sometimes it just fits...

Addicted
Ronan Keating

Just one more kiss
And I’ll be gone
I won’t write, I won’t call you
No more girl, I swear that I’ll be strong
Just one more taste of you
And I’ll be fine
Girl I mean what I say today
But tomorrow I’ll know that I was lying

Cos baby, oh
I only wish you knew
How this feeling scares me so
It’s just like letting, just like letting go

And I guess is that’s addiction
Then I guess that I’m addicted
And I guess that I’m your junkie, fair enough
(I’m your junkie)
And I guess if that’s addiction
Then I guess that I’m your junkie
And I guess that I’m just strung out on your love

Girl I can’t sleep
In these wet sheets
Cos I’ve got hot flushes, cold sweats
And a hunger that’s making me weak

So hit me up
With your best stuff
All I need is a bag of attention
And maybe an ounce of your trust

Cos letting go
Is harder than you know
I’m tearing out my heart
To give my heart to you
As you walk right out of view

Chorus

You go through my heart and through my soul
Like a river gone out of control
It takes my resolve and washes it all away

Chorus

Don’t walk away
I’m addicted

Sometimes, this is the river in which I am bobbing around in... the thoughts, the memories, the scent, the close my eyes so hard feeling that you are right here... like a river gone out of control. I feel it so strongly, and want with every small gesture, with every thought, try to let you know how I feel. And whatever I do, in so many ways feels to be too much on one hand, and nowhere near enough on the other... To want in such a way that causes weakness, mute, sobbing silence... I wish you knew that my only desire is for you to think of me and smile. I do not want some elusive cosmic forever... but just to matter to you.

A life long relationship

The picture below is Lambeau Field in Green Bay, WI, approximately 30 miles to the north of where I sit right now. I attended my first game there on opening day, 1971. It was an exciting game, to say the least, and the Packers lost to the New York Giants, 42-40. It was the very first game in the four year coaching stint of Dan Devine. It is notable as Giant Bob Hyland, a former Packer, bowled over Devine as he stood on the sideline, breaking the new coach's leg in several places. He spent the rest of that season in a full leg cast. He had one winning season, 1972, of his four seasons, and was fired after the 1974 season.

I remember knowing every single players' name of that 1972 team, as they won the Central Division (now known as the NFC North) and went on to lose 16-3 to the Washington Redskins in the first round of the playoffs. The Redskins lost in the Super Bowl to the Miami Dolphins - the only team in NFL history to go through an entire season without losing a game.

The Packers are a leading source of income for the state of Wisconsin, and Lambeau Field is a bona fide major tourist attraction. It is a great facility, and since it was remodeled early in the last decade, it is beautiful and open every day. The atrium at Lambeau Field has hosted weddings, conventions, chamber of commerce events, stockholder meetings... you name it. It has bars, restaurants, the Packer Pro Shop and the Green Bay Packer Hall of Fame. The Hall of Fame rivals the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, OH - and some say the Green Bay facility is superior. All I know is that it is very cool - as a history buff, it has lots of tidbits for those who don't care for sports, and for the fans, it is a treasure trove of facts, figures, trivia and more about the team once known as the Acme Packers, who were founded by a man named Earl (Curly) Lambeau in 1920.

The stadium itself is a wonder. It was built in 1954 and was basically bleachers and fences. Many of the seats there are numbers on aluminum benches. What might be a semi comfortable seat in August or September, becomes a thin slice of valuable space in November or December, as fans add layer upon layer of clothes in order to shelter themselves from northeastern Wisconsin's climate, which can vary from 90's in summer, to well below zero in the winter. During a winter game, you can stand up to cheer, and not be able to park your butt back from whence it came, as the width of each person is half again what it is during fair weather. The New Year's Eve game of 1967 is iconic in NFL circles, as Green Bay quarterback Bart Starr dove across the goal line with less than ten seconds left to defeat the Dallas Cowboys 21-17 for the right to play in the second Super Bowl, in temperatures betwixt ten and fifteen degrees below zero. To listen to people talk now, I have estimated that crowd to be in the neighborhood of 750,000 - though the stadium at the time held less than 50,000. Everyone wishes to be a part of history.

