The messiness of it all

It's going back aways to the day that the mujuer took the children on a couple week trip to Boise. That "trip", which could almost be sung to the Gilligan's Island tune, has gone on for almost four years now. August 7th, around ten in the morning. There was a slight attempt to return to normalcy a year later, but normal it really wasn't.

That year, gosh, what a year it was. July of 2006 to June of 2007. An attempt to patch things up, look at things differently, engage in Saturday night counseling sessions, attend to holidays as if everything was okay. Hard to work on that normalcy thing when you live twenty yards and a little house away, but you know what I mean.

Seems that that year will always be there in my life, coloring everything between me and the officially renamed Estranged One. Maybe we've always been estranged. Maybe things have always been messy between us but we ignored all that messiness because we lived in the same house and had all those wonderful children between us.

Maybe my life has always been messy and that's why my mom taught me the fine art of housekeeping. So I could stay one step ahead of it all. But then again, her life as well as her mother's life was messy, too. My father's life as well. My grandfather's life on my mother's side wasn't so pleasant, either. Neither was my mom's stepdad. Taken all together it was one big messy pot of relations and lives and filled a sort of unspoken unsavoriness that we all tried to cover up with stuff and moving around alot and alcohol. Lots of scandal, dark stories, skeletons in the closet, black sheep, all that. A regular long term Mexican telenovella, but shot under the smoggy skies of Los Angeles instead of Mexico City.

I found an email in my mailbox this morning that helped to spread a bit more of that messiness around on the sliced bread of my life. I'm sitting here with an upset stomach wondering if this pattern of life will ever end and know that unfortunately I have to take this story out to the bitter end. It's my story, my family's story and now it will be my children's story, too. Maybe that ought to be the focus of my next blog, a "bloggernovella" that relates to the reader the tawdry tale of my family's life. An edifying read if there ever was one. More of a cautionary tale than anything else.

But you see, M, you'll be in that tale, too, which shouldn't be a whole lot different than the role you've been playing here. You'll fit in just fine, I think, as you'll help add a sort of tragic touch to the proceedings. Somehow whenever I think of your hard choices and my hardheaded leanings I know that my upcoming tale and that email I received this morning and my currently upset stomach all go together. We're fated, my star crossed one, to go through the rest of our lives turning over applecarts because of our friendship. That much I can handle. But it's the lack of resolve on our parts that bothers me. That makes things like that email this morning so problematic. See, we'll never get to the benefit of what our friendship was supposed to yield, and that was to be a lifetime of joy. Instead, I think I'll always have a bagful of sorrow attached to my belt, a ghostly bag of what we might have shared if we had had cojones enough to ride out our story to the end.

As you know, my letters to you were discovered back in November, this I've mentioned before. Now those letters have the half life of kryptonite, and those words, written years ago, continue to follow me everywhere. And it won't matter if I go through the rest of my days living the life of a saint. It won't matter if I give up everything, give all my goods to the poor, go through life denying every single pleasure, because, you see, my dear, I will always be "in trouble" because I loved outside of the boundaries of good taste, because I chose LOVE over loneliness, over bitterness, over defeat. In that midst of that loving I chose to love you. That and that alone will always be the big problem. Not so much to me, you see. I love you. Period. Seems that I always have, seems that I always will.

So my story continues to fit in well with the sad and funky chronicles that are the ever unfolding dramatic story of family. All their messiness is now my messiness, too. Maybe that's what real life is all about. Can't have a righteously good houseparty without something getting broken. Can't make scrambled eggs without cracking a few shells first. Can't have a rollicking grand night in bed without mussing up the sheets. My life right now is a big disorganized kitchen, but baby, it's been a grand meal so far. I'm ready for the next course. Shall we begin? If so, RSVP, will ya? Supper's getting cold and I hear a knock on the door.

Your WHMB

House for sale, across the alley, 6/09

Only you, my dear, could appreciate the irony of this short note. I know that the father of the wife of the folks who once lived across the way lives in McCormick Woods, hence the connection to realtors that deal with property in your neck of the woods, no pun intended. But what was wild to see this morning was a McCormick Woods "open house" sign propped up across the alley, in front of that little house.

I think of where you are at now, where you were coming from and going back to every time your visit came to an end here, and then, to see that sign with the McCormick Woods deer logo on it in my alley, well, it just made me laugh and feel just a bit wistful, too.

You, my dear M, product of a pampered lifestyle, would probably see that "shack" across the way and want to laugh, but not laugh the laugh of someone who is terribly comfortable in their soul. "McCormick Woods material?" you might think. Wow, what a stretch that would be. Garden shed, maybe. Golf course maintenance shack, possibly. But McCormick Woods home? Never.

Yeah, daughter of privilege, when will you call so I can tell you about it, so we can snicker over this together? If only you had sense enough to see that that little house across the way was filled with just as much if not more love than anything you can ever hope to see in that toney neighborhood where you dwell. Had you been able to see that you might have left there a long time ago and thrown in your lot with this humble librarian here instead. Then, and only then, you might have been able to look across the alley, see that sign and smile. Then and only then, my love, you might have been able to laugh from the bottom of your heart to the very tips of your teased and colored hair. Oh, the irony!

Love, Your WHMB

Changing of the guard

I came across some things today, what..an old receipt, a playbill, a piece of musiic...and then I thought of those two folks in the photo above, Mr Fall and Miss Spring, one a polished showman, the other a brand new sparkling actress. I thought of how Bogie felt about Lauren and then I thought about how I felt about you the moment that I met you, about that old glow we shared and carried around with us like a sacred ember, about that knee shaking, tummy quaking business that's propelled me through the last few years, that's given me dirt under my feet, that's fueled my dreams.

Then I went ahead and worked over that last word, dreams, and knew that that was really what we've been all about since the fall of '06. I must admit that I've carried those dreams well. Held them close to the chest. Shared them when I could. Took them down a path of what could be considered fairly righteous, totally honorable, fairly silly behaviour.

But that word "dream" coupled with the fact that my refinance went through today suddenly made me very much aware that my dreams from an earlier life crashed very hard into the dreams of another. This house that I live in represented something beautiful and very important to a handful of people at one time. It wasn't just a house to sink money into, not just a place to build equity with, but something far grander than that. For me and my four kids and my Estranged One, it was our first home, a beater, a hell of a project, but it was also the place that I came home to every day, the house where I could safely and joyously hang up my hat. When I walk through that front door I can still hear "Papa's home". That, my love, is one part of a grand dream that was once my life.

Then there's the flip side to that dream, the feverish side, the wicked, wonderful side, the one that had you pushing me back and away from that very same front door as you entered, moving quickly and silently, one arm closing the door and the other pulling me in close for a kiss. That dream has faded, too, if only because the doorway back to that particular fever dream has closed oh so very tightly.

So now I am fully awake. I look around me and realize that somehow both of those dreams revolved around my humble home. I loved this house as much as I did my wife and you. Both of those relationships are over except for memories in one hand and my children's well being in the other. This house is mine now, part and parcel of my long term vision for happiness, positive self image and for what I consider to be "home".

It takes a lot to find that out. To find out where home is. Sometimes you have to travel many hard miles, pitch many leaky tents, live in all too many places that don't work, or, if they do, leave them behind in order to find out what it is about them that you truly miss. I found out by leaving Port Orchard every now and again that I truly missed the place when I was gone. It was in the traveling, in the going away, in the leaving, that I found home. I found out, too, that my children still identify with this house and know that it is their home, too. No matter how far away they go they always have this place to come back to. So. My home. It's here in Port Orchard and so am I.

