The Amazing Kreskin...

Communication.

Not a day in our lives we don't use it...  and despite a wealth of practice...

the majority of us suck at it!

Prime example...

A couple of months after our protracted break up, Navy, the 5 year, got really pissed at me...  the cause?  The conclusion of our protracted break up saw him moving out of the home we'd shared for 4 1/2 of 5 years, telling me he didn't know what he wanted and saying he just needed more time to figure things out.

More time than the two plus months he'd already been hemming and hawing...  more time on top of the SIX months prior to that he'd evidently already been "thinking about it"... 

At which point I found myself explaining it was utterly selfish, self-centered, and absolutely not ok to keep me on hold until he could "figure out what he wanted" and that the time had come to essentially shit or get off the pot...

To which he replied, and I quote, "Ok.  We are officially and permanently broken up then." (funny how thing like that burn into your brain for eternity, huh?)

Sooo...  a few weeks later, with Navy still in contact and no lasting nastiness between us once the breakup dam had broken, I started going out with a fellow who's the brother of a friend...

A couple of weeks later, the brother and I are out and Navy texts...  my response evidently makes clear I'm distracted or not giving my undivided attention so Navy asks if I'm out with someone...

"Yes," I said, "what're you doing?"...

Silence...

Until the next day...

At which point he totally whigs out, proceeding, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth, to tell me he didn't think we were really broken up...

Flaming bat-balls, Batman, are you SERIOUS?!

But...  um...  but you saaaid... "We are officially and permanently broken up."

"Yeauh, but I thought were we were still exclusive since we were doing stuff..."

Whaa...?!  We don't talk on the phone, we don't go out to movies or dinners, we don't visit each other's homes...  we do nothing together outside what we do together with our families (our folks are old family friends).  WHAT, in the name of all that's holy, would give you the idea that we are anything other than exactly what you said?!

"Well, because I figured you knew I didn't really mean it."

Now I know there was more than one issue there - the biggest being that Navy-dog just didn't want any other dogs peeing on his tree so he freaked a little when one came sniffing...

But the more problematic issue - encountered not just with partners but with kids, friends, co-workers, etc. - is this...  why are we SO often sure that the people around us can "tell" what we mean, what we're thinking, what our intentions are?  Why are we so positive of that in the face of so much misunderstanding?!

Lord knows I've been guilty of it and still am from time to time...  but after my previously blogged about trip to the bottom I was in some excellent talk therapy/counseling and one of the topics we of course covered was communication...

I came from the school of we've-known/been-together-a-long-time-and-shared-some-pretty-deep-shit, why should I have to spell things out?  

Doc Edgar's position:  Because if you don't, they simply won't know because they are not mind readers, not clairvoyant...  the end.

=-/

Now if you know me, you know I argued mightily against this concept with the theory that if, for instance, you've known me for 30 years, been in more trouble with me than Butch & Sundance got into together, we've held each other's hands through the best and worst life has to offer...  well then you damned well know who I am and how I think.  Unless you're a moron.  In which case, I'd've cut you loose long before the 30 year mark.  Right?

But in the end, Doc E prevailed...  mostly because I eventually realized how often I don't aaaaactually read minds very well myself...  ;)

So I learned to tell the people in my circle the things, however elementary, I want to be sure they know/understand...

And here's where I run into my first problem...

If I've learned to tell people what I need them to know, but they haven't learned that same thing, they often don't recognize what I'm doing so there's still an issue...

"I have to go pick up XYZ, since we're supposed to be at your mom's in 45 and this will take me about an hour and a half, why don't I meet you there?"

"No, no, I'll wait so we can go together, it won't take that long."

"Ok, but I really think it'll be about an hour and a half."

"I'll wait."

"Ok."

An hour and a half later I'm back...  and guess what?

The other party's pissed because it didn't take the 45 minutes they thought it should despite the fact I saaaaaaid...

And then argument ensues because they didn't "hear" me...  they listened, but didn't hear.

Communication.

A secondary problem with this basic concept comes in because of what I think's the difference between men and women...

When I tell the women in my circle the things I want to make sure I'm clear about, they're appreciative and often reciprocate with equally open communication and very little ambiguity and everyone's pretty happy.  Win, win.

When I tell the men in my circle the things I want to make sure I'm clear about, they have often acknowledged absently and then when something goes wrong or is misunderstood... we find out they didn't really listen, understand, or ask questions...  or they were just convinced I was wrong...  and they get defensive and/or angry.

Wait...

What?

Is it the genetic code we're all hard-wired with?  Do women respond to me being clear and open because we are sewing-circle talkers, fixers... we "hear" and solve the problems of the world verbally because we're wired that way and throughout history have moved in social, reciprocally supportive groups?  

While men, with their autonomous caveman/warrior genetic codes are predisposed to simply beat a problem into submission, wasting very little thought or verbiage on it aside from some grunts of exertion...?  Do they respond in the vaguest of ways because they are either unable or unwilling to "hear"?

And when there's a breakdown, why does the communication not then kick in so the parties can sort through the muck...?  More mind reading?

Regardless, I slowly unlearned communication during my 5 years with Navy...  plodding through the days and weeks learning to again bottle up the things I thought or felt because when I was open and communicated, even about the simplest things, there always seemed to be a criticism or put down when an issue arose...  criticisms and negativity, usually quickly followed by admonitions that I should've known...  then vicious arguments to drive the point home, laying "fault" squarely on my doorstep to the point that even I began to believe I was the problem because I didn't "just know"...

Aversion therapy, isn't that what they call it?

Lemme tell ya, it worked...  recently I had a small snafu where communication got tangled, things didn't go as planned, there was momentary unhappiness and in response I felt myself - instead of communicating to untangle - automatically backing away, shutting down & closing up like a steel door was swinging shut...  it felt like a physical struggle to keep it from happening...

Aversion therapy to communication:  the people you care for or love tell you you're wrong often enough and/or give you enough negative response about the things you communicate, you quit communicating...  and in Navy's case, the other party wasn't communicating but expected me to "know" anyway and when I didn't...  well...

Anyway...  recognizing these things, and recognizing that I've unlearned what I knew about it, I've been trying to learn to communicate again over the last couple of years since we parted, however simple the subject...  

And it's slow...  and sometimes simple misunderstandings happen...

And sometimes, the aversion therapy genre makes an appearance and I am momentarily crippled and I find myself clamming up tighter than a mashed bull's ass...

