Hi there

Lots going on here... I have hardly a minute to myself. Took my son to visit a college on Friday, and he loves it. Great school, great program... I had a busy, busy weekend, an above average Valentine's - standards and expectations are really low, so don't get too carried away. I miss touching base here, but for now it cannot be helped. I shall do what I can, just know I have not forgot about my new friends here, but an old buck like me knows of the limitations of the 24 hour day, and I need to devote some of that to sleep... Waves hello to Liane, to Lisa... hey Suzy... huge hugs, lots of mushy kisses... take care... to quote Douglas MacArthur - I shall return.

I can always go home

I wrote this originally on a Friday the 13th... The picture above is of the main drag in my home town, probably a mile or less from the neighborhood that I grew up in... we could see that water tower from our neighborhood, just from the other side...


As a child of the 13th, I do not feel unlucky today. It is not my birthday today, but being Friday the 13th, I feel inspired to ponder about luck, fortune, whatever. I usually say that I am blessed.


I have two great kids. I am very proud of them. They make me laugh and make me proud. If luck or genes or whatever influenced their breeding, I cannot say, but they are for the most part hardworking, talented in their own ways, they love me, and as I said I am blessed to have them in my life. They are not perfect kids (just having me for their dad is a liability enough to start with...) but whatever their shortcomings, I would not trade them for the world...

My parents are still going strong after 61 years of marriage. My dad turned 81 awhile ago, and my mom will be 81 in two week... High school sweethearts, prom king and queen from the Class of '46 - they have weathered plenty of stuff. My dad has beaten cancer (first thing he did when his five years was up - he signed up to give blood again...) I play golf with him every so often - and he beats me most of the time (not a huge accomplishment...)

At my former job, the one I held for 26 years before getting canned... I could walk to the neighborhood that I grew up in. Most all the neighbors from that time are no longer there, but the houses are still there, and so are the memories. Within the last couple of years a video store was built where the ice rink was - right across the street from the house I grew up in... That is sacreligious, but they have good deals, so I have stopped there and rented movies. I would stand and peruse the recent titles, and betwixt the movies I can see my old front yard. The porch that I sat on when I sat and thought how awful it was that the Van Zeeland kids would have to grow up without their dad - gone at the age of 41. Pete, their oldest son, was just two years older than me. Look at those frickin' maples in the backyard of our house - they are monstrous. I used to sit in them for hours at a time, and read. They were great trees, and I got really good at sitting quietly in them, listening to conversations of people as they walked by, or avoiding certain kids who wanted me to come out and play. I learned how to be by myself a lot in those days.

Having a neighborhood like that to grow up in was a huge blessing. Within a four block area there were probably 40-50 kids within five years of my age either way, and about 75% or more of the dads worked at the mill. We ice skated until long after dark, we played kick the can and hide and seek and touch football and baseball. The moms got together and banned us from playing hockey, and soon after that tackle football. I felt unlucky because I never had a cast for all the kids to sign, and my knee popping out of joint never was bad enough to require surgery. My mom and Mrs. Van Grinsven conspired to cut out the full court basketball (our driveway and across the street to their driveway) after Boone (his real name is Daniel) ran into their clothes line pole and needed 16 stitches to close up a gash in his bean... Boone was a year younger than me, about six inches taller than me, 30 - 40 LB heavier than me - but was always hurt.

I was ornery and tough because I was small, and I loved it when the other team would run a play designed to go right at me. When I was in 8th grade, my brother, then a senior in high school, had a game of tackle football with a bunch of his buddies at the Memorial Football Field, too far away from home to be subject to the tackle football ban. I was just supposed to hang out with my brother, because everyone else was gone that day, but they were a guy short, so I got to play. Sure enough, they ran a sweep right at me, and I didn't flinch. Six foot two, 175 LB meets five foot four, 125 LB. I nailed Tim Stuyvenberg with a jarring tackle, and down we went. When the dust settled, everyone came running to see if I was OK. Hell yeah, but you better check him - I broke his collar bone.

