Birthday as remembrance, 12/05 et al

New Year's Eve. What a day for a birthday.

With or without champagne, I feel most of my birthdays have been memorable. It's not much of a feat to pull off since there always seems to be so much going on out there in the world on the 31st of December. I talk with folks and come to find out that for a lot of people the night is quiet. They'll rent movies or get "the ball in New York" on tv or whatever. I suppose that when the kids were small and here I wasn't doing things too much differently, either. We would don pajamas and party hats and would get out sparkling cider and bubbly and make a ton of mess with confetti and exploding streamers, all that. Those days were fun and pretty contained in their wildness. You might say blessed but that might be pushing it a bit.

But quiet? No, they've never really been quiet. I've lit off fireworks where and when I could get away with it, stood outside my door and banged pots and pans together, rung bells, whatever, and shouted out to the world "Happy New Year!". I've been to small gatherings out in the Mojave desert where we'd hang around campfires after a day of hiking and eating and drinking and then, at midnight, light off rockets or shoot off guns, whatever. Ever year it's been something different. I've thrown parties,big and small, have stood watch onboard ship, and once, after a hard fifteen hundred mile ride up from Cali, almost slept through the sacred hour. Would have, too, if it wasn't for my children dancing on my chest. I have been up in the mountains with friends in rented cabins, have hung out with lovers and wives in little apartments and not much bigger homes, have stood in the rain waiting for fireworks in the midst of big crowds and once even crashed someone else's party just to piss them off. One way or another it's been notable.

This last year, for the first time since I was seventeen, I came into the new year sober. It was strange and wonderful to be with The Boy and Mi Novia over in Seattle, walking the crowds, grabbing burgers at Dick's, taking a small piece of the world and making it ours in midst of the throng and watching the world go wild when the fireworks went off at midnight. It felt great to come back home and know that this year was going to be different. I had no idea how different. Maybe in some ways that wish was a kind of a curse, maybe better, it was some sort of blessing.

Face it, I was lost for many years in the wilderness that was you and me. I was caught up in the headiness of our relationship, a relationship that was thin as rice paper and about as fragile. I let that love guide me, and then, when I could no longer see that it was gone, I let it destroy me and the hearts of others who chose to love me. I let that love we shared be the loose cannon of my life, let it crash back and forth down below in the hold while the stormy waters that our friendship caused raised hell with every other aspect of my life. What life is all about now, my dear, long after you've been gone and made your life elsewhere, is a somewhat strange and beautiful story. I don't mind it at all, even while I'm looking at financial ruin and other uncertainties straight in the face.

You came into my life for a reason, M. Sure, I cook with recipes now, have a burgeoning cookbook collection, purchased a ton of great used cookgear and have a renewed sense of confidence in the kitchen again. And hey, I know what a kingfisher and a pileated wood pecker is when I see them now. I have a different appreciation for a clean house, for mundane chores, for books shared with intimate others. I think of you whenever I think of this house, this city, this region, the whole western side of the United States. The part of my life that you've impacted is huge and remarkable and seemingly endless, but maybe, if that New Year's blessing or curse has it's way, I can wrap up that old life and toss it in the fireplace tomorrow.

When The Boy and Mi Novia and I were coming home on the ferry last year we said that this year would be different. It has been, in spades. I now have a cat and no relationships to bind or steer me. I no longer work for the system we met in. I carry on with my writing, work as a volunteer at a foodbank, drive a thousand miles a pop to be with my children, goof with this house, buy all too many movies and, while I'm waiting for work to appear, send off even more applications weekly.

I think of Mi Novia and how she set me free. I think of her and realize that she was an even bigger shape shifter than you. Sure, my long ongoing grief and fantasy about you has kept me spinning in place, but she was the one who changed my relationship with The Estranged One for the better, she was the one, by leaving, who got me writing to you again. In that leaving she also left open the door for infatuation and that smittenness and this writing place helped blaze the way for me to leave that toxic work enviroment I was in. Mi Novia, in small and big ways, changed my life just as much if not more than you ever did. Sure, my words to you drove away my Estranged One and helped burn me down at work, but they would have never surfaced if not for Mi Novia.

Life as I knew it changed on the first of the year. I woke up sober and was clear eyed for the first time since I was a youth. I shared a bed with a woman who loved me, went back to work thinking that I finally was going somewhere with my job. That feeling was right on...I was going somewhere...I just didn't know where that place was at the time. Hell, I still don't. But, in the end, it's going to be someplace grand, I can feel it. And M, when I get there, you, my dear, will be but a stone effigy on my mantle. You, my old love, will occupy that grand spot in my life as the reason why I am there, but M, your little blue rock will pale in comparison from here on out to the painting on the wall above my computer, a painting done by the woman who really made things happen. A woman who once loved me, too.

It's been a very good year. You're gone, I'm happy, life is a mystery. Let's see what the new year brings.

Your WHMB

Oh, the joys, the sorrows, the sacred mundaneness of family, lovers and cats

I came in off of a road trip today, something that you might have suspected considering all. I came home to a warm house, left pretty much in the same condition that I left it. I have a good friend who is happy to come by and check on the cat, feed him tuna, all that. Makes going away a bit easier to do. I came home, too, to a heater that was running, a check in the mailbox, a ton of emails to sift through, a nice package on my stoop from Mi Novia and an observation that you rejected my "friend request" on Facebook. How could I expect otherwise?

So, the holidays were grand. The kids were happy to have me there. The Day went without a hitch. We ate well, presents were all the rage. We had a nice time with my Estranged One's parents. The only down side to the visit was that their housecat was hit and killed by a car on the 27th. Really took the happiness meter down to and through the floor. It was all I could do to help make that situation better. Oh, and did I mention that the fridge crapped out the same day? The upside to those things is that the in-laws are calling in a repairman for the fridge and that the new kitten who was installed in the house a few days before the cat tragedy is taking well to the family.

It's always something. At least it wasn't the car or the kids or something more serious than that.

I came home and found the house empty save the cat, but, hell, that's okay, but I thank god for that cat. Life is looking up. I may have a renter for the back house. I have applications out all over the place. I may start helping The Hot Dog King on the weekends. I have a ton of new movies to watch. My birthday is coming up and I hope to go to Seattle to see some fireworks. The very last thing in the whole wide world I expect to have happen is to hear from you. Should I push it? I doubt it. The last thing I want out of you is another one of those silly sad little waves you've managed to dole out to me. That last wave you gave me, shit. Every time I think of that wave it makes me sad. Sad in the way that that cat getting killed makes me sad.

I sat there on my Estranged One's couch on Monday, doing my best to spin that poor cat's death, trying to find some glimmer of goodness in the vacuum of his passing. I thought about his life, the way that he impacted the life of the family, the way he helped make that house a home, how he brightened up everyone's day whenever he came around. I looked at how that cat helped out my Estranged One, how he managed to find a place in her heart, how he got her to love again. I worked that cat's life like a Rubix Cube, tried to find the reasons why it had to be out there on the street the same moment as that car, why it had to be hit, why I let it out at the time I did, all that, and finally, after working that Cube about as much as I could stand it, I just had to let it go, had to let it be. Had to look at the time that cat had, look at the goodness it shared, look at the joy it gave just by being in our lives.

I looked at the cat and then looked at you and our relationship and realized I had to do the same thing, that I had to put a spin on it, work it over, try to find the goodness in all of it. I realized long ago that we weren't friends anymore, that a friend wouldn't treat a friend the way that you have treated me. I know that when you see me you are reminded of your "weakness", of all the Christian virtues that your husband, The Detective, found wanting in you. I know that you aren't allowed to talk to me, that to see me, hear my voice, have any form of contact with me as that contact would be a breach of the contract, of the trust, that you have made with The Detective and God. Pity.

You, like the cat, are gone. Like the cat, you came through my life, made it grand for awhile, shared your love and friendship and joy. Unlike the cat, though, you are still out there, having a life and keeping is separate from mine. Oh well. Have a good life. I am glad that you weren't run over like Louis, but Jane, damn it, woman, it might have made things a bit easier if you had.

Hope your Christmas was a good one. Your WHMB

Wayward Christmas 12/09

Hello and happy holidays to you, Jane.

Time for another trip, but this time no call from you as I hit the Blues. I see possibly a bit of snow in my future, maybe midnight mass, possibly Five Guys burgers, a screening of Avatar and who knows after that. I see late night present wrapping, a turkey supper, a trip to Radio Shack to get cables for the new flatscreen and lots of paper trash. I see plenty of dollar burgers coming and going and a madhouse trip to Walmart on the 26th to search for an artificial tree (on clearance!). I know that I'll get to watch Bride of Frankenstein at least once with Punkin and if I'm lucky I'll get to see A Charlie Brown Christmas, too. What I don't want is time with my in-laws, or any kind of time spent at the mall, or any more money spent on toys and gifts. That we pretty much have squared away.

