Mr. Gilmore

When I was a young girl, there was a very eccentric, older gentleman who lived in my neighborhood. His name was Mr. Gilmore. The trip to his house was a bit of a hike from mine. He had a lovely little cottage surrounded by woods on all sides.  It was rather secluded and I think he quite preferred it that way. Mr. Gilmore was English and had loveliest, most sophisticated accent. All the kids in my neighborhood loved to visit him and we would spend hours exploring his yard.  Mr. Gilmore was a gardener.  He grew vegetables and herbs and flowers.  He also had his very own working windmill. He taught us about gardening and the names and the wonderful uses of all the different herbs. He taught us to lovingly speak to the plants and flowers to make them grow. He said that was the secret to successful gardening.  He made us pick up the soil with our bare hands so we could experience the feel and the aroma of God's good earth.  He would send us home with bouquets of fresh picked flowers to deliver to our mothers.

Our parents didn't mind that we spent so much time with him. This was the 1960's. Times were different and people weren't as consumed with fear over single gentlemen entertaining young children. No adult ever spoke unkindly about Mr. Gilmore. In fact, they thought very highly of him. If they were suspicious, we never heard about it. We were just warned not to wear out our welcome with him.  In other words, respect his privacy and don't spend every hour of every day with him. It was impossible not to spend every day with Mr. Gilmore; especially for me.  He was just so fascinating.

My friends enjoyed spending time with Mr. Gilmore during the spring and summer more than in colder months. I preferred the winter because that meant we could go inside his home. My brother and I would traipse through the snow to his house. We could see the fire blazing from the tiny windows of his little cottage and when we knocked on his wooden door, his face would light up at the sight of us.  He would usher us inside and insist we warm up by the fire. He would take our gloves, hats and wet socks and hang them over a string stretched across the fireplace mantel to dry. Mr. Gilmore's cottage was even more delightful than his gardens. It reminded me of a Hobbit's house; warm and cozy. He had overstuffed, chintz covered chairs and sofas. You would sink into them when you sat and they swallowed you up; making it almost impossible to get out of them.  I always thought it was odd that a gentleman would have this type of furniture. It was not manly at all. I figured this was the English way and Mr. Gilmore was the only Englishman I knew.

The walls of Mr. Gilmore's home were lined with bookshelves overflowing with books.  In every corner of his living room he had stacks and stacks of more books. His collection was larger and greater than our local library. I was in heaven surrounded by all those old hard-covered and leather-bound books with the gold leaf pages. I would sit for hours in an overstuffed chair leafing through all of them. He would play classical music on his old record player and as I read, he would set up an easel for himself and my brother and they would paint. Mr. Gilmore was an accomplished artist. I had no idea at the time just how accomplished he was. They would paint portraits of me as I sat absorbed in a book.  He taught my brother how to mix colors together to create the perfect shade of green.  He taught him to paint lovely landscapes and how to draw the perfect face with charcoal pencils. Mr.Gilmore was a kind and patient teacher. He was simply amazing.

Mr. Gilmore was the epitome of a true gentleman. The only time he was not dressed in a suit and bow tie was when he was outdoors gardening.  Even then, he was meticulous in his starched, spotless white shirts and perfectly pressed pants neatly tucked in to his gardening boots . I was such a tom-boy back then, but when I was in his company, Mr Gilmore insisted that I act and speak like a lady.  And walk like one.  He would place a heavy, hard-covered old book on my head and instruct me walk around his cottage; keeping the book perfectly balanced.  "That is how a lady walks," he would say in his perfect English accent. "Head high, neck stretched, shoulders back, small, deliberate steps."  To this day, I still walk that way.

Mr. Gilmore taught me how to brew and serve the perfect cup of tea. He also taught me how to sit and sip a cup of tea. Like a lady. I would sit perched at edge of one his overstuffed chairs; back straight and legs crossed, balancing a delicate tea cup and matching saucer in one hand.  Slowly, I would lift the china cup to my lips, pinkie extended, and sip- not gulp- the sweet milky tea.

My brother was also required to act like a perfect gentleman. He was taught to bow, how to take a lady's arm and escort her in and out of a room, to pull out chairs and open doors, and most of all to always, always respect a woman.  Our reward for a job well done was a small square of Cadbury chocolate. It was the most delicious treat I had ever tasted; nothing like the cheap, artificially flavored chocolates to which I was accustomed.  There was nothing else like it in the world.  Even as an adult, I can never refuse a piece of Cadbury chocolate. It immediately transports me back to my childhood and all those wonderful days with most interesting man I ever knew.

