I Wanted You to Go

but you were never really here 

sad still-packed-from-the-last 

separation boxes in the 

spare bedroom until 

you made them disappear

a sense of an ending 

in these last few months 

a sense of doom

despite all the work we’ve done 

with all its costs, the upheaval 

of one more false start

and my heart, my heart 

can hardly bear this loss

can only let go in increments 

taking the grief in small bites 

like you eat an elephant 

they say, or stay sober one day 

at a time, but what kind of monsters 

are eating elephants anyway? 

what kind of monster are you 

that my best wasn’t good enough 

or maybe you didn’t want me well?

because of course I needed you 

more while I was sick and suffering 

and if that is true, it has everything 

to do with your damage

and I am damaged too 

I am - if nothing else - an agreeable fool 

for love, accepting mistreatment, 

since first boyfriend in middle school

when we first met, you said

I was like a bright light but then

you tried to make that disappear 

and so began my 27 year 

mistake 

so much time I spent torturously 

twisting myself into a pretzel

catering to and caring for

accommodating and excusing

tending to and tip-toeing around

your emotional needs 

and triggers 

I could never get it right 

but I kept trying and you, 

perfecting your gas-light, 

tried to make me disappear 

and - maybe I was never really here

Rock ‘n’ Roll, Baby

Belated post for my first half marathon of the running season, last weekend! The inaugural Rock ‘n’ Roll Clearwater Race finally happened Sunday the 8th, after being postponed from last year due to Hurricane Ian.

Having done only two other Rock ‘n’ Roll races before (Savannah in 2021 and New Orleans way back in 2001), I had forgotten what huge races these are! Thousands of people made for a late start but the weather was unexpectedly perfect and for sure the bands playing on the side lines every 3 miles or so helped with the energy. 

Besides the bands and the finish, my favorite part was the “Biofreeze” station somewhere near Mile 8 or 9, where you could pull over and get the pain relieving spray on various body parts, like you were getting new tires and gassed up at a NASCAR pit-stop. 

The medal is small and my time slooow at about 2 hours 38 minutes (there were 3 big bridges soooo), but I had a great race and I am still and always - 

Baby Love

I’ve never been a person who is wild about babies. 

I mean obviously, since I chose not to have any of my own, but in general terms also. Probably due in part to my starting to babysit younger sibs and neighborhood kids at a very young age (shockingly young in retrospect and compared to what I believe is standard age to start babysitting today). The in-home day care center my mom ran for most of my childhood didn’t help either!

But maybe I was also just “built” that way. I have a pretty strong opinion that the assumption many people have, that all women want and need to have children, is inherently sexiest.

And yet, I recently fell in love with my granddaughter. 

To be fair, I was pretty well primed for it, hearing my equally not-wild-about-babies husband gush non-stop since returning from New Hampshire, where he visited his son & partner, and met Jubilee for the first time. 

He visited in August for Jubilee’s first birthday, but I waited to meet her until this recent trip to Milwaukee, to celebrate my mother-in-law’s 100th birthday. So much to celebrate! And to be grateful for, too.

You Sure Can Run, Baby

Why do I get up at 5:30am on a Sunday morning, drive 30 miles to run 9? What’s it all for? I have to say at some points I am not really sure. 

It’s become akin to this famous question and answer: Why do I keep hitting myself over the head with a hammer? Because it feels so good when I stop.

But I guess I still love it, though it’s getting harder and harder to do the long distances. Especially in the muggy hot weather of still-summer in Florida! 

But I did it, my first race of the season (which I also did last year and wrote about here), the Fort De Soto “Distance Classic” - 15k put together with slow 12 min miles and some walking to manage a stitch in my side. Even so, I felt better than I expected, with minimal low back & hip pain! And didn’t even realize it was Dad’s birthday until I got home and saw my sibs’ texts. 

Here’s to you Dad, I hope you are running and hiking and fishing and living it up in Heaven! We still miss you down here, but I am often thinking of you, especially when I go running.

You Sure Can Write, Baby

I got my first rejection letter when I was probably no more than 10 years old. It was from “Cricket” children’s magazine (do they still publish it? I wonder), to which I was encouraged to submit my story “Adventures on Crane Island” by a neighbor lady who had taken an interest in me and my writing. 

A sucker for flattery (even at that young age), I was deluded into thinking this smashed-together recitation of various events that happened on a trip to the San Juan Islands with a friend and her parents, was good enough for publication. As the rejection suggests and upon re-reading this, my earliest piece of creative non-fiction, while recently clearing out our childhood home, I can assure you - it was not.