What I see coming up in all this dysfunctionality is a fairly normal Christmas for a change. I have the car loaded up with all our old holiday geegaws. I have a turkey and a ham in the icebox next door just waiting for a bag of ice to help keep them cool on the way over the pass. Tomorrow I'll have cash in hand, the utilities will be paid and I will be able to gas up the car once again. Friday will be a normal holiday for a change, albeit one that is laced with a sort of bittersweet strangeness with the foreknowledge that come Sunday I be heading home again, heading home to a cold house, a mad cat and a new year filled with uncertainty.

But this much I am certain about: tomorrow I leave for Boise, come hell or high water or snow or frozen fog. Tomorrow I turn my car into a sleigh and take Christmas early to my kids. And tomorrow, well, darlin', I'll be thinking of you and wishing for you and yours a very Merry Christmas.

Love, Your old WHMB, Roger

Time to update our song lyrics. 11/06, 12/09

There was a time when the words of Stephen Stills ranked over those of Mick Jagger, but I think the time has come to rework the soundtrack to our lives and find some new messages to live by.


I still remember that morning. I was minutes away from needing to be at work. I had already seen you earlier that day. We sat in your car at Bataan Park, the rain coming down hard, the windows steamy, the air thick with unbridled tension. You had babysitting duty coming up later that day and you were fielding calls from your girlfriend, getting the time down. You told me about Rascal Flatts, about how you placed one their albums on hold for me, about how their lyrics, about how "loving me out loud" was how you truly felt about life and us. But it was later on, when I stood out in the rain, talking to you on the pay phone, talking you dressed in a sodden shirt and tie, that it became all too clear what our roles were to be, what songs the piper would be playing for us.

You told me once to be brave like you. I suppose that the chorus you sung to me over the phone that day was an further indication of that. It made no difference, really, if I "had a lot of balls" or not by calling you at home. What was one more risk to brave after all that we had already been through? But when those lyrics hit my ear, "that if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with", I figured you were talking about me, about my relationship with the Estranged One. You wanted me to make that work, to take the edge off your guilt and baby, at the time, it was the last thing I ever wanted to hear from you.

But maybe it was just another part of your story, maybe it was another song in your juke box, , one that you were playing loud and proud to get my attention. Maybe you were trying to tell me something, something that I couldn't hear at the time due to all the raging sadness roaring around in my head.

This morning I hit the shower late. The soothing sounds of water making their way out of the pipe and down the drain were the only sounds going on in the house. I had The Hot Dog King over for supper the night before and I was tired from listening to his heart wrenching saga, from hearing how his life was melting down around his ears. What I wanted was to hear silence, hear water trickling, to hear the sounds of sunshine and peace and order. What I got, instead, was the reverberating echo of an old Stones song. What I heard was the lyrics to the story that I needed to hear years before but had turned a deaf ear to.

I suppose I can thank Mi Novia for that, to making my ear pitch perfect. As the water ran I thought about the boatloads of injustice that I threw her way, how I listened to her to her stories, how I enticed her good nature, how I made it all so easy for her heart to blossum here, and then, just when things looked good, I turned away, still all too confused about my life and the needs of the Estranged One and fate of my children and how shitty the world would look through the distorted lenses of a long and sodden divorce epic. I didn't want for her to be the fall gal, but I also didn't want someone else in the picture to further muddy up the waters of my life, either.

But what's funny is that no matter what I wanted she was already part of the saga. She was the reason why Pandora's email box was left open. That open email box was the reason why our story was made clear to the Estranged One. Mi Novia's departure freed me up to write even more stories about you, which helped me to further clarify my strained feelings about you. Without Mi Novia as a filter in my life I became smitten with a colleague, which led to a damning blog post, which led the forces of evil here to our story, which opened up our world to my employer, which was roundly misconstrued but mattered not a wit.

You see, Mi Novia was and has been my true savior, the one that released me from my bondage to the past, to you, to the Estranged One. She came into my world, had me examine my feelings about you and the past and had me look hard at my future. Had it not been for the fact that I blinked, I am sure that she would be living here with me right now. I would be looking at some sort of strange holiday arrangement and you, my love, would just be another part of my past, another star in the firmament of my long and interesting life.

But it didn't work out that way and here I am, still telling our story, still talking to you about my life, all that.

But still, I think about that gal and send her notes every now and again. Yesterday was her birthday and I thought about how last year we sat on my couch in the living room and looked out at the snow coming down oh so hard. I thought I was living a good life then. I was working, I was sincere about my feelings for that gal, it was the holiday season and it looked as if everything would work out.

You see at that time I started singing a new song. I forgot about it for awhile but the song came back to me while I was in the shower. And while I didn't sing it out loud, had I had a phone connection through to you I think I might have warbled a bit of it.

"You can't always get what you want
but if you try sometime
you just might find
you get what you need".

She was what I needed. Pity I couldn't see it at the time.

New songs for old lovers. Drop another dime in the jukebox, honey, we need some fresh tunes.

Love, your WHMB

Stephen Stills: Love the One You're With:

http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/s/stephen_stills/love_the_one_youre_with.html

Rolling Stones: Can't Always Get What You Want:

http://www.lyricsdomain.com/18/rolling_stones/you_cant_always_get_what_you_want.html

Three nights and a hang up

Hello to you. Tonight I tried to engage you in a "chat". I told you about my day and then, when I slipped away to check on the label of the wine I had before dinner, you gave me a moment longer and hung up. Whoever you are, you need to spend a moment or two longer between pauses for the story to be fleshed out. It's funny how you give me the silent treatment, but stay on just long enough for me to say hello and meander a bit. It's been strange talking to the void but stranger yet not to hear a sound from your end. Three days running. Yet, in it's own strange way, okay. I'm home, give a call, but, hey, next time, breathe.

Your WHMB

The gift for the holidays: to ask what pleases you..12/09

The days move forward with no sense of purpose, it seems. Today started with an interview, the rest of the day was filled with errands and job searching and applications. I found a position to think about in Fargo, another one in Santa Clara. I filled out a supplementary questionnaire for King County, sent off two applications online for Worksource positions with the State of Washington and spent the rest of the time firing off emails to friends. Not necessarily a profitable afternoon, but still. I have a pot of pinto beans on the stove, took care of a problematic connector piece for the movie set-up upstairs, been listening to Christmas music for hours and the wine's been flowing, I have crossed over that wine drinking threshold that say's "not okay" for tomorrow. Tomorrow will suffer a bit from my lack of will power. But, to my credit, I haven't had a drop all week. Love how that felt, not only in my writing but in how I responded in my interview questions this morning. Strong, serious, powerful.

So, there's a day in my life. That phone interview saved me a trip over the mountains. I was still wee yesterday from the flu and the black ice in Baker County left me cold as far as twelve hour drive was concerned. The sun was shining here today and as much as I wished to go out and have brunch in Bremerton I stayed home and made Tommy's burgers instead, for the very same reason I didn't make that trip: I am stone cold broke. The mortgage got paid, The Hot Dog King still owes me and we spent large this season. If it wasn't for the kids I wouldn't even think about going over the mountains for the holidays.

The holidays are here once again. Wow. I sat in my "new" easy chair and looked over at the loveseat that we shared many years ago. I thought of that Christmas moment we shared in the kitchen before you took off to Arizona and I to Boise years ago. I thought of many things, of the gifts left behind, of late night emails, of strained phone calls at the foot of the Blues, of that night in late December where we shared supper and then ..and then, well, for the moment I let it all go. Yeah, I think of that night often, not so much for it's moments of pure fantasy and delight but for what it meant as far as that sense of surrender we shared. We surrendered our innocence, but still mantained a high level of integrity. For forty year olds it was a bittersweet and somewhat archaic moment. What were we thinking that night by holding back? Weren't we breaking some sort of "code" by not making that moment truly tawdry and salacious? Or did we have some forward thinking radar working in place of our libidos?

I know that I have been a rogue, a truly bad man, most of my adult life. For some reason that moment, that holding back, allowed me to somehow touch on some sort of innocence that I thought I had lost years before. Never mind our situation at the moment, never mind the breach of trust, the wildness, the feelings matched, the dreams gained, the overall action stopped in it's tracks. We stopped at a point where other lovers wouldn't, couldn't, didn't. I am still very proud of that, regardless.

I think of moments where I could have, should have, looked up at you and asked you how I could please you and didn't. That in itself can be considered a gift, something you never had to face, never had to explain, one more thing you didn't have to beg forgiveness for. Pity, sure, sorrow, yes, but for your sake, all I can say is it's okay "only because I love you...."

Big gift, no wrapper. Merry Christmas, love.

