Wednesday, February 22, 2006

The Imaginary Divorce

Somewhere in Pennsylvania lives my ex-husband. Or my ex-once upon a time sort of Husband. For privacy's sake, let's call him Harold. (Are ya' reading Harold?)
Harold and and I (or, Harold and Maude) loved each other very much. "Stupid for each other' was the chosen phrase. They never planned to and actually planned not to see one another every day, but neither could get through the day without simply wanting the company of the other. They stayed up all night talking. They sat around all day talking. They shared and shared and shared. And had some kinky, wonderful sex with fabulous cuddling after.
After two years of this Maude decided they should move in together- or, Harold should move in with Maude who had her own place. (Maude didn't know herself as well as she thought.) Harold eventually crossed to Maude's fence post and brought his belongings with him. (Harold never saw it coming. Unfortunately, neither did Maude.)
The trouble started on Day... One. And it was probably over crumbs. Harold's. On Maude's counter. Note I didn't say Harold's counter. It was never Harold's counter.
Maude went a little crazy. Maude is obsessive compulsive. Harold is obsessive compulsive. Harold and Maude continued to talk, and have sex with cuddling, and wrestle each other to the floor with glee only with a lot more sighing and eye rolling and fights that ended with one of them driving away- in a trail of burned rubber.
Eventually, they redivided their things and Maude moved very far away and after a long, long time got engaged to somebody else.
Maude and Harold were never really married and so never really divorced, but they feel in their hearts they were both.
And they still love each other, in a different way now, and talk for hours-only now the conversations are peppered with other memories; Separate Rooms! -Hooooonneeeeeeeee! -Get your chin hairs out of my clean trash can! - Get your underwear clothes line out of the kitchen! You were snoring so I rolled you off the bed!

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Trippin' 20/20

It's a system shock to open your inbox and see an email from your very first boyfriend. For kicks I'd found his name on and emailed him.
We met over the phone of a mutual friend where I was staying the night in January of 1988. I don't know if it was a hoax or if she really hoped we'd like each other. He was 15, I was 13, and we talked for hours that night-or maybe one hour but when you are talking to the first boy who really seems to like you, even one hour is a very long, very good time.
We didn't talk again after that until March. Sitting together in Mrs. Spanarkle's science class, studying minerals, my friend said he'd asked for my number which I enthusiastically gave. I think I can visualize how my room looked to me the first time he called.
I can still see the blue of his eyes that shocked my system so the first time we met, for just a moment, outside of my grammar school- he on his bicycle and me about to board the bus.
Our first romance only lasted three weeks, until the end of the school year- but I felt magical for all of them.
That wasn't the end of it. We spoke several times over the summer and bumped into each other early that September in the high school library- I was a freshman now. My infatuation never waned but we didn't really date again until my sophomore year and his last year before leaving for college in Florida. The sweet agony of knowing I would lose him but helplessly loving him! I wanted to marry him then and for the rest of high school as we would continue to date every time he came home on break. I really thought it could happen.
That was a different lifetime. For both of us. Hearing from him spurred me to see what a different person I am now. Outside, too. I have lines around my eyes now, and often under them. I know pains I couldn't have imagined at 15.
I do not know any more about his life or past now than he does of mine but I do know he is a husband and a father. And neither is he that slightly too skinny kid riding his bicycle to school.

The best years of your life

I went ahead and subscribed to
The best years of your life. The adults that say this are the adults who were popular. The kids who sat behind you on Mondays jabbering and giggling about the weekend games and parties. I wasn't one of these kids. I was the kid who dreaded lunch room seating day; dreaded wandering the crowded cafeteria hoping some kind soul would take pity on my frightened face and offer me a seat for the year at her table. I was always grateful knowing it was a burden and took some strength to be seen with me.
For that kid, school is awful- one instance after another of swallowing humiliation and biting your lip until the gym taunts- that are somehow both ignored and allowed by the instructor to continue- to be over at the bell so you can withdraw to the mercy of a locker room stall and cry.
Is it possible to ever become a confident adult after being bullied and ostracized for 13 years?
I was told all along to ignore it. Ignore it and they will stop. They only tease because they get a reaction.
My mom regrets this now-wishes she had taught me to fight it off, to stand up for myself.
I'm almost 32 and all of this anger and shame is still inside; a coiled sickness.
I guess I keep hoping some day I will see these people again and they will finally accept me, finally think I am good enough.
I need to stop needing this- I need to finally feel okay with who and what I am. I don't know how to do that.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Marital Advice

The most frequent verbal response I get when asking for marriage advice is... Don't. You lose your independence. You give up your freedom. And the biggest and most oft uttered warning... the sex stops.
On two occasions, after the sarcasm wound down, I was offered actual advice from the voices of experience.
From advisee number one-Talk. And do things together. If he asks you to go somewhere with him, go. No matter how boring you think it will be. No matter what you are doing that seems more important. It isn't.
The second? Variety. Don't let the sex get boring.
What do you think?