So that takes me to the next point in the dream sequence, to the next dot on the map, the next place to get out the compass and draw the line to. Not a line in the sand. We've had those, my dear. No, this is a place on the map, in my heart, that that life line is heading towards. I know that you and I represented one place on the map. My Estranged One also represents a point and place and a whole universe in the atlas of my life. And then there's my kids. My children have changed the landscape of my life in ways that I forever and always be thankful. I can talk to others reasonably and with hard won knowledge about children. I can better relate to folks who are parents, know how hard it can be to be one. I feel comfortable talking about and to their kids.

Face it, I am happy to be a Papa, and that in itself is another line backwards and forwards towards my heart. I can "Papa" with the best of them and because I do it so well I know that I miss it. Miss it alot. So know that's on the map, too, one part of the destination that I need to be heading towards. To a place where I can do that Papa thing again. Share and participate in that unconditional love thing again.

That photo at the top of the page represents to me new beginnings. When Bogart was married to Mayo, they were known as the Battling Bogarts. He had a hard time of it with her and couldn't get out. But he met and fell in love with Lauren Bacall on the set of To Have and Have Not, and, thanks to her, changed his world. He remade his life after that and in the end that love they shared was legendary. Was worth everything it took to make it work. Totally timeless. Truly worth the price of admission.

So I thought of that couple in the photo, of spring and fall, of rebirth and respect, all that. Maybe I've been here before, maybe I've already lived this part, but then again, maybe thanks to you and this house and time and my children and hard decisions and difficult lessons it's all new and fresh again. I want to find out if that's the case. So like the old blues song goes, baby, I'm going to set you down for awhile just to see if my life, without you in it, is a little less heavy. You sang that song to me a long time ago, three years ago this month as a matter of fact. I see it's time for me to listen, to close my eyes and listen hard. I think I hear a voice calling out, and it's filled with hello's. Maybe it's just springtime, or meadowlarks, or a movie playing in the background. No matter, the door is open and the sun is shining and I think it's time for a good long walk on a track with no lines scratched out in the sand. Yep, been long time coming.

Love, your WHMB

Collaborator

I've been a serial monogamist for most of my adult life. Not so much in my early navy days, if only because the logic back in those days held that my Uncle Sam didn't issue me a gal with my seabag so being stag was were it was at. Otherwise, since the beginning of my dating days, I've always had a girl or a lady or wife in my life. But, generally speaking, one at a time. As that old saw goes you can love more than one woman but you can only love one woman at a time.

I had to wonder why that was. I've always had friends, lots of them for awhile. Most of my pals, especially back in my twenties, ran wild and I tended to run with them while I was unattached. But on the most part I enjoyed having a gal on my arm. Something about the difference in behaviour, in conversation, in desires. I think in all that courting I shortchanged my maleness for awhile, mislaid my need to be truly hairychested and pick up skills that could only be learned by hanging with the homeboys. Things like mechanics or homebuilding or watersports. I was too caught up being a peacock, in being the romantic and cared less about being a warrior.

Somewhere along the line I forgot about the sexiness of scars and tattoos and earning a big fat paycheck. Instead I became sensitive and took the cultured route. Instead of lowbrow I took on highbrow, learned to love things like opera and foreign film and really hoppy tasting beer. Instead of ball games and surfing and knocking about I went on hikes, learned to cook and took in museums. I went on a different path and ended up living solo in a house filled with treasures.

I wrote to some friends today and set up plans to get together this weekend. I've been bringing folks back into my life, rebuilding male friendships after a long haitus. Maintaining friendships wasn't so important to The Estranged One. Her people were important to both of us, sure. But while it seemed at the beginning of our life together that mutual friends were important, what happened in the end was that her people mattered most and all our other acquaintances dropped off. It's not really fair to say all this but that's how it was. Yeah, that's life as I lived it. I stood by and watched all those friendships fall away. What's great is that I no longer have that standing in front of me. I'm starting all over again from scratch. It taken awhile but once again I'm generating warmth in my house by filling it up with laughter, I'm finding ways to make my life more fulfilling by loading up my house and my heart and my life with friends instead of stuff.

See, it's that working together thing that I love the most. I suppose I could say that I've missed it, too. M, I must say that you and I were incredible pals there for a while, total buddies. We were the envy of them all because we took on the world, we ate up things like book club and cooking assignments and work projects and got into them as thick as thieves. We were the first to pull together bowls for the United Way, we were there and into it while shifting shelves or checking in books at the library, or signing up for things like the Foundation Gala. We grabbed recipes and dived in, we took on books and tore them apart, we found tubers and planted them here and there. In other words we were everthing that our partners weren't to us at the time. We were friends.

I have been rediscovering the value of that friendship thing again and have realized that it's a lot of work. Not so much in keeping your house clean and your pantry stocked, but more making time and being real. In order to make and maintain friendships you have to be there, be willing to move furniture and take drives and drink copious amounts of coffee or beer. You have to be willing to strap on a smile and listen to old stories or new ones that are distasteful or somewhat ludicrious. You have to be willing to stretch, to laugh, to sweat. It's a good path to be on, being a friend, and I know that when I am and I'm doing it well that I feel like I am most connected to the world and to myself.

That, M, is what I've missed about you. That connectedness. But it didn't have to stop with you and that, my dear, has been your greatest gift to me. Showing me the way back to the tribe of friendship.

I went a different route for awhile, but I think in gathering those other women around me I was going for something different. Instead of being authentic I tried to duplicate what we shared between us and didn't let those friendships, if that's what they could be labeled, stand on their own four feet. They couldn't stand the realities of my life, so they imploded, instead. A sure sign if there ever was one that they couldn't stand up to the friendship test. Friends hang tough, never falter. See you through to the end, regardless of your faults and stupidities and failures.

But now, with different standards and priorities I am making friends again. Reestablishing old ones, making new ones. Engaging them, making supper, sharing my life and my house and my heart. A good thing all the way around.

My colleague at work, god bless her, straightened me out over a year ago. Gave me the newspaper slap on the nose, had me called into the office for overreaching my friendship boundaries. See, I tried too hard and found out the hard way that friendship does not come easy, that it comes with borders, comes with some sense of fair play and understanding and respect. Respect for her I had in bunches, but I was hungry to play. In the end I realized that I was playing games, not being playful. World of difference. I learned, too, over the course of the year, that I was truly mad for awhile, that I fell off my spindle and wobbled everywhere wildly. It took a few years but I am settled again, more in focus, understand the ramifications of my behaviour and about the landscape of where I've been.

It feels good to have collaborators back in my life again. My best friends and I have always been collaborators. My Estranged One was one of my finest there for awhile. Z and I were sailors in the trenches together there for a while, to bend a phrase a bit. My buddy and forever friend Uncle Max and I were playmates, drinking buddies and long distance bike riders together. Can't be any of that without a strong sense of fair play and a willingness to bend. To collaborate, to build together, to make things, to slog away with a buddy has been and is ALWAYS the cornerstone of my life. It feels good to understand that once again, to appreciate and exercise that once again. Yes, to be a friend. Nothing more, nothing less, matters more than that.

Friends. Face it, M, when I talked with you on the phone the other day I realized that I'm still your friend, like it or not. Being pals, well, that's another thing entirely. That's what I miss the most, that whole "buddy" thing that that we shared. I think that if you were able to strap on that old friendship hat of yours right now, this very instant, you would admit to that, too.

Always,

Your old pal, WHMB

Long hangover

Gosh, enough is enough. Then I pick myself up and go on to the next project.

Went to work today wondering what was up. I felt tired, sort of feverish, when I woke. Went in and had a very nice morning but was still subdued, quiet. Wanted to be in the stacks, wanted to be working on something important but ended up fielding a question about the upcoming Latino film fest to a co-worker and went from there. Took off home to lunch and heard a showtune, something from My Fair Lady, play from the clocktower.

