow. Maybe we can go to a party after trick or treaters stop coming by?"
"I work the next day," you said flatly. "Listen, I've gotta go, but I'll see you tomorrow. You know, you really don't have to if you don't want to. I understand and I won't be mad if you want to do your own thing."
It stung for sure. You would have been hurt, I could tell.
"You know what, let's get pumpkins tomorrow," I said. "Even if I don't hand out candy, we can have some fun and hang out making a mess."
"OKAY! OKay, we'll take the 7 after class," you said. "Oh, I am so excited! I can't wait to see what you carve."
And the die was cast. I read three articles on pumpkin carving that night and decided I had to make this a good Halloween. We carved them that night and yours was a wonderful one-tooth with a pointy grin and evil eyes.
I somewhat missed the mark. I made the theater faces in pumpkin but they lacked menace. "They look very nice," you said. "But they are not very Halloween, are they."
I guess vindication came in the form of your gay neighbors' exclamation. "Oh, my god, I want to take these home. These are the coolest. Can I have them?"
You shrugged and pointed at me, saying "Ask him, he made them."
Two days later I had a fittingly menacing and imperfect pumpkin to put next to yours as the stream of patrons began. I remember your black hat and gown, and the huge witch nose from CVS.
You were otherwise so cute... but that green nose...
It was my first Halloween in ten years. Last year, just two days after you left us, I handed out candy to the neighborhood kids. You were so happy at the anumber of them we got at our little house.
I knew you were there with me, and even if I had a very hard time doing it, I learned from you well, and I took a guess at each child's costume. This year, tyhe hulk, Darth Vader and devils were prominent.
Thank you for helping me understand the joy of the whole thing. This was a special holiday for you since you learned about it. For me, it was a special holiday for us because we got to be kids together, and simply play.
It was a sweet time of year for us, Marcie.
Of course, I noticed the perennial favorite... all the little witches in their regalia. There were plenty of those, but I could have used one more.
Love,
F
"So I was thinking we shoul do something for Halloween," you said.
'Hmm... dinner, dancing and gymnastics?' I thought. 'Maybe in costume for the last two? Helllloooooo nurse!'
"Well, what do you have in mind, Miss Stoddard?" I asked, trying to be suave.
"Let's go to Ralph's and get pumpkins to carve!" you blurted out. "We'll have some dinner and then we'll hand out candy. It'll be great. We get a few kids and all of my crazy neighbors come every year for candy. It'll be so fun!"
I guess the silence on the other end of the line tipped my hand. I was a bit taken aback, certainly. "I don't really do that on Halloween, usually," I said.
"Well, what do you do?" you asked, the edge of pre-annoyance (my name for that 'why didn't you just agree with me like you are supposed to' tone you had) definitely there.
"Well, usually I just hang out with friends and maybe go dancing or drinking or hit the beach for a bonfire," I offered. The truth was, I just used it as an excuse to party. I hadn't worn a costume in a decade.
"Well, I love Halloween and I would really like it if you would come over and carve a pumpkin with me, but I understand if you want to go out and get drunk with your friends," you said, matter-of-factly. "Some people need to do that."
Oh, it did sting, but it was effective. "No, that does sound fun," I said. "I'll tell you in class tomorrow. Maybe we can go to a party after trick or treaters stop coming by?"
"I work the next day," you said flatly. "Listen, I've gotta go, but I'll see you tomorrow. You know, you really don't have to if you don't want to. I understand and I won't be mad if you want to do your own thing."
It stung for sure. You would have been hurt, I could tell.
"You know what, let's get pumpkins tomorrow," I said. "Even if I don't hand out candy, we can have some fun and hang out making a mess."
"OKAY! OKay, we'll take the 7 after class," you said. "Oh, I am so excited! I can't wait to see what you carve."
And the die was cast. I read three articles on pumpkin carving that night and decided I had to make this a good Halloween. We carved them that night and yours was a wonderful one-tooth with a pointy grin and evil eyes.
I somewhat missed the mark. I made the theater faces in pumpkin but they lacked menace. "They look very nice," you said. "But they are not very Halloween, are they."
I guess vindication came in the form of your gay neighbors' exclamation. "Oh, my god, I want to take these home. These are the coolest. Can I have them?"
You shrugged and pointed at me, saying "Ask him, he made them."
Two days later I had a fittingly menacing and imperfect pumpkin to put next to yours as the stream of patrons began. I remember your black hat and gown, and the huge witch nose from CVS.
You were otherwise so cute... but that green nose...
It was my first Halloween in ten years. Last year, just two days after you left us, I handed out candy to the neighborhood kids. You were so happy at the anumber of them we got at our little house.
I knew you were there with me, and even if I had a very hard time doing it, I learned from you well, and I took a guess at each child's costume. This year, tyhe hulk, Darth Vader and devils were prominent.
Thank you for helping me understand the joy of the whole thing. This was a special holiday for you since you learned about it. For me, it was a special holiday for us because we got to be kids together, and simply play.
