words get broken

Our blogs have run their course. There are those that are zealous, such as the person who writes the blog linked on the right, and then the person who i recently discovered...both have allowed their blogs to stand paused, one entry forever dated in early September. i am worse than they. i wish i had the energy and uniqueness to blog as frequently as they did, but when i sit to write it appears that my life is lackluster. It is, most likely, not, it is just that i do not have the creative view to make the mundane day to day happenings come to life. Instead, i whine about a marriage that died years ago, and try to appreciate the marriage that has presented itself to me. All of it maudlin, so i pepper it with entries that are painfully self aware. Once, i had wanted to be a writer, after a short story i wrote in eight grade was covered by the local newspaper. It was followed by journaling and poetry born out of teenage longing: craving girls who wanted nothing to do with me, or so it seemed. It is the journal entries that have given me the best advice, albeit retroactively; as i review past entries, there is insight between the lines that was not so obvious when the words first took to the page like ornaments placed on a tree. i keep writing to learn about myself, but the blog is limited. In my journals, i paste pieces of paper that funnel into my life: concert tickets, small notes, holiday cards from The Land & The Sea, anything that i wish. The blog does not offer me as much freedom. It insists that the words decorate, sparkle, bleed, and i am sure my words cannot live up to that.

family room

When Noire moved in, i had had a passing thought about the fact that we should have a conversation regarding the future; specifically, marriage & children. Noire recalls that, on our first date, i made it clear that they were not in my future; i know it was early on, and like to think i was a bit more diplomatic than that. Instead, i brought it up in June as we lay in bed fatigued from making love. i had recently reneged on the marriage part, not because my faith in it was restored but because of her. i wanted to be with her every day. i asked her if children was something she still wanted- she had been unsure in the past- she said that she did. Unsure what to do with this information, i stopped talking. A few weeks ago she confronted me and asked point blank, and i told her that i didn't see more children in my future. i hadn't seen that side of her in awhile, the side where she goes from one to angry within seconds,and i was reminded of our tumultuous first year. She said she was going to move out, left crying, only to return a half hour later, calmer. Could i have another child? Yes. Do i want to? No. But isn't giving the person you love a gift as large as this what love is about, what it is at its core? My close friend, Sweetness, suggested i may become resentful of the child, the situation, if i do it out of obligation. i had thought of that, and fear she may be right. When i think our story is a foregone conclusion, something arises: some sweet word, some position of her body as she sleeps, and i feel in me that having a child with her would be wonderful.

a wax museum

I have a friend staying with me, and her husband, while they sort out some of her family stuff. This friend was at one time my girlfriend, for five years, through college; we broke up 22 years ago. She is the one i often refer to as Esme in this blog. Noire is very understanding, but i ask myself, does she need to be? Esme and i have been friends four times as long as we were lovers, and while a section of my heart will always be dedicated to her- she was my first love- it's as though it happened to someone else, as though i am reading a history book. i remember a lot about that five years, but the affection and love that weaved in and out is no longer within me, save that tiny piece of affection you reserve for the first person who your heart embraced. Esme is one of two i hope to always have as a friend, the second being Daisy, and many, many people have eyed me suspiciously over the years at remaining friends with exes. It is not as if i do it to maintain some principle, something to prove to myself who I can be. And i was relieved when it ended with ExA.

dement

When i log into my blog, i am almost always surprised by the amount of time that has elapsed since my last post; it never seems as though that much time has passed. My mother has been in the nursing center for about four months. According to my father, they test her regularly and she continues to decline cognitively. I don't notice this when i visit, especially when i visit with her alone. She is charming, pleasant, and oddly content. And she remembers the most unique particular of the past, as though there is nothing wrong with her brain. Eventually, something comes- not remembering that my sister married, and who she married, and she incorporates them along with the true memories, confidently. i imagine it is the same feeling i get, seeing the date of my last blog entry- for her, there is no surprise, her recollection of the past, the present, is just how it is.

partnership, of the domestic kind

i have redefined every aspect of relationships since my marriage failed; living with someone is no different. Noire is now the fourth person in my house- sixth if you count the grrls, who are here one night a week and every other weekend. The irony of this is that, for an anti-social person such as myself, my house is chock full with very little space to escape. My friend that has been living in my basement for a year and a half (my other friends call him the cave dweller) has until May 31. While this should free up space considerably, giving The Land her own bedroom, we will still have a lot of people here. She is patient with this arrangement- after all, she moved from an apartment where she had 5 roommates- but even she said last night how difficult it is to find space at times. So what have i discovered about her since the co-habitation began? She talks, a lot, she's a bit more neurotic than i knew, she has excellent taste in shower curtains, and can be both demanding as well as sweet. i am not a TV person- the more time goes on, i find it less necessary- but Noire is so i purchased a new TV for our bedroom. i asked myself: is this the beginning of my giving in, the giving in that frustrated me so about ExA? i don't think it is- even i enjoy a great movie, and being able to watch it from bed is comfortably self indulgent. It is odd, given that i thought i'd never live with anyone again, and when i feel like it is wrong, that the relationship is somehow faulty, i breathe, remind myself to take it day to day and find what i love about her.