Ah.... Mr. Gilmore. How very precious he was.  He never spoke of family, or a wife or children. I always thought it rather sad that he was alone. I did not want him to be alone and that's part of the reason why I spent so much time with him. He never said no. He never turned any of us kids away.  He was never too busy to share a cup of tea or show off his gardens or his latest work of art.  He always seemed genuinely delighted that we were there. It was always with a bit sadness, when the sun began to set behind the trees, that he would say, "Off with you now. Best to get home before Mum begins to worry."

How sad when things change and we have to grow up.  Our thoughts and our time eventually became consumed with school work, college prep, sports and dating. As we got older, our trips to Mr. Gilmore's became less and less frequent until eventually our time spent with him became a thing of the past. He died alone in his magical little cottage, surrounded by all his books and portraits.  I wept bitterly over the news. I felt so guilty that I preferred to spend my time with silly boys or playing with makeup rather than in the company of such a distinguished gentleman who had so much to teach me about life.

What I did not realize as a young and innocent child was that Mr. Gilmore was gay. The truth about that came out after he passed away. A handsome college professor took up residence in Mr. Gilmore's home to settle his affairs and sift through all his belongings. The whole neighborhood was talking about it. They'd seen this man discreetly come and go over the years. It was then I realized the secret our friend had kept hidden from us all this time. He never said a word about it and the thought never crossed my mind. I wouldn't have understood what it meant anyway.  He was just a wonderful, interesting man who lived alone. A man who loved children, but never had any of his own. My parents and all the other adults in the neighborhood had their suspicions, but they never stopped us from visiting him. Of course, when all those suspicions were confirmed, we were all asked if Mr. Gilmore had ever "tried anything." Of course not. NEVER.  I wonder, if we were growing up now instead of back then;  if trips to Mr.Gilmore's house would be forbidden. I wonder if our parents would have been consumed with fear. Mr. Gilmore might be viewed as a predator. Gay or not; why else would he want to spend time with children?  His carefully guarded secret about his personal life and sexual preference would have been the talk of the town. All of us kids would've been robbed of the joy of knowing this man and learning from him just because he was different. Mr. Gilmore would've been robbed of the pleasure of investing in us and watching us grow up to become fine young ladies and gentlemen. Isn't that sad?

I don't care if he was gay. What difference does that make? He was wonderful man who touched my life and the lives of so many others in so many ways. He gave us culture, a love for books, art and gardening.  He taught us manners and how to be gracious and kind. My brother and I often speak of him fondly and with great respect. That lovely, distinguished gentleman took the time to reproduce himself in us and we carry a part of him with us as adults. I am forever thankful I grew up when I did and was never robbed of such a treasure, otherwise known as Mr. Gilmore.

Why I Love the Rain............

I used to curse the rain.  I hated it.  It wrecked my hair. Ruined my clothes. Destroyed my shoes. I always managed to forget my umbrella.  Rain was major inconvenience. It made commuting a nightmare.  Train delays. Floods in Penn Station.  When I was working in the city, there were times it rained so hard that the LIRR would cancel all eastbound trains.  I would be stranded, with no way home, and had to sleep in hotels.   I also had to go to work the next morning in the same clothes I'd worn the day before. That was almost a fate worse than death for me. Keep reading and you will understand why.......

When people meet me for the first time, they often get the wrong impression.  I am a bit of a perfectionist about myself and my appearance. Perfect hair, perfect makeup perfect clothes. Never a run in my stockings. Shoes polished and a matching handbag. Nails well manicured. Excellent posture. Shoulders back. Head held high. This makes some folks uncomfortable and I am often perceived as a snobby, high maintenance bitch until people really get to know me. It's really just a cover to hide the fact that I am really awkward and clumsy and even a little insecure at times.  I've relaxed a whole lot over the years, but I still maintain some level of impeccable sophistication; especially when I go out.  I just don't freak out over a chip in my nail polish or a hair out place anymore.

A few years ago, I had just started dating a new guy.  He was not my usual type.  I dated white collar business men: bankers and such.  Guys with money who could seriously wine and dine me. That was the field I was in at the time so I usually dated men I met through the job.  This new guy was in construction. Hard-working, rough hands, loud mouth. Very tough, but on the inside; very sweet. He didn't have much money either. His idea of a fancy restaurant was The Olive Garden. Perish the thought!  There was still something so attractive about him, so I figured, why the hell not? I'll play with him for a little while and move on.

He had his doubts concerning me, as well. I most certainly was not his type, either. I was his first brunette ever and he usually didn't go for the successful, independent business woman.  He liked a more down-to-earth girl and I didn't appear to fit that bill at all. We really had nothing in common. I was a Martini drinker. He drank beer. I was spoiled and privileged.  His life story was heartbreaking. We both hated the rain. We had that. It was a major inconvenience to me and it usually meant a day without pay for him.