I’ve had a few more rejections letters since then, but I’ve also had some poems that were published, mostly in high school and college journals but hey, they still count (I think). 

And, the rejection letters are part of being a writer, the important thing is to make the attempts! I haven’t attempted any submissions in a very long time, and only now am I finally thinking of what it might take to get published, as I make what feels like the big step of taking an online memoir writing class. 

This is my first writing class since graduate school many many moons ago, and it feels so incredible to once again be part of a small group of like-minded lovers of language, reading and critiquing each others work. 

We meet 6 weeks of Monday evenings for about 3 hours and tonight during our 3rd class my submission is up! I’m equal parts terrified and delighted. My piece is from here of course, and it’s basically all 3 parts of “The Day the Music Died” - this labor of love blog finally getting some much needed feedback, and of course I had to start with the story of the biggest and worst thing that ever happened to me. I’m too close to all the material on this blog, so if I have any hope of turning it into something that could possibly be published I really really need the critique.

As a child declaring (to whomever may have actually been listening and interested), what I wanted to be when I grew up, it was the usual creative and impractical aspirations: an actress, a dancer, a singer, and a writer. 

Only one of these dreams has stood the test of time, is actually still possible and has any substance to back it up (although my rendition of the song “Maybe” from Annie had a lot of fans on the playground, at one time, so if we’d had “American Idol” back then, who knows what might have been).

So, here goes nothing! And since I know that rejection letters are part of the process, I can only hope that I have more of them in my future. But maybe, just not too many.

You Sure Can Read, Baby

One of my most vivid and favorite childhood memories is of Mom loading us all up in the car and taking us to the Seattle Public Library. Most vivid probably, at least in part, because it happened so frequently, maybe every two weeks or once every month. Favorite because I can’t remember a time before I absolutely loved to read.

Our closest location was the Henry Branch library, just off Broadway on Capitol Hill where we grew up. It has since been replaced by a much bigger and fancier structure (and renamed the Capitol Hill Library, as this article informed me), but to me it remains that small two story building with the funny bridge/ramp up to the 2nd floor from street level, that to a child’s eye always seemed like it should have been over water, but it never was.

Mom brought a big cardboard box to bring back all the books and I recall having limits placed on how many I could check out at one time. And then there would be the summer reading challenge, where the library encouraged kids to read more (yeah, like I needed that!) by giving them a fun way to track the books they read. 

My favorite one (or the only one I specifically remember) was a large placemat with outline of a roller coaster and every book you read you got a colorful coaster car sticker until you built the whole train. I’m not sure but I may have built two whole trains!

Because this old photo, sneakily taken by my Dad I think, is pretty representative of how I was most summers of my youth; whether we were on a family camping trip (as in this photo), at the Oregon coast with relatives from Portland, or just hanging out at Madison Beach, I always had a book (or three) with me.

(I’m pretty sure here I was reading Christine by Stephen King.)

My reading program this grownup summer has consisted of more books than I can really post about (or possibly even remember), but recently I’ve done a lot of non-fiction with no particular theme other than they are all interesting to me. Unless you count the two anti-fat bias/body positivity books which is a topic my sister sort of got me into, and I didn’t even know how much I needed to read those books but I did.

The David Copperfield I only picked up because I recently read the new Barbara Kingsolver Demon Copperhead, which she loosely based on the Dickens classic, and I realized I had never read it. (Or maybe I did, but forgot, with so many books read over the years, who really knows?)

Sad to say though it’s slow-going, I still haven’t finished it and I’m 50/50 chance going to give up because life is LITERALLY too short, to read books you don’t enjoy! So there you go Moby Dick, I spent 20 pages on you but I just couldn’t, so that one too will be consigned to my personal heap of “just not interesting enough to get through.”

I’ve actually sort of realized, since I hit the big 5-0 that I am probably not going to have enough time to read all the books I want to before I die. Which makes me sort of sad…but also CHALLENGE ACCEPTED! There’s technically still at least a month of summer left. 

🤩

We Were So Young Then

Her voice was a wonder, and these lyrics…still so powerful! I hope she is at peace but I will miss this artist; her music inextricably tied up in the time I first heard it and listened to it most.

Troy ~ Sinead O’Conner

I'll remember it

And Dublin in a rainstorm
And sitting in the long grass in summer
Keeping warm
I'll remember it
Every restless night
We were so young then 
We thought that everything
We could possibly do were the right
Then we moved
Stolen from our very eyes 
And I wondered where you went to
Tell me when did the light die
You will rise
You'll return
The phoenix from the flame
You will learn 
You will rise
You'll return
Being what you are
There is no other Troy
For you to burn

And I never meant to hurt you
I swear I didn't mean 
Those things I said
I never meant to do that to you
Next time I'll keep my hands to myself instead
Oh, does she love you
What do you want to do?
Does she need you like I do?
Do you love her?
Is she good for you?
Does she hold you like I do?