the ugliness of condos with mediocre colors that cannot change the past

When PJ asked me to help move a grill from the condo, i assumed he was retrieving his; turns out he had sold the place, was closing in four days and the last renters left it behind. On his suggestion, we took one last walk around. He experienced many memories there, including sexual escapades that he should never tell his wife, and while i also shared similar escapades mine were not fond. Instead they served to underline that year of being lost, in shock, and having unprotected sex with any woman who'd have me in hopes of catching something fatal, to finish what i had failed to do by my own hand. Alas, HIV is not as ubiquitous as i had thought. So, i resolved to use what had been my temporary home for eleven months as a lesson. i stood in what was my bedroom, and took this:

It is the wall i woke up to each morning for eleven months, with all of my possessions stacked against it, and the photo of ExA with The Land given to me for my 35th birthday. That wall, my trespass, the short sighted view of my marriage are all memories i do not want to forget, for fear of getting that full of myself again.

partnership

Noire has moved in with me. It was entirely my idea, and i surprised even myself when i asked. It happened on St. Patrick's Day. We did not have plans to see each other, but as the day grew long i found myself missing her, as i had the last few days. i had been asking myself, am i at the point where i want to see her everyday? i could not answer- the quick answer was yes, but the hidden, deeply buried answer was not known to me, and i feared that it would make itself known after the wheels chugged forward. So on that day, as i was pondering why i missed her more and more, a text came through letting me know that she would love to join me for a drink if i found myself up that way. Responding quickly, we agreed to meet up. As we sat in an Irish bar on the outskirts of Providence, surrounded by people who had successfully transformed themselves into Irish for the day, the conversation flowed into more serious territory, and the question came out. Truly, i had not know i would say it, and waited for the backlash. There was no backlash, and yesterday she has moved in save a few more items at her old place. i am very happy with our relationship- it exceeds my expectations on many fronts, mostly because she allows me to be me....as time passes, i realize more and more that my marriage suffered form my never knowing where i stood with ExA. And learning to control that voice, the one based in fear, not in life. The one that prodded me to woo a married woman while married, the one that cannot be fed enough.

sweet home

Time with my mother is both sad and interesting. Interesting because her personality has changed to the point where she has become very funny. i guess losing your cognition can do that for a person.

Sad because, well, in spite of how well they are designed, a nursing home is a nursing home. She takes it better than i do, than all of us do, usually not saying anything about it. We prefer to translate that as she doesn't remember her previous life. But there are moments when she remembers all too well, and makes side comments about whether or not we will take her home.

If our homes are our heads, our souls, our hearts, i am not sure hers is anywhere.

murder

You know those stupid white stick figure stickers that families put on the back windshield of their cars? The ones that show each member of the family doing what they love: skiing, basketball, ballet, taxidermy? Well, as you can tell, i think they're equivalent to the pet rock- someone is making a ton of dough from a pretty lame idea.

Two days ago, i pulled up behind a big black SUV with those stickers. Except this one had a space between the mom, the kids and the pets. It became clear, especially after i noted a few traces of the white sticker in the space, that a dad/husband used to be there, and was unceremoniously removed.

It was funny, but was surprised that it didn't sadden me, especially as i slouch toward that anti-anniversary.

rents

i love my parents out of duty, not out of affection that grows from being shown love. i didn't realize what i was missing until encountering two epiphanies:

1. Meeting people who love their parents and choose to spend time with them
2. Having children of my own and enjoying them, not acting as if they are in the way.

That said, it has been a challenging couple of years as my mother deteriorates cognitively and psychically. She went into a nursing home two weeks ago, under the impression that she was going to go home after rehabilitation, but it doesn't look as though she can. Her needs are so great my father cannot care for her at home.

Whenever i visit her, she is able to attend most of the time- conversation vacillates between sharp memories and questions about what day it is. However, she always says to me, and i imagine others, "I just want to go home." And when she says this, i find my empathy for her growing, in a way i haven't felt since a child.

moons

i don't know exactly when i fell in love with Noire. i had told her months before that i loved her, but only came to believe it last August. Or maybe September.

The odd thing is that it is a different love. The love i had with ExA was the last of that breed, starting with Esme, passing off to Daisy and ending up with her. When i thought about it, i realized i could love Noire and it didn't need to be what i had known. What i had known had failed me, and when it came to reinventing normal, there was Noire.

While the same obstacles loom (her wanting kids and marriage), there is no immediacy to their presence; she will go her way when she needs to, i will still have a life to live, one that revolves around The Land and The Sea, with the cold silent satellites of what could have been sharing the sky.

we

My big gift to The Land & The Sea this Christmas was a Wii, although the hot game system was the Kinnect. They insisted they wanted the Wii more.

It comes with Super Mario Bros- not their fav, but it's mine. i spend an embarrassingly amount of time playing on it, knowing full well that i crumble when it comes to certain video games (sports video games, not so much. Killing ones? Soothes the soul).

In 1989 i purchased a Nintendo system, which also came with Mario Bros. Esme and i played it on almost every night we were together, and that was a lot at that time. i always thought it was cool that she enjoyed playing, sometimes more than i. Not to be sexist, but girls just didn't seem to have the video game gene.

That was until i had two daughters, one of whom plays obsessively and the other who likes them once in awhile.