Your WHMB

The phone rings...12/09

...and there's nobody there. It wasn't one of those dinner hour computer hang ups, it didn't have the crazy sweet giddy joy of a preteen prank call. No, just a "hello...hello?" from me and silence on the other end. I couldn't detect breathing, I couldn't hear background noise that would have said to me "phone booth at the mall". I couldn't hear anything other than my rampant imagination howling. It was all I could do not to call out your name. Instead I said "happy holidays" to the ether and hung up.

I would have talked to that dark space on the other end of the line until it hung up or I got tired or thirsty or the pasta water boiled, but I just didn't have it in me tonight. I have stuff to bring down and a car to pack and all that. I am fighting the idea of going that long distance just to have someone evaluate me for fifteen minutes for a job I'm not sure I want or that I'm even truly qualified for, but so far they're only ones that have given me a nod. As the saying goes you have to dance with those that brung ya, and this one, the Vehicle Inspector Trainee position for Idaho State's Department of Transportation, is the pretty fat gal that I will dance with till dawn if that's what it takes to get a job.

So, until the dawn I'll pretend my destiny lies elsewhere. Until first light I'll think that everything that matters to me lies up and over the Cascades and the Blues in the Treasure Valley. Until I find myself on the road in the morning and heading to Boise I'll just ignore those other thoughts that I just had a moment ago when the phone rang, when I picked it up and said hello to the universe..and to you. Yeah, hello to you, if only in my heart.

Those thoughts, the ones in my heart, tell me to stay. My mind and my bank account and my children all say "please, get out of the house and come over here!" I think, for the moment, I'll let the joy of the holidays and my children guide me in my decision making, as your children once guided you back in our day. Our children, the non-negotiables, possess the true meaning of Christmas and for me, anyway, are the reason for the season. Truly, the only reason to hit the road during this wild and crazy weather time of the year.

Hello...and Happy Holidays to you, my true love. Your WHMB on the other end of the line.

Christmas lights, 05,06,09

There is a string of imitation garland resting on my porch right now that still needs to be put up. I think it would like a bit of lights to go along with it. I thought about stringing lights on the Blue Spruce, but I decorated it with ornaments instead and I think it looks just fine the way it is. More "green" that way. All the same since I didn't pay anything for that garland so I might as well put it to use. A couple of penny nails, an extension cord and an old string of lights and I'll be in business.

I am not consistent with my holiday lights. Some years I'm good to go, others I can't be bothered. It seems to be the case on this block this year. Some neighbors are really gung-ho about it, others let the whole light thing go. Economy? Infirmity? Just too busy or just don't care? Really, does it matter? I was sitting on the couch in my living room a few moments ago and looked out over the world and realized how much I will miss this place when I'm gone and far away but then, knew too that I will go on and find someplace new and that's okay and exciting, too. It's not so much the location as where you dwell inside yourself. I hope to leave behind a bit of the baggage that's weighed me down, but I am sure that I cart along most of it and so there I'll be, same couch, same man, just looking out onto a different world.

I wonder about you and the world that you look out onto, look in on, too. I wonder about Christmas trees and holiday lights, whether your annual shopping trips and parties and road plans are all in order. I wonder, I wonder, with the eyes and mind of a child and know that I shouldn't but then again we all do things that we shouldn't do. I know after all this time I shouldn't be dropping you ficticious emails on your birthday but I did. I know that I shouldn't have posted the same kind of wish for you on our mutually shared social networking tool, but I did that, too. I shouldn't worry about you, think about you, give you a moment of my time, but funny how life is. I suppose I'll go along like this until common sense or another woman puts a stop to it. Or maybe it'll just go underground the way it must have for you.

I know that this time of year is colored now for you, too. How could it be otherwise? You don't someone making you cheesecakes from scratch, or holding their hands over your eyes as they bring you to your birthday table. No one is out shopping for you in a way that say's that they know you or that they care about the little things that thrill you. Maybe none of that matters now, maybe you don't care or pretend not to. Maybe you have to remind someone these days to put up the lights, lights that you always had to string by yourself, or maybe instead of asking you do it yourself, anyway. Maybe you do or maybe you don't but I think that the planning and the decorating and all that is still your territory. If it isn't all on your shoulders these days I am happy for you. It was a hardwon battle to get it to be otherwise. And as you know all I want is for you is your happiness, truly.

Happiness. It's the holidays and right now I am generally happy. Tomorrow I will rummage around in the basement and find a simple string of lights to go along with that garland. Right now my tree is lit in the living room and I am happy for what I have and for the lessons life has bestowed upon me. I have been kicking around the house by myself for the past two days and that's been fine, too. I passed up on a Hannakah event at the home of the Hot Dog King on Saturday and effectively ended my volunteer stint at the movie house yesterday but really, that's okay. I am not hiding away or tunneling in or anything like that. I found that by staying home I didn't spend money (which was a very good thing), that I was able to knock out five applications, that I was able to put together two great meals and was able to watch new four films. All to the good.

I noticed,too, that while my life is more my own I am more in tune to what is happening outside my life and I know now more than ever that this life I am living right now is just a blip on the screen, a bump in the road. That this holiday season, the first I have ever really spent without family or a parter or a lover or even an active girlfriend to influence my life and my schedule is the last one I will spend like this. It's been okay to be this way, at home and alone but I know myself all too well. I miss the people angle, the hubbub, the action, the noise, the lights, the joy of daily interaction. Know that I am working very hard to change my status, truly, yet, all the while, grooving on the knowledge that this time is my own and that it's precious.

And yet I know why life is like this and it's just as plain as that garland resting on my porch. It's this way because I am still living a life that is still colored by you and our times.

I don't have Christmas lights up but then again I was doing it there for awhile just to show you that I was one better than The Detective. I don't have to do that anymore. I don't have to try to be better than anyone other than myself. My tree is beautiful, and I don't need you in my life to have it be that way. My Santa collection is burgeoning and it's been my jones completely. No one has been around to influence my holiday music, my movie selection, my Christmas shopping. Everything I do right now I do because it brings me joy or because I know that it lights up someone else's eyes, but with no strings attached.

I know that my Estranged One is pleased that I am coming back to visit and that the children are excited to have Papa there. I am excited to have a job interview lined up in the Treasure Valley that might lead to a job there in the New Year. Maybe next year I will be looking out my window onto a new landscape somewhere in Idaho, who knows? But what I do know is that when I look out the window I will be looking out onto a life that has been shaped and shifted by my own devices. That I will be only able to wonder if your old man put up the Christmas lights, because God knows it'll be too long of a drive to see so for myself.

Your WHMB

Timeless, courageous, beautiful 08/09, 12/09

Francesco Hayez, The Kiss

I stumbled upon an image of this painting again today, just like I did the first time around when I was looking for a suitable picture for this blog. It was a nice day to trip around on the net. It was cold yet unnaturally beautiful in it's starkness, in it's crispness. A friend of mine, who, up until recently was out of work, said that her six months off was time off well spent, that it was a grand opportunity to find herself, all that. Today must have been an example of that grand opportunity stuff, I suppose. I was able to take a nap, talk to the Estranged One on the phone about snow predictions and new shoes and Christmas gifts for the youngest, find and send off yet another online application for a job in Idaho, groove on the mindlessness of internet surfing, find a couple great art blogs and once again find an image of the print that I carried for so long on this site. I suppose that painting was meant to be found again. It was strange, serendipitous, happenstance. I fell upon it by looking up a reference to another piece I found a few weeks ago that wasn't quite large enough for wallpaper (Hayez's Odalisque Reclining). I did a wider search on that piece and up popped the painting that graced this site for so long.

What's truly crazy about that image is that it is burned into my mind from the day I had to do that exam in Seattle for the company I once worked for. What did they call it then? A fitness evaluation? It had nothing to do with emotional or mental preparedness, as I found out all too quickly, once the talks began, what the fuss was all about. Once the doctor pulled out the sheaf of photocopies they shot from my blogs I knew what "communication" issues they were talking about. I saw immediately that there was precious little pulled off of my Accumulate Man blog. It was all about the Librarian's Fifth Wife.

I suppose they couldn't quite hang me the way they wanted to with these words. I made it clear that they weren't about anyone else, that they written for someone by the name of Jane. I suppose it was easy to want to unload me after that, knowning that, in a supervisory capacity, that I full out loved a fellow staffer and then went and hid that love story in words, words embarrassingly open to the world. Was it an embarassment to them because they couldn't control that base emotion? That they couldn't keep this man in place? That their employees exercised free will and loved not only the job but each other, too? That a man would lose his heart and then, along with all common sense, all interest in the job as well?

It was the image of The Kiss that I immediately saw when that dossier was opened. It was you I thought of immediately after that. I knew that to say your name, to tell more than what was already there in print, would have been out of line and full out dangerous to you. So I never did mention who Jane was in the stories, but then again, I suppose it didn't matter much if I did or I didn't. They pieced together what they wanted with the words that were in front of me and with damning words of others.