People have Packer rooms in their house, with theater seats comprised of seats taken from Lambeau Field in one of their renovations. People have Packer bars in their homes. My parents travel a lot, and spend their winters in various places, never the same one, every winter. They have never failed to find a Packer bar no matter where they travel, so they can watch the beloved Green and Gold with others of the faithful. I have cousins who live in the Los Angeles, CA area. We see them every 25-30 years, like clockwork. The last time that they were here, they went to Lambeau Field before they came to see any of us. And we understood.

I live on a fairly busy county highway, it connects to area high schools - one with about 1800 students, and a parochial high school with an enrollment of about 600. There are times when I sit in my driveway for ten minutes or more without being able to pull out. When the Packers are playing, I could take a half an hour long nap in the middle of that road, and not be disturbed. The Packers are the only thing that matters for many people. If you want to have a leisurely round of golf, tee it up at kickoff time on Packer Sunday, and you just might be able to play three or four balls at once - you won't be pushed.

I know, I know - I can hear it already. What else is there to do in Wisconsin? There is lots, but I am not on the board of tourism. Anyone familiar with Wisconsin knows that there are lakes, the highest concentration of golf courses in the country (not kidding, look it up)... Wisconsin is beautiful, with rolling hills - what a lovely job those glaciers did on carving out the tapestry that I call my home, lots of trees and grass - some great state, county and municipal parks, history - the home of Frank Lloyd Wright, the architect, Liberace the pianist, the artist Georgia O'Keefe, actors Spencer Tracy, Orson Welles, and Frederic March... and of course, Harry Houdini...there are museums and theaters and any number of things that make my home state a treasure to be my home. 30 miles to the south is a major aviation museum which hosts one of the world's major fly-ins, and the airport becomes the busiest in the nation during that last week in July.

People choose the Packers because we own them. Yes, the only team of any professional league to be owned by their community. That's right, in the 1950's - the team struggled financially and they decided to sell stock to the community to raise money. The team has a board of directors, and they meet once or twice a year, with their stockholders, at Lambeau Field - somewhere around 25,000 or so will show up. When the Packers won the Super Bowl in 1997, they were greeted by close to 100,000 people who lined the streets of Green Bay, waiting for hours to catch a glimpse of a couple passing buses. When the Packers arrived at the Lambeau Field, they were greeted by a full stadium. In temperatures that were in the single digits.

We love the Green Bay Packers. Don't ask why. We just do. We own them, and we'll never stop living and dying with them. It's a community thing.

hold my hand

I have nowhere to go, so here is just as good as anywhere else that I could be. And I have such loveliness around me. The crystal quiet of snow falling, without any sound, when wind has paused to catch its breath, and the world turns on its own, with no reason to hasten toward the next day. I peer out toward the river, and cannot see anything, even with a full moon, the falling snow obliterates anything in view. I sit with my head in my hands, a slight smile upon my face and I ponder the richness and mystery of memories.

As I went through each detail of the lovely interlude that had preceded my arrival in this spot, I was thankful for the clarity of the images. Her voice, a touch scratchy from a recent cold, and strained and somewhat muted by all of her laughing. Her voice was always a lovely thing to behold, as she always spoke with a smile in her voice. She seemed to be always on the verge of laughing, and for that reason some people did always take her seriously. But her upbeat manner and hair trigger sense of humor belied a spirit of passion and a devotion to the things that she held dear. She loved animals, she loved theater, she loved to read, and she was desperately loyal to family and friends. Though happy and optimistic, she was guarded with her feelings, and could take some time before she warmed up to anyone or anything. When that warmth was evident, it was an intoxicating thing to behold.