Thursday, February 16, 2006

A Little Bit o Yum

I have been watching the neighborhood ice cream parlor sign for the lovely phrase, "Opening in 60 days". Not just because I love their fat-free, no sugar added raspberrry vanilla swirl in a waffle cone (runner up to my favorite cone of all time- soft vanilla swirl with rainbow sprinkles :)
I know spring is coming! Everyone up here tells me Maine doesn't have a spring. Well I've experienced three of them.
Spring is going for a walk and getting an ice cream then wandering across the street to watch Little League baseball games. Spring is warm enough to sit in a chair in the backyard in the afternoon and evening with tea and read the most recent greatest book you ever found. Opening the windows...and leaving them open all day. And all night-the best sleeping weather parallel to autumn wrapped up in soft blankets, breezes that smell like leaf buds and earthworms and new rain rolling across your face. Whoops and hoorays and whistles all wadded up inside and it's all you can do to sit still through one more hour of work or school until you can get outside and scream and run and breathe and just be.
May you enjoy some spring fever this year.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Pantyhose and Mike

I went away to college when I was 18, and had a blast-I was really (really) quiet until the end of high school; then BLAM! I've barely shut up since.
Welcome to Millersville University in Millersville, PA. Check your map. Look for Lancaster. Look for a proximal, unnamed blank spot. That's Millersville.

Millersville claims ownership of the largest universiy campus pond in the US. It's a double pond linked by a foot bridge in the center of campus populated by huge gold fish (i think) and ducks on a strict schedule of aquatic duck lovin' and flying to the island in the middle and navel oranges always wedged in the honey-comb chicken wire fence.

I first sat at the pond with my friend, Mike, during college orientation. I met Mike at the math placement test when I was late and grabbed a seat beside him. I offered him a piece of gum. We agreed math stinks. Then we skipped the next session to get a soda. There the dye was cast, he alludes. That was June 1992. I was in his wedding party last May, wearing my first tuxedo.

A tuxedo is by far more comfortable than a dress. You don't worry about panyhose, ironing, static cling, or the color of your panties (which stay put in a tux). You don't need to find a cat's cradle style bra made of chicken wire and elastic or torture yourself with double sided tape. Nothing falls out, rides up, or falls down. If you really enjoy the buffet there's no need to stand upright the rest of the night or go home early. The waistband adjusts!

Next time you need a fancy dress, I highly reccomend a tux.

The Glutton in Me

so my fiance's all cuddly in bed and i'm hooked to this laptop like it's gonna give me orgasms stuffing Nut Lover's Minatures in my face like they're field mice on speed and I'm a starving kitty.
This blog stuff is all new to me... today! so bear with me! I think it's gonna be fun. (Wow- the same improper English twice!) I didn't feel like cooking dinner tonight but wound up cracking open a can of tuna and adding dill, lemon, ginger, and black pepper. It got served with cooked-in-the-microwave-green beans and tomato-basil quinoa. It actually worked!
I got chocolate bits on the keyboard.
I have class in 7 hours. I suppose. Off to bed with my fuzzy kitties. Night!

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Earthworm Relocation Programs

I decided to go back to college for the BS I've regretted never getting. Not knowing what you want to be when you grow up is expected and almost romantic when you're 18. By 31 I should know! I should also be a grown-up by now.
I had my first Art History exam today and I'd forgotten how boisterous a classroom can be preceding such an event; cries of Ohmygosh who painted that! and what's a patina? to I'm going to have a heart attack! We've all sat like good little students, mute unless called upon, for four weeks and suddenly we were a united front. We can kick this thing! Did you bring your white flag? (lorezobotticellodonamedici...Ahh!)
I am a Practical (boy, capitalizing that p takes off a lot of pressure!) Nurse. Nursing is a career you really can't discuss casually. Guess what I found at work today ! When did people get so squeamish?
I grew up at the seashore in New Jersey (one summer of hypodermic needles...let it lie!) and for me the smell of salt and rotting mussels is home. But now I live in Maine where the smell of pine trees is home.
I am somehow feel most content and beautiful covered in horse and smelling like one or head to toe full of mud splotches and compost moving earthworms from root ball to root ball.
My favorite outfit is pajamas after a long day, I love Anya Seton, and one of my favorite meals is a fresh cup of coffee and a hamburger.
And if anyone has marriage advice, I'd love some! I am getting married on July 1st... 4 1/2 months!