That's when I fell apart.

I know I'm running tired, that I sleep warm at night and not too solid. I know that I miss the kids, don't know when they're coming home or if The Boy will be coming back in the fall. I have an old friend who has been coming around and that's leaving me confused, more how to work the relationship since I am not interested in forming one with anyone right now. So, instead, I go home and weep to the cadence of a silly show tune. I think of you, that phone call we just had and then stop my blubbering. Buck up. "Straighten up and fly right" as you once said, all that.

It's just that I miss an awful lot of stuff right now. Miss you, miss the kids, miss coffee in the mornings with someone. I miss our easy phone calls, talking about movies and books and such after hours. I work through the weekend, groove with The Boy, entertain friends, go out to eat with pals and all that. But miss, well, that I do. I miss having someone around and yet, at the same time, don't miss the messiness of it all. You and I were very messy at the end. Inevitable, I suppose, but there it is.

Let's blame this mood, then, on that phone call. Let's blame it on the long hangover we've shared, on this god forsaken terrain that I've been wandering around in the last few years. Let's blame it on the Mexican-ness in me, let's blame it on Casablanca and love songs and well penned literature. Let's blame something, someone, somewhere, shall we? I can't take all the responsibility for this heaviness, this silliness, this long, long goodbye.

But maybe that's it. Maybe that's what this has been all about. A long goodbye. The talk at the table we never had. The last minute clutching, the last gasp. The turn around in the car seat, that over the shoulder look before you turn the corner. Maybe all that needed to happen. For certain this needed to be written. A purge, an emptying of the emotional wallet to those three stick up men Memory, Wistfulness and their sidekick Hope.

I think tonight I will drink a bottle of wine, get on with my cooking for tomorrow. Wake up a bit fuzzy and glance over to that spot where your photo once sat. I will wake up and check my pulse, realize that I am still here, be thankful for that.

And then I'll turn, as I always have, in your general direction and do what I'll do the rest of my life, and that is wish you a good morning and a good life. And then get on with mine.

Be of good cheer, as you are well thought of and loved, Professora.

Your WHMB

Someplace I needed to go to a long time ago:
http://breakupnotdown.com/

Phone call, missed questions, 06/09

"It's been a year".

Fortune favors the bold, something like that. I thought about it last night, this morning when I woke and while I walked along the boulevard: that long overdue phone call to you. It got to the point where I was long past thinking about it, it was time to do something about it, so I stopped, got out my phone and dialed your school. I heard that you were going to be there today, a 50/50 chance I would catch you on the phone. No coffee in me to accelerate my heart rate, no qualms or quarrels about right or wrong. I was calling to hear your voice, to find out if you were okay, to find out that if I called you that I wouldn't be hung up on.

Too bad we only had a moment, that the door to your office was open and that I was completely and totally self concious about calling you. After all that agonizing it was a quick call after all. I took up only a few minutes of your time, a cursory overview of life, of the The Boy and school and old managers. But, you know, I was happy with that. We could have talked about trash pickup, bus schedules and gum on the bottom of our shoes and it would have been alright with me. Sort of like that scene in Monsters Inc when Mike finds out he's on the cover of a magazine. Doesn't matter that his face is plastered over with a barcode, he made the cover. It didn't matter that all I had was that moment. I heard your voice. It was the relative proximity to you that mattered, not the distance, not the content. Needless to say I was thrilled.

SO, all the unasked questions. I wouldn't have right of me to take up your time with questions, to force intimacy, to pretend like I was part of your life. Instead I stand by the side of the parade and watch you pass and wonder how you are, about everyday things, like how you're feeling, what's coming up for you this summer, how your garden grows. After I got off the phone I wanted to know if you were planning on catching The Time Traveler's Wife, if you planted your dahlias yet, if you've planned a big trip to see your sisters. I wondered about your job and what you've read lately and if you've made anything interesting in your kitchen this last week. I wanted to ask you if you've made plans for the 4th and how my little pal was doing with school and if you were happy. I wanted to find out all about your dad and your heart and what's on your mind but I knew that I couldn't take up your time, that I couldn't hang you up on the phone, because I knew that your time was not my time anymore.

But one thing is for certain and that is that I found my way through the maze and past the obstacles of life to you once again, found my way around the springloaded traps, past the tempting cheese to a doorway in. I found a way over and through the course of a year back to you. Back to your voice. And love, it was brief but you gave me one small touch, a nod toward our old times, a brief glimmer of your old love for me. What was it exactly you said? Something to the effect that you were wondering when we would run into each other again. You didn't tell me to drop dead, you didn't tell me never to call you again, no, you wondered when we would see each other.

I wonder, too. Till then, professora.

Your WHMB

Glory days

"Back in the day..." could be the mantra of this blog. It's a new life and these words are a reflection of both the new and the old, life as it stands and of a life that was once lived.

I walk alot these days, not only for my health but also to get the groceries home. But by the time I'd set down my bags for the fifth time this afternoon on my way back home from the market I knew in my heart of hearts that I'd undertaken a journey that only I could take. I really couldn't see you doing what I've been doing and that's okay, I'm good with that. We're both onto other things.

Whenever I think of our times I think of all those folks out there who have already lived their one big glorious moment..the kid who caught the winning pass, the gal whose athletic prowess took the track team to state, the salesman who pulled off the big sale and saved the company, the woman who's green thumb awarded her the blue ribbon at fair..and then spend the rest of their lives basking in that fifteen minutes worth of fame. Some people are happy with that, but others, well, that grand moment is a trophy to put on the shelf along with all the other great moments in life. "No laurels, please, I still have too much life to live".

As I walked home with those fifty pounds of groceries hanging off my arms I knew that I had arrived at that place for a reason. It was more of a determination than a life lesson. I needed to hump those groceries home by myself today. For the time being I need to be without a car. Over the course of the next year I need to see my refinance through, development new friendships and restore old ones, be on my own for awhile. I need many things, but none of those things are material goods. In fact I know that I need to unload stuff this summer and that event will happen along very soon.

As I walked home I began composing this piece to you in my head. After I weighed and put away my goods I made a 4 quart container of homemade ice cream, pulled together some fresh bbq sauce and marinaded the rack of beef ribs I picked up yesterday at Farmer George's, marinated some vegetables for a macaroni salad and finished up my kitchen duties by washing the dishes and sweeping the floor. After I'm done here with this I plan on going outside to plant some tubers, rake a bit, trim a bit. But this moment here was important, a letter to you to lead the rest of those little posts that are coming up.

I received a couple emails today, one from an old family friend and one from the Estranged One. The Boy and I had dinner over at my friend's house last night. For her, after such an incredibly long year, the visit proved to be a pretty therapuetic one. So much laughter, so much food, so much joy! As for the Estranged One, well, her letter was to let me know that the refinance was almost done. What's funny is that she said she undertook that particular journey not for her financal gain but for my sake, to pay off old bills, to help me keep the house. Life is funny. Two people that I have been estranged from for months now both reached out to me, to let me know that they cared.

Life is good and yet I know that there is no time to rest on my laurels. Every time I think I have it good I think of all those guys and gals and their glory days and know that happiness and joy are fleeting. The following posts are a reflection of our times, of our glory days, of my feelings for you and how I wish things could have been. Sometimes they are a wish for things that still could possibly be, but then again, see, I am a storyteller and when it's necessary, like for the sake of the story or my audience or my children, I'll believe in things like fairies, gnomes and the little gods, those entities that help make our life and our world complete. I may not have won the hundred yard dash, pulled off the low bid contract or picked up a blue ribbon for my prized dahlia, but darlin', I loved you and you loved me and if that is the basis of my glory days, well then, so be it.