But I have to communicate...

However simple...

Whatever the reaction when it breaks down...

And I know I have to because I know that even if communication doesn't always flow in, it's up to me to make the effort to make it flow out  and not expect those in my universe to be mind readers or clairvoyants... 

I'll Take Lies for a Thousand, Alex...

Things suck a little mentally lately...

Relationships and romance are on my mind more than at any other time in my life, I can't decide if it's a natural by-product of being single or just a natural progression of self-awareness that comes with age and that would be what it is regardless of my relationship status, and I can't seem to find an answer to the puzzle...

Either way... 

I have two friends, one on each end of the relationship meter, who've really tweaked my pique...

The first is in her 30's, married once and divorced, young son, career, etc.  She's a pretty girl and has an extremely outgoing personality.  She's "chrome"...  high maintenance, flash, likes nice things, not big on introspection and surprisingly (to me, anyway) comes across as somewhat insecure and in need of lots of reassurance.

The other is in her 40's, married almost 20-some years, three almost adult children, career, etc.  She's a pretty woman and is subdued in her personality.  She's low maintenance, "experienced", not easily ruffled, introspective and intuitive, needs reassurances but also bears a confidence borne of experience.

And despite the different perspectives, both have views of relationships that shock the ever livin' crap outta me...

Like every girl I know, they want lasting love with a sensitive, smart, funny man.

But then...

The 30-ish friend tends towards dismissive, negative objectification (which, holy shit, a teeny sliver of me loves if for no other reason than its rarity) of men who run approximately a decade younger than she does.

The 40-ish friend loves the man she's spent more than half her life with, but tends towards an overall neutral or negative attitude towards him.

30 uses young men like tissues, thinking nothing of "having a good time and then cutting him loose".

40 is content in her life and family but is as happy without hubby around as with, focusing instead on caring for extraneous kids and friends.

Both wonder why they can't achieve happy in their relationships.

Frankly, both perspectives "feel" very lonely when I imagine them and I wonder why anyone would chose to live either way, bemoan it, and not do something to change it.  Introspection.  Work.  Put in some effort.

I mean, if you're negative in your thoughts and actions towards your partner, you're doomed to failure - I can't see any way around that.  Am I just naive to think that if you take some time and think back to how you felt when things were new, to the things that attracted you to each other, that you can grab 'hold of that feeling and take steps towards making things better?  Am I naive to think that give nice, get nice is the answer?  I don't know...

Anyway, both believe in the "what he doesn't know won't hurt him" philosophy if the topic is something that, of course, would get a spouse/s.o. in trouble with their partner.

And herein lies my problem.

A while back I found myself in a position with the fellow I was seeing at the time that, in my opinion, was something I had to tell him about.  It was likely to create an "issue" but I felt like I should be honest.

You see, I spent my young life as a liar of the first magnitude (a talent my mother says I inherited from my dad  LOL) and would lie about even the simplest things.  Problem was, I always seemed to get caught/tripped up/etc. and by my late teens/early 20's, realized it was causing me FAR more problem than if I just laid the truth out.  Cause and effect as I try to explain to my son.  So I was lucky to learn to suck it up, do the right thing and take it on the chin.  Now don't get me wrong - the urge is always there...  who doesn't want to avoid upset/hurt if it's possible?  It was just that it left me feeling horrible on the inside and it wasn't worth it to me (which is pretty selfish in and of itself).

So...  as girls will do, I polled a handful of my girlfriends looking for the support to spill my guts...

I talked it over with 30 and she immediately said "Lie.", and after more conversation wherein I explained more fully how it affected me to lie, she said "I don't care.  Lie.  He doesn't need to know, to hell with him, it's your life, Honey, who cares what he thinks."

Hmmh.

Ok.  Moving on.

I told 40.  Her response was "Don't tell him.", and after conversation reiterated "Don't tell him, no need to make him mad or hurt his feelings; he'll never find out.", and after more conversation  me explaining how it affected me, she said "Well, maybe you're right but I still wouldn't tell him. I've been through that and it wasn't worth it."

And in the end, none of the girlfriends I talked to were in favor of honesty.

Double hmmh.

Now...  in case you're wondering...  I told him.

I decided 25 years ago I'd never live my life as a liar again to the extent I could avoid it - and a lie by omission is still a lie - and I just can't imagine that living a life with someone you can't be honest with would be much of a life in terms of connecting.  Especially if it's really big, important stuff...  and if you're already covering up the little shit...  well...  you know?

BUT...  it really put a pall over the idea of what relationships should be as a whole for me.  It explained a lot to me as to why I've been lied to so many times over the years...  to avoid hurting my feelings, to avoid making me mad...  and more than that...  to save the liar the drama.  And it made me wonder if my expectations are unrealistic.

Can I ever expect a lover or significant other to be totally honest with me when the chips are falling or are down?  Can I expect them to be brutally honest even if it's going to hurt my feelings, make me furious or cut me to the bone?

I would hope so because if I know something I can deal with it and let go...  if I'm lied to, there are questions and doubts and it's difficult to deal with and let go...  see??

And the thing is...  if you can't be honest with a partner about the little stuff or about the bad stuff... what do you really have with them?  There is no intimacy because to be honest is to be intimate.  And maybe that's why 30 and 40 have the negative, distant outlook on their partners that they do?

I don't know.  I just know that in my universe, selfishly, it makes ME feel better inside when I choose not to bullshit, lie, dissemble or omit and I just can't believe there aren't others like me out there...

Glitter in the Air...

I was lunching with my son after church Sunday when I got the call...  one of the fellows from my high school graduating class had died that morning...  the first of our class since our teens to my knowledge...  and it was surreal.

In the five short days since that call, so many things have happened and I've thought about so much...  I've wanted to write but couldn't quell the ADD jag of my thoughts; then I figured, what the hell...  so forgive me if this is a little "whompy-jawed"...

In the technological time that is now, it took only a matter of hours for the majority of our graduating class as well as other Cavalier classmembers to find out.  Within a day, I had the tentative visitation and burial information and hours after that, I had the concrete plans.

The wonder of it to me was not just that we were able to connect so many people so seamlessly, but that so many people then made it their mission to gather 'round for our fallen classmate and for his wife, another Cav alumnus.

In my 45 years, I've had a lot of anger and hurt over my personal relationships with my parents, each separately and alternately leaving me feeling unloved, unwanted, ignored, inadequate, or incapable of doing anything right.