After the failed gymnastics on the bleachers, we had slowly made our way back to where I lived. By foot it was only three quarters of a mile or so, but it was nearly all uphill. More comedy ensued as we had trekked up the hill that led out of the park. The falling snow was somewhat slippery, and camouflaged some ice underneath, and the fall going up the hill was a noble and equal encore to the tumble on the bleachers... this time, my feet shot straight out and I was parallel to the ground for a few seconds, hanging in the air, seemingly weightless, until gravity rediscovered me and threw me to the ground. She nearly went with me, as we each had an arm around the other's waist, but the abruptness of it had thrust me away from her as I fell with a thud to the ground. Momentarily stunned, and with the wind partially knocked out of me, I gasped. This startled her further, and she thought that I was hurt seriously... When I shook my head and tried to clear the stars and cobwebs, I apparently made a sound and a face that struck her... Full blown giggles struck again, and having caught my breath, I laid out fully and just listened.

Her laughter was all that could be heard, and what a treat. I was glad for multiple reasons that I was ok, right now, the major reason was that she was useless. She fell to her knees and could not get up for a period of several minutes. When silent, I closed one eye, looked at her seriously, and whispered "Lucky for you that I love you, or all this laughing at my expense might get on my nerves..." The words caught her off guard. She smiled, her eyes opening very wide, and she took her hands, and placed them on her upper chest, fingers pointing toward her face...

"Moi?" she said. "You love me. You love me? You... love me. Well, ok." Her laughter stilled, for now, her face took on a countenance I had never seen before. As I struggled to my feet, ignoring the the newly collected aches and pains, I was anxious to pursue this topic. For clarification, for assurance, for any number of reasons. As I finished brushing the snow off of me, more so to gain time to decide how to proceed. She had turned away from and was looking off into the distance. I touched her shoulder, and she turned and threw her arms around me. She was shaking again, this time in tears.

"No one," she gasped. "No one, has ever, ever told me that."

The walk continues - the snow, the night, the quiet

As I continued walking, I was shrouded in the silence. For the first time, I felt the cold, and was keenly aware of being alone. This park, during the summer, is bustling with any number of activities. Now, I was the only inhabitant. That thought created a feeling of vulnerability, and it was very strong... The snow continued unabated. I turned the collar up on coat, thrust my hands deeper into my pockets, and trudged on. I followed the bend in the road, down a hill.

I was hit with moonlight in the face. The trees had parted, and the moon struck me full on. A recent warm spell had thawed the river, and the water moved freely again. The eagles must like that, having more opportunities for fishing. The scene stopped me dead in my tracks. I watched the snow fall, it was really piling up. Before me was the softball diamond, scoreboard, bleachers... all of it. As if Charles Dickens had led me here with the ghost of Christmas Past, I watched a scene from a time gone by, as it played out before my eyes...

When was it, how long ago? It matters not. It will be an image playing in my mind as I draw my last breath, as the conscious will view my life as it passes before my eyes. Let me linger right here, and be in that moment again. I am walking on a certain section of bleachers, like a kind of target. I get to an assigned place, wheel and head back in the other direction. She stands some distance away, and tries to pelt me with snowballs. An idyllic setting, another winter night... warmer then, maybe not temperature wise, but her presence made it so. No, it was warmer, the big flakes coming down, easily packed into snowballs. The current snow, too cold to make snowballs...

I hear her laugh. I can always hear her laugh. My foot hit the edge of the bleacher that I was standing upon and I fell off, with much noise and the flailing of limbs... Aluminum bleachers can be a tad unforgiving, what I wouldn't give to feel those bruises again. She shrieked, a combination of fear and hysterical laughter - she was genuinely afraid for my well-being, but could not hide her mirth at the clumsiness of the fall. Of course I wasn't hurt, shattered limbs would not have allowed me to dampen that moment... When she knew that I was alright, the laughter would not stop for some time. It was a fortuitous fall, as she held me so tight, both as a gesture of comfort to me, and as an aid to herself to keep her from falling down amid the peals of laughter.