Growing up the youngest of five, I was blessed to watch and learn from my older siblings. Lucky, too I guess, that my parents mellowed as the years passed. Spoiled, is what my brothers and sister would contend. I watched them match wits with my parents, and found what worked and didn't work. Lying never worked - the key was to stay above suspicion. One of my brothers was the master at that, and one of the others, was not... The stories at family gatherings now are hilarious. We never dreamed how good we had it in those days, and we also never thought how important those days would be to us now. My parents got married and within six years had four kids, and then four years later had me, and were done. They had some unreal Catholic luck, having no more kids after they were 30. Our family was on the smaller side of average for our neighborhood, as it was not unheard of to have eight, nine or more. One family in the little Dutch ghetto across the river from us had 18 kids and had to eat meals in shifts.

Sanderfoots and Winius' and Kanes, and I think Artz' still live there, and Mrs. Van Grinsven still lives in the house across the street from where we lived. Sometimes our entertainment after supper was to just go outside and see which of the Van Grinsven's were going to fight - they had seven boys, and then along came Nancy, the youngest. It was usually Boone who thought he could pound on one of the older ones, and it was usually shortlived because he got hurt so easily. I know how disappointed I was when they wouldn't come out to fight, as it seemed to be somehow reassuring to me. I felt lucky because my brothers usually didn't want to fight with me, they restricted their abuse to the verbal variety.

My dad was surprised when Mr. Seaver died a couple of years ago. Hardly anyone knew that he had fought at the Battle of the Bulge and had a couple of medals for heroism. He was just our neighbor, and that had never come up in conversation. That's how life is in the neighborhood sometimes. You know people, and you can borrow sugar from them and sell them stuff for school fundraisers, play games with their kids, do sleepovers, use their bushes for hiding places but when they died, there was always some eye opener in store... I never knew that the Hermes' had a little girl suffocate on a plastic bag when she was in her crib. I found that out when their dad died...

We were lucky - we are lucky, blessed. Here we are, 30 some years removed from that neighborhood, and we haven't lost anyone in our family yet...

It's not my home anymore, as I haven't lived there in such a long time. But it's part of the fabric of my life, and I can run into kids that I hung around with and we waste no time drudging up the memories of this and that and so many things. When Jardo was trying to do a balancing act at the sewage treatment plant and fell in the "poop patch." No one will ever forget that, ever. Or when Mr. and Mrs. Dehart died in a murder suicide on that New Year's Eve... I never knew how to talk to Dave after that - what do you say to a kid who lost both his parents the same day?

It's just a neighborhood. No park anymore, but houses and yards and trees still remain. And our memories, knocking around there like old ghosts. You can go home again, whenever you want. Home is not a physical place, you carry it around in your heart. I'm lucky to have that place as part of my roots. Lucky, or blessed.

today is...

 

Today she turns 21...

21 years and about 2 1/2 hours ago,

I first met her,

when the doctor urged me to cut the umbilical cord...

which I did, rather clumsily...

as the tears in my eyes did not quite let me see what I was doing...

Her aunt brought her a velcro ribbon to put in her hair, 

as she didn't have enough to put any other kind in...

She was small, and lovely, and she smiled alot...

She is a father's dream, really...

I call her Tootsie...

She is an adult, everywhere now...

I will always love her, and remember when...

I held her for the first time, and she fell asleep on my chest...

And nothing, nothing, could have been more perfect...

Happy Birthday Mel... thanks for letting me wear the title of dad...

right now

The sweat is real. The groggy head is real. The groping and searching and reaching out is very real. Tossing and turning, trying to fight off the confusion, reaching again... searching, the eyes stay shut... if, just... damnit... where? The search abandoned. Half light sheds some light on the situation. Here comes the reality. The lovely lilting lingering images of these twilight hours, the warmth, the passion, the fitting together of puzzle pieces matched so perfectly - all torched and torn asunder by waking, by that damnable consciousness... Here it is, shit... yes, here is that place again - the torture chamber with no devices. The dungeon with no locks, the pit with no walls.