When I was 15, my mother, who was responsible for the inadequate and incapable stuff, sent me to live with my dad, a man I never really knew prior to about age 14 and who was responsible for the unloved, unwanted, ignored stuff.  The first 15 years of my life with my mother and a step-dad who was in textiles, saw us move 9 times in 7 years and before she'd married him we'd been a few places as well...

As a child I'd learned how to put on "the face" and meet people, maturing with adults faster than my peers...  but I also learned not to connect with people...  if you connect and leave...  well...  it just hurts...  especially if home already hurts...

That said, it was probably the best thing my mother ever did for me.  For starters, I didn't really know my dad, so it was like staying at a stranger's home and for the first time in a long time I was kind of on my best behavior...  I still got in trouble but not like I had before...  and I was surrounded by good kids...  the adage my mother'd told me years before coming to fruition in my life...  water rises to its own level...  and I mostly did...

Living in this stable, if distant, house with my dad, step-mom & brother, and being integrated into this close-knit group of classmates, I learned for the first time what it was to feel some normalcy and security...  some freedom...  what it was not to be "the mommy" to my mother, what it was not to mother my siblings, what it was to have friends who knew all your bad stuff and good stuff and who had your back and loved you anyway...  what it was to do the harmless things kids do and have partners in crime and be a relatively normal teenager for a change...

I learned from my best friend's parents what it is to look at your child's best friend, take them in, and treat them and love them like they're your own (I'll never be able to adequately thank the Davenports or the Nimers for their generosity, love and guidance)...

And in this close-knit group of classmates I learned what it meant to really open my heart to another person and allow their friendship in completely - not to keep everything close to my chest for fear of separation and loss...

In the 31 years since then, life's been up and down...  and way down...  and I've learned and grown...  but the way down times have been so reminiscent of my younger years in some ways that I learned to shut down and hold things close to me again...

And all of that, and a little more, has been on my mind since we lost our classmate and friend Sunday...

He was 44 years old.  Now I'd thought about his age from the moment I got the call...  it was this abstract idea of "someone my age" is dead and gone...  but sitting in the church waiting for the service to begin, it hit me harder than a ton of bricks could've when I saw it in print on the funeral pamphlet.  Black and white.  Committed to paper.  44.  We're babies...  we're kids...  we're teenagers for Christ's sake, one of us cannot be gone to anything other than a freak accident...  certainly not to anything "natural"!

But he is.

And he left behind an amazing family...  he's italian...  and as so many traditional italian families are, his family is insanely close...  close enough that I'd be uncomfortable...  but that closeness breeds a love that I think is like pure undiluted concentrate...

And he left behind a wife...  the fellow classmate...  and two kids, ages 6 and 4...

And as I stood at the funeral home, looking at the sea of matured faces belonging to all those kids I loved way back then - the kids who accepted the new girl, standing beside her when jerks made lewd comments or snarky made-up stories about her reputation were circulated - and I realized as I never had in all those years in between...

This group of kids...  this group of mature adults...  they were all family...  close family...  and they'd do anything within their power to stand beside our widow and for our missing man...  and they are my family.  That's strong stuff for me.  Strong!

Now our lost classmate is one of those fellows who, as a friend worded it, never knew a natural enemy.  Every comment I heard or read - from family or "just" friends - was about how loving he was, how thoughtful, how sweet...  I'd only seen him during one period from the time we graduated until we got together to plan our 20 year class reunion, and that was when we planned our 10 year...  but it was like walking into a room to find one of your closest friends and picking up right where you left off...  he didn't know a stranger...  liked everyone and everyone liked him...  sly humor, ready smile, sweet nature, pure spirit...  and I think all of that was a direct result of his loving italian parents and family.  I think that pure undiluted concentrated love allowed him to, in turn, give the same to his own family and friends...  and thinking about that and seeing the overwhelming support of our school family made me see just what I've been missing...

I've closed myself off...  shuttered my insides to protect them...  it serves me fairly well...  but logically I know I'm missing so much warmth and love...

Our fallen classmate found love...  but only 7+ short years ago...  it was his first marriage...  she'd been a year behind us in school and was a pretty girl, very sweet, with big beautiful dark eyes, wavy chocolate hair...  but eclipsed in her mind I think by her Cali-girl, blonde haired, cheer leader sister...  never fully realizing her own potential and beauty...

And as I watched her at the funeral home doing the creepy-meet widows and widowers have to do, shaking hands, hugging, smiling and giving the "appropriate" and probably nauseating response to "How are you?" a thousand times over when what I think I'd want to do is crawl into bed and not ever come out...  my heart broke for her in slow, agonizing motion.

I ached at the thought that she'd had him for such a short time...  while at the same time smiling that he'd had that time, shared a love with her, brought children into his/their lives and their love...

And while I felt that ache, I also felt some envy...  as a "three time loser", I love love but it doesn't love me back very well and I found myself reviewing some of my mindsets from over the years on that in relation to myownself...

First, after my second marriage collapsed, I swore I'd never fall in love again (trite and cute all at the same time, huh?)...  that there was no such thing as "being in love", that monogamy was bullshit and didn't exist.

Then, after the third one burned to the ground and I got some counseling and found my sense of humor, I decided "practice makes perfect" so I'd just keep trying 'til I got it right...  I'm nothing, if not dogged after all...  ;)

After the collapse of the 5-year thingy a couple of years ago - the most emotionally damaging breakup of a relationship in my entire life, bar none - I found myself back where I'd been as a teen before moving to my dad's...  where I found myself after number two and over many of the years since...  closing off...  protecting...  shuttering...

And then my classmate, my friend...  this man who is a year younger than me...  then he died.

And I've found myself thinking almost non-stop...  in five short days, I've suddenly become blazingly cognizant of the moments when I have the opportunity to either open up or keep my cards close...  I struggle against the urge to protect...

But I don't want to keep my cards close...  I want to relax into the warmth and love of my friends, I want to relax into the warmth and love of that person who has that pure, undiluted concentrate of love that they're not crossing their arms over and protecting...

I have to be fearless...  and I have to look for that person who is fearless in return...  and in my universe, like my classmate and friend, when I find it, I want to let it in and roll around in it 'til I'm pruney...  I want to wallow in that pure undiluted concentrated love that will allow me to, in turn, give the same to those around me...

Like Joey did.

Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Close your eyes and trust it, just trust it
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face
And said I just don't care?

