Wishing you well

 Back in 2007 I was at my mom's house. She had just passed away a week or so before and I was there to start the process of pulling together all the last duties and obligations that the oldest son is supposed to handle. I was sorting through photos that I had found in her dining room hutch when the phone rang. I can't remember now whether the device was on the kitchen counter or the dining room table, but I was not in a position to grab it so I let it ring through, let it go to voice mail.

I got up a bit later, dazed as a person might be after going through years of photographic memory. I glanced at the phone and saw that the call that had come in had a Washington phone number. Not being familiar with the number I saw that the caller left a message. I dialed in the access code and put the phone to my ear. What came next was something that I never expected to hear again.

Your voice.

"Hello". That much I remember clearly. What came afterwards? That much I do my best to replay in my mind. I am sure that you didn't insert yourself more into the rest of the message but for certain you did say "wishing you on the 27th day of August". Did you say "I am calling to wish you well.." or "here's to wishing you well"? Do those nuances matter? I scrambled at that moment, once I heard your voice, to find you on the other end. I dialed and found out that the phone number was attached to the library in Bremerton, at the branch we once worked at together. The phone rang through and you were long gone.

It was the last time you ever left a message for me.

I may not have the exact words you said to me in any kind of correct manner, but I play the semblance of them in my head every year on the day. You, my old love, my Professora, my Empress of the Universe, are long gone but as for loving you? Well, no matter who comes through my life, no matter who else may color my world or fill up my heart, I will love you always. Be well, M.

Love, your WHMB

Weary, waiting, asking for forgiveness

My dearest Professora, how I wish to hold your face in my hands, to be able to embrace you in a state of joy and bliss once again. I am here in Southern Oregon, at the end of my own Applegate trail. I came overland from Colorado, the land of your birth. I walked the lands that you walked, saw the sights that you 3might of once seen. I courted a woman who, I saw in my heart, wished to be redeemed and in my own turn, I wished to be loved, wished for her to be like you. I brought into our lives all the things we once shared and none took us to those old places. Or rather, when I saw that she wasn't you, I shelved them. She did ask, once or twice, where the book club went to, or how come we put up the backgammon board, or why I didn't write about us any more on Accumulate Man.

Because. She. Wasn't. You.

In her own way she was a muse, but one in reverse. Instead of being the library muse that inspired me to greatness and was proud of my achievements, she ended up being peevish and petty about the gains I made. Instead of us having to dodge a standoffish and less than attentive partner, I had to deal face to face with a crazed man who was over the top about not letting go. Instead of holding down a home tghat I loved I found it impossible to stay and love the woman in place at the same time. We had no choice but to leave and where of all places did we land but Colorado. It could have been worse, we almost ended up in Seattle. 

So, I found that no matter what I did I could not cajole or please or help make do something that was never meant to be. I found that my family and friends were not valued,  not in the same way that hers were. I discovered that my mind and work and treasures were not really well thought as much as tolerated. Instead of loving each other in a day to day fashion, I found myself fighting a rear guard action for years, all the time saying, yes, this can work, yes, we can make this happen. All I wanted was a shared emotional connection. All I wished for was a small lot of euphoria.

I left to the coast again, this time to be a children's librarian in a town that I lived in 30 years before. But in all truth, I left to save first myself, the relationship and my career second. I came here to little town because I was exhausted emotionally. That is what happens when you deal with vampires and con artists, thieves and pretenders. They take all and give nothing back. They fill their own empty souls with the light that others share so willingly, so happily, given without pretense or guile. I landed here, took on a small space with the idea that it was temporary. Yet, here I am, in the same little space, two years later. Thank god.

I found that what I need now is not too much different than what I have always needed, and that is an emotional kind of loyalty, one that is rare, but not impossible to find. I always felt that we shared was that kind of connection and that is why, I suppose, I keep looking for it, thinking that if I am lucky, I can find it again. I needed to know, and have figured out, that what we shared was unique and can never be duplicated. There may be another kind of love that might possibly sustain me, but I need time to finally rest and see what it was exactly that we shared, so I can let that one rest and be appreciated, before I can finally see fit to let it go.

What I have discovered, among other things, is that I am demisexual. That is, I can't love unless there is some kind of emotional connection going on. I suppose, after all those years of doling out unconditional love to my kids, that when we found each other, when we clicked from the start, that love was not even there at the top of the list of things that I wanted to share with you. We were fun from the start. We liked each other and fell into love, the way that puppies fall into each other in a bed on their way to sleep. 

