New Light

"I haven't seen you in like, forever, where have you been?" He said to me last evening, late, thus opening the door to the inevitable banter about this, that, the weather, how long it's taking summer to get the hint and scram, you know... the predictable chatter between a man and a woman who have just a casual work related interest in one another. I answered, the usual, training, writing, moving, vacations not spent in the pursuit of all things happiness. He knew already, everyone does. "And your husband?" Three words, braced with the hint of danger.

"He's good... now." Standard reply, but this man knows me better than that. A raised eyebrow, a twitch of facial muscles, "Now?" I begin to explain the tedium and complexity of the numerous trips to the hospital, the surgeries, the pain, the recovery, the dreaded superbug, it's aftermath and finally the long, slow, painful and yet delightful and lovely road to recovery. He nods appreciatively throughout and I see something in him that has gone lacking in others. An understanding? A flicker of self discovery perhaps? It seems I've never really given this man credit for the depth that I've only now discovered. I wonder why I didn't see it before.

This man and the handsome husband are roughly the same age - give or take a couple months, they served the Army at the same time, same function and same base, they each have brothers, they almost look like they could be brothers, they have wives and each has a daughter. Both know how it feels to be separated from that female offspring for a period of time. Yes, there is understanding, there is the what-if-it-were-me thoughts, there is compassion and I'm left seeing this man, who typically gives out nicknames and makes a thousand cute jokes as he breezes past, in a completely different light now. And I find myself thinking that it's good, very good, once in a while to discover someone with such a special soul still exists in the universe.

50 Words - The Voices

The true casualties in this business are the voices that never leave my head. Years pass, memories fade, the sharpness of their realities dulls my brain, but each of their voices remain strong, clear, and daunting, whispering their sad tale, crying out their pain, lamenting their fate, each one unique and distinct.

Molasses

I found a jar of molasses on sale at the store tonight as I wandered about with my basket half full and my mind half empty of ideas for dinner. I love dark, robust black-strap molasses. Especially on cornbread. Some people use honey, butter, jam, whatever, just not me. My Dad always taught us to save our square of cornbread until we had finished the rest of our meal, usually Mom's fabulous chili and salad. And then he showed us how to lay it out in two perfect half slabs in the middle of the round dinner plate, dab on a smear of soft butter, and drizzle the thick, dark, rich syrup over it until it began to sink into the spongy square and puddle on the plate. I fondly recall the gooey forkfuls of contrasting textures and tastes. The slight crunch and blandness of the bread, the pungent, spicy almost dangerous tang of that mysterious liquid. It was always such a satisfying end to a delicious meal. Memory upon memory raised to greet me and I realized I was still standing in the middle of the baking isle holding this hefty jar of precious nectar. I love the jars, either green or yellow labels depending on variety. Robust or black-strap. I love them both equally, one's just a tad more complex and mysterious than the other. So I tossed it casually into my basket and bought it even though we already had part of a jar at home. Impulsive? Perhaps so. But oddly satisfying nonetheless. The jar at home was larger, mostly empty I reasoned, plastic and with a screw top that never stuck. I hate jars that stick and hurt my hands to open them. When I got home I opened the new jar and poured its contents into the one I already had, the jar that pleased my hands. It's a quirk of mine... an odd one I know. But I have to have things organized and in order. Two partial jars of anything... and that's what would have happened eventually when I could no longer resist the pull and the whisper of the new jar, would drive me insane. So when it was full and the new one empty, I went to screw the lid on the empty and toss it in the trash. The smell... that wonderful, spicy, rich and deep smell that I love assaulted my senses. And that's when it hit me. You remind me of molasses. After all these years... who knew?

50 words - Unsex

"So long." I lamented the length of time it's been since I've made love, "We're talking years now... plural." Disgust. Anger. Emotions long denied come flooding forth. "Self love, that's what it's all about." Laughter. A blend of feminine and masculine. "Who are you trying to convince... me or yourself?"