It's only half past the point of no return
The tip of the iceberg, the sun before the burn
The thunder before lightning, the breath before the phrase
Have you ever felt this way?

Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you're not alone
Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?
Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?

It's only half past the point of oblivion
The hourglass on the table, the walk before the run
The breath before the kiss and the fear before the flames
Have you ever felt this way?

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

There you are, sitting in the garden
Clutching my coffee, calling me sugar
You called me sugar

Have you ever wished for an endless night?
Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight
Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself
Will it ever get better than tonight? Tonight

Rules for Boys!

My friend, Kristy, has a most delightful little boy...  6 years old...  and a few months ago on FaceBook she posted this: 

So "N" and I had a conversation about having a boy as a friend and a boyfriend... He looked at me and very seriously said, "I'm a boy so let me help you."

Then he told me there are rules for girls. I ran and got my notebook so I could write them down. 

Rules for Girls

• Don't act crazy or boys will think you're freaky.
• No saying (he starts talking in his high girl-like voice), "I like.. and I like this.. I like..."
• When boys say "stop" they mean stop. (Ok- I think it's because he gets chased.)
• Don't make boys upset or they may leave or do something crazy like that.
• Boys like to listen to Rock & Roll music, and be in gangs (he means friends) and have lots of fun, & ride motorcycles, & talk, & make jokes, and play guitar.
• Boys like things that are off motorcycles and talk about other girls when they spot them. (hmmmm...)
• Boys like a lot of fun stuff.

Well, I think my 6 year old son has really captured the true simplicity of the rules. Now I must remember them! :) 

The more I thought about his rules the more I thought I should take a cue from this wise little man and give boys a few rules of their own from my universe and simple works here too...

• Don't act like you don't like the girls or the girls will find other boys who do.
• No saying (in my mimicking-a-guy voice) "My ex did this or my ex said that... ".
• When girls say "Don't stop"...  they meeeeean "Don't stop!".  ;)
• Don't make girls upset because they may leave and find other boys who won't.  (Am I onto a theme?)
• Don't spend ALL your free time with the boys listening to rock & roll music, being in gangs, having lots of fun riding motorcycles, talking, making jokes and playing guitar because girls will find other boys who don't.  (Yes, yes...  I see a definite trend here.)
• Girls like things that are on motorcycles, especially boys, and will talk about boys on motorcycles when they spot them.
• Girls like a lot of fun stuff.  Like boys.  And motorcycles.

And there are more, only slightly more complicated...

• Girls, the good ones, would rather have the $15 handmade copper bubble wand you saw at the crafter's fair 6 months ago because you remember how much she loved it than she would the shiny jewelry store ring (you had them wrap) and cookie-cutter Walmart card you picked up on the way to your anniversary dinner...  the thought really does count.
• Girls need to cry...  let them...  you don't have to say a word or fix anything, just put your arms around them and let them spend themselves in your circle of security.
• When you ask what's wrong, girls will tell you...  asking, then mentally tuning to the Dodgers game will take you places you don't want to go...  acknowledge and offer your thoughts...  we don't care whether you agree, we just want to know you're engaged.
• Diamonds don't start cut and polished, keep an eye on the "plain" girls.
• Girls like the smell of a hard day's work on you but will drop you like a hot rock if you use that for an excuse for poor hygeine...  haircuts, manicured hands and feet, body wash and a little man-scaping go a long way.
• Girls like guys who can dress appropriately...  paint spattered cargo shorts and holey tee are fine for a bike ride but not for dinner out where there's silverware and linens.  Have a dress coat and slacks in the closet.  And dress shoes.  With socks.  That aren't white. 
• Girls want to know what's bothering you and help work it out.  It's against the essence of your handle-my-own-shit manhood, but throw them a bone once in a while.  If you can't, explain that and ask for understanding.  Girls understand.  We're good at it.  That's why we want to know what's bothering you.  And we want to know it's not us.  Or that it is.
• Girls want to know you love and want to protect them.  Give them a hand down the steps, send them an unexpected text, pull them close in a crowd, draw some x's and o's on the fogged bathroom mirror...  we just need to know you think of us in ways unrelated to obligation.
• Girls, the good ones, don't care how much you make.  If you are self-sufficient and take care of your own, you're golden.  It's because we can respect you.
• Girls, the good ones, don't mind doing guy-stuff.  Just don't ignore us while you're doing it.  Show us, teach us, talk to us about it...  we're interested in lots of stuff and want to be engaged in something you're interested in.
• Girls want you to share their interests...  you don't have to learn to quilt or bake puff pastries, but help pick the bathroom paint, read the book we're reading, go to the gym with us...  we just want to know you're engaged in something we're interested in.
• Girls need "alone time", too.
• Girls want you to like their family and friends.  If you don't...  pretend.  You can be civil once a month.  We do it for your pervy uncle Ted and your college room mate.
• Girls, the good ones, have corresponding faces for corresponding emotions...  happy, smile...  sad, frown...  watch the ones who don't, you won't be able to respect them.
• Girls want the truth.  No matter how much it hurts.  Because when you man-up, we can respect you.  And if we catch you in the lie, we will be soooo much more pissed. 
• Girls, the good ones, will eat a burger and drink a beer with you, watch Dodgeball and turn up the guitar rock.  We don't all hold out for caviar and Dom, theater or a quartet...  but the good ones are game for those too. 

Girls, in the end, just want that hunter-gatherer they can respect and it all boils down to that...  love us, be honest with us, protect us and take care of your own...  Girls, the good ones, will love you, be honest with you, protect you and take care of you back.

Jokers, Clowns and Other Stuff From the Middle

In the couple of months since my last entry I'd like to say I've been too busy doing amazing things to scribble, but the reality is my brain's just not been in the game.  Not for lack of material...  I just haven't "felt it" - my universe being Groundhog Day broken by occasional spurts of chaos.  But like getting back into the gym after a long break, I know that the thing to do is "just do it" (those damned Nike people, that should'a been my million dollar slogan!), so...

Mom's spinal surgery recuperation, Chapter 1... 