Being alone is not necessarily loneliness. Except sometimes when it is.

together

He was tired of pacing. The grandfather clock was driving him nuts. With every trip up the hallway, he felt his footsteps keeping time with the clock. "You are a mess," he sighed. Everything about his life was well ordered and organized. He was punctual. He liked everything in its place. Everything was. His desire to have everything just right for her was becoming obsessive compulsive... He had been cleaning the house for days. Washed windows, mirrors, cleaned countertops, he dusted, he vacuumed, vacuumed again... He had been ready for awhile now. The weather confounded his perfect planning. She should have been here by now. The rain, the winds, the nasty lightning and thunder, Holy Monkey, he had never seen such a storm.

He cringed whilst another bolt crackled over head. He hated it when he could hear the lightning. The entire yard light up for a second or two, and then the thunder boomed so loudly it felt as if the entire house were picked up off its foundation and dropped from several feet back down again. He sat down, and laid his head on the table. He was tired. Tired of thinking, tired of worrying about her, not sure where she was, why she didn't at least call. Was she lost, was she in trouble, off the road... who the hell knows? He had called her number a gazillion times, it didn't matter. His head touched the cool surface of the table. Thunder rumbled again in the distance. His eyes closed, his brain stopped, an uneasy silence came over him, his breath calmed, sleep came. Or a barely conscious doze...

He jolted awake. What the? He felt warm, soothing fingertips massaging his neck. Before he could react or rebel or identify the intruder, her face came down to his, she was giggling, and yet trying to reassure him... "It's OK, it's OK... I was going to lower my voice and try to sound real sinister, but Jeeze, Louise... don't have a heart attack!" His heart was pounding, he must've crashed into some form of REM sleep, and her touch had really jump started his heart. He had no idea of the time, but he did remember sitting down to rest. The storm had ceased outside, it was still dark, but none of that mattered. In the nanoseconds it took to process the information around him, his brain leaped to the conclusion, she was here! Oh sweet mother of joy, she was here! She was here! She was here, right now!

He was entrapped betwixt the chair and the table, and with her presence behind him, he struggled to his feet, skewing the chair, moving the table, and forcing her to step back... He took her presence in, all of her. Good Gosh Almighty, here she was! She looked a bit tired, but her eyes were expressive, showing at the same time relief, joy, anticipation, happiness, weariness... all, all of it at once. He threw his arms out and she nestled into his form, and they wrapped themselves around each other. He was curious as to what had happened to her, what had caused the delay, the disruption of communications... but it didn't matter, she was here, he was here, they were together... The hug took on urgency, as pent up emotions, so much anticipation, dissolving fears and melting insecurities... none of it mattered. They could talk, and ask and answer questions and catch up on the multitude of miscellany that might matter in a different moment, but not now...

Just before their mouths collided, a breathless smiling voice whispered, "Did ya miss me?" And the lips met lips. Yes. She threw her legs around his waist, kicking the chair in the process. She tasted like heaven. He didn't know, nor little cared what it was, but it was delightful. Her full lips nibbled on his, their tongues circling around in their mouths. A new urgency had arrived, and they both were captive to it. He held her lovely firm butt cheeks in his hands, as she mashed her pelvis against his midsection. He moved his hands up her form... pausing at her hips, caressing her hips, lower back, down to her globes again... she humped against him. They both knew what they wanted, what they each had to have... He broke the kiss to inhale her neck, her chin, her ear... she mauled an ear of his, trailing her tongue across his forehead, down his nose.... they simply could not have all that they wanted of each other.

She touched his temple, then the other and moved his face back, just a tad. Nose to nose now, they took in each other's eyes. She giggled, he smiled... they were giddy with lust, with hope, with anticipation. She formed an "o" with her mouth, to kiss his nose, then backed away again... "I gotta pee, sweetie... can you show me where I can do that..."