Read on and know that I have expected all along for you to find this blog one day. I figured that one day you would stumble upon it or someone would point it out to you. All it takes is a name search in Google and there you are. You and me, well, we didn't waste time or squander love, M. We took our stolen season and lived every minute of it. We were true grand prize winners. Yet, like that Lyle Lovett song goes, there was a time that you loved me, and there was a time that you loved me no more. Long ago, on that rainy November afternoon when you returned all those poems and letters to me, one of the options you stressed in that note that I shredded and returned to you was that I had permission to print those words in that purple folder. In a way, through this blog, I suppose I have.

No hurt was intended so no bad feelings, please, only joy. This blog is meant to be a very public celebration of our high water mark. Yes, this is meant to be a victory celebration, one packed to the rafters with joy. There was a lot of that between us "back in the day".

Viya con Dios, mi vida. Tu quiero siempre. Your Wild Half Mexican Boy

A clean one hundred

What to add here, my dear? What hasn't been talked about in this place? What needs to be added to before I let this space rest for awhile? How about a list of one hundred items to mark this one hundreth post and the four year anniversary of the beginning of our email life?

1 We missed the beat to our claim to fame: Besitos Brand Tortilla Chips: that famed "Kissadillas" product we dreamed of manufacturing and that long term visit to Puerto Vallarta we talked about for "research purposes". Does that count as three?

2 Then there was that time you helped me with my flat tire..do you remember how we "legitimately" made time happen for us that day?

3 It seemed like all the nutcrackers in the world descended on Seattle on the day we took our SPL tour. They are in at least six photographs with us

4 The black espresso maker we played around with is still sitting on top of the cupboard in my kitchen even if it's not used much anymore. These days I prefer my press pot over everything else

5 I saw a flicker on the way to work today and thought of you. It wasn't on my roof like the one you saw the day you came to visit but this one was happily picking bugs out of a crack in the sidewalk, instead

6 You still are one of the best Acey Ducey and Yahtzee opponents I've ever been up against. Parlor games haven't been the same since

7 If I remember correctly we both love to use Joy dishwashing detergent. It has something to do with that lemon scent. There's that "nose" thing again!

8 I could never get you to see the value of drinking green tea but you certainly made me see the virtues of drinking coffee again, and now I do it every day!

9 I wish had kissed you that evening you found me walking along PO Blvd. It was the night after Halloween. Your youngest was in the backseat of your car when I reached over to give you a smooch..it was only at the last second that I saw her and dodged that kiss. Might have changed everything, you know?

10 BTW, what kind of pizza did the three of us share that evening in Costco?

11 I've only heard that Rascal Flatt's song Love You Out Loud just once. I played it one Saturday morning at the branch right before opening. Totally colored my day. The cd was on hold for a patron. One pass with that song was all it took

12 I salvaged about twelve of your letters out of my email inbox. All the other letters we wrote to each other, hundreds of them, all from our Yahoo days, went away. Almost a years worth of writing, what a drag. Just know that that handful of letters of yours are some of my most precious possessions

13 The Hawaiian print shirt that played such a starring role in our post WALE road trip photographs is now in the bag

14 June 18th, if I remember correctly, is Raspberry Pop Day. Don't forget to hit up your local supermarket freezer case to get a box of them and then, when the time is right, be sure to look up into the sky for a full moon. Speaking spanish to strangers is optional

15 Oh, to have been a bird in your birdhouse the day The Detective found that mango on your front lawn!

16 Just know it was me who threw those dahlias on your lawn in the middle of the night late last fall

17 I'm sorry for putting out that last sign, but I am still jealous of your time

18 It's impossible for me to make that turn onto 116 and not look over my shoulder thinking that I might catch you turning off of the highway heading for home, too

19 The official Stations of the Cross include the Starbucks on Tremont, the Walmart on Bethel, the Freddies parking lot, the Albertsons on Pottery and that stretch of road up past the elementary school. I only threw in the Woods recently because the road finally went through

20 We didn't do an awful lot of things that we talked about doing, you know? They weren't promises, but they were plans of a sort, and there can't anything worse than not being able to follow up on plans with a friend

21 In the end I like to think you would have liked that sweet potato casserole of mine, if only due to the toasted marshmallows on top

22 I absolutely love dahlias these days and I owe it all to you, my dear

23 Whenever I look at those toy soldiers lined up on the kitchen window sill I think of that clock up on your fireplace mantle and wonder what the fate was for those soldiers that lurked within

24 Can you believe that they stopped printing those nifty phrases on the inside of the Dove chocolate wrappers?

25 Speaking of Dove chocolate, have you eaten a Dove bar since that has tasted as wonderful as the ones we used to share topside?

26 To hell with five mintues, I want to spend the rest of my life with you on that leather couch!

27 We never got around to reading the Liars Club, Lord of the Rings or The Maltese Falcon

28 Somehow I think we're going to miss watching The Time Traveler's Wife when it comes out this summer

29 I've continued to shop at Freddies over the last few years not because I've wanted to or needed to but for the simple reason that I might see you there

30 Whenever I sit on that bench out by the waterfront I still see you eating Nila's lumpias, least ways, the ones that Nila taught you to make that day

31 That series of phone calls that the kids and I left for you on your cell phone on the way back from the Dungeness Spit was one of the finest moments in my life

32 Starbucks cups are now branded with the image of your lipstick stain on them for the rest of my life. Oh, and that store up on Wheaton? It's a now one of the Stations of the Cross, Bremerton version

33 I still have not been able to find that bird ornament that you gave me four Christmas' ago

34 I can sit at the reference desk and still see your face peeking over the top of the circulation counter partition

35 We have yet to see Paris on New Year's day, New York in the springtime or Oaxaca in the fall

36 How can I ever hope to not think of you come the holidays? Your birthday is buried right there in the middle of them all

37 I think we could have been good dog handlers together

38 We never baked a cake together, but whenever I bake a cake these days know that I bake them for you

39 I'm happy for the walks we shared, but I'm especially happy for the one that got captured on my cell phone

40 We ate in at least five different Mexican restaurants, four nice eateries, three different parks, in at least two different coffee shops and at one really nice side of the road spot on the way to Wenatchee. I think, though that that number of eateries is waay off

41 Do you still shop Orowheat for day old bread?

42 Writing I do everyday. I have you to thank for that

43 Walking, well, I don't do everyday, but learned to love it again because of Sophia and you

44 When we first met I was starstruck. I'll never forget that day. "Melissa Jane" Wow, who would have thought? That room where we met is now a sacred place. It's where I show my movies every month. Movies in a sachristy, can you believe it?