For a week and a half I slept on a love-seat/"sofa" in mom's claustrophobia-inducing two-bedroom, two bath apartment - which is a single bedroom and bath due to the volume of its contents.  Mother and her now dead "estranged" (they still did everything together, they just lived separately) husband, Tooie, are/were pack-rat hoarders the likes of which legends, or reality shows, are made of and after Tooie's death a few months back, hundreds of boxes and bags from his house (I toyed with "thousands" when estimating the bulk if that gives a hint) containing family treasures were sifted through and mountains of them ended up crammed onto every available surface and clogging every pathway in mom's already bursting apartment...  moving through it's a lot like crawling through a kid's play tunnel, though at least mom's not as bad as Tooie was since her 20 sets of candlesticks, 5 bottles of window cleaner, 8 china chickens, 150 wall-hung items, 12 file boxes of email printouts, 112 pieces of mercury glass, 26 totes of everything from gift bags to household tools, etc., etc., are all VERY neatly organized...  another sickness...

But I digress...  

Mom was medicated heavily when I arrived from Roanoke (she's in Annapolis, MD) - oxycodone and/or -deine, valium, various other meds, and mom's highly susceptible to them - so the moment I walked in the door there commenced a discussion about mom checking out of the hospital wherein she insisted repeatedly she wanted her clothes because she was ready to go home and the party of "they" couldn't make her stay...  it went something like this...  "Sarah, where are my clothes?", "Why do you want your clothes, mom?", "Because I'm checking out.", "You can't check out mom, you just had spinal surgery and your doctor hasn't cleared you yet has he?", "No, (insert whine) but I want to go home (insert insistent tone) and they can't make me stay...  now where are my pants?!", "I don't know mom but you're really groggy and I think you need to let me find a nurse or doctor and talk to them before we do anything.", "I want to go home!", "Mom, you can't even stand right now...", "Sarah, I want to leave, I want my pants!  Where are my PANTS?!", this in a borderline freak-out tone...  a few more go-'rounds like that...  I finally lose my patience and bark at her...  then, fortunately, the meds kicked back in to their full potential and the fight was over for a while.

Mom was only supposed to be in the hospital 2 to 3 days...  it was 5 before they finally released her.  The delay, a cripplingly painful melon-like fluid build-up on her knee that kept her from not only being able to get out of bed, but also from even being able to lay in any position that didn't cause considerable discomfort...  which necessitated more meds and talk from staff that she would be moved to a rehab facility because she was clearly unable to go home...  which brought on more vehement argument from her about home and rehab and her determination to go to one and refusal to go to the other...  it was wonderful.  Silver lining?  My seestor showed up a couple of hours after I got there with a bag full of magazines, playing cards and the old travel Battleship game which we immediately and with great nostalgic glee set up and played.  =)

Now as eccentric and argumentative as my mom is, times a thousand on meds, she knows what she knows about herownself...  
"Drain the knee.", she said...  "Your doctor's on vacay.", said they...  
"Drain the knee.", she said...  "The on-call's not in the hospital.", said they...   
"Drain the knee.", we said...  "We've called your doctor's office and the on-call but they haven't called back yet, we have to wait.", said they...
"Drain the knee!", we said...  "We're still waiting for the on-call to call us but we'll take you for an x-ray to see if there's fluid on the knee." (Seriously?  The melon doesn't tell you anything?  When it's happened before?  Reeeeally?), said they...
"Drain the knee!!", we said...  "The x-ray shows you have fluid on the knee, we just have to wait for the on-call to call.", said they...  
"REEEEALLY?!", I said...  "GIVE ME THE NUMBER TO THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE AND LET ME CALL THEM!", I said...  
"The doctor just called, he said he's coming in from vacay to drain the knee.", said they...
::smirksmirk::  said we...

She was standing within hours.  Corporate health care bureaucracy.  Shit.

So...  after the cute physical therapist I wanted to fix my seestor up with had a session with mom and cleared her to be released, they began the paperwork and told mom she was going home.  Mom who'd wanted to go home from first consciousness...  mom who argued for her pants...  mom who wanted to go home now...  mom who petitioned for her clothes, her pants, anything she could put on and leave in...  mom who insisted they couldn't keep her there...  mom who said she would, under NO circumstances, go to rehab...  

"Wait...  what?  They said I'm what??"  Sudden alarm.  "I can't go home, I'm not supposed to go home.  The physical therapist said I'm supposed to go to rehab!"  "Yes, mom, the physical therapist...  did you notice a ring, I wanna set Jen up with him...  you just had the session with told the nurse that since you can get up on your own steam and take some steps, you're cleared to go home now.", "But that isn't what he said to me!  I didn't notice a ring, I think he's single.  He said I had to do all these things before I could go!", "What things, mom?", "I don't know...  something about this and that and this and that I had to go to rehab.  So I know I'm not supposed to leave yet!", "I talked to the nurse mom, they're doing your paperwork now.", "Wait!  Are you sure??  That's not what he said!!", panic creeping in...

I told her I'd go talk to the nurse and physical therapist and confirm, knowing it was the only way, and set out down the hall with my seestor a few steps behind telling me we should just tell her she's going home and be done.  Brief confab with seestor to say I know mom's control-freak self will not accept the answer unless it comes straight from Cutie-pie p.t., "And besides, he's cute, you should play kissy-face with him."...  seestor agrees - on the confirmation, not the kissy-face - we confirm with nurse and request tete-a-tete with Cutie-pie p.t. (who the nurse seemed to want desperately to guard in his little locked p.t. room - is that to keep folks out or patients in?! - since she kept saying "I think he's gone...  I think he's getting ready to leave...  I think he's going home now...", "Just get him...", said we, "unless you want to argue it with our mom."  Nurse promptly throws Cutie-pie p.t. under the bus and he's in mom's room in minutes.  heheheh).  Cutie-pie p.t. assures mom that what he said was if this happened and that didn't and this did, then she would've had to go to rehab but since that wasn't the case, she was walking fine, she could go...  mom, o' lady of the pants, vixen of vexation, dame of determination, tries to persuade Cutie-pie p.t. that he hadn't actually cleared her to go home but he's goooood...  patient...  firm...  and we finally roll her out.

Of course, by this time, it's 5:00 p.m. on Friday and everything in the hospital closes at 5:00 so not only can we not get her a walker, a necessity in the days to come, but we can't get a wheelchair for her either - an immediate necessity as I can't, small as she is, carry her silly, drugged up self to the car.  To add to the challenge of the game, the departments we'd get them from are closed 'til Monday  ::sigh::  Eventually, the sweet young nurse wrangles a new-with-tags walker that she had no idea how to "record" (presumably for inventory and a bazillion dollar charge to the insurance company) and we're off...  I've decided we'll just put mom in a computer chair from the computer lab at her building and roll her upstairs.  My seestor's abandoned us for much needed rest in the midst of the the walker/wheelchair fiasco so it's just me and mom driving home in my 4x4 Escape...  not a smooth ride, definitely not suitable for a spinal patient.  We did 25 mph the whole way home.

