All posts filed under: Lovelife

Marriage, and all kinds of love leading up to it

The Perfect Poem

Published by

When you find the perfect poem at 7am, you just have to share it.  I look at my life, and believe I have done what I could in the best way I knew how.  We were not perfect, but I damn well tried and so did he. We will continue to do what we can in our lives, but have sadly agreed it will no longer be in a life together.   Perfection in love is not possible, but in a poem it sometimes is.  Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year. He is rich who owns the day, and no one owns the day who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.   Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt crept in. Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a new day; begin it well and serenely, with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This …

That’s Cold! 

Published by

Welcome to my 555 series! Please read the introduction to this project {here}.  Week 5 Post 1  It’s getting cold out here and it’s freaking me out. I am also preparing to go out of the country this weekend where the temps are wet and 10 degrees colder with highs of 45F.  I just bought new sweaters and underlayers & own plenty of wool coats to choose from but am feeling stressed. I called Husband at work to tell him I’m freaking out about packing and whined like a sixteen-year old that, “my life is SO  hard.”  Obviously he hung up.        

Lighting The Wrong Kind of Fire

Published by

Welcome to my 555 series! Please read the introduction to this project {here}.  Week 4 Post 4 When a guy is broken up with after a drawn out relationship, he will always claim he was blindsided. He will never admit to have seen any telltale signs. That’s denial at work. But how does he not see his hand in it? Sometimes a man can be like a little boy who likes playing with matches, responsible for lighting a house fire he didn’t expect to start.      

Smells Like A Teenager’s Spirit 

Published by

Welcome to my 5 5 5 series. The objective of this exercise is to write five lines five times a week for five weeks, to get me back into a regular post writing habit.  Read my introduction here. Wk 2 Post 5 He will text things out of the blue saying, “Hello you,” or asking, “What are you doing?” I know how friends check in on each other, and that’s okay, expected even with our friends. But he & I are not ‘friends’, we are  amicable acquaintances. Something about his check-ins seem flirtatious. It was kind of charming when we were sixteen, but now that we’re forty, he’s just a creepy old guy.

Meet Maria Elena, a woman scorned. Vicky Cristina Barcelona

The Death of the Ex

Published by

On the surface I appeared calm, steady, normal.  Beneath that I was waiting for a tiny reason to tear him a new *ssh0le.  Late night make outs  began to sour rather than stimulate. Love Doesn’t Just Die.  We Kill It Most of the Time.  I am not a COMPLETE psycho, but love on life support can make a person feel like one. I was young and in love, but from where I stood he was less and less interested in me.  Disenchanted is the word I like to use.  He would look at me with contempt,  he seemed too jealous and suspicious of me.  Me?  Lil’ ol’ me with the bright smile and prudish upbringing.  Me – who believed God would strike her down for having premarital sex and instead developed mad skills at a few Lewinsky-style relations.  Me?  The gal who wanted nothing but to spend all of her time with him?   Me?  The gal who wanted to marry him.  Me?  Suspicious of ME?  Blind, loyal, devoted me?  You don’t want to talk to me …

Connecting the Dots: The Paper Boy

Published by

There is hardly a way to complete a succession of blog posts like my Connecting the Dots series in one fell swoop as I had foolishly deemed possible last February.  I don’t sit with a playback reel of my love (and lost) life constantly going in the background.  Life has its way of switching that projector on and off when it comes to thoughts of the people who shaped our love lives. That’s my opinion, at least. Once in a while there will come a trigger that brings to mind memories of past relationships. I don’t believe anyone who denies he or she ever experiences this.  It doesn’t have to mean there is anything unresolved.  I firmly believe like any life experience, the old feelings and emotions we lived through back then shape who we are for better or for worse.    Being the sentimental fool and writer I am, I often think about what happened in my life to make me staunchly stubborn about certain views while compassionate and non judgmental in others.  What conversation prompted …

Chivarly: Is it dead, or just different?

Published by

A lady shouldn’t have to light her own cigarette. Photo c/o BingImages. On the plane earlier this year I was in tears.  I was having a very emotional moment while working on a post and the tears just kept streaming down my face.  Luckily, I wasn’t gasping, sniffling, nor gulping, but wiping my cheeks and eyes from the constant stream that was running down my face, as bad as a water faucet, just saltier. I was thankful that my neighboring seat was empty and that I was surrounded  by men otherwise.  Not one of them would dare ask me if I was okay, which I guess I preferred.  If this were forty years ago, I thought, would one of them have offered me a handkerchief?  Would a mid century gentleman have called a flight attendant to check on me? On the shuttle to work each morning there are more and more employees and less and less seats available.  This private shuttle, full of well educated and professionally creative types, is stuffed to the seams with …

Connecting the Dots (A Guy Named Roger)

Published by

If there is one person I would ever consider leaving my current life for,  it would be for a drummer named Roger. It was 1984 when my sister showed me a video of five fab Brits performing on a stage with flashing lights and a fake waterfall pouring out of a giant screen onto their fans.  From the moment I saw The Reflex I was entranced.  Who are they?  What is that all about?  But most importantly.  Who. Is.  That? My sister had this poster in her bedroom.  I used to stand in front of it staring directly into Roger’s eyes.  I know… I know… My sister and her friends were of the Simon or John camps.  That was fine.  You can have them.  I was alone in my Roger camp.  But I knew, even then, that he was the finer choice, the one with longevity the one who would become more charming and more handsome.  They’ll see, I thought to myself.  They’ll see. I liked that he didn’t talk much in group interviews.  I …

Connecting the dots (The Boy Next Door)

Published by

When you are a preteen living in a new country, I would say there are many more concerns at hand than puppy love.  Let me make it clear this moment, I am not someone you could consider boy crazy. I was never that girl who was always thinking about dating, never was interested in having a boyfriend and was not one of the students at my all girl high school who would swoon over the presence of boys visiting from our brother (all boy) school just because they were male.  Besides, even in my own awkward stage, I knew that the skinny necked, lightly mustached guys in oversized shirts with greasy adolescent complexions were not going to cut it.  So not worth the heart palpitations.  Moving ahead. As I hit my junior year, simply adjusting to my life in a new country and making friends was more important to me than anything else.  I was also having a horrid time in chemistry which led to its own adventure one summer having to relearn the concepts …

Connecting The Dots (even earlier)

Published by

An even earlier memory I have of being enamored with someone as a little girl was in nursery school.    Every day, I played in the yard and sat with my friends listening to tales about a calico cat and other assorted post-toddler adventures.  I recall checking to see here and there where Spots and Stripes was sitting at story time.   Thanks to the class picture that hung in our home for years,  I will always remember him wearing powder blue corduroys and a striped mock turtle neck shirt.  The appeal here lay in our shared interests.   We both giggled while riding the rocking boat and would both dump sand out of the sensory table just so we could use the carpet sweeper to clean it up.  When the Gingerbread Man seemingly leaped out of the school oven sending the teachers and children of the Blue Room (or maybe we were from the Red Room, see my memory isn’t THAT impressive!) on a wild goose chase, Spots and Stripes was as awestruck as …