45 I wish I had spent more time with you in that loveseat of yours

46 Here's to that time when I sent you home with a whisker burn on your face. I'm happy I started to grow my goatee again, if only for the sake of your face

47 As much as I miss seeing your taillights going down my drive I'm happy not to see you go away anymore, either. That was always a sad moment and left me pacing for hours

48 I see old colleagues at conference every year and just know when I run into WALE folks I immediately think of you

49 Nick met you, my little girl said hello to you, my buddies know of you and work pals wonder how you are. Everyone in my life that matters either knows you or knows about our story

50 My first tattoo will be "Lack imagination and miss the better story", the next will be a series of W's and M's above my knee

51 I use the words "we were lovers in the old fashioned sense" alot to describe us

52 The "Pillars of Light" are all that remain of those contemplative evenings you left me with

53 Those "kick off" shoes of yours were the best, but baby, what a sock collection you had!

54 I miss the freckles on your shoulders, but more I miss how they matched up with mine

55 We never had enough times. Clocks, yes, words, yes, but time, never enough

56 I'm glad that they've stopped doing All Staff the old way. It only made me miss you more

57 United Way, Gala, WALE, all of it, you were my sidekick and my muse

58 I know that My Little Buddy is past picture books now, but that period where I able to pull books for her was a very nice thing to do all around. I'll always remember that cup of coffee you got for me that last normal hot July day we shared at the branch and that moment where we shared that last picture book in your car before your mail box exploded the following day

59 You never had a private email box before I set yours up. Here's to the long defunct lovelandtokrl63@yahoo.com

60 You waited and waited and waited until almost forever some nights to get to that email box. I can't imagine you ever doing that again

61 On Sundays I pop corn and think of you snacking on yours

62 You changed the way I feel about photographs, about family. I have my kid's photos up in the tv room these days. My children have always been important to me, sometimes more important than life itself. You and my kids have shown me that life is an intricate dance that you do with both your partner and your children, one that we can all do together if we try hard enough. You stuck with you and yours and for that I will always love you

63 I can't imagine your last name being de los Santos so that takes care of that

64 You and I still have a date with destiny, even if that date is just a cup of coffee at a local Starbucks

65 With you I learned to read in between the lines, to look in between your words, to see behind your eyes whenever I saw you, listened to you, read your words. You gave yourself away the last time I saw you. You looked down when you waved while I passed you by on the road. You never stopped talking on the phone. That last poster, that one about being jealous of your time, wounded our relationship. As you told me long ago I stopped playing by the rules when I continued active engagement. I'll stop now. I would rather leave things to chance from here on out. I saw your hurt in your eyes and that was censure enough for me

66 We never had a weekend at the beach, but we sat on the steps of the waterfront park and got sand inbetween our toes

67 I may have a chance to speak at this year's WALE conference in Wenatchee. Know if I go there will not be a snowflake's chance in hell that I'll take the same route. Some things can never be duplicated

68 Know that if I should meet you in some faraway time and place that I will have lived a thousand years between now and then. The Wally that you'll meet then will have the essence of the Wally that you knew way back when but he will be a new man. I am a work in progress. I expect that you are, too

69 Making love is something we never got around to doing, but we were lovers in the old fashioned sense. We never could and that was all due to respect. Never stopped respecting you, M

70 I still think of you whenever I hear Herb Alpert, David Bowie, Los Lobos, Seal or Norah Jones. And I hear Seal and Norah Jones all the time when I go shopping

71 Summer speaks to me in ways that touch the bottom of my soul because whenever summer comes around it speaks with your voice. Melissa, you are flower gardens in bloom, you are Oregon Maple trees throwing shade on weary bodies, you are hot salmon on a grill, you are ripe plums in a bag, you are the Persides Meteor shower overhead, you are noisy county fairs and soon to be ripe pears and barking seals in the sound

72 We tried. No, scratch that, we DID

73 We knew from our talks that we would never be able to have children together but if had to have children with anyone else it would be with you. But I would be happy just sharing grandchildren with you

74 If we should run into each other out in town someday please be kind to me. My heart is still yours and is fragile from carrying around all these unspoken words for you

75 Chocolate is still one of my favorite foods, and while I don't think that butter is one of the major food groups like you do I still eat a bit of both of them every day

76 Firecrackers are something you need more exposure to

77 We need to spend more time walking on sandy surfaces, you and me

78 I was never able to see what you looked like first thing in the morning. I guess the same thing applies to you. Maybe that is a good thing all in itself

79 When you taste ripe pears what do you think of?

80 I take the ferry every once in awhile to Seattle, but whenever I do I think of that bench seat we shared on that cold December night and think of all the plans we skirted around and never lived

81 Avocados and peaches were things we had in abundance in our previous lives. We shared an abundance of books and words and laughter in ours. What do you have in abundance now, my love?

82 I still have those damned ironing cover suspenders attached to my ironing board cover. New cover though. The one you gave me wore out

83 I would still buy new sheets for us all over again

84 Know that my coffee will always be hot enough for you, that I'll never verify that temp with a thermometer and that I still warm my cup the way that you taught me

85 You should have never run from that woman that you thought saw you from that window in Tullys that day we went to Tacoma. So what if she had talked? Our world was going to change anyway. That panic attack wasted a perfectly wonderful day

86 I still have that pewter fob of yours but have put it away for now. Some things you just don't want to lose

87 Know that you will find a Sunset subscription in your mailbox this fall

88 Are you still five foot eleven?

89 I can still step out of my shower and see you standing there in the doorway of my bathroom. The only thing that stood between us and full out passion that day was one 100 percent cotton towel

90 I haven't been back to sit in on a Kingfisher Audubon meeting in ages, have you?

91 I bird these days infrequently but when I do it's all because of you

92 There are still color swatches around the house where we set them down three years ago

93 Can you still recite the Three Billy Goats Gruff?

94 Has he ever popped a sun warmed berry in your mouth that has ever tasted as good as the one that I shared with you that long ago day?

95 And how is my little pal doing? Is she enjoying school? I can't imagine her still being into cowboys anymore. What is happening in her life these days?

96 "Where are you going?"

97 When I wake up in the morning there you are

98 The negatives are safe

99 That satchel is filled with pure gold

100 Know that when I walked home today and looked up at my house I knew that I was there because of how I felt about you. I know that you wanted my life to turn out differently but you must understand one thing: I told you that I loved you way back when and I meant it then and I mean it now. What the cost of that love will end up being I'll find out later on. For now it's a refinance, a signature on a series of documents. For now it's a wait for other legalities to finish up. For now it's all about growing and understanding and moving forward.

One hundred things, Jane. I miss you, but more than that I still love you. Some things never change. Be good and take care, mi corazon.

Yours, WHMB

The planting of the spruce

It sits on the border between the two properties, a few feet within the boundary. It sat around the same black container it came in for three and half years. Hard to say how long it was in that canister before I bought it. It took me through two holiday seasons and then, two Decembers ago, in a state of befuddlement or maybe grace I bought a five dollar second hand artificial tree from St Vinnies. Just as well, by then my spruce was dying.

It takes a long time for something as stubborn as that spruce to go. I trimmed it back two summers ago if only because I was tired of banging into it as I walked to my car. Never mind it would have been easy to move at the time, but there you go. It took on that look of survivor, or victim, depending on your take. It was cast aside and a bit irked at that, considering the love that was poured upon it when it first came home.

I saw that tree for the first time back in December of '05. It sat all by it's lonesome that cold winter night in the Bremerton Lowe's nursery waiting for a friend to come and fetch it and take it home. I needed a tree and went there to look at artificial ones. I figured if fake trees were good enough for you, well, they were good enough for me. I was going away that season, just like you, and didn't want the hassle of dead tree on my hands when I got back. But something drew me into the nursery, and as I looked over the "fresh cut" trees I spied this spindley looking thing off in the corner. I went over took a peek, then wandered around the other live evergreens for awhile. There were lots to choose from, but something kept dragging me back to this highly challenged tree.

I looked at it from all angles, walked away and came back three or four times. Then, out of the blue I had that swap meet moment, the one you get when someone else starts spying your prize. I sided up to this couple who were eyeing "my" tree. They told me all about their live tree adventures, how they purchased one every year, how their lot at home was ringed with trees in various states of growth. They already had two Colorado Blue Spruce trees and thought that maybe one more would be nice to add to the collection. But they looked at it all too obvious lopsidedness and walked away. I immediately grabbed a cart and loaded it on, hit up the decorations and happily paid top dollar for it.

That tree was small but it took well to a stand. I found plenty of other decorations along the way to add to the ones from Lowes. You even added a nice bird to the mix. It was a happy tree that year, happy and very much loved.