Mom's spinal surgery recuperation, Chapter 2...  

The next 7 days, locked in mom's apartment amid the mountains of mom's and Tooie's stuff all kind of ran together...  and was emotionally draining...  the catalyst definitely bourne of mom's oxycodone...  she was a source of great mirth as well as great upset for me while she was on it.  Funny...  the party of "they" say alcohol is truth serum...  so too, evidently, is oxycodone.

Anyway, my first FaceBook post was "Mom + oxycodone = hilARIOUS conversations!  =)"

Which was the result of mom swearing by God and all that's holy that SOMEONE has spiked (I loved the word "spiked", denoting some malicious canning company conspiracy) her canned, jellied cranberry sauce.  She was heavily sedated but she was tenacious when she slurrily insisted "My cranberry sauce is hot!  It's spicy, Sarah!", "It's not spicy, mom, it's ok.", "I'm telling you, Sarah, it's spicy!  Someone has spiked it with something hot!  I can't eat it!!", "Mom, it's the cranberry sauce from the can that you, yourownself, opened...  it's not spicy." ::taking a taste::  "It's not spicy, mom, try another bite...", "Sarah, I'm TELLING you, someone put something spicy in it and I can NOT eat it!!!", "Ok, ok, mom!"  I took it away but served it to her the very next day, waiting expectantly...  as she ate every bite.  ;-D

Then there was her "coffee".  She uses the biggest coffee cup I've ever seen - big ol' pottery-type mug - and she shovels in powdered creamer and sugar until there's, NO exaggeration, about an inch and a half of stuff in the bottom of the cup...  then she pours her coffee in from the pot.  What she ends up with is a viscose coffee-flavored syrup that makes my head hurt just to take a sip.  I've set her up in her bed with mountains of pillows to recline on, hold her head, elevate her arms, prop her leg on...  I've put everything she says she needs beside her on the bed, most of which she didn't need and which took up the whole other side of the mattress, but which she insisted she might need and what would she do if I weren't there to get it for her?  Seriously mom?  I took a week and a half off work, I'm going nowhere soon!  =-/  I've run a rut in the carpet ferrying child-sized helpings of food and drink back and forth from the kitchen when she's finally hungry or thirsty and, on this particular occasion, had ferried the industrial sized bottle of powdered creamer and the sugar bowl back to her, along with her empty mug and a spoon.  In go heaping spoonfuls of creamer and sugar and, when the mound meets sufficient height requirements, I shuttle it all back to the kitchen and pour her coffee in, which she insists I MUST bring back to her to stir.  So I do.  Against my better judgment, I do.  I pull the folding table over, set the coffee, coaster, napkins, spoon, etc. up on it, make sure it's close enough for her to reach it, and watch as she, who refuses to allow me to help, proceeds to sink her spoon into the goopy mess and begin to stir, sloshing small rivulets of it over the edges of the mug to the napkins underneath...  I watch, relaxing somewhat that there's no catastophy, as she puts it down, puts the spoon down, rearranges a couple of things on the bed beside her as we chat - she, groggy from the constant flow of oxycodone - and then clumsily picks the mug back up...  "Let me help you, mom, you're looking a little sleepy.", "I'm perfectly fine, Sarah, stop fussing over me!"

it took about 3 seconds...

she takes a small sip, drunkly commenting to me about the TV show she's "watching", and almost instantly she drifts off to sleep and proceeds to spill the coffee down her front.

Second FaceBook post:  "Mom + Oxycodone = coffee spilled down her front when she falls asleep sitting up because she insists she's perfectly fine...  ;)"

::sigh::

Then there's our Thanksgiving feast.  As previously scribbled, mom was very excited that before she went into the hospital she'd gotten sliced turkey from the deli for Thanksgiving "feast" sammiches...  and...  AAAND...  wait for it...  "mashed potatoes in a tub!!"  =)  By Sunday she's regained enough strength and sobriety that she wants to have our Thanksgiving "feast"...  followed by the eggnog - bourbon spiked of course - she had us pick up the morning after she came home when she insisted she was well enough despite spinal surgery to go grocery shopping.  ::eye roll::

Third FaceBook post:  "We.  Love.  Eggnog...  with bourbon.  =D  Mom is only allowed a few SIPS since Mom + oxy + bourbon = E.R."

I tell her we will but she can ONLY have a FEW sips of eggnog so we don't end up back at the hospital...  I get no argument, but I could see it on her face...  she'd show me, oh yes she would! =-/  I prepare the sammiches and bring her the HUGE wine-glass helping of eggnog and bourbon she insists she can drink all of and she prepares it with the same dogged intensity found in her coffee preparation, this requiring eggnog, bourbon and just the right amount of nutmeg.  17 and a half minutes later it's ready...  she takes a sip, rolling her eyes and murmuring her appreciation...  I go to the kitchen to pour mine (30 seconds prep for me!) and return a moment later to find her, eggnog sitting on the tray in front of her, passed completely out with her head lolling back (which couldn't've been good but seriously, how could I have seen that coming?!) on her neck brace!  Off to bed I packed little Kathleen, thankful I didn't have to argue about taking away her eggnog.

Now I think I mentioned...  mom's well organized...  which is an understatement of monolithic proportions...  but she's also become painfully anal-retentive in her cleanliness now that all we kids are gone and, as she always has been, is utterly convinced that without her we would not remember to breath, much less put things back where we find them.  As such, we are all instructed in strict step-by-step format on things like:  spraying all three shower walls and the curtain down, top to bottom, when we get out lest we leave a stray hair (the meltdown when it's not a head-hair is amazing)...  not folding back the towel draped on the end of the bed for the cats so we can sit down because then we might forget to put it back (so suck it up and have a hairy ass or stand while talking to her)...  washing off each dish as we use it and putting it in the dishwasher immediately (if we don't want to hear vehement inquiries of "Who left this plate in the sink and didn't rinse it off?!!  Dammit, if you're going to use a dish, PUT IT IN THE DISHWASHER!!" - which sounds reasonable until you live it...  as a grown adult...  with dishes of your own...  that you manage to wash and reuse on a daily basis.  =-/...  wiping down the surfaces of the bathroom if we use any kind of airborne personal product (ignoring all logic that she sprays hairspray for, no joke, two uninterrupted minutes when she's getting ready in the mornings and doesn't wipe it down and it's fine - ours is somehow stickier or smells worse or whatever other justification she can think of.)...  if we need band-aids, scissors, string, tape, scrap paper, a book or any other thing, we are flogged through the same step-by-step hoops and, in EVERY case, we are quizzed when done to confirm that we have, in fact, followed and completed to mom's satisfaction each and every step.