Anyway, the new guy and I would meet at the local bar every Friday night.  I would arrive right off the train straight from work, dressed to the nines in my business suit and heels. Everyone else there was casual, including him. I always stuck out like a sore thumb and he and I looked so mismatched. As we sat there one night, enjoying our drinks, it began to pour outside. A torrential rain storm that came out of nowhere. He looked at me and said "Hey. Wanna go outside and kiss in the rain?" Without missing a beat, I jumped to it and said, "Let's go!"

My friends all tried to stop me. "Oh my God. It's pouring out there! Your hair! Your clothes! Are you crazy?"

I ignored them all. What I did not realize was that he was only joking and was certain I would decline. He didn't think I would dare stand out in the rain and mess up all my perfection. Honestly, he was banking on the fact that I would say no. He really didn't want to go out there and he admitted that to me later. I totally shocked him by dragging him outside into the rain with me. I pressed him against the side of the building beside the window and kissed him. Passionately. Best kiss I ever had. We kissed out there in the pouring rain for about twenty minutes until we noticed that everyone in the bar was crowded around the window inside watching us. Clapping and cheering.

When we got inside, he offered to drive me straight home. "Why would I want to go home now?" I asked.
"Well, you are bit of mess," he said.
"I don't care," I replied. "Do you?"

He didn't mind one bit. He said I never looked more beautiful. He meant it.............

I stayed there with him for hours, completely soaked to the skin, makeup smeared, wrinkled and messy, hair drenched and dripping. I didn't care. The whole bar was buzzing about the passion between the career girl and construction worker. We both drank free for the rest of the night.

We fell in love that night. Every doubt we had about each other washed away with the rain.  Love caught us completely off guard and our affair lasted for more than two years. He was never able to wine and dine me in the ways I was accustomed, but we had more fun together coming up with things to do that didn't cost money. Eventually, we went our separate ways, but it ended amicably and with great respect. He was one of the sweetest guys I'd ever been with and I have nothing but fond memories of my time with him.  And that night outside in the rain? That went down on record as the best kiss ever between two people. A moment made for the movies. Everyone at the bar still talks about it and they always remind me each time I'm there. It's bittersweet because I know I will never experience anything quite like that again.

Every time it rains, I get a text message. From him. The kiss guy. "I will never forget that kiss. I love the rain now. I love you and I always will."

I no longer curse the rain. I love it. I am thankful for it because it reminds me of how sweet love can be when we forget about ourselves and take chances.  Love makes us look beyond our differences, our looks, our jobs, and our phony perfection.  Love often comes in the most unusual packages. Packages we often overlook.  I am so grateful for love. Even when it doesn't work out as planned. Love is the greatest gift we can give ourselves and to others.  Never say no to love.............

As for dating; I no longer have a particular type. I've learned to look beyond all that superficial stuff and judge a man by his heart and not his job or his wallet.  I love and thank the rain for that, as well.........

Traditional Marriage and Family Values

First, read this: The Top 8 Ways to be Traditionally Married According to The Bible

Now, a little background on me : 

I was born and raised in a Conservative Christian home. My father is a retired minister and I grew up in church.  I studied Biblical Theology and The Foundations of Christian Principles and Doctrine in college.  I also had a career in Contemporary Christian music.  I traveled around preaching and singing to the masses. Imagine that? As I grew and evolved, I began to question and examine some of the teachings I learned in church.  They just weren't working for me anymore. Someone very close to me was gay and I just couldn't accept the Christian perspective on that kind of lifestyle.  I went back to school to study nutrition and met new and different people from all walks of life.  My political views changed. I discarded most of my beliefs and ideas about religion.  My opinions about Family Values and Marriage Equality changed, as well.  As a result of my new views and lifestyle;  I became the black sheep of my family. My brother is a black sheep too, but he left home years ago to follow his heart and ideas about God, religion, and sexuality. I am also no longer permitted to sing in the "Christian" arena. This is heart breaking because my love for God has not changed.  I just believe in Him a little differently now.  In fact, my devotion and appreciation is stronger than ever and I would love to sing about it.  It's a bit tragic, but the greater tragedy would be to forsake my personal beliefs and deny my heart. So, the song bird has been silenced.  I don't have any axes to grind and I am not bitter. I am at peace. The only reason I am sharing this is so you will understand that I am not an ignorant novice. I've seen and lived both sides. 

What really sticks in my craw are those who keep using the Bible as their foundation for Traditional Marriage and Family Values. I am in the thick of this day in and day out.  I often wonder how many of these people have actually read and understand their Bibles? 

The Bible doesn't say all that much about marriage. The Old Testament has some rules and regulations. The majority of those rules and regulations concerning marriage- NO ONE follows any more.  If you really want to get all biblical about it;  the New Testament actually discourages against marriage and tells us it's better not to get married at all.  Marriage in the New Testament is more of a spiritual union between Man and God; not a ceremony between a man and woman. 