Funny, I think of all the times over the years that my words have gotten me in trouble but never ever have love letters like the ones I wrote to you bothered so many. It felt all too much like grade school. It was all too much like the school bully intercepting a note in class and reading it out loud. The bully never gets love but due to his (or her) muscle and power gets respect and fear. The note, well, it can be instrument of either humiliation or power. In this case, I opted for power. I took those words and walked, never bothering to explain, never once begging for forgiveness, never grovelling before power, never confessing, never copping the Tiger Woods plea, nothing. I saved you from having to explain yourself again. You'd already done enough of that beforfe the tribunal at home. This time it was all about me. My words, my love, my endless desire, my problems, my trouble.

The Kiss by Hayez. I will never ever be able to escape that painting, for not only is it beautiful, but it represents my line in the sand as to what I am able to put up with. That day, that image held in the hands of others represented the ugliness and fearsome power of the heavy handed bully. They attempted to sully our love by making it an administrative issue and darlin', it was never any of their business. In fact we were at our best at work when our loved flowed. Bullies can't see that nor feel it for their job is to suppress and repress those kinds of things. They walk the halls of life largely unloved, by design or decree, it doesn't matter much to me. I just knew that I couldn't do with that outfit anymore. I left on my own two feet and would have never walked those floors again even if they asked me to.

Nothing has dampened my ardour for you, love. Nothing, not the cold outside my door nor this lengthening spate of unemployment nor the five hundred miles between me and my children nor the millions of miles that lie between us. Look at The Kiss and you'll see and understand the power of that love we once shared, that I still treasure. Timeless, beautiful, courageous. Just like we were once, back in the day.

Your WHMB

12/12/1963

Happy birthday, Jane, my once and forever true love.

Your WHMB

From City of Angels, 12/09

"If you'd known that this was going to happen, would you have done it?"

"I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth, one touch of her hand than an eternity without it"

Baby, that's the story of my life with you.

Love eternal, your WHMB

A million and one things 12/09

Once again I lost sleep because of you. No big thing.

I am thankful for my cat, as that cat is my tether to the night, an anchor to my soul when the wind buffets my windows and the cold outside my heart runs too deep. I was tossed about in bittersweet tempest last night, my dreams were saturated with longing and regrets and you. I woke up clammy and blamed the wine, woke up flushed and breathing hard and thought it could be yet another case of sugar lows. But I knew in my heart that it was that chance encounter I had with you last night, that moment of watching you look up, wave and turn away.

I had to think what kind of hardship could be placed on someone if they acted less like a human being to someone who once cared for them? I had to wonder what kind of eternal damnation clause does he have you working under if you say hello to me? What kind of sub-par God spell has he woven, one that, if broken, would cause you to lose your house, your children, your soul? Is it all that much different than the one that you signed that had you toss away your humanity for having loved outside your station? The one that you gave a blood oath to, one that said that what you did, which was a small thing in such a materially laden world, that you gave your heart away to the right man at the wrong time, was such a wicked deed that whenever you see that man, the object of your affections, the one who brought you down, the one who caused you to sin, that you will not only not say a word to him, but that you will turn your back on him, also?

I think of all the heavy words and oaths and promises that can be made, ones that seem almost supernatural in their powers, almost too fantastical in their desired end results. I can only imagine these things, for I can never ask for such things. I am, to some, maybe to many, a "bad man". I am not a man who can crow about his goodness, not one to plead his innocence, not one to hold up his virtues and say "look at me". I cannot cast stones, I cannot judge, I cannot be righteous. I am a man who has been around the block so many times that I have worn grooves in the concrete. But maybe that has given me a perspective on things, a perspective that you gave up on, one that your man cannot possibly have in this world, not in a month of Sundays spent in church with his bible pressed closely to his chest.

I remember one of your letters that landed in my email box after your talks began back in May of'06. I had just started librarian work at the branch and the summer was coming and everything was up in the air. You told me only a week earlier "don't give up on me now, buddy" when I faltered, but in the following letter you knuckled under yourself. I wish I could have been a fly on the wall to hear what it was that was being thrown your way, but it was two things you told me, one, that he said that God wouldn't want you two to be apart coupled with the fact that you "didn't want to leave a broken man" that led me believe that he used a baser form of male weakness to break your resolve, that he used sobbing, pleading, in order to gain your sympathy, to get you to stay. The night your talks began you had one foot out the door and the other in my house, not to say my bed. By the end of the month it was clear that you would never leave him. Such are the power of words, of oaths, of prayers and promises.

So I wake to strange dreams that are populated with you and me and new deals between us. I woke alone under an overheated comforter, to a silent house, to too cold rooms and know that I took a high road to be where I am today. I went down and submitted my weekly unemployment claim and know that my love for you brought me to this place. I know, because I was the one who, with the engine running, wished you a happy birthday from afar. I am the one who, if you saw me on the street today, would not turn his back on you. No, darlin', it would be all about open arms and a widely open love for you.

I wondered about my words to you last night, and then thought of the million and one other things I could have said, or wished I had said, or, wished we had the time to share and chat about. I want to know so many things, I want to laugh with you again, talk recipes, ask about the kids, your family. What became of that brother in law who conked himself on the head? How is your pop? What is your youngest into these days since cowboys and Zorro must be long by now? How is your real Mexican friend doing? Have you done your annual musical outting with her? Is your annual shopping/hotel adventure in Seattle all lined up? Are you going back to Colorado for the holidays? Has he strung the lights on the house yet? Is he still helping you in the kitchen? Are you happy?

I suppose I should have asked that last one before I drove away. I've been wanting to ask you that for months. I've seen your face twice in a year, and both times you've waved and turned away and all I've seen is sadness. I wonder about the price you paid for your sympathy, what kinds of price tags were hung on that relationship you have with him and God that you so willingly signed on for and paid so dearly for in the face of what you really needed and desired for yourself.

You once told me that you couldn't be in a relationship with me because it would have meant putting me first and that would have been a complete and total departure with what has been expected of you, and that was to put God first. I look at your life and want to ask that of you, too. If you and partner are not first in each other's lives, what, then, is the point?

The cat and the comforters kept me warm last night and I finally found sleep after I found tears of release. I woke up to a case of eternal sadness, but I am not blue. I am only sad because I think of you, a woman with such a sense of purpose and sacrifice that she gave up the one thing she could never buy, and that was true love and happiness. Maybe it's not sadness I feel, but a lack, or a loss. To think I was once loved by a woman who is filled with such resolve. You are truly a great one, M, one the finest people to pass through my life. Because of that I will never mind losing sleep over you.

Love, your WHMB

The story was all in the wave, 12/09

"I thought I'd get it in while I can...happy birthday, kiddo".

You looked up, waved, then, with one more wave of the hand, you turned around and were gone.

It wasn't the sort of reaction that I expected, but what, really, could you do more than that? Sure, it could have been louder. It could have been a total verbal dismissal, a "get the hell out of here", or a phone call to the police, whatever. But the wave, without words, with that heavy, silent turnaround, was almost too much to bear. I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness in the gesture, the inability to do anything more than what you did. It must be forbidden for you to say or do anything when it comes to me. Quite a turnabout for the woman who, at one time, would come in through my kitchen door and jump into my arms.

I wasn't even planning on being there. I was out and about after dropping off my weekly applications at the post office. I drove up the street and took in a long browse at the video store, grabbed a baked potato and chili at Wendy's, and then, to my amazement, decided to do an impromtu "stations of the cross". It was dusk, breezy, cold. Why would you be out walking? What could I possibly expect to see? No matter, I took off, pulled over to get gas and then hit the Woods. Before I hit the playground I noticed a large truck or van in my rearview so I pulled over onto your street to get out of the lights. So did the large vehicle behind me. I pulled over once again and then realized that it was your car's lights shining in my rearview mirror. You drove by, I backed up and then, well, we know the rest of the story.

Well, I shouldn't have stayed. I should have backed up, watched for you, waved and left. But I sat there, rabbit in the headlights, and watched you unpack your car. I felt both priviledged and a bit wrong about the whole thing. I wasn't lurking. The car was running, the lights were on, and I sat there with the driver's window down. It wasn't as if I planned it, it all just happened so quickly. You went upstairs and turned on lights and I sat there for a moment longer thinking "should I leave? go to the door?" But before I could act or drive away you came back down to finish unloading. That's when I called out. Did you even know who it was at first? Did you finally recognize my voice and then, knowing it was me, turn away?

Afterwards I thought of Love in the Time of Cholera, how the hero had to watch his true love from distance, watch as she made her way through her life as he went about his. I felt that characters' pain tonight as it wasn't a whole heck of a lot different than that what's been going on with us. Watching you from a distance, finding out how you are through friends and coworkers and the 'net. I can't see you in person so I find traces of you as I go through life. It's alot like chasing bits of colored paper around the floor after a party. I feel I'm always one step behind, always in places where you have been. I feel more and more like a detective but one without a case to solve. A man with a hunch and not much else to work with.