It was a sweet time of year for us, Marcie.
Of course, I noticed the perennial favorite... all the little witches in their regalia. There were plenty of those, but I could have used one more.
Love,
F
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Letter to Marcie-Music
Dear Marcie,
You gave me music. Of course, in the figurative sense, we made beautiful music together. But you gave me music from people I had not before appreciated.
Who knew I would learn to like some of these things. Sure, we had our common ground, U2,The Who, English Beat, The Cure. So many others... but you gave me the idea that current did not necessarily mean "sucks." I am so very grateful.
You always stretched the edges a bit. You went from ABBA and Beegees to ZZ Top and the Cars, to Tori Amos and Sara Maclauchlan and back to Led Zeppelin, over to Soft Cell, The Violent Femmes and Concrete Blonde, even some Sex Pistols and threw in a little En Vogue and Mya.
I remember flipping between 101.5 and 91X, 102.1 and occasioanlly 94.9 You indulged my need to listen to classical, and you even had your own favorites in that genre. We had a million songs just for us, all of them based on something or some sweet moment we were living together in.
I Have saved your last MP3 set. I hear so much in them and I had to stop listening for a bit. I will get back to them. You communicated so much in that music, in those songs. I will finish and think about each of them, no matter how much it aches, I promise.
I am most grateful to you for introducing me to the songbirds of our age. There is nothing that lulls me to sleep and calm or just relaxation like a songbird's voice. I have been accused by a friend of being "pretty damn Lilith Fair for how aggro your are."
Yeah, it was Dean. Of course you knew that, right?
Well, there was only one voice i truly could not stay angry in the presence of, and it was yours. It still is, actually. I so love when I can recall it and you are so clear in my heart and my ears. When you visit in dreams, it echoes for weeks.
It is and was a small but potent part of you that I still cherish. Thank you for both the music I listen to now, the broadening of my tastes, and the sweetness of your own music in my soul.
I know you did not like her, my sweet, but one person I never won you over on was Natalie Merchant. However, she does ring a note in me, and sometimes as much with her words as her voice.
This last discovery crushed me at first, but I realize now that much of it would never be. I could never disappoint you by not finishing my work here, but the song is beautiful, and I wish I had the years with you it is written around.
Someone did justice to the song in pictures. I wish I had seen us at that age, but that will never be. We deserved to see those days, I know that.
For now, my love, good night.
Me
Someday I will sing this song myself, and change just one word. When I do, I will share it with all of you in a more illustrative video of Marcie and I.
You gave me music. Of course, in the figurative sense, we made beautiful music together. But you gave me music from people I had not before appreciated.
Who knew I would learn to like some of these things. Sure, we had our common ground, U2,The Who, English Beat, The Cure. So many others... but you gave me the idea that current did not necessarily mean "sucks." I am so very grateful.
You always stretched the edges a bit. You went from ABBA and Beegees to ZZ Top and the Cars, to Tori Amos and Sara Maclauchlan and back to Led Zeppelin, over to Soft Cell, The Violent Femmes and Concrete Blonde, even some Sex Pistols and threw in a little En Vogue and Mya.
I remember flipping between 101.5 and 91X, 102.1 and occasioanlly 94.9 You indulged my need to listen to classical, and you even had your own favorites in that genre. We had a million songs just for us, all of them based on something or some sweet moment we were living together in.
I Have saved your last MP3 set. I hear so much in them and I had to stop listening for a bit. I will get back to them. You communicated so much in that music, in those songs. I will finish and think about each of them, no matter how much it aches, I promise.
I am most grateful to you for introducing me to the songbirds of our age. There is nothing that lulls me to sleep and calm or just relaxation like a songbird's voice. I have been accused by a friend of being "pretty damn Lilith Fair for how aggro your are."
Yeah, it was Dean. Of course you knew that, right?
Well, there was only one voice i truly could not stay angry in the presence of, and it was yours. It still is, actually. I so love when I can recall it and you are so clear in my heart and my ears. When you visit in dreams, it echoes for weeks.
It is and was a small but potent part of you that I still cherish. Thank you for both the music I listen to now, the broadening of my tastes, and the sweetness of your own music in my soul.
I know you did not like her, my sweet, but one person I never won you over on was Natalie Merchant. However, she does ring a note in me, and sometimes as much with her words as her voice.
This last discovery crushed me at first, but I realize now that much of it would never be. I could never disappoint you by not finishing my work here, but the song is beautiful, and I wish I had the years with you it is written around.
Someone did justice to the song in pictures. I wish I had seen us at that age, but that will never be. We deserved to see those days, I know that.
For now, my love, good night.
Me
Someday I will sing this song myself, and change just one word. When I do, I will share it with all of you in a more illustrative video of Marcie and I.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Venus
Tonight, I looked in vain for Venus. Of course, the star charts would have told me why, but my heart had a ready explanation, too. I miss you, my Venus. I look forward to having you rise on my horizon again, when the heavens deem it the right time.