SO...

Imagine MY dread when, upon my arrival at mom's apartment my first night in Annapolis, I suddenly remember that mom now has two of Tooie's cats...  and a gargantuan litter box for the two of them that would accommodate a herd of bison...  and I know...  standing at the threshold of the bathroom where she has it stationed...  mere feet from her bed...  where she's laying recuperating...  I know what yo-yo hell I'm in for each and every time she hears a paw rustle the sand within that bear cave of a box...  I will spend 20 of 24 hours of each day running to the box to scoop and dispose of kitty poops, real or imagined!  Adding to the dread is the fact that one of the cats is ancient and I'm not entirely confident she'll seek out the box, and the other, being what appears to be a mix of orange tabby and Maine coon, is a small pony.  Seriously.  A pony.

The fourth FaceBook post I never got around to...  it would've read:  "Mom + oxy = peace in the land of O.C.D."

I scooped the box each morning, carefully vacuuming each and every stray piece of sand up and repositioning the mats she's placed in front of the box (I won't even go into the circus that results from having to essentially pole vault the box just to take a shower), assuring mom I'd done it and then waiting expectantly all day to hear her summons me for poop-scooping duty...

Not a word.  Until the last day I was there, not a word.

I like to think that was God's small concession to my sanity for that week.  =)

Mom's spinal surgery recuperation, Chapter 3...

The last day I was at mom's and after she'd been up and around a few days poking lethargically at boxes, we came down to it.

I'd spent the day clearing all the plants from in front of her living room window, washing down each of the folding tables they'd been on and setting the sofa table newly recovered from Tooie's up in place of them, washing it down, washing all 3 windows top and bottom, inside and out, then rearranging all her plants on the sofa table...  I was exhausted mentally and physically from the week and was alternately glad that I'd finally be going home and getting away from the bickering and sniping that's part of mom's world and agonizing that poor, helpless mom would be there by herself and thinking maybe I should try to wrangle another week off to stay with her...  instead, I spent most of the late afternoon/evening clearing out as much as possible in her living room and rearranging boxes, tables and piles in the most convenient way I could so she could work after I was gone without having to strain herself...

We'd spent time going through accordion files mom had set aside with my and my siblings names on them and which contained tons of memorabilia we'd forgotten or never seen...

One of these treasures was a black and white photo of my grandmother in her 40's Sunday best and my biological grandfather in his Navy uniform, set in a cardboard folding frame whose front was stamped with art deco design, palm trees, and the words "The World Famous Cocoanut Grove", California (where mom was born)...  the back was stamped "June 28, 1944", three weeks to the day after my mother's birth, and the kids looking back at me were heartbreakingly lovely.

My seestor, who has a scanner, has been in charge of scanning and sharing all the old photos from Tooie's with us as mom gets them sorted through...  I'm too far away to help and my brother is more than happy to leave it to her...  

And this is where we come to an age-old wrestling match that my seestor has learned to work around, my brother ignores and I, in my maturity, argue about every chance I get because it makes me crazy...

Mom is O.C.D. and a total control-freak (yes, yes, I knoooow).  My seestor surmises it has a lot to do with her childhood, parents divorcing, her mother remarrying and feeling totally unable to control anything in her life.  I think she's probably right.  As such, ANYthing mom has that is of any value, monetary, sentimental, whatever...  she keeps an iron-fisted reign on.  Insanely so right after my grandmother died, down to recipe cards and bottles of plant seeds...  though with Tooie's passing and the resulting mountains of mess she's gotten better...

but one long-running bone of contention still between us:  a Colt .45 revolver my father gave her when I was a baby.  They've been divorced for 43 years and I would LOVE to have it, learn about it, use it...  but nope.  NO deal.

Anyway...  my last night...  I was getting ready to go to the drugstore to make some copies of some old photos of mom and me and to pick up a couple of items for her when we come to the picture of my grandmother and biological grandfather...  and I say, iron-fist in mind, "I know Jen is taking everything and scanning it but I also know she's really behind and I would reeeeally love to have a copy of this...  would it be ok if I took it and copied it and brought it riiight back?"

The change in her was palpable.  "No."  "Why?", I asked.  "Because I said no.", "I'll bring it right back; Jen's overrun scanning and I'd really like to copy and frame it."  "No."  "Good Lord, mom, why not?  Jen's taking the photos out and not bringing them back for weeks; I'll bring it right back!" I insisted.  "No.  I know Jen will take care of them.".  "What?!!  What the hell do you think I'm going to do with it?  I'll copy it and bring it straight back.  Jen will take care of them?  What about me and Ren?", and then she said it...

"Renny," she said, "isn't a thief.  I can't trust you to bring it back."

An eternity of stunned silence from me; it was like she'd physically slapped me.

I knew, you see, exactly where this was going.  When I was in my late teens or early 20's, I was a liar of the first caliber, and what my mother would term a thief, though my "pilfering" was limited pretty much to borrowing her clothes, shoes, and in this instance, taking a photo.  I'd been going through some old ones of hers and found one I'd never seen of her, as a teen which I'd also not seen...  and I took it to frame.  She saw it a year or two later when she came to Roanoke to visit, exclaimed unhappily about me having it and I told her, laughing, about having taken it since I had no pictures of her (long running family joke is none exist of her) and none of her young, which was the end of it.  I thought.

Now clearly it was wrong of me to have taken it, but that was 25 years ago and I have MORE than proved who I am as a person and in my family in the intervening years.

I was stunned.  And hurt.  And angry.  But mostly hurt.

And the weight of the entire week fell squarely on me at that very second and I lost what little restraint I had.  Sobbing and shaking in anger I told her I could not believe she'd held onto that for 25 years and never said anything, I couldn't believe that despite me proving over and over again in the intervening years that I was not that person any more, THIS was how she looked at me...  that despite who she knows me to be that she would still hold that photo's theft against me...  that I couldn't change who I was then but that I was a different person than I'd been at 20 and she damned well knew it, that it was wrong of me to take it, terribly wrong, I was deeply sorry I had taken it without her permission, but that she was wrong.  Wrong as she could possibly be.  About me.  About her stance on me taking the Cocoanut Grove photo to copy...