I saw you, and, once again, all you could do was wave. I felt the weight of our lives in that gesture, in the way you turned around and headed back to your life. Whenever I think of that moment I will always wish I said more, but I know to have done that would have required a mutual desire. More, when I go to replay that wave of your hand in my mind I will always think of that woman I once knew, the one who had distinct hellos and goodbyes for me, the one who used to light up whenever I came into the room.

Witnessing that silent wave will always make it clear to me that I will never love another the way that I once loved you. Never. We both paid too dear a price for that love, for that silence you bestowed upon me tonight, for the sadness that hung about in that simple gesture, for that moment where you had to turn away from me without so much as a single word.

Love always. Your WHMB

Old wants, new dreams, 12/09

You have to boil a life down to get to the essence of things, to find out who you really are, what you really want, but even more so, what you really need.

I woke up at six and heard the cat meowing downstairs. He was ready for his morning patrol, so I padded down and let him out. I realized lights were burning and the furnance was still roaring at a comfy 65. I thought I had the "shutting the house down" drill down to a science but last night I ate a full and heavy supper and drank a bottle of wine and that did it. Took me deep into slumberland. I slept hard until the cat or the last of the first segment of dreams roused me. It didn't take much to go back into that state and I slept again until nine. Somedays you just need it, that extra long morning in bed, although both you and my tailor might think a good walk would have been in order, instead.

So I wonder about those dreams we have for our lives, about the essence of our beings, and how they sometimes cross up and bear strange fruit. We all have these ideal states of being, these dreams of who we really wish to be, who we want to be in our daily lives. You once told me in a letter that you wanted to be a woman of intregrity and then, a few days later, you asked to go to Value Village with me after work to look for toy soldiers. You would tell me when I presented you with gifts "now where am I going to say I got that?" and then proudly hide figurines behind the face of mantle clocks and place books on living room shelves. All the time we were together you fought with yourself about your wants, needs and desires. I have to wonder where, in the end, you really landed and how those wants, needs and desires are being served.

As for myself I don't think I truly lived before. I think of all the shaking out and paring down and gearing up for who knows what over the last five or six months and know that I couldn't have asked for a more precious gift. Everything is new, or, if not new, being examined in a way that I would have never done before. I have finally made peace, of whatever sort, I do not know, with the Estranged One. I have come back around to looking at library work as viable employment option (although the State of Idaho scheduled me for an interview for Vehicle Inspector Trainee later in the month, how cool..) I have found myself once again in volunteering, grooving on the vibes of the foodbank and testing myself with the technical side of the movie house (finding out, after all, that that job, as much as I love film, is not for me..). I have made this little house my home once again, and while the holidays reign made it happy and full of fun once more. And all those things that are daunting...being unemployed, watching my funds trickle down, knowing that my kids are still far away, not having a woman in my life right now, all those great unknowables, have been for the good.

Some might wonder about that last comment, wondering if I've gone native, if I've lost all my senses. I know that you would, Jane, she of princessly comfort and security. But truly, love, it's the best thing that has ever happened to me. The last time I took a long break from work and took a beating I brought it down upon myself. The wolves were at the door when the library called me on my birthday and changed our fate. That time, those last six long beautiful months off, was a different form of happinesss. I quit my job, worked on the house, had the family around me, had credit cards to burn and a very large retirement to work off of. I was surrounded by things that mattered and I was full of myself and hope as well.

This time I am not full of myself at all as I have to wonder half the time who I really am. I have been walking this long path due to the needs and wants and desires of others and instead of taking six long months off to get me and the family back to California (funny how that never happened) I am now wondering where my adventures and my life will lead me, what I will end up doing for work when I land and who I could possibly find who will be willing to stand by me and understand me and my times, understand me and be brave enough to want to take me on for the next ten to twenty years.

See, I tore down all my dreams, wishes and desires to be where I'm standing right now. I wanted to and ended up being brave like you, but brave in a different way. I found my way back to the essential Minute Man, to the guy who, because he loved you and couldn't really ever reconcile that love to his other life, is now on the bottom looking up. I know in the end that I didn't sell out, that I maintained that kind of integrity that you were talking about years ago. I told our story many times now, to those that matter and indirectly to those who took it upon themselves to persecute me for it. In fact I have told the world our story through this blog and the now that I have I can lay those old dreams down, those dreams that we shared, and look for new ones to embrace and live for once again.

What's fascinating is that I dreamed about you last night. In the dream we were out walking and you said that we could see each other again. You can't imagine how thrilling it was for me to hear that. I can't remember if you said it was for a movie or coffee or what, but you made sure that I knew that our behaviour was to be above board, that we couldn't go back to where we had been. I wrestled with that but in the end surrendered my physical desires just so I could be with you once more. Suddenly life felt very peaceful. We walked on.

I think that's what I want more than anything else, my love. Just to walk with you, to be at peace, to move forward, to leave our old desires behind, to find that place in my life where we can just be friends once again. That is a large dream in the face of more pressing matters. The holidays are here and I need to go back to Idaho. This week I realized that house needs to go back on the market after the first of the year, that I need to continue to look for library work, but above all, I need to continue this hard work of finding myself again, maybe even for the first time.

I think of one of the last lines you wrote me. You told me that The Detective was cleaning house, making the bed, watching sports less if at all, and that pleased you. You wrote that that's what you wanted all along, that you got what you wanted. It was all about wants. Not needs, not desires. I think of that line and know that's where you stopped, not only stopped loving your dreams and your desires, but what they represented..growth, sacrifice. You got want you wanted and that was a man who would do the dishes. In turn, by surrending his key role, and that was being the man on top, he was able to keep his wants in line, too. He wanted you in your place and you gave that to him.

I must admit I have gone a lot further in my life because of your surrender to those very simple wants.

Onto bigger and better things., Onto better understanding my dreams, desires and needs, my dear. I'll let you know how it all turns out. Someday, if you should ever fall upon these words, maybe you can tell me truly how things turned out on your end.

Your WHMB

The Ghosts of Christmas Past, 05/09

I just finished up a twenty minute play session with the cat. He was chasing around a strand of sparkly silver wire gussied up with some sort of aluminum or mylar stars I found in an old bag of Christmas stuff. It was springy and zippy and fun for him to chase for awhile. I suppose that, elementally, that's how we all are. We like to chase around those sparkly things and then, after while, when the stars fall off and litter the floor and become boring, we set them down and go off to find new things to become fascinated with. Hence the thrill of the holidays.

Yesterday I went up into the crawlspace behind the wall of my old bedroom to seek out old Christmas stuff to take to the family in Boise. Most of the things up there were hidden away after our last long holiday season here in '06. I did my best to make that Christmas grand, but my heart was not into it. Sure, a tree was found and cut, presents were bought and wrapped, a major dinner was prepped and served, but I couldn't find a way to be genuinely happy. I was still too caught up in our old romance, I was living in the little house with a tree and decorations purchased during our high times, and I was slogging through sentimental country that had no place for me to rest and relax in. The drama was high enough for me to leave the day after Christmas for a weeklong drive down south to see my mom. We all needed it, you, me and my family.

So yesterday I dragged out all that old stuff and guess what? The toxicity in that tinsel and garland and glass had worn down to nothing, was finally safe enough to handle. Not only were my old glass Santas found during those 05/07 seasons intact and ready to be hung, but I also came across all my family's old holiday jewels. In both boxes and bags I found creches and old ornaments and all manner of books and records and cards gathered over the years. I came across old school art done up by the kids, old religious figures sent along by the grandmas, old emotions long buried and ready to be exhumed. I found that by setting up my own Christmas tree and by burying the ax I could come into this Christmas season happy and be ready to celebrate it once again with my children and the Estranged One, if not as partners at least as old friends.

I opened up what I thought to be the resting place of old Christmas ghosts but instead found a treasure trove of wornout happiness, of bittersweet memories, of a lot of misplaced joy. It was great to see wisps of old familiar phantoms swirling about those cardboard boxes, but it was also grand to see that the holidays are now mine once again, that my children, even with their childhood's whirled and twirled by strange and caring adults, are once again ready to believe in Santa and Jesus and their loving parents.

I did set aside, all the same, a big bag of ornaments and lights and such that gave such meaning to my first year all alone in this house. You had a key to the house by that time, and the tree that gave me such pleasure, that Colorado Blue Spruce, the one that's growing in my front yard, was set up and glowing with white lights in the living room. That was the year that birding became our biggest shared venture, the year that we talked about and emailed our latest finds and sightings on an almost daily basis. It was the year of the birdbath, the drama of the feeders and first year of that damn poster that went from house to house. It was also the year that that bag full of birding goodies you bought for my birthday found it's way into our holiday story, but more it was the little paper mache bird with the spring loaded feet that found it's way onto my tree and into my heart that became, for awhile, for two years at least, my favorite ornament. Funny how it was stuck away, hidden in the attic, purposely, accidentally, who knows, who cares. It needed the time to be away, sort of like our old memories. It needed time to rest, to find a proper place in this Christmas mythology of mine.