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I do not believe one can argue Traditional Marriage/ Family Values from a biblical stand point because the Bible really does not address the topic clearly and consistently. You can't use the Bible as your defense if you are not following the rules yourself.  This means if your wife was not a virgin when you married her; you were supposed to drag her out into the street and stone her. (Deuteronomy 22:13-21).  Ridiculous, right? But..... this is what the Bible says! 

The Apostle Paul wrote: Love never finds an end. Why can't we just go with that? People who love one another should be allowed to marry regardless of gender or sexual preference.  Who are we to try to put limits on love and the desire to be a family? Just because we don't understand something or would never consider it for ourselves does not necessarily make it WRONG!  And who are we to say we know God's heart or mind about anything? Other than loving one another. He told us to LOVE.  That's it! 

I believe REAL Family Values are caring for the poor, the sick, and the homeless.  Protecting victims of domestic violence.  Women's Rights.  Equal Rights. Protecting and healing broken children and preventing abuse.  Putting an end to drug addiction among our young people.  Protecting the environment and our precious resources. Curing epidemics like heart disease, diabetes, cancer, and obesity.  YEAH.  Fighting for these causes is hard. It takes sacrifice. This stuff is ripping families apart.  Our focus is just grossly distorted.  Remember all that drama and fighting over Fast Food chicken? People gorging themselves on that crap because the establishment support their beliefs?  There are probably hungry families right in our own neighborhoods who would just love a chicken sandwich and they don't care where it comes from.  Are you kidding me? 

I apologize for offending anyone and their personal beliefs, but this is my heart.  I must be true to my heart. 

"If anyone will not welcome you or listen to your words, shake the dust off your feet when you leave that home or town." - Jesus Christ

Happy and Settled.............

A few days ago, my ex-husband stopped by the house to drop off a few of my precious possessions. He stayed for awhile and after exchanging pleasantries and bringing each other up to speed on what was going on in our lives, he went home. It was actually a nice visit and a small miracle that he and I were actually able stay in the same room together for more than five minutes without fighting, screaming and insulting each other.  Time has a way of healing all wounds.  We made peace with each other awhile ago. We're over it.  Over the hurt. The pain. The cruelty. And...... we're over each other.

What really surprised me were the reactions of the people closest to me.  My folks were there when my ex came by and they joined in some of our conversation.  The moment he left, my mother grabbed me by the arm and asked, "Do you still love him?" Without hesitation, I quickly responded. "No!" My dad shook his head. "That's a shame. I really wish it could work out between the two of you." My heart sank, but I didn't say a word. My father: the eternal optimist who believes with all his heart that people can change. I am not so easily convinced when it comes to the man I lived with for nineteen years.

Later on, my sister came over. Just a few short years ago, she had nothing but pure venom rushing through her veins concerning my ex-husband. She really shocked me as we all sat down to dinner. She wanted to know if my ex had asked me out on a date or anything.

"Uh...why would he do that?" I asked.

She shrugged.  "I don't know. Maybe you two will get back together!"

At that point, I lost it and starting yelling at my whole family. "Oh. My. God! What is wrong with you people?"

I will spare you the gory details of my marriage. Let's just say, it was unhealthy. We either flourish in relationships or our passion and reason for living is choked right out of us.  In my situation; it was the latter.

I proceeded to tell my family how crazy they were to even suggest such a thing. Don't they remember anything? Finally my dad spoke up. "We just hate to see you alone. We want you to be happy and settled."

Happy?  Honestly, I can't remember any point in my marriage when I was really, truly happy.  Most of the time, I was miserable. Depressed. Suicidal. Do they all really want me to go back to being that person? I was certainly much easier to get along with back then, so perhaps on some level; they do.  As for being settled; I am settled. Perhaps not in the traditional sense of the word.  I don't have a husband. I don't even have a steady boyfriend.  I date from time to time, but I haven't found anyone worth the investment of my time, effort or love. This drives my family crazy.

I don't have things all wrapped up in a nice, neat package. Honestly, who does? Most people automatically assume I am unhappy and unsettled because I still have a few loose ends. My life is far from perfect, but I am happy. I am settled.  I have peace. I sleep well at night.  Peace and the ability to get a good night's sleep are two things I did not have when I was married.  I have love. I was so broken back then it was not possible for me to give or receive love. My heart is opened now and I know who I am. It took me along time to get here. I am not lonely, either. I have family. I have friends. I have a life. It just doesn't include a man. I am not about to choose any man just for the sake having one or to make my family happy.  I'd really rather be alone than to do that!

