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today is the sixth anniversary of when my husband and i met on line. he liked me because i challenged him and argued with him. i wasnít interested, i said. then i gave him my email address and left for a weekend trip out of town. i thought about him constantly. we met in person on march 6. it was clear we were not only confidants and kindred spirits, we were also soul mates. for the first time in my life i felt at home. on march 10, he moved in and we havent spent a single night apart since.
i waited for him in the downtown mall near my apartment, on benches outside the dancing mermaid. i hadnít seen his photograph. every time a tall big guy entered, i was simultaneously excited, disappointed, horrified. then it was him. i recognized him immediately. the man i had dreamt about. weird how we know these things. how instinct takes over and points us in the right direction, if only weíd listen. we drank wine. he held my hand. i wore the sweater with the peep hole at the cleavage. we caressed for hours. six years later we recreated the whole thing.
when i met charles i had been living on my own for six months. before that i had been with the same man for eighteen years, yes eighteen. a year before i had fallen hard for someone who didnít care for me at all; this made me realize that i was lacking something in my relationship: passion. i cared about my partner but not in that do or die kind of way. until i met charles i assumed this was the way it was meant to be. maybe i simply couldnít inspire or feel passion. i was wrong. so ...thankfully...wrong.
to think that this time six years ago i hadnít met him in person yet. i was in toronto, hanging with my sister. this week iíve been simultaneously looking back at our coming together and remembering that feeling of unknown just before we met, how i had no idea how radically my life was about to change. itís a very heady feeling. weíve gone through so much in six years: divorce, our marriage, the miscarriage of our child, the discovery of our sexual and polyamorous natures. we savour our ability to grow and change together, having finally found unconditional love.
a scary elevator experience-the pulleys that caused the elevator to climb werenít working right so it slipped back, slamming us back down i grabbed onto charles and he calmly pressed buttons for the next highest floor so we could get off. finally the elevator let us off at eighteen. weíd been slammed four or five times. some people spend their entire lives in fear and dread. i refuse to be like that. if that had been the end for charles and me, at least we spent it in each otherís arms. we survived and weíre here. itís a beautiful day.
i had this crazy idea that i would try second life. it made me annoyed by asking for payment info. total scam. you have to purchase everything. thatís too much reality for me. too bad...i like the idea of living in an alternative world, having lovers, making friends. i get this way. iím social yet need space. i love the internet for that. i have a few good friends almost never available in real life, but around occasionally on line. i need to set up my own virtual space, with free clothes, the scent of coffee wafting from the computer.
thereís nothing more comforting than basmati rice cooking fragrantly in a pot on a day with a Ė42 wind chill (when I woke yesterday morning), past the point when celsius and fahrenheit differ. i didnít have to leave the apartment yesterday; it was warm with the sun shining in. how will i ever leave the nineteenth floor where i donít need curtains? yesterday morning the frost really did shine like diamonds on the window pane. i pulled up the covers and read, didnít feel the slightest bit guilty about staying in bed. and then for lunch spicy brown lentil curry.
six years ago today i will prepare my husband-to-be a salad with fresh raspberries. he will taste cranberry juice for the first time and we will spend the evening learning each other body and soul. at ten oíclock he will leave. in a few days i will never spend another night alone. i will never sleep with the red plaid flannel shirt of an ex lover again. yesterday we overslept. the sun woke us, its heat warming our uncovered bodies as we lay sprawled on the king-size bed, our feet touching. when i turn, he spoons against me...our nightly ritual.
i love the light at this time of year and want to be out in it. i am restless. itís the time when i go back and read jack kerouac again, drink too much coffee, start projects; complete nothing. i need cold water, sunlight, long conversations, physical activity. iím spinning like i have attention deficit disorder. iím easily distracted by shiny things, get a wild hair and want to bake muffins, only to discover that i have no flour. today i will worship at the watery altar of the red herring, let myself be tossed in its wake. i surrender.
if i love you, i will do so with fire. the heady scent of my exuberance will linger on your skin and in your mind. if you are my friend i will champion you and help you fight your battles. the world suffers from global cooling. the spirit of love and friendship is being extinguished by war, by fear and by attitudes that say it is sexier to be remote and cool. hot is way sexier than cool. care is sexier than ambivalence. love is sexiest of all. i urge you to show your love to those who need it.