Now, I just want more than anything, than to ask for your forgiveness. I wish for an understanding and a sort of friendship that comes from time spent behind the bars of a rough kind of travel, the kind where the boots get stolen off your feet and you have to walk miles in the brambles just to get to a place where there is a sign that tells you how many more miles you have to go before you sleep.

Yes, I want your forgiveness. M. I want you to know how much I am saddened by the cost of our love and how much I am sorry for bringing so much grief into your life. I know how much my love for you cost us. It cost me plenty and I have no regrets. But I am sorry for whatever sorrow I brought into your life. We paid a heavy price for our love. You paid a different kind of penance than I. But I never asked before for forgiveness. I was unrepentant for years, never cared how high the price was for what we shared. Now I am, only because I know, from gathering my grief all in one place, that it has been a heavy load to carry. I want to set it down now and love you, from here on out, in a way that I never knew was possible. Unconditional, selfless, joyful, without gain and without the glory that those who have been by your side get to reap.

I am tired but I am once again resting in the shade of happiness. I have been learning to love myself and deal with my newfound identity. I am weary but learning to laugh again, in a meaningful kind of way. When we loved back in the day it was real, but man oh man, can we wish it to be even more so? I wonder and yes, wish, just to see you, to see you smile again. I know that you are smiling, I see it in your photos. Continue to walk in the light of a life well lived, my dear. You deserve it.

Love,

Your WHMB

Girl + Friend

Looking back on those years, especially when I look at them from this perspective, from the years that it took me to get from there to here, I see a person who, when all is said and done, was truly cringeworthy. Who was that guy? What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he set himself on fire, time after time, even when the fire department demanded that he stop screwing around like that?

When I think of the losses at the time, the ones unavoidable, the others self inflicted, all I feel is a kind of pity, the kind you save and dole out for the mad, the helpless, the hapless. I am glad that I had a strong taste for living, but I am sorry that I had such a heavy streak of poor and self destructive behavior in me, the kind that alienated you and totally perplexed the rest of the world, the employers, family and friends who watched me drive my ship directly onto the rocks. No matter who or what was there to tell me otherwise, I purposely drove those fragile and heartbroken timbers into the abyss again and again. It was exhausting to witness and super sad to live out, to endure.

I have no idea what it was that we shared that made that kind of mindset possible. As the Detective once said to me on the phone, "please stop writing to her. When you do all it does is make her sad". For years I never really got that, that my words, that my actions, that my endless pillorying just brought you pain, not enlightenment, not joy learning about my times and the places where I landed. I always thought that making those efforts to stay close would help to keep us together, instead, all it did was to drive us further apart.

The losses that I suffered through back in those days have finally settled out, to heal, to make sense. I ended up making my mark in the profession, became the director that we both knew I could be. I learned to make peace with the ex-wife, the one that you wished for me to return to. I finally understood what you meant when you said to be "brave like me". Since those days I put my heart out there, did my best to change how I looked at love, did my best to rescue folks in need and, in the end, went forward, moved on, in order to be brave enough to save myself from a toxic and uncommitted love affair.

I have spent the past two years in a sort of forced isolation. Covid and all it's social restrictions have helped. I have stepped away from dating and relationships, after a few attempts to see if I was up to it. I know that what I've needed for a long time has been a great deal of time devoted to self reflection, rest and a kind of recuperation that only comes when you can embrace your past, come to terms with it, forgive others, forgive and love yourself. I have no idea when I finally got that I need it but I did.

When I think of our times these days I feel blessed for what they were and what they represented to me. When I think of you I will always think of you as my friend, as this person who came into my life when life seemed to be drained out of me. You and your gifts of love, laughter and joy helped to restore me. I think of the simple things we shared, board games, birding, cooking, and know now that they existed in the land of stolen moments but I was beyond thankful for them. They continue to restore me to this day.

Looking back, I have to wonder if, knowing what I know now, would I have continued down the same path after we diverged. Should I ended that long love siege earlier on when I could have salvaged my life? Did I do right by my kids by having that strange set of standards that enforced that tragic kind of love between me and the ex wife? What did it all mean, to stubbornly hold onto you but to lose damn near everything else that mattered to me, to the family, to those that thought well of me, that cared?

Time was been a tough master, a hard nosed teacher. I am here, on my own, here in this little town of Talent, slowly coming to terms with life as I know it. Semi-retired, living a sort of on the edge of life kind of life, not too much different, I would say, than the life you saw me living ages ago. But now, instead of anguishing over my kids and worrying about the effects that support payments would have on me, I find myself at peace, or more, the kind of peace that the weary find themselves giving themselves over to. The kids are grown or mostly there and are living their lives in Boise while life continues to spin it's sweet secrets all around me. Yes, life is a mystery right now. I am figuring out where I am in the midst of it, doing my best to figure out what I am and what I want to do with these things I keep finding out about myself.