Fast forward to last summer. The tree was in the way and in the bucket and looking mighty, mighty sad. The Estranged One took one look at that tree and stuck it in the back by the trash can. She didn't see the value or the benefit of sinking that tree into the ground. "Get another one when we move", she said. But she went away in August and life took a different turn than we expected and as of this afternoon the house will be pretty much mine. So in honor of the occasion I got a jump on the celebration and sunk that tree three weeks ago.

And here's what's funny about the whole thing. I stuck it in the ground thinking that the neighbors would scream "property rights" or maybe think I was nuts for putting a dead tree in the ground. But like all good things that tree surprised me and began to bloom. Well, the tip of the branches all got new growths on them. It took off like a dog pound pooch in a loving home. I water it every other day and it's happy as all get out.

This December will mark the fourth anniversary of that tree in my life. Had I planted it then it might be my height by now, but no matter. I wasn't "living here" yet. And now, just like then, that tree is loved. Surprise me come Christmas and stick a bird ornament on it again, will you? Otherwise know that whenever I come home I reach out and touch that tree and say hello to you. It's your tree, too, you know.

Your WHMB

Red poppy

I walked outside this morning, looked out over my fledgling garden and saw a red poppy standing there. Only one in a sea of orange poppies. Just like you, you in the midst of all those other people, there you were. You stood out even then, still do.

You gave me a seed pack back in '06. Red Poppies. My girl and I put those seeds in the ground early summer and by fall we had a beautiful array of gorgeous poppies swaying in the breeze. Later in the season I collected the pods, gleaned the seeds and gave back to you a container full of seed to sow the following year. I threw my share of those seeds down the following year and surprisingly only a few returned. This year I have only one.

But that one was enough. It's alot like the way we gather and store and recall memories. At the beginning they then to flood in, are bright and filled with promise, numerous as the stars. As time goes by you find that when you go to gather them up they are fewer in number, but the ones that come in are still a delight to behold. And then one day you find that that skyful of memories you once held in your hands has been distilled down to one really great one. But that one, that one shining example of all the moments you had, is sometimes all you need.

I saw that red poppy today and thought of you and that seed pack, thought of Punkin when she was just a wee girl and when we gathered up those poppy pods in the fall. I can still see her in the flower bed, still see her shaking those pods out over the newspaper, when we gathered up those seeds to pass along to you. I see it all before me, all in the guise of a simple flower. Your simple gift is still radiating beauty, my love, all these years later.

Thank you, my dear.

Your WHMB (and Punkin, too)

Tree of forgiveness

I came across a book of Victorian watercolors yesterday and in it was a piece by Edward Coley Burnes-Jones titled The Tree of Forgiveness. I knew nothing of the story and did a quick bit of reseach. Classic mythology tale of two lovers brought together after the Trojan War. Demophoon goes away, while Phyllis waits and thinking her love will never return, does away with herself. The gods take pity on her and turns her into an almond tree. The errant lover finally returns and when he does the woman comes briefly back to life.

"Back to life". Hmm. The almond tree was living one kind of life, while the lover in another form just waited. But why sit around waiting when life is out there to be lived. And besides, what could an almond tree possibly sit around and wait for? Spring rains? The flowers of spring? For someone to come along and trim it back, appreciate it's fruit? A tree goes on and on, deals with the changes, is patient, takes care of itself the best it can and then looks to the world for the rest. The sign of an intelligent god. An active, spontaneous, appreciated, self reliant life is something I can relate to.

Which leads me to ask the burning question: which one of us is the almond tree, M, and which one of us is the errant lover? I could have qualified for that pining away guy for awhile, but then, reading your letters and seeing your face, well, I know that our parting was anything but easy for you, too.

But know one thing and that is this: just like that gal waiting patiently in the almond tree, I look forward to seeing you again one day. Every story has a back story, a story in the margins and we have ours. Tell you what. I have no plans on leaving this earthly realm early and as far as I know I have no gods acting in my behalf. But for the sake of drama and a good story I'll play the role of the almond tree. I know this part and it's fine by me. Right now it is spring and I am blooming, awaiting the gardener to come around to this side of the orchard and trim back my branches. Summer is coming soon and my leaves will be full, green and glorious. I look forward to the fall when someone will come around with their bushel basket and gather my fruit, but more, I look forward to the snows of winter just for the sake of knowing that in all that rain lurks an impending spring.

So, lover, come, spread a blanket and sit beneath my leafy boughs. Let me shade you, provide you comfort, scent your hair with my flowers.

Love, Your WHMB

"It'll all work out, eventually", Tom Petty lyric, '09

"She wore faded jeans and soft black leather
She had eyes so blue they looked like weather
When she needed me I wasn't around
That's the way it goes, it'll all work out

There were times apart, there were times together
I was pledged to her for worse or better
When it mattered most I let her down
That's the way it goes, it'll all work out

It'll all work out eventually
Better off with him than here with me
It'll all work out eventually
Maybe better off with him than here with me

Now the wind is high and the rain is heavy
And the water's rising in the levee
Still I think of her when the sun goes down
It never goes away, but it all works out"

lyrics by Tom Petty

Somewhere along the line I wrote a letter to you that mentioned Colorado, a pickup truck and a dog, all in one breath. I was finishing up my day and was wondering where to go with my thoughts in regards to the particulars of that letter when once again Tom Petty rode up to the rescue and saved the day. I have learned over the years that life is filled with innumerable twists and turns, blindsides and pothots and heavenly bliss, stuff that you can't see and even if you do, can't quite count on, but in this case, what I see before me is a long stretch of road that shows no end. But, see, that's where long walks comes in, where good suppers and yard work and a freshly made bed all come to the aid of a man questioning his life. In the end all we can do is walk that road before us one step at a time, one day at a time. We work out the details as they come along. It all works out, eventually.

The Boy needs to make up his mind about the upcoming school year and where he wants to be in the fall. I put it out there to him this evening because it's his big decision to make, but also because I don't want to feel like a hotel keeper. People come and go out of our lives on a regular basis, so in some sense of the word I guess we're all hotel keepers, but if you taught me anything you taught me about the value of hard decisions, about the choices we make, about the value of all that coming and going. Right now I just want to know who's staying, and who's going.

Some folks come into our worlds, our lives, with high price tags attached and hard lessons to be learned. Sometimes that's up front, other times we can't see that price tag until it's deep into the transaction. Bed's been made, might as well sleep in it. But, see, no one said life was going to be easy. Coming and going is what life is all about, hell, as people it's what we're meant to do. Short run, this life, filled with all too many simple things that don't seem simple at all at the time. But decisions like where to go to school and where to sink down tubers and who you choose to love all seem to be that, simple, until you find out it's your life, and in many cases, your right to choose. No always, but quite a bit of the time. As far as love is concerned, not necessarily. But we make our choices then learn to live with those choices.

This afternoon before I fired up the bbq I sunk down dahlia tubers and realized that this life that I'm leading right now is what I chose for myself. My hard decisions, my choices, all lumped into one grand scheme of things that I still can't quite figure out yet. Maybe the answers lie along the side of that long road that I see before me. As Tom says, "it'll all work out, eventually". And baby, I believe it will, whether or not Colorado, a pickup truck and a dog have any say in the matter.

Your WHMB

In bloom, 05-09

The first time you came to supper was back in the fall of '05. I remember hustling home early so I could knock down some the growth that was still, after a summer's worth of work, spilling out over the rockery. My coworker asked me the next day how my gardening turned out. I told her it was a work in progress. Still seems to be the case.