canadians were the first people on the planet to observe daylight saving time. we are changing to keep in sync with the states. what bothers me about the new dst is that it is an american initiative. call me paranoid, but i canít help wonder how this will help shrub and his band of righty christian fundamentalists. i know this is a stretch, but right now the last thing i want to do is follow the orders of an american government. i feel claustrophobically close to the usa. i may just rebel by showing up an hour late for everything.
iím self-conscious about my voice; my guitar playing isnít perfect. yesterday despite my fear of being mocked or criticized, i took the leap and shared my music with friends. guess what? they werenít horrified or critical at all. because i was brave enough to share my creativity with them, they shared with me. when we stop listening to the voice inside that insists we arenít good enough, when we allow our creativity to shine, we form a connection with one another full of possibility and joy. we are all imperfect beings. itís important not to be daunted by the imperfection.
my favourite tea is irish breakfast, a black leaf blend of ceylon and assam indian teas, high in caffeine. i am a tea zealot. i belong to an international tea swap and we exchange teas of all types. through the teaswap iíve discovered chinese white, lemon ceylon, milk tea and a variety of black, green and herbal teas. tea reminds me that the world is an endless source of variety, from earth to sky. even the lowly mushroom has several varieties from poison to hallucinogenic. sometimes i wonder how i could ever be bored. today i savour the splendid varietea.
the first spring rain on a metal roof. what could be more beautiful? a downpour washes snow away and everything is fresh. the breeze blows warm instead of ice cold. i have a paisley raincoat and pink nails. iím ready for a spin beneath the rain, umbrella free. i like to taste those first drops just like i like to taste the first flakes when winter begins. iíve taken to wearing my lavender eau de toilette, dabbing it in places winter has never seen. i feel the elasticity of my limbs snap back into place, making me bounce high. spring!
yesterday on a photoblog someone had posted a photo of a man who had urinated in the street. it was obvious it had been him because footsteps led from the puddle to his chair outside. this man was obviously a street person and obviously in bad shape. what does the photographer do but take a photo of him at his most vulnerable. not only that but those who posted comments on the blog laughed and made fun. most of the time i have faith in humanity but incidents like this make me question it. how can people be so cruel?
I believe I have stronger friendships via the Internet than in person (I wonít say real life). Thereís something freeing about being able to make friends based on common interests rather than geography. I love being able to talk to people from all over, from all walks of life, of all sexual orientations and genders, ages, colours and cultures. The Internet makes boundaries disappear. I like not necessarily being able to see what a person looks like and to just be able to enjoy them for the words we communicate to one another. Blogs also bring me closer to people.
i have a friend who recently complained to me about his long hours. heís in his fifties and earns six figures. he has big house and lots of stuff. what he doesnít have is time. he spends most of his days exhausted. he has three minute sex with his wife on saturdays. he often complains to me about his life and when i tell him he needs to decide whatís more important: money or living. he sees money as being his salvation. i say heíll burn out by the time he retires and wonít be able to enjoy retirement.
last night we celebrated a good friendís thirty-seventh birthday at his favourite watering hole. masses came, some with balloons and cupcakes and a bowling ball, others with offerings of free beer for the birthday boy. it was heartening to witness and share in all the love and camraderie. in my old life i had university pals, but friendships didnít endure my divorce and their pregnancies. for a few years, aside from my husband, who is my best friend, i didnít have friends at all. but now, in my forties, iíve made friends who feel like they will be lifelong friends.
winter is still here, much to everyoneís disappointment, but itís not the same winter. thereís a different slant to light and itís less brilliant white, more soft daffodil. so much depends on the seasons for giving and taking away hope. i want to wear shoes, not boots. i want to dress lightly: a mini skirt with tights rather than leggings, sheer blouses rather than sweaters. we have the urge to shed our skins like snakes. to glisten forward out of our dark and bathe in sun on a warm rock. but that will have to wait. just a little longer.
when i meet people, at some point we share histories. i occasionally refer to my former lovers or my husbandís. it doesnít take long before the new friend realizes these lovers were not before my marriage but during. being polyamorous is odd when the accepted path is monogamy. my husband and i tried socializing with a poly group, but the only interest we shared was polyamory, which wasnít enough to form friendships. so now we try to make friends who share our other interests. those who become our friends canít really understand our ways yet luckily they accept us regardless.
for the last year or so iíve been turning blue during red season. i have nothing to be sad about, it just comes over me. i get quite lonely and i feel ignored. i have seven years or more of this period costume. i canít wait to get out of the hoop skirt and wimple. yet i wonder if the blues harmonica will be replaced by a different hormone tune or whether iíll be singing the same old song. iíll be so glad to end the crimsonís enslavement, but what is my faustian bargain? what am i exchanging her for?