It's almost time, too, to get out the Christmas movies, Scrooge and The Snowman and A Charlie Brown Christmas. I think of our mutual love for those films, how you took just pleasure in watching them here with me, because, like in the case of The Snowman, no one would watch it with you there in your home. When I get ready to put that movie on I will think of that night, the 30th of December when that movie's music and imagery changed irrevocably for me, and then I will think back to the first time I saw it, there in the Ballard apartment, on Christmas Eve, with a freshly washed tree pulled down off of a fence from a recently closed tree lot. I still remember curling up on the old futon couch with The Estranged One. Our oldest was in bed, our second one was close but not ready to be born. We decorated the tree in a hurry as Christmas day was fast approaching, but we popped on the movie, new to us, just to see what it was all about, to take a break from being Santa. We were wisked away to a magical place with that movie and it's soundtrack. And what's funny up until I met you I never knew of anyone who didn't like it. Not that you didn't like it, no, you loved it, it was The Detective who didn't care for it and would never watch it with you and that was one more thing he did that drove you into my arms and into a mutally derived Christmas story.

No matter. I loved that film then and still do now and know that I can once again watch it without a heavy heart. Did watch it last year, though, with Stick of Wood and her daughter when they were snowed in with me. It lacked the power, I noticed, to slay me. I believe it's because I have gained back some power since that legendary night on the couch back in '05.

The ghosts of Christmas Past and Present both are alive and well in this house this season. I will be taking my act on the road to Boise later on this month and will work up new stories, new tales of the holidays, find new places to laugh and be mystical and find sweet and joyful sentiment. I will carry those old ghosts of mine along with me like savory hitchhikers, like long forgotten friends, like talismans, and know that without them my life would not be quite so rich. And yet, in order to show those old ghosts that they do not have the power to bring me to my knees anymore I will place that old ornament, that old paper mache bird that you gave me so long ago, on my tree and show the world that the love you once gifted me is still one of the finest gifts I was ever given.

It carries me and yet, I walk along now on my own two feet.

To old ghosts and sparkly things, Melissa, and their proper place in our lives.

Love, your WHMB, Wally

Library tours, library positions and thinking outside of the box, 12/15, 12/09

Yesterday I was trolling the internet for job listings and came across a position in Central Oregon that looked good. It's a hybrid job for a small city in a part of the state that is picturesque and because of it's connection to the great outdoors is far and away from most things that I know that help keep me jazzed about living. But in times like these I know that I'll apply and see where my resume lands. They just might bite.

It's funny to think that I'm once again looking out of state for work. I suppose years ago I realized that the Puget Sound region was going to be my high water mark, that I could only go so far north. Sure, I gave thought to Vancouver BC, but only because of their liberal marijuana laws and universal health care. But there is something about the high desert that still appeals, that still calls my name whenever I venture over the Cascades. That Central Oregon position I found is out of Prineville, which is connected by a state highway to Nampa, which is right up the road from the kids. I think, if I apply myself to this job, that I could be happy once again, in my life and in my work.

Happiness. We thought differently about happiness. I don't think you placed much creedence in happiness. I think I did and that was a major difference between us.

Maybe it wasn't so much the idea of happiness, M, but the fleetingness of it, the basing of a relationship on it. I don't think either one of us saw alot of that in households there for awhile, at least when it came to our partners. We both found happiness in other things, some of them the same, like our children or shopping, but that wasn't enough to carry us. You had God, I had my profession, and that was that. We both found ways to get out of the house, to that place in the sun where laughter flowed and where work gave meaning in our lives. And for awhile, too, we found it in each other. That we're both seeking it out elsewhere these days is just life.

I have to tell you that I found a library opening in Arizona as well. Librarian in a federal branch, the Grand Canyon of all places. What is it about these cosmic library connections that trace their way back to you? Delta, of all places. Pueblo, yet another Colorado option. I thought I left both the world of libraries and you behind when I dropped that last library job of mine. I thought for awhile I would be heading east to work for the Department of Transportation in Idaho, become a vehicle inspector, all that, truly really reinvent myself. But no, instead I am falling back on my old skill set, on my education, on what I know best.

We both know how to work the business, you still do as far as I can tell. Library work was a mutual love, a shared happiness. We worked together in the stacks, toured SPL on a kinda busman's holiday, bought higher meaning into it with volunteer work, attended WALE conference, the whole shebang. I thought enough of it to want to give up what I can see now as being a more meaningful job and go back to being a paid professional, not only to cut down my commute but to be able to look at you from across the floor from the comfort of a reference desk. Never mind it took years to find meaning in that job once you left, that I only found meaning in it days before that trumped up investigation got underway.

I suppose that part of it sours me to the profession. I suppose that, too, I am gunshy about finding myself in a position to explain myself to someone someday about why, really and truly, I found myself out of a job. Was it because I fed someone onetime? Or was it because of a woman I met once in the business of living, that I met once in the stacks and across the paging floor, a woman that turned the business of serving the public into something I hadn't expereinced in a long time, and that was happiness in my lot, in my job, in my life.

But I finding that I am happy now without it, or that I can find happiness without you or the profession. I find in serving people, in giving of myself, and that in itself is where I find want to serve from. So I am finding my way back to the profession because I know what my mission is, and also because I know what it is about it that gives me pleasure, that makes me happy. I am going back to serve, to work alongside folks who care about the mission, to work with folks who are alot like we were once, folks who saw that happiness can be found in giving, in hard work, by sweating it out side by side in a mutually agreed upon mission.

I am applying to places all over the country now M, not to get away from the Puget Sound and you, but to truly find myself. San Diego, San Francisco, Prineville, Pueblo, wherever. I'll find my way back to the business, not just the library business, but the business of living.

It's been four years since Longhair Warrior gave us the tour of the backend of SPL's Central library, four years since I bought you ginko socks and late night ferry crossings and cheesecake eaten side by side. Maybe I needed not only that shared experience but the intervening four years to see what I truly needed to see, and that is that happiness counts for alot. We were happy then, and it had a lot to do with the job. I'll find that again, my love, even if it's thousands of miles away from the place where I found my heart. Was this all bridge too far? No, just the right woman at the wrong time, the right job in the wrong place.

Always, your WHMB

Releasing the hunger

I sat in the Bremerton HS auditorium last night with a bunch of new coworkers and new friends. The term friends is loosely said, but my latest boss praised me in front of some people I didn't know, and that was just for a good hard week's worth of work. More the moment I've found a place once again, an organization to really sweat for, someplace that has no immediate memory of you, no imprint of our times, one that accepts me, keeps my maddingly busy and keeps our times at bay.

Well, to a point.

What that concert really said to me is that I believe I can find peace again, Jane, that I can finally move forward in my life. I sat with folks I work with there in the audience and really felt aflame for the kinship and the shared music, all of it. I went even though I was dog tired from all the physical work from the week. To not have gone would have meant wasting a free, donated twenty five dollar ticket. I've already had months of sitting around an empty house on a Saturday night. There was no point in doing that again when a shower and a set of freshly pressed clothes would set up and send me down a very stormy highway to a pack of new found comrades.

What was strange and interesting was finding a couple of old connections in the crowd. One was a gal who I worked for for a brief while in a volunteer capacity. She was never my boss in a professional sense, which I am glad for for I always felt was a bit too firm and unapproaceable. She was never anybody I would ever get close to in a friend sense. Talking to her last night was a wake up call, one that told me loud and clear that some folks get information through channels that they are not supposed to, while others mine sources of rumor and innuendo for scandlous tidbits. I gave away as little as possible and tried to look as happy as I could be. I couldn't quite tell where that gal was getting her intel but I wasn't going to give her anything that could be used against me professionally later on. What she thought of me as a man was her own business.

Then there was my old United Way handler. I was standing next to my new boss and up she comes. She say's "hello" to her and then see's me and comes over and gives a big hug. I think that made points with the new boss and further fuelled the mystery that comes along with my newly dedicated energy.

But tell me, Jane, if asked who this mystery man is how do I tell the story, not only to my old Handler and my new boss, but to the world? How do I tell folks that I am out and about in the world because not only because I fed someone, ended up smitten and wrote about it, but that I continue to talk to you here about my life? How to I tell more sensitive types that I am "in-between" positions because I openly loved you and then compounded it by telling the world about it?

I think of my latest volunteer venture and know that I am dog tired today because I worked like an animal all week. It was the most physical job I've worked in a long time, but funny, it felt good and I came away from the work week feeling better than I have in a long time. It made me realize two things: one, that the last three years at the branch was a wash, and that I missed working the physical side of my job. I know now that I was there at the branch only to please you, to show you that I was ambitious, that I could be and do what I was trained to do. But what this week really pointed out to me is that I need to work along side people who share a common cause, who aren't deliberately manipulated by management to fight amongst themselves for scraps. This week I chose to work hard, not just my regular shift but increasingly longer hours, for a cause that felt strangely like what I did there at the central library years ago. I was working along side folks who were doing work that mattered, work that served a purpose, that took care the community and that is feeding those less fortunate. Without the work we do people would go hungry. Without the work I was doing with you and the pages the library would have fallen down on it's ass.