After all this time I still don't think of myself as being much of a gardener. I've lived in my house now for over ten years and still think of my yard layout as pretty much being far from finished. But I've put in the hours over the years, shifting this, planting that, building things, and after all this time I must say that when it's spruced up, watered down and mowed it looks good and that pleases me very much.

Nevertheless I still have a lot to learn. I have rose bushes below the kitchen window that bloom nicely in the summertime, but the light is wrong in the afternoons and they tend to get that strange frosty mildew on them. I plant dahilas every summer but fail to dig them up in the fall and so wee critters tend to eat them come winter and I have to start all over again the following year. I have planted vegetable starts in the past and have been marginally successful with those, but I've felt that the effort fighting off bugs all summer didn't yield much for the investment in time so I've pursued an easier course of action and have sown flower seeds instead. I can handle flower seeds just fine.

I do like flowers, even painted ones. I collect artwork that pleases me, and enjoy finding art by local artists. I tend to find pieces as I troll second hands and galleries, so I know that what I've collected isn't worth much except to me. I have this one piece up on a wall right now, an oil painting of blooming rhodies. I placed it in the hallway last winter when I needed that touch of spring and now it's right on time. My rhodies, most of which came with the house, are in full flower. I have two in the back that need to be transplanted, and that will happen once I finish clearing out the old ivy that's taken over the hill.

This year my life seems to be blooming, too, not too much unlike the flowers in my garden. I know that real life has taken over once again and that I have no more time to grieve. I spent three years getting over you, which was compounded with the return of The Estranged One, then the passing of my mom. When that email box of mine as left open last fall and all my letters to you were discovered I thought I was well past the point of caring. But life crashed hard and I found out the hard way that I still did care, cared an awful lot. It took clearing out that house to finally make good on all those old accounts, all those ledgers filled with unfinished, unexamined emotions, with untold hurts and stories and such. I emptied myself out and finally found bottom and let me tell you, it felt good.

Maybe "bottom" is the wrong word to describe the place where I landed. I think I finally found that place in life where I could utter the words "life's okay" and feel good about saying it. I think that the timing of that project and the release of unnecessary entanglements and my reinvestment in people who matter all came about because I finally could do it. I didn't have that desire to grow in me before. I wasn't ready, not too much unlike those dried dahlia tubers I've seen circulating around the branch these last couple of weeks. Those tubers represent a sparkling new life, but a life that needs good soil in order to take root. After that little house project was done I started in on other things. The completion of that house project was like sinking one of those tubers into furtile soil. Everything took off after that. The bloom is on it's way.

So I rediscovered the fine art of sweating about the same time that I realized I had a garden that needed tending to. I took all the energy that I gained from clearing out all that old stuff, realized from all the scrubbing and painting and shifting, and took it outside and began my garden work anew. I tore out knee high weeds, clipped away old vines, gathered together bags of soil and bought a ton of seed. I also gathered together old and new friends about me. Planted a bushel basket's worth of life that seem to be already yielding fresh and inviting new opportunities. I see the sprouts of new beginnings tenderly pushing their way out of the soil. My heart is already soaring and it's only June!

But I have to admit that I recognize this elation about my new life. It's a great feeling, like the way a warm day feels after a long, cool spring. Back in '05 I fought hard to start my life anew. Maybe it was too soon, but it felt right at the time. And it did start, that's for sure. It sprouted up there between us, back in September of '05, during that field trip we took to Sumner, the one where we were in search of that cast iron Scotty lamp you saw when your sister was in town. We stopped along the way and walked Connell's garden together that Saturday afternoon. We stood quietly in a row of dahlias, side by side, close in, then turned and held each other and gasped, gasped at the beauty around us, swooned at adaciousness of the bold encounter. That moment, that brief second when you looked into my eyes, when we took in each other's souls, we planted something that day that has continued to grow over the years, even through those times when winter seems to stretch on forever.

And even though you took on that job tending the soil in your own backyard again, I still reap the benefits of that long ago moment and have allowed that wonder to continue to grow in the furtile imagination of my heart. Yeah, I told you up front I wasn't much of a gardener. A romantic, yes, a cook, certainly, but a gardener? Well, we'll work on that. And so until then, till that day when I once again see you standing there at my garden gate with your watering can and shovel I'll continue to mow and weed and hoe and look for happiness within the walls of my own garden, within the fenced yard of my own life.

And M? Let me tell you, for the first time in a very long time, I am happy.

Thank you, my love, for sowing those seeds that continue to grow in my heart.

Your WHMB

Happy for what I have, missing those things that I don't

I am happy.
I wake these days fairly rested. Somehow that period of wakefulness at two or three in the morning has passed. I have papers to sign on Friday which will pretty much leave the house in my name. I still have my name change thing to think about and a divorce to finalize. But more than anything I need to make plans for a garage sale so I can move stuff out of the basement so I can move forward with life.

I have many wonderful possessions that makes me realize how lucky I am. I came across a photo shoot in yesterday's LA Times yesterday of this one man's one bedroom home, one filled with all these things that he just couldn't pass up. That particular article balanced nicely with a book I came across this morning while I was weeding in the stacks. The words that I read when I opened it were an inspiration. The gist of the message was in order for collectors like me to have a good time collecting other collectors have to periodically deaccession their piles of loot. I am ready for that. I've been doing it with my books, now it's time for other stuff as well. When I moved everything over to the big house I set things aside for a yard sale. Once the kids get here I'll have a better idea about what else to unload. They get first dibs on their stuff, if only because I can remember the trauma that my mom would cause by unloading my things before she asked.

Everyone should get a vote, especially when it comes to their stuff.

But overall I see great progress happening except in my room and in the basement. The basement doesn't count until September, and my bedroom, well, it's just a refuge for now. When I go there I sleep, pet the cat, read cookbooks or watch movies. I wake up, yawn, putter around and then go downstairs. It's not a boudoir yet, because for now it's only for me. Who know how long that will be, so why mess around with a good thing? In other words, leave it alone, I'm happy.

It's all about that state of happiness thing we strived for as a couple. You told me once that it wasn't a constant state, that it came and went, that it was fleeting. Maybe we both said something to that effect, but I know that you valued happiness much than you said you did. I don't know, maybe you were more pragmatic about that stuff. You already had the big disappointment early on, as you said to me in an early letter. You learned to live without the romance, learned to appreciate committment, loyalty and comfort instead. Me, I'm on my own. I'm comfortable, too, but when I look around my house I see alot of raggedy second hand stuff. I love what I have, the view, the shiny goods that keep me coming home. I love where I've landed, and that this little house, the one that was once ours as well as my family's, will soon be mine.

We should value our things, you're right. You told me in your second coda that you did, hence your reason for staying. Yet there is a poverty in spirit over there that shows up in your eyes. If I was worth more I'm sure it wouldn't have made a difference. You had a committment to fulfull and you tasked yourself with sticking with it. Mine was broken early on over here so I had no reason so my integrity could not be compromised. Besides, once I told you I loved you I meant it. "To what end?" you asked me once. How about to the end of time? Does that suit you? Suits me just fine.

So there. I have what I have and that's alot. But there are an awful lot of things that I miss, too. The miss the way you would jump into my arms when you came in through my door. I miss the way you would shed your shoes on the way to the couch. I miss our coffee moments, our talks on the phone, those nights where we would kiss through your car window before we said goodbye. I miss our bookgroup and our suppers out, I miss little road trips and seeing your face over the counter at work. I miss many things, but you see, I am also in possession of those memories and the times we had. I have those things with me always, and for that I am happy, too.

I may miss some things but on the most part I pretty much have it all. Health on the most part, wealth to a degree, happiness everafter and a lifetime of knowing that I was once loved by you.

