Goodness, look at the changes! But, then again, outside of death and taxes change is the only thing you can expect out of life, right? Love? Yeah, I have been lucky. Happiness? Fleeting but sweet. Great sunsets? Thank goodness for the smog, a bit of patience, perfect timing and a good sense of aesthetics.
Looking back over the seven years since I've met you I have to say that life delivered up everything possible that went to the right and left of what I had expected. Nothing, outside of me being on top of the dirt and still living in this house, is the same as when I first saw your name on that application all those summers ago. I can't say that all the changes have been for the better but all I can say for certainty is that those changes, good, bad, indifferent and otherwise, have made me a better man.
You might wonder why I say better when to look at my situation, say, in comparison to yours, is worlds apart from what I had when I met you. Back then I was actively married, had my kids around me, had a good paying job, respect, admiration, all that. Well, I suppose I can say that I am a better man because, in losing all that, I have been tested by fire. I found my life wanting and instead of eating from the same old trough, instead of being satified with the status quo, I let it all go. Or it drove away down the drive. Or it was full out taken away from me. I suppose, too, in some cases I pushed the envelope, took that plate of same-ol', same-ol' and tossed it in the face of the cook. I know for sure in many cases the antics I pulled off were not subtle, but then again, to pick up the paper and read about life is to note that life is anything but.
I have to wonder if we met today would you care for me. I am sure you if you stood the two men, then now and then side by side you would note that the charm and zest and world changing awe of one would be a bit different from the other. Looking at myself in the mirror I can tell that my hair is thinner, that I've gained a few pounds, that my nose is being to show the ravages of a bit too much wine. I can see that my eyes have seen a lot, that the lines in my face are a bit deeper, are showing the wear and tear of hard living. Some might say that those lines are there due to wisdom finally setting in, I say that those cracks and crevices in my face are there due to hard fought battles, too little sleep, too much time spent away from my children, a bit too many worries about money, all too much time thinking about you. But then, you see, that's been a big part of my life the last seven or so years. Most certainly the last five.
We are the verge of a five year anniversary. Tomorrow is the big day. I told myself I would start to throw sheets over the furniture here, start to ready this shop for shuttering. But last night, five or so in the morning, after I roused myself from the couch, let the cat in, took myself to bed, I started thinking about writing this piece, about this last round-up of words for you, and I had to laugh. It wasn't a gut wrenching sort of laugh, but a slight chuckle, the kind you might utter when you think of your kids and their antics, the type you might let slip in line at the grocery store or the bank when you think of a silly joke or a scene from a movie. I let that little guffaw go because I know, in my heart of hearts, that shutting this site down is to say, yeah, I am done, put it away, M is and has been long gone. What a laugh.
But.
And there's the but.
M, I haven't stopped, really, running into you yet. I thought for awhile I wanted to move away just to make that happen, sort of like selective surgery. Tired of looking at that nose? Cut it off to spite the old girlfriend type of thing. Well, I haven't gone anywhere and no, it just can't be helped, that running into you thing. It's this small town, my obsession, all that. I still run into you everywhere: on line, in social networking tools, in the newspaper, out taking walks, at the grocery store, passing by on the highway, following behind me on the street in your car. Who am I to think that by closing this place you will magically go away? What a laugh. It might take a bit more than that, say, a frontal lobotomy or something, to get you out of my mind.
Yet I know the time I spend here, most of which has been spent rummaging around in that satchel of ours, is something I need to set down for awhile. As I mentioned earlier, things have changed. I have a movie house job lined up thanks the dearth of work in my profession. The kids are beginning a new school year in Boise and are growing up fast without much of an influence from their father. The yard is overgrown, I am behind one payment on the house, the larder is full, the cat comes and goes when he pleases, my mom is three years in the grave and I have all too many movies and not enough time to watch them all. Thanks to you I have hundreds of cookbooks, a handful of relationships that have tanked because nobody could live up to the standards you set. I have a serious coffee jones going on again, I've gained back all the weight I lost when I was walking regularly and the rooms that needed to be painted are now done and out of the way.
I no longer drive a Honda (but you do). I find that I am lot more tolerant that I used to be, that I am not seeking out love or the Grail or even fortune, but instead, I just want a bit of peace in my soul, a nice small job close at hand that feeds my passions and a friend in my life that is true, that isn't going to run away, who isn't going to turn their back on me because of God or a bigger house or a whatever other fascinations lie over the rainbow.
Changes have come into my life, Melissa and darlin', I can say unequivocally that a lot of those changes were brought about just from knowing and loving you. As I said to you that time I ran into in the 'Woods, I have no regrets about any of it. Well, maybe one, and that is that I didn't tell you right then and there, maybe for the last time, that I still love you, woman. Saying that even as I lock up the storm windows, turn off the gas and lock down the water main of this little house of wonders.