But you, you are a distant and dear friend, never mind that we haven't spoken to each other since 2010. You are the woman pal that I always wanted and needed, my dear Professora, Empress of my Heart. You still are the best of me and of my times, spiritually and in reserve, as you are and have chosen to be. No matter. I love you all the same, girlfriend. Be strong. Be you.

Love,

Your WHMB

You've been on my mind, love

I went for a number of years not writing to you here, spent years on the road apart, did my best to make distance between you and me and yet all I did, as the years and miles passed, was to bring you closer to me than you've ever been before.

Certainly, I can keep up with you thanks to social media, and yes, I break that vow of silence by dropping messages here and there onto your account, but I never push anything. I never declare anything, never do anything to be considered a pest. But I do reach out, let you know that I am here, that you are there, and that is that. Nothing much more can be done than that.

But our children grow and the life that we wished for is, or may, be a lot different than the one we envisioned for ourselves back then. For instance, here I am on a Sunday morning, jazz playing in the background, grains and fruit soaking, the day ahead of me. A walk is coming up, most certainly. Housework, oh yeah. Then I will settle down into cooking and messing about as I am solo and have no one to tell me what to do with the day or inversely, no one to share it with. I am not lonely, but I do miss folks. And it goes without saying, I do miss you.

Years ago, when I was on the coast running a branch library, I set aside in a manila envelope that I stuffed with local travel items, tourist brochures, that I wished to send along to you. I never did as I was restricted from doing so, but more, I was distracted by my thoughts and actions. I brought someone into my life and immediately did my best to resurrect our lives, our pastimes, our emotive, day to day, kind of well being, with her. But instead it turned into something else entirely. My emotional commitment to that relationship helped to make it palatable, emotional commitment something that I need to do in order to help that relationship find its way to love. But that love, whatever good it did to me, was always reflective of and in honor of, the kind of love we shared. It did its best to achieve that level of shared joy but was never ever really able to get there. She wasn't you, my dear, and no matter how how hard I tried, board games, book clubs and cooking via cookbook recipes was not going to bring about a relationship like the one we shared together.

Years into that go round I landed in Colorado, right down the way from where you grew up. I walked those streets, saw your home, enjoyed the little downtown where your pop had his shop. I never felt closer to you than I did there in Colorado, not since the day we parted n Port Orchard. Loveland, Colorado was for me the best of you. I finally got you, saw you, saw how and where your values came about and felt the sense of joy, life and familiar love that you always embraced. I got your stories, saw where your people landed and where you came from, where YOU, the wonderful woman that I loved so dearly, came from. I got you and in doing that, better understood us, understood the whys and must be's of our journey.

So, here I am, in Southern Oregon, mere miles down the road from you, but, for all the good it does me, you might as well be on the other side of the moon. But I am good with that. The years have served me well, have taught me much about life, about patience and reserve, about myself, and has had me truly get, learn a lot about who we were and what our relationship was all about. I appreciate you more than I every did before, girlfriend. You, no matter what you had to do in order to survive, to keep the peace, to maintain the status quo, you are still and will always be my favorite. In the here and now I can love you without measure and with a high degree of peace, knowing that this flame that still burns steady and bright in my heart, is a slow and warm kind of love, not the hot destructive thing it was when I had no idea what love, this kind of love, meant.

What kind, you might ask? The kind of love two friends experience when they are wrenched apart. Nothing more, nothing less.

Love, 

Your WHMB 

A Saturday

We rarely had weekend days to play with. Our times were mostly composed of the stolen week day variety, the evenings before the fire, the occasional shopping outing, the rare get away that never allowed us to ever share a room. I know that when I look back on our times I see two folks who could barely stand the tension, of being side by side, who were always there within touching distance, who craved the notion of, the desire to, touch and frolic, but who also knew that they had to get way the hell out of town in order to really be comfortable in our skins. How far was far? Over the mountains and far away kind of far.

So, today, while I sit here on my living room arrangement of couch and bed, jazz playing lightly in the background, grains and fruit soaking for a later breakfast repast, volunteer duties and housework to plan and carry out, I think of you. My dear, what would we do with this day if it were ours to play with? We are at a point in life where there would be no kids around to help choreograph our days. We would have a blank map before us. Would it be terra incognita? Would all the streets and street lamps be filled in? Would we be in a place where kids and grandkids would be part of the line up of things to do? What would we be making for meals? Would we have started out our day side by side in big enough bed, with a million cookbooks open, planning our meals for the weekend like two culinary generals before the kitchen troops? Would we have already gotten our walk out the way or would we still be building that into our scheduled stops for the day?