Why do some people believe that my only source of happiness can come from being in a love relationship? Since when does settled mean a life built around the needs, desires and demands of a man? Been there. Done that.  I really don't have a burning passion for a repeat performance. Maybe there's something wrong with me or perhaps I am only one with her head on straight about all this.  Who cares if I am the only one at family gatherings without a partner?  Evidently, my family cares. They want to see a man beside me. Holding my hand.  Giving me jewelry for Christmas.  Kicking me under the table when I start arguing about family values and politics. I am not uncomfortable because I don't have all this.  They are.  Isn't that funny?  They're so uncomfortable and so uncomfortable with me that they even want me to reconsider my ex-husband!  The one man capable of beating me back into the person they all want me to be. I don't know if I should cry about all this is or give them a swift kick in the pants with my cowboy boot!

Sigh........

It's not that I don't want a man in my life. I just don't sit around whining because I don't have one. It's not my life's mission to go out and get one. I am really much too busy doing other things: enjoying life, building my business, preparing for my future. The idea of sharing all that with the right partner sounds nice. My ex-husband was the wrong partner. I've suffered heartache and disappointment with a few wrong partners since my divorce. I want the right man.  I don't think I have to go out there and hunt him down or consider going back to someone who once caused me such misery and pain. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he hasn't.  I am not willing to take that risk. Besides, I've changed.  I am not the same girl my ex-husband fell in love with decades ago.

I believe that if I continue being true to myself and work at becoming the best person I can be;  the right man will find me. The one who accepts me exactly as I am and doesn't want me to change a thing.  Someone willing to overlook my fears, faults and failures. Someone who inspires me to love more.  Be more. Do more.  Not because he wants me to satisfy his own selfish desires, but for my benefit and to benefit the world around us. I would love the opportunity to pour that kind of love and inspiration into someone else. I  refuse to buy into the lie that I will never be happy or settled until I find that person. I am happily willing to wait.  I am also willing to accept the fact that the right man for me might not exist. So what do I do? Settle for just anybody?  Go backwards? Change who I am now to make everyone else happy?  I don't think so. Talk about about being unhappy and unsettled. Quite honestly, the only times I've ever felt unhappy or unsettled was when I had a man sitting right beside me.

My happiness is my responsibility!  That's what I work on every day.  If someone wonderful happens to come along; great.  If he doesn't; that's okay, too.  As long as I have truth, peace and love in my heart; I am happy and settled. That's good enough for me. Everyone else is just going to have to learn to deal with it.......

Does This Serve Me?

Yesterday, I had a lovely lunch with an old friend.  As I happily munched away on Seaweed Salad and Vegetarian Sushi rolls; she proceeded to fill me in on all the details of her life since I'd seen her last.  She is in a committed relationship and not happy. In fact, she is so unhappy that she does everything possible to stay out of the house. She purposely works long hours, gets involved in projects out in the yard and everywhere else; anything to avoid being stuck indoors for any long periods of time with him.  This is one of the saddest things I've ever heard. I really didn't know how to respond. I just hated the thought of my friend being miserable. She deserves better than that.

I told her I couldn't really offer any real advice other than this: she is the most important person in this situation.  Her happiness is paramount.  If her relationship is no longer serving her;  it's time to seriously evaluate and make some important decisions. She saw this as being selfish until I explained further. Finally, she began to view things a bit more clearly.

It really is this simple.  If we are not happy; it is impossible to make anyone else happy.  If something is no longer serving us; it might be time to move on. This is not selfish.  In fact, I think it's more selfish to keep trying to exist in something that is clearly not working.

We often get trapped in situations and have no idea how to begin to get out of them: relationships, jobs, commitments that have become aggravating, irritating obligations. I am not saying we should shirk our responsibilities and commitments. We shouldn't walk out of our marriages simply because we are unhappy. We definitely can't just up and leave our jobs without some sort of back up plan.  However, if we find ourselves miserable more often than not and if something is no longer serving us in some way, it's time to evaluate and make some important decisions.

I am a huge fan of The Pros and Cons List. When I am faced with challenges or need to make decisions, I draw a line down the middle of a sheet of paper and write down the good and bad aspects of the situation in each respective column.  This process can take a few days, but I don't stop until I am unable come up with anything else.  I make my decisions based whichever column is the longest.  My little system has never failed me yet.

Let's face it. If you show up on the job every day miserable and grouchy, don't you think your work will eventually suffer? And what about the people around you? They can't help but pick up on your vibes and in turn, they will make you even more miserable. It might be time to make some serious changes. Same with relationships.  If you are not happy; chances are your partner isn't either. And now you have an endless cycle of unhappiness breeding more unhappiness. Unless you can come up with a few really good reasons to stay and make the best of it- TOGETHER- it might make more sense to walk away.

If something is no longer serving you; slip on your hip waders and start sifting through the muck and the mire.   Look for the diamonds in the midst of the stones.  If you come up with a fistful of diamonds; you have your answer and something worth fighting for and keeping. If not; make your decisions accordingly. Your happiness is more important than anything else.  This is not selfishness. This is a gift- the greatest gift you can give to yourself and others.