Love, Your WHMB

http://happydays.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/06/02/reprieve/

Light brown and lovely

Moles, blemishes, freckles. Wrinkles by the eyes. Hair tight from a perm, hair loosened by teasing fingers. Skin rough, skin smooth, skin warmed by the sun. Eyes bright, no longer needing glasses but for the longest time losing lenses in my rugs. Something about the way you looked at me, tilted you head and snifted. A highly developed sense of smell you said. Something that we both shared, had in common.

Moles strategically placed just so. Freckles large and small and scattered about like wild strawberries on your shoulders. Shoulder to shoulder we looked like twins. In so many ways we were. The way we would finish each other's sentences, the way we picked up on tonal nuances in each other's voices, the way we generated laughter and teasing and such in each other. We found pleasure in small explorations, we took time uncovering subtleties, we tenderly held each's hearts as easily as we held each other's hands while driving.

But it's those moles I come back to, you see. I thought about them this morning first thing. I thought about how they looked late at night in the light of that reading lamp by the side of my bed. I thought how they looked in soft grey light of that storm the day before Easter. I thought about how they must have looked when you put on that Pinto Pony shirt for the first time and hid them away from me. I thought of them this morning and wondered how there were. Are they still coveted? Kissed? Tenderly stroked?

Moles, freckles, blemishes. Lines around your mouth. The small sags of time on your belly and in places touched by worry and love and living. I think about a lifetime of waiting versus a lifetime of living and thought in order to be able to see those moles and freckles and lines again that I better get on with my living. I think of how those walks work our arches and our feet and our knees. Having seen all those things, those feet that I cupped, those knees that I touched in passing, that back that was a literal playground of freckled delight, make me realize that they are things I truly wish to see again someday.

I suppose I did this morning, in the soft grey light of dawn, when I woke up and thought of you. Thought of your eyes, the soft lines around your mouth, the fine lines that spread joy outward towards the sun. I closed my eyes and there you were, freckles and moles and lines and all. The blue green of your eyes penetrating my wakelessness, your face close enough to startle my goatee.

Ok, darlin', tuck your hair behind your ears and put away your glasses, we're going exploring. And this next go round we'll go exploring in full out daylight. Love you out loud, indeed. Yeah, this next time you can be as loud as you want to be.

Yours, WHMB

The origin of Calcopo!

Calcopo. I can still remember the first time that it was mentioned out loud at the branch. We were checking in books and were talking about the book we were reading for that month's book group and someone in the back picked up on our conversation. They expressed interest in joining in. Couldn't blame them as we had so much fun. We always went out to eat, grabbed some dessert, talked late into the evening. But you pulled me aside and made it very clear to me that that our group was a two person affair. It was your special time and that was that. What kind of man would want to fight that kind of logic? And besides, I liked it the way it was.

At first we met when we could, more on the phone or through emails. News from Paraguay was our first book, something I discovered while I was shelving books, a title with two copies, something with clout. You didn't care for it much then tasked me with reading The Life of Pi. What you loved the most was that I pulled the fundamental quote out of the middle of that book and sent it along to you:

"Lack imagination and miss the better story"

Needless to say that was the kind of magic that we worked with those books. We went back and forth with titles we pulled from here and there, a Debbie Macomber one month, The Persian Pickle Club another. Some titles were beyond special, like the time we read The Time Traveler's Wife. Others, like the Lord of the Rings and The Maltese Falcon, were titles I read and passed along to you but never really jelled in our group setting.

We finally hit our stride in late winter, with Five Quarters of the Orange and This House of Sky. We packed two meetings in one month, culminating in our day long outing to Tacoma that was the end and the highlight of our bookgroup.

But Calcopo lives on, if only in name. And what was that name all about, anyway? It was a blend of places, an acronym that represented and suited us: Cal for California, Co for Colorado and PO for Port Orchard. The rest of the handle was Forest to the Sea Book Discussion Group. A very private affair, yes indeed.

Not that we were entirely private. Hell, darlin', sometimes we were so public that the world blushed. Not only joined in but felt happy for the love, and the book lust, we shared.

Love, Your WHMB

Dream lover

I thought I saw you last night, but woke up and realized it was only a dream.

I've spent a lot of time here lately, writing lines before meals, jotting notes inbetween household duties, fulfilling an assignment that I tasked myself with a long time ago. The end product is just this series of letters you see before you, notes written just to let you know where I am and to let the world know where we've been. It was just meant to be an inventory list, a review of the contents of our satchel, but I can see that it's turning out to be a bit more than that. A sort of book in the making, an open journey of the heart, an expose of a classic love story that was turned out into the cold before it's time.

One thing that I've discovered is that the lands of our subconcious cannot be inventoried nor be made sense of. I don't know where I stand as far as your dreams are concerned, but last night you visited mine once again. Third time in as many months. In last night's dream you came to me at work. It was a library setting, a very strange one as familiar places in dreams can be. I still remember the way you talked to me, in a way that was dismissive, not so much angry or off putting, but more in a way that said that even though you loved me I needed to let you go. Afterwards I was asked by a coworker to give her the address of this blog so she could pass it along to you. "If she could see what you write here things might be different" she said, but I couldn't remember the address. I woke up wondering what the name of this piece was. Finally figured out that it was only a dream.

Once the sun comes up we sometimes find that our waking lives are not too much different from our dreams. I may have this silly fantasy about finding you again out in the real world but the truth is that our lives are the same as they've been for the last three years. For the sake of family and convention and God we are apart. That's that.

Yes, there is that very public side of our lives, the one that has been made perfectly clear that you've left me behind, that you'll have no contact with me, that you'd crash private email boxes and leave others open for The Detective's scrutiny. Then there are our private lives, the one's that are filled with hard decisions, hard partings and "I love you, too"'s. I am sure that your socially focused side of life is once again filled with duties and friends and obligations, school runs and church functions and family affairs. All well and good. I'm sure that The Detective pretty much leaves you to your own devices these days and that you've gone back to being able to run around with girlfriends unfettered. If that's the case then I am happy for you.

As for me, it is springtime and I have sprung back to life again. I have rediscovered the joy of yard work, continue to cook with glee, read a new title once a month with the book group whether I like it or not. I thrill in sharing new films each month with my film discussion group, participate in committees, second hand once in a while, drink my wine on the weekends and work the public desk to the best of my ability. My oldest is back home for the summer and that's grand. I have people over for supper alot these days, and in doing so have found out one the sweetest secrets of them all, and that is when you have folks over for dinner they tend to ask you to come eat over at their homes as well. Nice all the way around.

With such a full life you would think that there would be no reason to see you after hours, but there's no accounting for that dream state. Sometimes those dreams are lived when I'm asleep, sometimes while I'm fully awake. I don't have to be lying in my bed to find you there, not in a lascivous way, mind you, but in that way that we tended to share my bed, in that fully dressed, eating Dove bars, talking over books kind of way. We had our time and that time is past, but our spirit still lingers there in such a way that I've had the worst time shaking it. Yes, our public lives say that we are no longer lovers, that our lives are split and never the twain shall meet. But in the world that lives outside the realm of convention, there you are, and there we are, fully realized if somewhat unhappy about the hard choices we had to make.

Yes, you continue to show up in my dreams and ask me to let you go in order for both of us to rest, to get on with our lives. We haven' t seen each other in over a year so in some ways it's true but there you are anyway, gracing my late night viewing with your supplications. I'm sure what has brought it on are my daily musings here. No matter what the final story line is, feel free to come and go out of my dreams, kiddo. My inner life, like yours, is a fluid one. We must be free to travel back and forth to that treasured realm, the one where we both lived and loved for awhile, if only to make sense of our martyred present.

Yeah, I'll see you around, hon, even if it's only in my dreams.

Your WHMB