"Absitively," he said... and grasped her hand and led her to the bathroom around the corner. One more kiss, a slight, though firm brush across the lips, and he flicked the light on for her and pulled the door shut. As it closed, he said, "I'll get us nice bottle of something, and maybe we can do the hot tub, I think the weather is OK now." The door shut and as he padded away, he heard her reply "The only thing I'm doin' is you, baby..." He laughed. She likes merlot, but he felt more like a chardonnay. Hmm, I don't look like a chardonnay, do I? He closed his eyes, grabbed one and turned around. The cork gave way with ease, and he pulled two glasses from the rack. He kicked his shoes toward the door, and flung his socks to the corner. The shirt went over one of the chairs, his pants over the arm of the chair... with bottle and glasses in hand, he met her right when she emerged from the bathroom.

She had her hands folded beneath her chin, her arms covering her chest... She had removed all her clothes, save her thong, and she gasped when she saw him, and followed that with a giggle. "Great minds think alike, huh?" she tittered out loud. He set the bottle and the glasses down, and she wrapped her arms around her neck. This kiss was slower, fuller, with no less intensity. She pushed herself against him and they reveled in the warmth of each other's skin. She jumped up on him again, this time holding her hips out away from him, as his hands dropped to her thong, and the cooperative engagement had it falling effortlessly to the floor. Immediately she slammed herself against him, his eyes rolling back in his head as he felt the scorching heat of her sliding up and down his stomach. Her ass was perfect, and his hands formed and kneaded each cheek.

She was out of breath. His was caught down near his rib cage. "Please," she rasped, "you better, real quick, cause baby's on fire." She nuzzled his neck, and fingertips glided and danced over his form, finding the waistband of his boxers... She disengaged from him, never letting go of his boxers, and slid them down roughly. He was ready... very. "Now," she half cried, half pleaded... and she jumped back up into his arms, and lowered herself onto him. He leaned back against the wall, took one hand to guide himself in, and held her firmly at her hips. She was devouring his mouth, and their carnal dance took over. He couldn't remember ever feeling this good, she was so wet and receptive, and they found a rhythm without a pause. She enveloped him with a such a searing heat that he gasped when he felt himself all the way in. She fit him like a glove. "Gimme some, now... please, I have to... oh please..." and her voice trailed off.

She bowed her head and gave herself over to the moment... He kept her steady with his palms on her hips... she dictating the tempo with hips, he spurring her on by pushing and pulling moving her from side to side and up and down... Purrs and growls, sighs, whispers, unintelligible sounds, kissing, moaning, a fleshy symphony of sounds emanated from the two glistening bodies in the hallway. He pounded away, grunting as he tried to go in further... further each time. Slapping, wet sloshing... heavy, gasping breathing... and low in her throat, first as a whimper, growing with urgency, "Please, please, please... oh, pleeeeeeaaaaaaassse," and she went over, her head tossing from side to side, her thighs squeezing around him so abruptly that he almost thought that she had cracked a rib... she was so lost in her exquisite pleasure that he could hardly hold her... and his own moment was close at hand...

He allowed her to slow to a semi-swift sway, and then she felt his hands tighten at her hips, he moved to her ass cheeks and pushed her against himself with one last heave he was there, too... pushing and heaving into her, wave after wave as he emptied himself again and again... they were groaning and gasping and the whole world stopped around them. She was humming or making some sound that just came out as "mmmmmmmmmm," and then again "mmmmmm," and then "uh" and a series of "uh" followed by a deep exhale "uuuuuggggghhhh" and she wanted to say what was in her mind but her mind was mush... it didn't matter, it really didn't matter. Their bodies had spoken, quite fluently, all that was needed to be said. Their hearts were banging out a deafening crescendo to the act that was just now ending...

"I know," he said, with almost no breath left inside him. "I know."

The one...

I have been down this road before. I have am so diffident and aloof to matters of the heart sometimes that it scares me. I am not seeking the one... I hope that I am not repulsive or so defensive as to absolutely cancel the possibility, but I am sorry, I just don't seem to have the energy for it. It seems like too much work, so fraught with danger, so much downside to almost completely negate the upside... If I want to be depressed, I will just look at my bank statements. I have a full life, a daughter in college who is in love with life, her boyfriend and completely immersed in her studies... and a son in high school, who is popular, smart, athletic and fun... they're joy, success and fulfillment is mine.