Defending The Friend With Benefits

I had an interesting telephone conversation with my brother, Joe, last night. He called to speak with my mom.  I can hop up and reach the phone much faster when it rings than my mother can, so I answered the call. My brother and I chatted for a few minutes and eventually he brought up the subject of my love life. He always does. I hate that. He is happily married (for real) to the love of his life and he can't help but want the same for his sister. Our conversation went something like this:

Joe: So how's it going? Any new love interests or prospects on the horizon?
Me: No. I am really not looking. I don't have the time or the head space for it. I do have a friend with benefits I see occasionally. 
Joe: Oh. My. God. Where is our mother right now? 
Me: She's on the other line.  Listening.
Joe: I can't believe you said you have a friend with benefits right in front of her. Did she fall off her chair?
Me: Not yet.
Mom:  What's a friend with benefits?
Me:  A really nice boy who lives in the city. He takes me out for dinner, to the theater, or anywhere I want and expects nothing in return.
Mom:  That's nice, dear. You deserve to be spoiled. 
Joe: Oh. My. God. Mom! You're so naive. 
Me:  I'm hanging up the phone now.


My mother really isn't that naive. I am pretty sure she knows all about friends with benefits; she just doesn't want to think about her daughter having one. My mother also knows that my life has not been easy and she's happy that I have someone who treats me well; even if I am not in a real relationship.

So, I have a friend with benefits. It works. For now. I like the guy. In fact, he's terrific and when I am with him, I feel like Cinderella. He's charming, successful, sweet and funny.  He wines and dines me and there's nothing he won't do to make me happy. He's the kind of guy who disappears for half an hour and then he leads me by the hand to a soothing bath for two. Candles. Champagne. Romantic music. Passion. The whole deal. With everything I've gone through over the past few years, this is healing for me. And I deserve it.

I have one failed marriage under my belt. After my divorce, I tried my hand at a couple of real relationships. Fully committed. Holidays, vacations and family events together. Coffee and the Sunday paper. My last relationship was sort of working (emphasis on sort of) until my dad got sick. The guy bailed because a huge chunk of my attention was suddenly focused on someone other than him. I wore myself out trying to take care of everyone until he finally said, "I didn't sign up for this!" That was over two years ago and I haven't had a relationship since. Can you blame me?

I am not anti-relationship. I would love to be in one.  I just can't seem to find the right guy. I am not particularly choosy, my standards are not so high that they are unattainable, and I am not unrealistic. I am not looking for a drop-gorgeous hunk of a man with a huge bank account and a penthouse on Park Avenue. An Atticus Finch sort of guy with strong morals, convictions, principles and devotion to home, community, and causes would be ideal. I know Mr. Finch is a fictional character from a book but he was also based on Harper Lee's father. So, I know men like this actually do exist. They just haven't come knocking on my door yet.

So many of my friends find it difficult to exist outside of a relationship. So they settle for less than the best and most of them are miserable. I think the real definition of misery is trying to exist in a relationship that is not a true union of two hearts and souls. I refuse settle for anything less than that. In the meantime, I will continue to get what I need, when I need it.

The whole Friend with Benefits thing won't work for everyone. There must be ground rules or someone will get hurt in the end. That's never a good thing. As long as you avoid the whole expectations and demands part and refrain from sharing real intimate, personal details of your life; it can work. There also must an agreement that if one happens to meet someone special; the other must bow out gracefully.

Some people are actually shocked that I would have such an arrangement. At my age? I simply explain that I am a woman and  there are times I want to enjoy the company of a man.  I want be taken to dinner and romanced every once in awhile. I also explain that this is a temporary fix until I find what I really want.

Some believe this is setting me up for failure in any future relationships. I disagree. One is completely different from the other. I love the excitement and the independence of my Friend with Benefits arrangement.  It's all about fun and  passion without the yucky life stuff.  He never asks where I am or who I am with when I am not with him. I don't have to answer to him. I can go and do whatever I want.  I don't have to listen him whine that he's tired and wants to stay home on a Friday night and wants me to stay home, too. To do what? Watch him sleep? I don't think so. On the other hand, I have this longing for quiet evenings snuggling on the couch and dozing off together while watching movies because we're just so darn comfortable. There is definitely something so appealing about that type of comfort and security.  I would love to just exist with someone; not out of obligation, but because I can't imagine wanting or needing to be anywhere else but beside him. I just haven't found that level of trust, security or comfort yet.

I am experienced enough to know there is no such thing as the perfect relationship. Two different people trying to build one life together? That's no easy task. There are ups and downs, bills, work, responsibilities and baggage. It take time to deal with all that baggage. I have no problem unpacking it - together. It's also absolutely ridiculous to expect special treatment and attention all the time. No one is going to treat me like Cinderella every day and I can't always make my man feel like a prince. There are actually days when I am more like the wicked step-mother. I would like find someone who accepts me either way. My mom tells me I just haven't found the right man yet.  She believes there is someone out there waiting for me.  A guy who will listen and understand and won't disappear when times get tough. Someone who will love my precious heart and guard it as if it were his very own. My mother- the hopeless romantic. Bless her precious heart......