What I found, then, this week in the midst of the sweat and hard work was a spiritual connection to you that I felt was long gone. I missed that joy we shared in that common cause when we worked Central. Once I landed at the branch we were done and over with and it poisoned my entire time there. All those months I was at the branch I looked for you, dived into your record, looked to see what you and yours were reading. All the time I was there I continued to see your ghost peeking up and over the counter at me. I felt you presence in that back meeting room whenever I played a film or talked up books. I always saw the ghostly shadow of your face looking over the table at me at staff meetings. I'd walk in the back room and would picture us trying to get in a side by side photo on your last day. Every time I left the building I would see you in my mind's eye, watch the phantom you come up to the car to comment on Punkin's shoes. I would walk out of that building and see you in that parking lot across the way, handing back our sheaf of writings, would see us sitting on benches by the waterfront talking earnestly while our ship settled fast on the rocks of time.

Working there at the branch was poison for my soul and all it did was infect everybody with that came into contact with me. It was a slow drip of venom that the siphoned into my life every day. It carried over to Mi Novia X, to that silly woman I fed and gave toys to for her kid, to Rosie and the Snake Lady and my coworkers, to damn near everybody I knew because I embraced that ongoing sickness.

And what was that sickness? Is there a word to describe it? It had nothing to do with love, that's for sure.

But I am now gone and away from that that old workplace, from those old touchstones of you there at the branch. But can I still wander out and about in the community and see your ghost, and that's where my latest job comes in. Funny, I get to do the Stations of the Cross almost every day while I ride shotgun in the delivery truck, but that's how it is. But with this job it isn't the sad ghosting experience I felt while I sat behind the desk serving the public. No, instead, I'm feeling the joy that says to me that I am back. It's the love that the old Jane and Roger once shared, it's the cautious memory of those two sweet and wild ones who once worked side by side in the stacks, the one's who volunteered for Gala, who pulled together those first baskets for the United Way. Seeing my old handler, breaking that old sweat, driving around and working hard this last week put all those old cantankerous ghosts to bed, cut off that venonous drip, gave me hope that what I've needed to do and what I have to do for work are one and the same. I needed that work I've been doing this week in order to give back again, to fill that cosmic rend in the universe, sew up and heal that long and ragged scar that was caused by us sinking, just so I can move on again.

I think now that I can smile again whenever I think of you. I think now I can finally let that part of me that was us heal, let that pain that I held onto for so long go and recognize that that good thing that was us is over. It was a good, very memorable time but now it is finished. Just like a fine meal. So, now, tell me, my love, what's for dessert? A bit of opera, perhaps?

Love, your WHMB

A shift in purpose, 11/09

I spent the day the other day in bed watching movies. Sure, I got up for meals, to let the cat in and out, to spend a bit of time on the phone with the Estranged One, but overall it was cozy and warm and just a bit too self indulgent. The weather outside was perfect for the event, blustery and grey and far too cool to interest me in walking or second handing. It was something I needed to do, long overdue. The only thing missing was you and sending out for Chinese.


It was a serious departure from that morning I spent in the sack with Mi Novia Ex last September, the one that capitalized on my new employment status. That morning, that sexless but loving six hour soujourn to the South of France, has to be, after all these years of wild and crazy moments in bed with lovers of all kinds, probaby the nicest morning I've had since I can't remember when. Why would that be, you think? I didn't walk downstairs sweaty and sex satiated. I didn't feel anything but sober and happy. I didn't feel cheated, used or abused. Frankly, I was just feeling perfect about life. I laughed all morning long, watched the sun brighten the inlet, smelt the warm fragrance of friendship eminate from underneath my bedcovers. We didn't share champagne but we did coffee and bagels, instead. We didn't get crazy but made each other feel like humans. She had an art show to do that day. I made plans to meet her there later. It all worked out the way that it was supposed to. A perfect end to a friendship.


I look at that day as the imperfect bookend to what I pulled off on Sunday. It was a set of days that, except for you, completed my fantasy package of what that bedroom of mine is supposed to be used for. I look at all the times and opportunities we had to make love, but how we instead used that bed of mine for a magic carpet of sorts. We nibbled on Dove bars, poured over sick room gifts, quibbled about books, recipes, movies and life. We exchanged hearts, so to speak, there on top of my sheets, and we laughed at the wildness of what we couldn't ever possibly share. But what we did share, what we chose to share between us was far more powerful and bittersweet than anything two standard sordid lovers inbetween the sheets could ever possibly do.


We exchanged words in my bed that, to this day, when I think about them, makes me soar, blue and winsomly happy, happy in that bittersweet kind of way that only a good novel or a grand European art film can do.


I spent the day watching film the other day, wishing only for takeout, a bit of a sunbreak and you.


Your WHMB

Fly on the wall, 11/09

I never saw your face but the body language you displayed told me that you have achieved some sort of peace in your life. You two came and went into the world of spirits, not touching, not embracing each other but respectful of each other's space. You reached out and touched his arm briefly before you waved a friend. It was one of those moments where you might have said "oh look, so and so is here" and then made nice with your fellow attendee. He held the door for you and in you two went, once again into your private/public world, once again effectively shutting me out.

I had to see for myself, after all this time. I had to witness whether or not you were happy. I am in a mode of transit right now. My life is in flux, I am pulling up tent stakes, I am looking for work oh so far away and I have to know, before I go, that you are good with your life. Whatever that means. In whatever capacity.

Have you made peace with your infraction? Moved beyond your infidelity? Paid a price and are once again trusted? Do you still have him doing all that you wanted him to do? Is he still cutting your broccolli and making your bed and doing your bidding? Are you still being watched and scrutinized like before? On that last note I think that he has given you some slack as I saw your photo posted in a social networking site. I am sure that it is shared, but then again, to see that photo you posted says to me that he is still the possessive man that he always was. It was a sort of loving neck lock, a pose that told the world that "hey, this is my woman". I looked at that snapshot and then went upstairs to look at the one that we took at Kopachuck. Sure, you were never mine in the capacity that that man has been to you, but as you said, that photo of ours said "here are two content people". In your network shot you were looking away from the camera. It was, as always, a shot that said that you are content tending your crops while it said to the world he is still master over his domain. His possessions. You.

But I think that yesterday somehow did what it was supposed to do. It released the madness that has been gripping me since summer. I have had all too much time on my hands and yet that time has been running short. I have been needing to see you and so I took that challenge to a degree that said that to me that I needed to stop. I was too close to alienating you, to getting into a fracus with him. I just wanted to see your face, something I haven't done in over a year. Nothing wrong with that, it was just the way I was going about doing it that was wrong.

So, now, in order to help me move forward, in order to have me more fully embrace the time coming up with the family on Thanksgiving, I am putting away our photos. Once again. That's the first step. Next will be to finally finish up with that crate project. Line it, paint it, seal it. I have a strong motive, and that's to attain some sort of inner peace with both your life and mine. I have this chance to keep up appearances with The Estranged One, and then, maybe take it, once again, one step further. We were acting as good friends the last time I saw her. We behaved like human beings, played nice, avoided all the social and familiarity land mines that could have blown up a perfectly wonderful weekend, and love, I want to be able to do that again.

I suppose that's what your life has been all about these last few years. Weeding out the landmines, making nice, getting along, being brave. Jane, more than anything I think about that last thing, that being brave part. I remember that one sunny September morning we shared at Bataan Park in '06. I remember you standing on the picnic bench, facing me and jumping into my arms. It was at the outset of that last fabulous set of weeks we shared, but it was that moment, when you looked into my eyes and said to me "be brave like me", that truly got to me, registered, hit home but only made sense these last few weeks. Honestly, I didn't have it in me at the time back then, haven't had it in me for years. Not that loving you have been an act of cowardice. I have battle ribbons and scars to show how much loving you has cost. But to everyone's sorrow I couldn't leave what we shared behind and faced what I should have faced years ago, and that is the resumption of a married life with someone I couldn't trust.

Seems like both you and the Detective already worked that out. That trust thing. I saw it, even if what I saw was some sort of embodiment of a long truce, some sort of a long walk towards respect and dignity and integrity. Maybe what I saw is what I wanted with you, but now, after seeing what I needed to see, maybe I can make happen with the Estranged One, even if she stays in Boise and I end up living in Pocatello or Delta.

We'll see. But never again will we see it through the eyes of a fly. Only through the eyes of a very well worn, wizened and battle scarred man.