I enjoy my volunteer endeavors - I am president of a community theatre group, and we are about to embark on a production, my son and I both have landed roles in it. I get to chaperone trips with the marching band that my son is a part of, and I know some awesome people involved with that and we get to take some great trips to interesting places. I am working three jobs, in various fashion, so that is interesting, and gives me all the sleep deprivation that I could hope for. I am not anti-romance, I love being in love and I am so happy for those that find it and thrive with it... I just don't think that it is for everyone, and too many of us, me included, just don't know how to get it right...

I fell in love with a woman in November, 2003. We were attracted to one another immediately, we had similar interests, similar sense of humor, kids of similar ages... I adored her, still do in fact. We laughed and loved and we so enjoyed being with each other, it eclipsed anything else in my life. It was great, I was so happy. She was married. It couldn't last, it didn't. I was shattered, but recovered. We are great friends now, and I will always love her deeply. A part of me will never allow myself to be that vulnerable again, ever... a part of me is so thankful for everything that we shared, and I would not trade those six months for anything...  and a good part of me knows how fragile I am. That romance awakened a zombie, who had learned how to tread water quite nicely, after dealing with depression in 2000-2001. She taught me about life, challenged me to be more, grabbed a beating heart and taught it how to open up and pound and pulsate.

I know that there are more than six billion souls on this planet, and that chances are that one of them would be just right for me... still sounds kind of risky to me. If the planets all align and I stumble upon her somehow, hey, that would be peachier than something. In the meantime, I have three books that I am trying to read, taxes to do, lines to memorize, a chaperon schedule to layout, and a house to maintain. I have a dog and cat who love me and ask nothing more of me than my presence, and two kids who keep life full and interesting. Can't it just be good enough to be content?

aftermath

The heart races, pounds, feels about to leap from my chest, the palpitations, the sweat, the voice calling out to who knows who in the language of untranslatable bliss... it is not over in a minute, or in a heartbeat, the bodies transition from arousal, to heightened arousal, to utter satisfaction, and now the joy of completion begins... No more urgency, well, maybe some, but it moves to the back burner, as languid loving loopiness descends, laughter creeps in... as feeling that good, this intensely, cannot be contained without mirth.

To collapse upon the heated receptive form of someone with whom you have just made love with, surely has to be a form of the sweetest surrender... you may want to scream thank you, but the smile of satisfaction and the twinkling of eyes overflowing say it well enough, loud enough, clearly enough... Take me down easy, bring me down slowly, let me recline and nuzzle in all that places that we fit so well, my head against your chest to listen to the percussion inside that lovely vessel... yes, that is a very good place to start. Your heart thunders and drums, and tries to remain where it is... seconds ago it was pounding a crescendo of sweet thunder, pulsing endorphins to the very toes and earlobes... now it pounds and pounds, dancing to the tune it still hears, and the music that will not stop...

The skin that shines, the rosiness that it takes on, the warm glow that goes on and on... the lips that pucker, begging for the exclamation, not unlike the ribbon that greets the runner at the end of the race... share with me this taste of unbridled exuberance, and let the mouth and tongue try as they might to express in moist wet wrestling what they were not able to form in words or syllables... Let my hands and arms tighten about you, and hold and fold around you, this clinging to your form says thank you rather nicely... let my lungs catch up, as they feed the heart and try to restore some semblance of peace and total satisfaction...

Let my chin fold into the proper recess of your form so that your mouth can approach my ear, and make some words of nonsense or total sense, but the brains are both mushy, so if one says something profound or clever, it may be lost in the hearing... not that words are bad or unwelcome - just not necessary, right now. This is the time for no words or just one, "yes" works well... "yes" says it nicely, whatever it is that needs to be said... usually nothing, as the speaking is complete... words don't do it anywhere near as well.

Let me pay tribute to this moment, in all ways that a tribute should take, with the percussion of the heart, the winds of the lungs, the total joy in my eyes, the applause of my lips with yours, and let us take a bow for perfection of the dance... and love the fact that encore could start at nearly any minute... bravo...