In the end, I know it's not about undivided attention, fun or weekends filled with passion.  I am really not as selfish as I sound. I'm pretty easy going and much prefer to do most of the spoiling.  I am not looking for someone to be my sole source of happiness either. I am responsible for my own happiness.  All I really want is to find that one person to stick with me through the good and bad. Someone willing to peel back his mask, set aside all the phony facades, and just let me love him. And love me back. Someone who loves US so much that he will fight with me to preserve it. No matter what.  All the other details, issues, faults and failures? We'll work on those and figure it out day by day. Together. Now that's a true friend with benefits.

It's My Party!

So, I am currently bedridden. Why? Yesterday morning I tripped over a cat toy in the kitchen, fell, and twisted my foot in a direction I am pretty sure the laws of physics and nature never intended. I heard a snapping sound but the pain didn't start until a few moments later. At first I thought I was okay. I managed to drag myself and my twisted foot into the the living room and began to sob. My son came rushing in from his bedroom and found me in a heap on the floor unable to speak. I just kept pointing at my foot.

I am very upset this has happened to me.  I am cursing everything: my foot, the cat, all his toys, anyone who offers to help me, and life in general. I had a very important meeting scheduled yesterday for an awesome job opportunity. I had already started putting all my eggs in one basket concerning the offer and now there was no way in hell I was going to make it into the office with my stupid foot. How was I supposed to get into the shower, get dressed up and drive to Huntington?  I could barely stand let alone squeeze my throbbing, swollen foot into a shoe.  I had intended on wearing my favorite faux-alligator pumps. They're super classy with sensible heels, but not too sensible. Just right.  Now everything was ruined. The job opportunity- most likely gone forever. I have a feeling I am going to be out of commission for quite some time.


I suppose I could have kept the appointment anyway. They would have been impressed with my tenacity had I just sucked it up and hopped into the meeting on one foot. I have a pair of neon pink, faux-fur lined clogs and because they are so wide and roomy, I was able slip my aching foot into one of those without screaming in pain. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and how utterly ridiculous I looked. The sharp, shooting pains in my foot were also causing my face to contort in the most unusual ways. I decided to call and cancel the appointment.

I was hoping that by some miracle I would wake up this morning and the pain would be gone. No such luck. It still hurts. Badly. I have my foot elevated and I am applying ice packs to the area every twenty minutes. This is keeping the swelling down to a minimum but there is still no way I can stand on it or walk.  This really sucks!!

I must confess I am the worst patient ever. I am stubborn, irritable and nasty right now. I don't like being dependent on anyone and I am trying to do everything myself. I've set up camp on the couch with the remote control and the lap top and I am already bored out of my skull. I've decided to drastically reduce my consumption of  liquids because it takes me about fifteen minutes to get the bathroom. It's hysterical really and I am thankful my son is here. I managed slip on my clogs and hop into the kitchen this morning to brew a pot of coffee. I am actually pretty good at balancing on one foot (thank you, yoga) but I couldn't figure out how to hop back to the couch, coffee in hand, without spilling it all over myself. Believe me, I tried.  After he cleaned up the big mess I made, my son served me my coffee. That was awfully nice of him but in a few hours he will be leaving for work and will be gone the entire weekend. I will be left to my own devices and he will probably return home to find me passed out on the couch in my stupid pink clogs; dehydrated and starved half to death. I was supposed to go grocery shopping yesterday but obviously that didn't happen. Oh well. I wanted to lose a couple of pounds anyway.

All my plans for this weekend- shot. I had intended to drive to Brooklyn on Friday and then spend Saturday and Sunday at my sister's cabin up in the mountains. There's no way that's gonna happen now.  I will be a couch potato, against my will.  So not my style. Thank God for Netflix. Maybe, just maybe, I can get my web cam to work correctly so I can participate in a few Google+ Hangouts.  I love on-line shopping and maxing out all my credit cards by ordering stuff I don't need sounds like fun.  It's probably not the best idea, though, being that my current condition means I am not really earning much money. Luckily, my wallet is in a different room and I can't bear the thought of hopping all the way to the other end of house to retrieve it. My credit rating is safe, for now, but I'd better figure out some ways to use this down-time productively or I will go insane.

What have I learned from this? Nothing.  I am sure I'll eventually have some brilliant epiphany to share, but right now, I am just feeling sorry for myself.  And you know what? I think that's okay.  I should be allowed have my own little pity party now and then.  I am usually very hard on myself.  I rarely give myself permission to cry, complain, whine or ask for help.  Maybe that's the lesson I am supposed to learn.  I'll let you know.