This place, wonderful home of memories, will still be a way station come those times when I find I really need to say something to you. Expect a word now and then. Otherwise, be good, happy, all that.
Wally
Looking back over the seven years since I've met you I have to say that life delivered up everything possible that went to the right and left of what I had expected. Nothing, outside of me being on top of the dirt and still living in this house, is the same as when I first saw your name on that application all those summers ago. I can't say that all the changes have been for the better but all I can say for certainty is that those changes, good, bad, indifferent and otherwise, have made me a better man.
You might wonder why I say better when to look at my situation, say, in comparison to yours, is worlds apart from what I had when I met you. Back then I was actively married, had my kids around me, had a good paying job, respect, admiration, all that. Well, I suppose I can say that I am a better man because, in losing all that, I have been tested by fire. I found my life wanting and instead of eating from the same old trough, instead of being satified with the status quo, I let it all go. Or it drove away down the drive. Or it was full out taken away from me. I suppose, too, in some cases I pushed the envelope, took that plate of same-ol', same-ol' and tossed it in the face of the cook. I know for sure in many cases the antics I pulled off were not subtle, but then again, to pick up the paper and read about life is to note that life is anything but.
I have to wonder if we met today would you care for me. I am sure you if you stood the two men, then now and then side by side you would note that the charm and zest and world changing awe of one would be a bit different from the other. Looking at myself in the mirror I can tell that my hair is thinner, that I've gained a few pounds, that my nose is being to show the ravages of a bit too much wine. I can see that my eyes have seen a lot, that the lines in my face are a bit deeper, are showing the wear and tear of hard living. Some might say that those lines are there due to wisdom finally setting in, I say that those cracks and crevices in my face are there due to hard fought battles, too little sleep, too much time spent away from my children, a bit too many worries about money, all too much time thinking about you. But then, you see, that's been a big part of my life the last seven or so years. Most certainly the last five.
We are the verge of a five year anniversary. Tomorrow is the big day. I told myself I would start to throw sheets over the furniture here, start to ready this shop for shuttering. But last night, five or so in the morning, after I roused myself from the couch, let the cat in, took myself to bed, I started thinking about writing this piece, about this last round-up of words for you, and I had to laugh. It wasn't a gut wrenching sort of laugh, but a slight chuckle, the kind you might utter when you think of your kids and their antics, the type you might let slip in line at the grocery store or the bank when you think of a silly joke or a scene from a movie. I let that little guffaw go because I know, in my heart of hearts, that shutting this site down is to say, yeah, I am done, put it away, M is and has been long gone. What a laugh.
But.
And there's the but.
M, I haven't stopped, really, running into you yet. I thought for awhile I wanted to move away just to make that happen, sort of like selective surgery. Tired of looking at that nose? Cut it off to spite the old girlfriend type of thing. Well, I haven't gone anywhere and no, it just can't be helped, that running into you thing. It's this small town, my obsession, all that. I still run into you everywhere: on line, in social networking tools, in the newspaper, out taking walks, at the grocery store, passing by on the highway, following behind me on the street in your car. Who am I to think that by closing this place you will magically go away? What a laugh. It might take a bit more than that, say, a frontal lobotomy or something, to get you out of my mind.
Yet I know the time I spend here, most of which has been spent rummaging around in that satchel of ours, is something I need to set down for awhile. As I mentioned earlier, things have changed. I have a movie house job lined up thanks the dearth of work in my profession. The kids are beginning a new school year in Boise and are growing up fast without much of an influence from their father. The yard is overgrown, I am behind one payment on the house, the larder is full, the cat comes and goes when he pleases, my mom is three years in the grave and I have all too many movies and not enough time to watch them all. Thanks to you I have hundreds of cookbooks, a handful of relationships that have tanked because nobody could live up to the standards you set. I have a serious coffee jones going on again, I've gained back all the weight I lost when I was walking regularly and the rooms that needed to be painted are now done and out of the way.
I no longer drive a Honda (but you do). I find that I am lot more tolerant that I used to be, that I am not seeking out love or the Grail or even fortune, but instead, I just want a bit of peace in my soul, a nice small job close at hand that feeds my passions and a friend in my life that is true, that isn't going to run away, who isn't going to turn their back on me because of God or a bigger house or a whatever other fascinations lie over the rainbow.
Changes have come into my life, Melissa and darlin', I can say unequivocally that a lot of those changes were brought about just from knowing and loving you. As I said to you that time I ran into in the 'Woods, I have no regrets about any of it. Well, maybe one, and that is that I didn't tell you right then and there, maybe for the last time, that I still love you, woman. Saying that even as I lock up the storm windows, turn off the gas and lock down the water main of this little house of wonders.
This place, wonderful home of memories, will still be a way station come those times when I find I really need to say something to you. Expect a word now and then. Otherwise, be good, happy, all that.
Wally
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