when i was about eight or ten years old, my father touched me between my thighs. he cried in front of my bedroom door when he got drunk. he left the downstairs bathroom door open when he peed and i was alone with him. in my teens, he french kissed me. my sister, ten years older than me, knew the score. she taught me about sex.. because she was so open with me when i was a child, because i knew about sex from a very early age, i knew what my father was up to and i said no.
iíd like to know you. i have to be careful, wild bird. i donít want to scare you away. itís not a sex thing, i promise. itís friendship or perhaps family. i care and it is too soon. my heart has been broken by caring so many times. the risk is too great. i have to learn to let you set the pace. our friendship includes our spouses, which makes me very happy. i have no wish to exclude them. but thereís something special. a kindred spirit feeling i have with you. maybe in another life you were my blood.
a friend of mine may be splitting up with her husband. i worry for her. i believe she would be making the right choice by doing so. he has so many problems and she has been there for him but how much can one person sacrifice for another? itís a sad time in any oneís life though. i feel for her. it was about eight years ago that i realized i wasnít able to continue living with the man i had spent almost two decades with. it took another two years for me to actually make the leap and leave.
i spent the morning with a kind friend who gave me tea, ginger cookies and a river stone necklace. the main reason for my visit was to go through her poetry collection and pick volumes to take away. it was a lovely experience. another friend of mine once gave me her entire collection of erotic fiction. my home is full of books given or loaned to me. i have a reputation as a voracious reader. bibliophiles seem to find me easily. my rules for my bookshelf are keep poetry, let go of fiction, except for exceptional fiction. keep reference books.
this morning walked in the rain. something about sky letting go frees me, frees my writing. argh. disrupted. gone the peace of mind i had when i walked back in. now my brain is going through chores and obligations i have to do. i feel myself getting cranky. i canít write when iím cranky. i had written a few lines about lightning, the age of reason, why i canít look into those eyes, the denial of thunder, and some cliche about swollen rivers. itís getting dark, too dark for me to see, as bob dylan wrote. heavenís door is closed.
today at lunchtime i went to an in-store to listen to a great acoustic guitarist and singer, jim bryson. his lyrics are witty and he has a sweet nature. in the store listening were many ottawa bureau-cats savouring the melodies and rhythms. i believe music is an essential joy of life ingredient, as important as food, shelter, water and love. we have to find ways to get more music into our lives. it feels like this is one way to keep the peace. what if we all had soundtracks? what if we really did dance in the streets every day?
love confuses me. everyone should be able to love everyone, but of course, thatís not the case. sometimes though there are people who simply connect...as friends, or as lovers, even as long lost family. itís a very neat feeling. it helps to know that there are others out there like ourselves in some way, shape or form. is that what love is though? sounds narcissistic. yet i am always in search of kindred spirits. kindred doesnít mean the same, it just means having compatible essential souls. it would be a boring world if we were all alike. i feel ebulient.
a friend of mine and his wife made a 12 lb turkey sunday and itís gone now. they had it for dinner, then lunches, then a bunch of soup. i could never do that. my diet is full of variety. the only types of cuisines that i repeat are asian and indian foods. thereís already variety within these. lately i havenít had much of an appetite for food. itís hard for me to remember to eat. this morning i should be having breakfast, normally yogurt or a bowl of oatmeal, a mug of irish breakfast tea, but iím not hungry.
i went to a reading to hear a renowned and celebrated canadian poet. iím familiar with this manís writing and have never been much of a fan. it is pristinely perfect. the metaphors are effective, the language carefully crafted so that every word counts. he follows the how to manual precisely. and the crowd goes wild. his writing reminded me of the great poetry of an earlier time. it was so perfect that all i could do was sit and listen. the words came from a mountaintop, sermon of the poet. it intimidated me. i could never achieve such perfection.
last entry of the month. itís been interesting to keep my meanderings to a mere one hundred. i hope that a few of these will turn into more. little phrases might work their way into stories, poems, essays. weíll see. itís still cold outside, except the sun is stronger. itís still mostly winter but in the daytime there are hints of spring. at the start of these entries it felt as if spring might never arrive. now itís on the threshold. in april i will be working mostly on my poetry and attending the local writers festival. iíll miss this.
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