A group of my friends and I were having a discussion on our mail list about dealbreakers, after one of the ladies commented that she'd only get remarried if the man were rich. Several others made comments about how there are more reasons than money to get married (one said her favorite reason was to be deliriously happy and annoy the heck out of others... she's been remarried for 8 years and yes, that appears to be their mission in life). Eventually the topic evolved to practical things and then one woman, who got married for the first time last year (in her early 40s) piped up that she was frustrated that her husband doesn't want his underwear folded.

I added that I don't fold my underwear, there isn't enough fabric to make it worth it.

The next woman commented that she doesn't fold hers, either, she just puts a stick in each end and props it up as a tent.

I love my friends.

It's been a pretty busy few days since I last blogged- that was Thursday? I kept thinking all weekend I should write, but I didn't know where my thoughts would start, so here I am just telling my typing fingers to go for it.

I think I'll start with an update on my friend and her Cinderella romance with the guy in Kuwait. He shipped his stuff here, and on Friday she called me and told me she was worried because he had been asking her about stuff and pressing that he wanted her and considered them exclusive from the beginning and wanted to know she hadn't cheated on him. Well, back in February she'd gone to Florida to meet another man- before this guy had asked her to be exclusive. She had told him she was going on vacation with me. Apparently he wanted to know more about that vacation. I told her she should tell him that what's past is past and if he's worried about it, then that is not a good sign. And that if she wanted to come clean, to fess up, she should tell him that his expectations made her afraid to tell him, but she doesn't want secrets and to come clean, stating that it wasn't clear that they were exclusive and it was a miscommunication, and made it clear to her what she did want. But if she wanted to drop it, to remember that the more she thinks about it, the more she's inviting questions (since apparently at this point, it had just sort of come up in passing). Well, apparently her worrying on it brought the laws of attraction into play, and the subject came up and she probably acted nervous so he asked more and she admitted she'd danced with other men, and he said he wanted to go back to Kuwait because she'd lied to him. The next day, she emailed to say that she'd admitted to him that she slept with someone while she was in Florida. So, as you can imagine, that isn't going well. Her emails started with "Don't reply to me" and I imagine he'll be around if she's on the phone so I can't really respond with any support. I doubt she'd like my advice anyway... I think that conditional love is not really a prize and so if he leaves because of this, then she needs to look inside for what she can learn from it and know that it wasn't all that she had hoped for. I am thinking positive thoughts her way, that she will be okay regardless of the outcome.

On the topic of my love life... Mr. Romantic called on Friday around 5:30. Which is really unusually early. I was upstairs and didn't hear the phone go off, so I got it about 20 minutes later and called back. He was kind of quiet and said he was in a funk. I asked if he wanted to talk about it, and he did. We talked for 2 hours til his phone battery was about dead, waited 2 hours for it to recharge, and then talked for 2 more hours. He's having a really rough time with so many aspects of his life. And he's realizing he's angry, and he does have good reasons to be angry, but he doesn't know what to do with it. I let him vent, and I asked him if I could share some observations and experiences, and he said okay. He got quiet and said, "Usually it's me giving this kind of advice." I told him I know, but we all need to hear it sometimes. And that I have faith in him that he'll come up with the solutions he needs, it just takes time and faith to get through. It was hard for me because I want to be there for him, but I don't want him to think I think he needs fixing- I don't. I might be able to remind him of tools he hasn't thought of, but he knows what's best for him. He said he was sorry he couldn't come this weekend, due to having the work thing (which was voluntary, and he had forgotten he had volunteered), but he said it was probably better since he needed to just be alone with his emotions. I told him I hope he knows I care about him and he's important to me, and I don't want him to ever experience me as pressure. I told him that of course I want to see him, but I'm a grown woman and I can wait when he needs time for himself. He thanked me and said he looked forward to talking again the next night. He texted me once in the morning and then at night, he texted to say that he was tired, and could we wait. I told him no problem; fact was, I was pretty tired, too. But today he was completely silent. Not sure if I should call and check in, or just wait. I hate not knowing the right thing to do. I am guessing if he is taking his space, he needs his space. He was very, very open with me about very personal stuff, I just hope he doesn't regret that and want to distance himself from me. I've got my own baggage of needing to tell my brain to shut up and just let things be. I truly have come to believe in letting go, so that you know it's meant to be if it comes back- even though I struggle with it. I have already grown so much from being around him and from observing my reaction to him; I am better off for the time we have shared.