Hit Upon

Eastbound on the title street of my city, in rush hour traffic, sitting oddly still at a green light at the corner of 56th Ave, enjoying a catchy tune on the radio and the warmth of the early fall sun, on my cell catching up the days events with my bff, I look to my left and see a small silver car. It's westbound, but the streets in the midst of downtown are narrow and as we are both occupying the inside lane, it's occupant and I are but arms length apart. We could indeed reach out and touch one another, and I do believe that is his intention. The driver, obviously is male, and cute too. I recall a polo shirt, a glimpse of denim, close cropped blond hair, a slim face, bright white smile and blue eyes. He smiles. I smile back, I think. I am wearing dark glasses and an oversize peach t-shirt so I know he can't see me... at least not much of me. He scribbles something on a business card and hold it up. I can't see all of it, but I'm sure it is a phone number. He nods. I raise my eyebrows, mildly amused, and I tell my bff what is happening. We enjoy a chuckle which this man takes as my interest in his antics. He motions for me to roll down the window and holds the card out for me to take. I decline politely with a flash of wedding rings and drive on. A first for me I think... being hit upon in rush hour traffic on a Friday afternoon.

50 Words - Answers (a deux)

The simple questions she can answer without thinking will never be as important as those things which only one can learn by mistake. That's the crux of it really. It's what I meant when I said you cannot compare shallow textbook learning and memorization to the depths of my experience.

For along with those experiences come a mryiad of memories, indescribably joys, sheer pain, unthinkable losses, relentless grief, and ocassionally rage. Through the haze of disorganization, confusion and anguish comes speed, agility, ability and attitude; all things you know nothing of. When you begin to develop those, we'll talk.

50 Words - Velveteen Rabbit

Abandoned on a high shelf like an out of favor toy. Mostly forgotten, largely discarded, lonely and alone. Remembered once in a blue moon, when the urge strikes out of the blue. Hope springs, a smile graces my face, only to be dashed as you return me to my place.

50 Words - Sit Still Please

"Stop it! Let me go!" Punctuated pointedly, heatedly as she pries her tiny arm from my grasp. I glance around the waiting room. "Help me!" She shrieks, eyes flashing, darting, searching for a sympathetic soul to rescue her from this distress. My daughter is a two-year-old drama queen.

50 Words - Rembrandt's Light

"You've an old soul, where have you been?"
Face to face with her for the first time,
sizing each other up, I see us both in a new
light. It's the sunset's shadow, our history
together in this brief eternity. She's
Rembrandt's light, his lost love, his wife.
She is me.

50 Words - Art Of Good Phone

"Perv." Softly, she chuckled into the phone.

"You're as bad as I." He countered, the smile on his face evident despite the miles separating them.

"And you love it." She stretched, yawned, righted herself in the middle of her big brass bed pulling the linens with her.

"Indeed I do."

50 Words - Go Away

Eyes darting. Lips quivering. Sniffle. Pout. "Go away?" she asks solemnly - wide eyed. I point out the fish, ferrets, cats, humans; all still here. "Where Daddy?" whispered from the verge of tears. "Daddy go away." Hugs and tears all around. "I go away too?" Oh no my pet, never that.

50 Words - Everyone Has Secrets

With a distinctly feminine flair, scrawled in fat black ink, down low and at an angle, on the right wall of a bathroom stall, in a Goodwill store in Sun City, Arizona, on a totally random early Thursday evening: "After 40 years, I still love him and it kills me. "

75 Words - Chaos Theory

TV blaring. Street noise. Children screaming. Horns honking. Freight train rumbles past. Phone ringing. "You've got mail" shrieked from a far. Blackberry beeps and vibrates. I pay them no mind. Somewhere a stereo set too loud shorts out, "In my daughter's eyes I am a hero. I am strong and wise and I know no fear. But the truth is plain to see. She was sent to rescue me." And yes, I am deeply grateful.

Tell me no lies.

I read a blog post recently about what won't ever happen between a woman and her lover. She seemed to be almost mourning all those routine and mundane things - waking up together, having breakfast, discussing your day, chores, kid raising, falling asleep intertwined and generally falling in love.

