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