Yesterday I spent all day at an event with some of my oldest and dearest friends, so that was great. But, it was a long day and I sure was tired when it was through!! ZZZZ!! This morning I had church, then chores, then downloaded pictures/videos to fix up and then upload, watched a movie, baked cookies, and kept myself busy. Now my kids (all two of them) are in bed and it'sonly 9:30 and I'm sleepy, and feeling sad since I don't know what to do with myself. I guess I'll get my book and go upstairs and read until I fall asleep, and leave it at that.

Somehow she cannot feel the rain

Though she is walking through

The curtain of the storm and

Around her people scurry

Concerned and huddled under

Black umbrellas, clutching their

Belongings beneath their

Arms and the streets around her

Fill to overflowing and her

Shoes fill and her socks become

Waterlogged and her jeans and

Hair weigh heavy but she shakes

Her head as though it is nothing,

Oblivious, and she holds her

Head high, mesmerized, as

She feels the sand in her heart,

The scorch of the sun on her shoulders

And she listens to the song of the

Desert and the whispering wind

I did not have a good morning. My mom has been pretty critical of me yesterday and today. I haven't had a lot of sleep. That isn't a good thing. She refuses to correctly say one of my children's name, and it's a very simple name. It bothers him a lot. So I asked her to please call him by the correct name and she started making a bunch of excuses about why she can't say it right. I know they are excuses beause we had the same problem two years ago with another of my children's names, and when I got pissy at her, she practiced and nearly always gets it right. So she's going on and on about her excuses and I finally just looked at her and said, "Well, then you must be fucking retarded if you can't tell the difference between 'i' and 'e'." My kids' eyes got really big and two of them were trying to keep straight faces and not burst out laughing. No one dares speak back to my mother, she has that kind of personality. Except maybe their mother when she's had enough. I'm not proud of the lack of eloquence, but it had to be said. Nobody makes you feel like you're 3 again like your mom. Sigh!!  We put ourselves in the adult equivalent of time out and an hour later everything was back to status quo. She still mispronounced his name, and I bit my tongue.  

She stands at the precipice

Gazing down to the vastness

In the chill dawn air

She feels the soft, gray down

Of feathers, shafts massaging

Down her skin as she

Gently vents her wings

And breathes deep, the

Beginning sounds of morning

Traffic just beginning as she

Closes her eyes, squeezes,

Then opens, refocuses;

The depth of the canyon

And the shadow of coyote

As they pick among the

Cactus and scrubby mesquite

For night’s last unlucky foragers

The promise of breakfast

Before returning to their lairs

And she breathes deep again,

Holding her breath and opens

To the sound of the surf, the

Waves breaking on the rocks

Far below and she raises her wings

Sucks in her breath, stills the

Sheer winds that bluster through

Her mind until there is only

Stillness and resolve and she

Leans to begin her descent when

She hears voices behind her,

Jarring, shouting, “Stop!”

She sees their uniforms, a

Name tag, proclaiming, “Smith”

Arms grabbing, winds returning

She fights, feathers shred from

Her wings and she cries, the pain

As each nerve cries out and she

Hits and tells them it’s ruined

It’s gone, for morning was her

Time to fly and she feels

Sharp pain then nothingness

Until she awakens to the buzz

Of fluorescent lights, her eyes

Unfocused, her mind full of

Cotton and pain upon her shoulders

Where her wings used to be and

She swings her feet around, sitting up

A wave of nausea grips her, she finds

She is naked except the blue white gown

Inside she rages and she places

One foot gingerly upon the linoleum

That ugly, pale green white splotched

1970s hideous linoleum and she winces

At the cold against the bareness of her

Foot and she finds her face is wet with

The tears she must have cried when

They tore her from the ocean mists and

She listens to the sounds, she imagines

She is in the emergency room, a busy

Hospital, an orderly, perhaps assigned to

Watch her, sleeps with a magazine like

A scarecrow but she does not take the

Bluff and she pulls her gown tightly around

Her, she sees the red pooling on the tiles

Dripping down her back where she is certain

The stumps of her wings must be, for

She can not feel her them, she feels

Only outrage as she can not sense that

Familiar downy massage as she tries

To vent wings no longer there, she

Breathes deep and stills her mind, then

Darts into the corridor, out into the day

Where she blends into the crowds, the

Honking horns, the rising exhaust smell

Her pace slows to leisurely cadence

And her smile rises slowly for she

Realizes that they may have stolen her

Wings but for the moment, she is free