I think she missed the spiel in life that says there's a difference between taking a lover and falling in love - one is about you and the other about someone else entirely. And the distinction is an important one. It's what keeps you sane in the face of sheer and overwhelming madness. It's the hesitation that keeps you from jumping off the cliff with both feet when you haven't considered how much damage the landing will do. It's what keeps you realistic when your heart rushes off on some wild impulse to see how green the grass is in the neighbor's yard. And most days I think the yard next door only looks so damn fabulous because I don't have to tend it. My yard? Hmm... it has some rough spots, some weeds, it constantly needs attention and watering, but the point is... it's mine and I chose it for reasons that don't have to make sens to anyone else. It brings me comfort, it treats me with kindness, affection and care. Most days it is exactly what I need whether or not I wish to admit it.

There's no saying that your lover can't or won't ultimately become the love of your life... it happens, but if you've already found the great love of your life, wouldn't you want to keep your carefully chosen lover in a whole separate place in your heart? And if you've found a great playmate and they occupy a wonderful place in your life and your heart, then why spoil it by taken them down off their pedestal and making them routine?

I think she also missed the notion that life is about possibilities and given time anything is possible too. It's not the point here.. the point was that she's bitching about having been given a rare opportunity to share a part of her that most people have no notions of. Why complain about being fortunate? Why whine because you can have both sides of the isle? But if she really wants a lifetime and not just the here and now I suppose it could ultimately be possible. And people always amaze me when they dismiss something simply because they never took the time to think it through. Would it be difficult and possibly painful all around? Sure. Would it be worth it to her? Perhaps. Not for me to decide. But impossible? Certainly not.

And yes... I'm the girl who asks why not, when being told no. So the simple answer to that is... just don't tell me no. It'll shut me up as sure as sliced bread is supposed to be the best thing since... hmm... I wonder what?

Normal

Besides the quip that goes 'normal is that half way point between what you want and what you're going to get' just what is normal? And why do the masses confuse normal with the statistically typical?

My mom started this you know.... when she said, if everyone else was jumping off a bridge would you do it to? No mom, of course not. But then again, now that I'm officially grown up, she says to me... by your age everyone has their career in hand, so it's time you had children, bought a home and settled down. Everyone??? or just because it's the statistically typical thing to do, I should be doing it? Yeah... that I think.

So here I am, stepping of that bridge... had the kid, managing the career and now... yeah, venturing forth into the dreaded process of buying a home. Yikes!

There's even a website now... for those of us normally challenged folks... www.isitnormal.com So you can indeed ask the question if something in your life is normal and get a pat answer. Ugh.

Fifty Words - Hope (Twice)

I heard her say it: When hope is all you have left, all you really have is hope. So said the woman who'd never been there, never lived perched precariously on the edge of that cliff. The truth is, when hope is all you have left, you really have nothing.

Continuing on...

Once you reach the point where hope remains the one constant in your existance, the commodity quickly becomes more than you can afford. Like the grand house on the hill, the dream car, the luxe furnishings: you can reach out blindly, stretch beyond your limits, but you'll never quite reach.

First Kiss

I get lost in the innocence of a first kiss.

Sometimes the most random of lines in a simple song are enough. I found myself lost deep in thought at the red light of a freeway on ramp. A horn honk from the frustrated man behind me in the shiny silver suv brought me back to reality. But I can't stop thinking about the spell that first kiss casts over a relationship. A man once said to me, "there's no second chance at a first kiss." Words so powerful I remember them, cling to them, allow them to wrap me tightly and take me away, all these years later. It was low, husky, matter-of-fact and it was intense.

And the moment? That not-totally unexpected, do you want me as much as I want you, first kiss? On a warm spring mid-day, in the midst of a tranquil field, sitting on a picnic bench watching the world go by and thinking of nothing but the sun on your shoulders and the splendor of the impending moment. Lips soft and gentle, yet a little demanding. Mine yielding and soft. The thoroughly masculine scent of soap and aftershave. Feeling the softness of a cotton tee shirt tight across his chest and bulging biceps as I run my fingertips lightly across him. Listening to the low slow moans of pleasure derived from finally breaking the anticipation to taste someone new, someone different. And when it was over and we could both step back and blink, breathe and think... he said to me, "such a nice mouth, I knew it would be." And I was lost once more in that moment.