Love, Your WHMB

Everybody but me, 11/09

We are coming up on Veteran's day, a day that I would always take off from work, one way or an other. I have been lucky in recent years to work for organizations that have been paid to stay home in bed. Earlier on, especially during my student days when I still had a handful of fellow vets around, it was a big day to celebrate, even if it was a day without pay. We would lay down our books and tip beer cans until the sun went down. It was always a case of foggy studies after that.

But this last year was a bit different. The Boy was living here at the time, I was still working for our once mutual employer and I had the whole day to goof off. It was midweek, though, and no fellow vets around to get wild with so it was somewhat mellow day instead. I suppose I could go back and my review notes and find out exactly what I did but the one thing that stands out in my mind is make the drive I took through the Woods, the one where I saw you walking along the side of the road. You were on the phone, your head covered by your sweater hood. I slowed down, you looked up, waved and then resumed your walk, your talk, your head down as you ambled towards Mary Mac.

That was the last time I saw you.

On the way to this page this morning I stopped by the US Census site. They have a population clock that is updated every few seconds. It really is truly something to see. I got out a pen and paper, jotted down some figures, hit "refresh" and saw that the numbers had changed. Hit refresh again and once again the numbers went up.

I only mention this because the other day I was talking with the Hot Dog King about the very same thing, but in a slightly different contex. I suppose mentioning the six billion, seven hundred ninety five million and counting people in the world might be a bit extreme, but I do think that the 307 million, 887 thousand, 888 some odd folks in this country, that is, as of 16:44 on 11/8/2008 have something over on me.

What is it that those folks have that I don't have?

The ability to talk to you. To call you up. To dine with you. To say hello to you.

I think of all the truly mundane things of the world that people do for a living, and every one of them can do those things for you. Pump your gas, fetch new shoes from back in the storeroom, bag your groceries, change your oil, cut your hair. I think of all the people who can talk to you and never really know what a priviledge it is to do so. You can talk to a customer service rep, your neighbors, a colleague at work, a member of your congregation, an in-law, your children's friends. Everybody and anybody. Almost all of those folks pass through your life without blinking an eye, without thinking about how great it is to do so. Just think, those people are everywhere. A member of the waitstaff. A repairman. A clerk at the local coffee shop. All those folks, all around town, the region, the state, heck, all around the country, the world. Every one of those folks has access to you and don't even know you, or if they do, don't really have to do much more than smile, take your money, sweep up after the parade.

Everybody has the ability to talk to you, see you, to shake your hand, say hello, sit down with you, sip coffee, talk about life with you. Everybody but me.

And why is that?

Because, my dear, I chose to love you, and you chose to love me.

So now, instead of talking and laughing and sipping coffee and working alongside you I wander about town, do the Stations of the Cross, engage in retail therapy, shop in supermarkets that I generally don't shop in, stop at video stores that my account is not set up in, drive around the county and blow gas and burn miles just on the chance that I might drive by and see you, that I might run into you in the vegetable aisle of Freddies or see you in the Wild Bird store while picking up birdseed or at Starbucks while grabbing a cup of joe. I think of all the time I spend looking for you, and then I think of all the time all the rest of the people in the world go about doing their business in an everyday kind of way and never think twice about how grand it is to serve you, to see you, to say good morning to you, to ask you what it is that they can do for you.

I think of that, of all that squandered happiness, and wonder what it is about love, about friendship, about being pals, that I don't misunderstand, that I just don't get.

What is it about that state of mind, about that state of the heart, that was so heinous that I have to lose you for the rest of my life, and that everyone gets to have you in theirs, instead? Was loving you such a crime?

Yeah, I suppose it was.

For that reason, if for no other, I wish I could set things back to those days before we started out on our adventure, make things like they were before, when I could call you on the phone at home, call you into work, have you standing there by my side with your cart of books or your stacks of checked in, unsorted materials, and just talk. Talk about our kids, about Colorado, about birds, abour recipes, about whatever.

Right now I wish I could be one of the anonymous or known six billion and counting, just so that I could see your face and wish you a good morning again.

Your WHMB

Chas. Reynolds rest stops, outside La Grande, 2009

I saw the sign coming up as I made my way to Boise last week: "Chas. Reynolds Rest Stop". It came and went with a blur. I had already blown my free time in Pasco looking up Rosie, stopping at a couple Goodwill stores and at Viera's, buying damn near twenty bucks worth of pan dulce for the crew. I had stopped, too, in Pendleton for gas and Taco Bell, had pulled into La Grande to check out the Grocery Outlet wine selection and secured some goods for the weekend there as well. So, pulling over to take in a look of the view out toward the Blues was just not going to work this trip. My phone was low, I had some long miles still ahead of me and, frankly, I wasn't up that kind of trip down memory lane at the moment. Your memory was riding shotgun with me on this trip no matter what and that was enough for me.

The Boise trip went well. Completely different than anything that had come up before. Seems to me that I am on my way to a new place, to a new home lurking over the horizon, no matter whether or not it's what I want or need. But if this last trip was true, if it was something that goes beyond heart's desire and moves more towards someplace that's good for me and the kids, well then, I am finally on the right path after all.

I slept in the tv room while there in Boise, always waking to the needs of my children. I helped them get ready for school, took them on errands, watched movies with Punkin first thing two mornings in a row. Shared coffee with the Estranged One, too, ran her around with her to do errands and cruise the second hands in search of costume pieces for the kids and for paintings for her walls. Had a luncheon "date" with her as well, took on Five Guys burgers and consignment selling, all that, all in the name of friendship. That in itself was the biggest bit of insight of all, knowing that my long journey through the dark of night with her was coming to an end. I feel that the most meaningful part of this last trip was reestablishing the order of existence in our lives that will allow for all of us to live in peace once again.

I woke in that tv room and still said to you "good morning" but also realized that those prayers you have been saying for me nightly have finally found a place to roost. As I slowly came around each morning I realized all those good wishes you've been sending my way have finally found purchase in the soil of that far away place. I woke to the rustling of my children and the house mujuer stirring and the soft purring of the furnance and knew that I was a long ways from home but also comfortable with the possibility of a new arrangement. That new arrangement meant that I was being given a second chance. Not at happiness with the Estranged One but for a bit of peace with demands of my ragged heart.

But know one thing for sure and that is you were never far from my thoughts. While I was out and about I found a copy of the book Pasta, the same title I had found when we were last out and about in September of '06. That day we were in the stacks of the Bremerton Value Village. We were squatting down in the aisle of the cooking and gardening section. You were deep into a book on flowers when I leaned over and kissed your neck. We took that moment and our sighs and books and plonked ourselves down on a green loveseat in the furniture section. The world walked by us in wonder as we talked and laughed together in that cozy, ragged little couch. I remember watching people as they passed, watching as they wished for a bit of the happiness we were sharing that day. It was short lived, that happiness, the last glimmer joy at the end of a long struggle, at the end of our long goodbye.

I suppose that's what made finding that book so poignent that day. It's all been one long goodbye, but in some strange way, a long hello, too. I found a copy of Norah Jone's album that afternoon, too, and found a copy of the film Green Dolphin Street that I watched later on that evening with the house mujuer. It was an overlapping tale of lovers who found themselves in marriages and situations that they didn't necessarily want to be in but learned to make the best of all the same. Making the best of a situation has not been my strong suit, but I found that by letting go of the notion of PO being the only place to be that I could move forward, that I was finally granting myself a small gift of happiness. I know that to even think of planning a trip back to Boise for Thanksgiving was being given some sort of strange and meaningful cosmic gift that even a few months ago, in my wildest dreams, was never going to take place ever again.And to think I left the door open to that gift!

See, be kind, be good, be filled with integrity and see what happens.

Don't be looking for happiness and for a resting place for your heart and see where you land.

Don't be looking for love, let love happen by loving and allowing yourself to be loved.

I took a trip and took in the lay of the land of Boise and the town up the road from it and found a place that I want to call home. I breezed through Caldwell and saw old trees and plenty of birds and lots of old house and know that it is connected to those people, those little people, that have a major stake in the workings of my heart. I took a trip and breezed by the Chas. Reynolds rest stops because we didn't need to stop there in order to know where our rest can finally be found. I pulled over in La Grande, bought wine and gas and coffee and took my act back on the road knowing that I will alwayts carry you in my heart no matter where I go . I can be anywhere, M, I can be anywhere and you are there with me.

I came home to warm house and a cold bed and a very welcoming cat and know that that's okay, too, for the moment. I woke to your photo this morning and to the knowledge that this, this old dream, this old house filled with our memories, will soon be another memory that I can tuck away and learn to live with in a sunnier clime.

I drove by Chas Reynold's stop and thought of you and smiled. You must have seen it, too, M. You must have, for you are with me everywhere I go. So let's go to Boise then, love, and live a meaningful life once again, a life filled with kids, laughter, a bit of peace and a lot of sunshine.

Your WHMB