We stood in the moonlight and kissed, it may have been a brief kiss, I only remember the passion, and not wanting it to end. When frozen in time like that, a moment of bliss and beauty can break the elasticity of time and space. As my current self stood and watched, I felt those arms around me yet. "Ass over tea kettle, oh my god... that's where that expression came from! You... you," unremitting, convulsive laughter, "it was like slow motion - hands, legs, then you..." more giggles, tears now... "you tried to catch yourself... you sure... are you..." her face now buried into my chest..."are you ok?" I feel her trembling as my fall plays over and over in her mind. For this kind of reception, I may make clumsiness a part of my normal routine...

I placed my hands on her shoulders, peered into the loveliness that her eyes always made me feel, and said "I am so glad that I can entertain you." To be honest, one shin, a knee, and a couple ribs were still singing out in genuine pain, but it was so worth it. The quiet that engulfed us, the intimacy that we shared, the night, the snow, the quiet, the setting - thank you, ghost of Lovely Past... why I get to replay this now, who knows... her lips came to mine again. Don't, please... just stay, a little longer.

And I was here again, alone. I felt a stinging on my cheek, and knew right away that the tears were freezing on my cheeks. Another badge of honor, the pain was such a lovely hurt. I made my way down to the entrance to the ball diamond, slipping slightly, gaining a grip on the chain link fence to catch myself. Wiping out here and now would not be nearly as entertaining... A few steps more and I was there again, same spot, same bleacher, only time, eternity, circumstances and memories separated that moment from this. It felt good to be here again.

I sat down and watched the moon. The quiet yawned around me, threatening to swallow me whole. I wonder if she thinks of this at all. My heart smiled. The moon winked. The snow fell. I don't know how long I sat there.

We went walking

In order to create a more perfect frame of mind, I decided to go out walking. I have a love/hate relationship with winter. I am so in love with calm, quiet winter days and nights, when every sound announces itself and is crisply enunciated from every other sound and occurance. I hate the windy, downright dangerous cold that chases us from cars to indoors and causes so many people to head for warmer climates. I love to walk, and nothing does better for my state of mind than to walk, to listen, to watch, and to air out the gray matter.

Not far from where I spent my formative years there is a park. My hometown is smallish, probably 5-6,000 and will never be much bigger, as it is totally hemmed in by a river, a highway (with another municipality staking claim to everything south of that highway), and two other communities right up against the borders, east and west. It is a pretty nice town, the folks there a bit too provincial for my tastes... and it bears the name of a corporate giant who used to run the paper mill in town there. The mill shut down in 2008, and the town is still reeling from the after affects...

One of the great things that the corporate giant did was donate land for my park. It's mine, because it's there for me when I need it. It's on a point in the river, that lovely river that I have saluted in blogs past - one of the few in North America that actually flows north. The park has softball diamonds, as my hometown is drunk on sports... it has a small playground, shelters for social events, a boat landing and trails. It's major claim to fame is that it has hosted the World Fastpitch Softball Tournament every few years dating back to the 1970's.

But my joy comes from visiting there in solitude. There is an observation deck that overlooks the river. I have written tributes to that as well. Tonight I visit that deck, brush off the seats and just listen. Wind way up in the top of the trees but I feel it not a whisper. Sounds of distant traffic from the highway bypass a mile or two to the west. An owl or two or three trading gossip in the distance... and hush of crystal quiet that both calms the soul and echoes of dark sadness and loneliness. I hear a train whistle... it is a freight train, but it evokes that mournful cry, as so often in the past a trains often were about the business of bustling someone away to somewhere else, and someone else was pierced by the sound of their loved one leaving...

After moments of this rarefied air, I rise to move and breathe in different air. I cannot bear this lovely symphony of sadness too long, or be carried off with it. I walk up the steps and am quickly on the road. I love crunching the snow under foot, as the snow that is falling is cold, not very wet at all, the temperature in the teens... This is not conducive to big snowflakes falling, but the ones coming down are persistent, and lovely, and piling up.

More tomorrow... I need to linger on this