I know that the flickers and other birdish kinds of travelers are here, commanding our attention. Would birding be part of our day? Would we want to shop for seed or new guides? Would we travel to some local birding zone, binoculars in hand? Would we even have that on our agenda or is just part of what we do? Bird? Delight in the observation of things soft, warm and wonderful? I know that you are quite the collector of pals. Would we have a get together in mind? Invite someone over or be heading to someone's home to break bread? I know, too, that religion played and probably continues to play a role in your life. Would that be part of ours as well? Would it have continued to make the difference that I think it might have made in order for you to have made your way in the world in the way that I think you needed to? Or would you have stepped away from it like you once said you wanted to?

Oh, my love, I wonder about the arc that life would have painted for us. I picture it being a very colorful kind of rainbow of life, filled with all things we needed to make this short and lovely life the best it could be. I picture movies and music, outings and trips, market runs and visits, all of it, side by side, hand in hand, never a worry, never an anxious peek over the shoulder ever again. I know that I am a very naïve kind of person, especially in light of all the other changes I have made in my life out of sight of you. But I know had we gone down that path we dreamed of back in the day that we would have turned out okay and so would have the children, friends and family in our care. As I sit here and let jazz and cool sunlight and soft duties beckon, I know, deep in my heart, that things would have been more than perfect, they would have been sublime.

Love, your WHMB

Two flickers

 

I wasn't a birder, but the Professora was. I can't remember how it came up in our conversation but somewhere along the line she asked me if I liked birds and I had to say, sure, sure I did. "Do you know which ones?" she asked. I thought about it and said "gulls, sparrows? How about those?" Little did I know about birds but that never stopped her from wanting to illuminate my path towards birding. I took to it like I did everything else about us, with my two feet into it. I think I surprised her with my enthusiasm. I bought a Petersen's guide, and found a pair or two of old binoculars at a second hand. I tried my hand at it and thought it fun enough to share with my kids. I have an old photo of the three oldest kids, oldest, ha, the youngest at the time was a little over three. We were at a state park, or thought we were, a raptor zone in Idaho. I have no idea if we saw any but were out there grooving. Thanks to the Professora.

I mention all this because on the way home from my walk yesterday I heard a flicker calling out to a mate, or a friend, or whoever they call out to. I walked along and saw an older tree, one that was still without buds or the beginnings of leaves, a late bloomer in this early spring. I heard one, then, I heard another call back, somewhere else in the neighborhood. I took a bit but I spotted the first one, then, after a bit more calling, saw the second one. They were working an old branch of the tree, one on one side, one on the other. Harmonious use of labor. Two pals, lovers, what have you, just hanging out, going after pests.

It has been years since I have seen the Professora. Towards the end of our time together I found that I was getting a bit territorial. I didn't see it coming but told her I was inclined to being so. I know that along the line, especially as the situation in Boise and my kids and my ex grew more and more strained, more heated, that I gravitated towards M in ways that never thought possible. I know we were in love and love, considering our circumstances, could only take us so far. I know she considered all the angles, I know that she talked to her mom about it, that mentioned us to a pal, and that she even once, while out on an outing, said to me, in an answer to what she would call me if we found ourselves together, "I would call you my husband".

So, it wasn't hard to believe that, for a while, she was a key holder to my house and open to explore all of my possessions. My home in Port Orchard had a small back house that was great for visitors, good for handling the overflow of the home business. I gave the Professora a key to that house right off the bat. I left her hot coffee and cheesecake, notes and such there, stuff she could grab, nosh on,  if she found herself working down the hill at the local branch library. One day, around this time of year, I left her a thermos of coffee, a large slice of chocolate topped cheesecake and a pint of half and half in the little fridge in the casita. 

When I got home I found a note from her. I don't have the note here in front of me but I can remember what it said, not word by word, but good enough to make my soul smile. "When I came up to your house today I heard a flicker. I had to look around but there it was, up on your roof. Thanks for the sweet treats, they were perfect" I know, not much, right? But when I saw those flickers today I thought of M, thought of that long ago day, of that note, of our love. Those birds reminded me of one of many cool things we loved to share. Writing this I hear them now, outside, around the neighborhood. Aural ghosts to our love affair, that to me, will haunt me to the end of my life.

Thank you, M, for sharing that one great thing you loved. I know that when you rolled up to the house that day, you found so many things that you loved. That bird on the roof was a lovely connection between birding, coffee, dessert, our love notes and the idea that a life could be shared with all things in it that we love most.

Sixteen years later and I still love you the most, Empress of my Heart.

Love, Your WHMB