"Good Lord, Jen's loading them into her car and driving them all the way to Baltimore and keeping them in the house with Lula (her wonderful, giant, AMAZING, wolfie-type dog) for fuck sake, and all I want to do was take it to fucking CVS a mile away and bring it right back, goddammit!!!

"Oh.  Well that's fine.  I thought you wanted to take it home to Roanoke."

:::giant balloon whizzing around the room blasting out every ounce of air:::

What...

the hell...

just happened...?!!

And there it was.  I had a choice...  be my mother, hold onto my anger, stroking it and feeding it to keep it alive...   or, also like my mother, let it go and proceed as she was about to...  as though nothing ever happened.

It was insane...  after the week I'd spent with her - the longest easily in 20 years - it was too crazy to wrap my brain around...  too crazy to want to hang onto...  I knew it'd just eat at me.

So I let it go.

And I knew, though it'd been packed for years, exactly where that photo was and that next time I went to my mom's I'd return it, gift wrapped, with my sincere apologies.  There're just some things too crazy to hang onto.


Well I don't know why I came here tonight
I got the feeling that something ain't right
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair
And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

Yes I'm stuck in the middle with you
And I'm wondering what it is I should do
It's so hard to keep the smile from my face
Losing control, yeah I'm all over the place
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

Well you started out with nothing
And you're proud that you're a self-made man
And your friends they all come crawlin'
Slap you on the back and say 'Please, please.'

Trying to make some sense of it all
But I can see that it makes no sense at all
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor
Well I don't think I can take anymore
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

Well you started out with nothing
And you're proud that you're a self-made man
And your friends they all come crawlin'
Slap you on the back and say 'Please, please.'

Yeah I don't know why I came here tonight
I got the feeling that something ain't right
I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair
And I'm wondering how I'll get down the stairs
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.

(Yes I'm) stuck in the middle with you
Stuck in the middle with you
(Here I am) stuck in the middle with you.

R.I.P Gerry Rafferty 1/4/11

Giving Thanks...

So today I'm off to Annapolis, MD, to stay with my mom during her convalescence from her spinal surgery on Monday of this week.

I very much look forward to the visit for the obvious things like the time I'll get to hang and relax with Mom, as well my brother, sister-in-law, niece and sister...

I look forward to it, too, because after my step-dad's death in August, we unearthed TONS of stuff packed away that we hadn't seen in decades, a large chunk of which is contained in a plethora of boxes piled precipitously about Mom's already bursting apartment and we (I, that is) get to continue the process of sifting through it all.

Oh.  And my brother and sister also have a storage space with MORE crap...  um...  I mean family treasures that holds piles of stuff just for meeeee!  :::small eye roll:::  LOL

And as long as I'm looking forward to and praising the potential of this visit while totally compartmentalizing the liklihood that it will actually make us all a little batshit crazy and a lot cranky, I should also say I VERY much look forward to it for the stop I'll make on my way in Leesburg...  Chelsea Outlets to be exact...  because one really must fog up the display windows of the COACH outlet whenever one has the opportunity...

And in preparation for everything the next week and a half offers, I'll offer up a tidbit on the Thanksgiving feast my mother and I will share...

The week before her surgery, we chatted on the phone about the trip and visit details...  and Mom...  who has never been a "foodie", nor eaten well overall, very excitedly informed me, no small amount of awe in her voice, that she had gotten "sliced turkey from the deli for sammiches...  and mashed potatoes... inna tuuuub!" ;) heheh

So while I hang with her during her convalescence, wallowing around in our boxes of memories, drinking good coffee, eating good food (the sibs are foodies, thank God), sharing good wine, and probably popping a Xanax or two...  I want to take a moment to wish all my Friends & Family a very happy & relaxed holiday with your loved ones...  oh...  and lots of mashed a'taytas & gravy. =)

I Walk By Faith...

Sunday's message, "Why I Doubt", at Journey was about doubt and faith...

John 20:29 ~ Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.  (yes, this was Christ talkin' to one Doubting Thomas)


I walk by faith
Each step by faith
To live by faith
I put my trust in You
I walk by faith
Each step by faith
To live by faith
I put my trust in You


Every step I take
Is a step of faith
No weapon formed against me shall prosper
And every prayer I make
Is a prayer of faith
And if my God is for me
Tell me who can be against me?


And it struck me not for the first time that a personal relationship is much the same as a spiritual relationship. 

We haven't seen Him but we trust in God to guide us, protect us, carry us when we're overcome...  we share the good, the bad, and the in-between...

And we...  well, I, anyway...  look for exactly the same thing in a personal relationship...  and as in a spiritual relationship, if we're not so battered from life's storms that we're just not able any more, we take a horrendous leap to have complete faith in someone we can never fully know, hand them our heart and trust blindly they won't man-handle it and leave it bruised and bleeding in the dust...

In my universe, I've had plenty of failure on the personal relationship front...  not because I shouldn't have had the blind faith in my partners that I at least started with, and not because they were bad people...  but because they just didn't have that same view of what a partnership was about that I did...

Cheating...  lying...  stealing...  none of these things fit into the definition of personal partnership...  none of these things fit into the definition a spiritual relationship either...  because each of these things precludes trust and faith... 

Yet knowing this, again and again I've chosen "partners" who've possessed one or all of these personality flaws; knowing all the while these things would never be part of a spiritual relationship - they couldn't be - but tolerating them in my personal partnerships just the same...

Unfortunately, it took until a few years ago for me to figure out that someone with the same view of a partnership that I have is crucial and non-negotiable from the outset - I guess I thought that was something couples came to in the course of life together - and although it's only just recently I've cleared my own slate in that regard, I know now I will continue in a conscious, purposeful, earnest way to try to know myself and make intelligent choices to make that happen in my life...

And I know that in my spiritual and personal relationships I want and need someone I can give undiluted love to and have it returned, I want and need someone I can talk to, lean on, give and receive support from, share with and beat my chest to...  

I know that I want and need that soul who, when I relax and sink down into that downy bed of trust I'm still willing to give and expose that soft, terrified part inside, will NOT bring me to my knees by stomping around on it like they're stomping dandelions but who, instead, will wholly justify that release of doubt...

And I know they're out there.  I have faith...