For now, this is the shoe that fits and I'm wearing it..........

A Little Cat Poop Dilemma

My darling, beloved cat got locked in my son's bedroom today. The cat loves his room and cannot resist sneaking in because of all the fun stuff in there like tools, string, nuts and bolts, little bottles and jars, and a big box of 100,000 Q-Tips. Why my child doesn't store his things away in drawers and cabinets is beyond me. The cat never gets into my stuff because I PUT IT ALL AWAY!

 I worked hard all day today, had a flat tire on the way home, and when I walked in the door all I wanted was to slip on my cozy faux-fur lined slippers and chill with a glass of wine. My feet were killing me. Instead I was greeted by a very irate 22 year old child and one cowering kitty. The cat and the boy had a bit of an episode while I was away.

Apparently, while trapped in the bedroom, nature called and the poor cat had no choice but to do his business on top of a pair of skivvies left on the floor. The moment I walked in the door tonight, my son began  screaming that the cat is forbidden to enter his room again.  If it ever does happen again, the damn cat is getting a fucking spanking. He's tired of my sweet little pet sleeping on his bed and shedding all over, knocking keys, bottles and jars off the dresser, and rearranging and losing things.  And the Q-Tips. They're everywhere. He swears the cat takes bites out his sandwiches when he isn't looking and probably drinks from his glass too. Today my son had to clean up a couple of pieces of hard, crusty cat poop.  He showed them to me. Okay, it was gross, but honestly, I couldn't stop laughing. My laughter and nonchalant attitude about all this made my son even angrier.

First of all, son, you just moved back in after being away from almost three years. I was so lonely, eventually I got the cat to replace you.  As far as the cat is concerned, he was here first and you are his guest. Your room is not your room.  It belongs to the cat. That's where he used to hang before you got here because it happens to get more sunlight than any other room in the house. Now it's cluttered with all sorts of interesting stuff. Cats are curious and he needs to know what you've got in there. Every day you walk in with a bag or a box and he can't stand the suspense. You can't close or lock your bedroom door when you leave because you never know if the cat is in there or not. In fact, before your arrival, I never closed any doors; not even the bathroom. That great big door that leads to the outside world is the only one that was ever closed.  He's been out there only once in his entire life and he hated it.  He really has no interest in venturing out there again.  So just deal with the fact that every room in the house belongs to the cat. We are both just guests here.  I have no problem with this at all.  

Secondly, food belongs in the kitchen. It should be eaten in the kitchen. Don't leave half-eaten sandwiches in your room. Don't leave a glass of water, milk, juice or any other liquid in there either because I can pretty much guarantee the cat will help himself to a few sips in your absence. I don't condone or encourage the cat to consume people food or beverages, but then again, everything in this house belongs to the cat. This includes food and drinks. He shares it all with us.

Third: skivvies belong in the laundry basket, not tossed on the floor. That huge pile of dirty laundry in the corner next to the empty laundry basket is the perfect spot for the cat to hide out in so you don't know he's there.  He knows you really don't like him and he wants to punish you for not dancing around the house with him and repeatedly kissing him on the mouth like I do. He does this by rearranging all your stuff and then letting you know he was there by rolling his body all over your clothes and blankets.  He's simply reminding you that he is the baby and he was here first. He then waits for you to fall asleep and just wants to be near a nice warm body.  Since you give off much more body heat than I do, he snuggles up beside you at night in the bed he lets you sleep in.
 

Sorry you had to clean up kitty poop, but at least the cat was thoughtful enough to deposit it right on top of your underwear and not in the bed or on the brand new carpet. It's not his fault, it's yours for the closing the door behind you when you left. And for the record, I cleaned up your mess for years and I still do. I also worked all day today cleaning up patients who are no longer able to clean themselves. So cry me a river.

And last, but not least, I know you would never hit my cat, but if an accidental cat poop is too much for you to handle, the cat and I will gladly pack your bags and then we can return to our fancy-free lives and open door policy. I can once again walk around the house in my bra and panties.  I won't have prepare meals for anyone. The cat is easy. As long as I serve him a can of cat food promptly at 5PM every evening; he's happy. I was perfectly content with soup or salad for dinner and now I have to cook things like turkey, roast chicken and pot roast. After dinner, the cat and I can resume the pleasure of snuggling together on the couch to watch Animal Planet just like we used to before you took over the entire living room and the television.

You've upset the balance of our perfect little life here............

Honestly, I love you, my son and I love having you here. I know the cat loves you, too.  He follows you around when you're here and waits in your bedroom when you're gone.  In fact, while you're at work right now, he's in your bed, shedding his cat hair all over the pillow he lets you use. But don't worry. The bedroom door is wide open should he have the sudden urge to, well..... you know.