Do you want me?
Should I leave?
I know you're always telling me 
That you love me
Just sometimes I wonder 
If I should believe
Oh, I love you
God, I love you
I'd kill a dragon for you
I'll die
But I will rise 
And I will return
The Phoenix from the flame
I have learned
I will rise
And you'll see me return
Being what I am
There is no other Troy
For me to burn 

And you should've left the light on
You should've left the light on
Then I wouldn't have tried
And you'd never have known
And I wouldn't have pulled you tighter
No I wouldn't have pulled you close
I wouldn't have screamed
No I can't let you go
And the door wasn't closed
No I wouldn't have pulled you to me
No I wouldn't have kissed your face
You wouldn't have begged me to hold you 
If we hadn't been there in the first place
Oh but I know you wanted me to be there oh oh
Every look that you threw told me so
But you should've left the light on
You should've left the light on
And the flames burned away
But you're still spitting fire
Make no difference what you say
You're still a liar
You're still a liar
You're still a liar

Pondering Puerto Rico

Puerto Rico, 

My heart’s devotion - 

Let it sink back in the ocean.

Always the hurricanes blowing,

Always the population growing,

And the money owing,

And the sunlight streaming,

And the natives steaming.

I like the island Manhattan - 

(I know you do!)

Smoke on your pipe

And put that in!

~ Anita, in the film “West Side Story”

Truthfully, I think I liked Puerto Rico more than Panama, although to be fair, I haven’t been to Panama in almost 10 years. But one of our last visits to Panama was in the month of May, and I remember it felt SO hot, and you know my tolerance for heat has to be fairly high, given how long we’ve lived in and loved Florida. 

PR in July felt way less hot, or maybe there were just better ocean breezes, since it’s an island versus Panama being an isthmus (which is actually a really hard word to spell and say, another point in PR’s favor vs Panama). 

🤣

My friend moving to Panama soon as her husband is ready to retire told me PR has too many hurricanes and is too expensive (milk is like $8 a gallon she said! My response was well, we don’t buy milk), but after this first visit and how much we liked it, I think it’s a pretty strong contender for our dream of living as ex-pats somewhere in the future. Except, not sure if you’re really an ex-pat since it’s a US territory? Obviously, I have more research to do, something my husband’s really good at, and I’m admittedly much less so.

But my overall impression, from one day walking around Old San Juan and two days driving to other towns on the island, is that it seems very livable and would be very do-able to move there someday, maybe. 

It did strike me as so strange though, to feel like you’re in another country and then see familiar things like the highway speed limit in miles and US post offices, not to mention all the usual chain stores and restaurants. Apparently the distances on maps are done in kilometers but the speed limit signs are in miles, which is confusing, but I suppose you get used to it.

Either way, I loved getting to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary by exploring a brand-new place together and pondering the idea of someday moving there; I also had a great time taking photos of the iguanas at the ages-old fort we visited, and all the sweet street cats. 

The Marriage Song

 The book of love is long and boring

And written very long ago

It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes

And things we're all too young to know

But I

I love it when you give me things

And you

You ought to give me wedding rings

The Book of Love ~ Peter Gabriel

I will never forget how we bought our wedding bands before I even had an engagement ring. But then, David and I bought a house together even before we were engaged to be married, so I guess we’ve always done things a bit backwards. 

I don’t remember the exact month or even how far ahead of our wedding we bought them, but I can clearly picture the antique jewelry store we went to in the cute little town of Cedarburg (a northern suburb of Milwaukee). We found two perfect white gold bands that weren’t identical but very close; so perfect they didn’t even need to be resized as I recall. 

They came in two identical pink fuzzy boxes that I can also picture perfectly, and I clearly recall how we were so excited we took them out and tried wearing our new-to-you wedding rings the whole drive home. 

This is a really sweet memory that I think about as we celebrate 20 years of marriage this Wednesday the 5th of July.

In the 27 years we’ve been together (the 7 before marriage definitely count, we both are adamant about that!) we’ve had long stretches of peace and fulfillment. And then, we’ve also had seemingly “ages of combat” (see old post and poem that speak to that).

If either one of us had been just a tiny bit more laid back or less emotionally high-maintenance, I think it could have been different. But there it is. 

George Orwell said “At 50, everyone has the face he deserves.” And maybe the same can be said about a long marriage, and for our marriage after this amount of time, and all we’ve been through together. Perhaps the good and the bad of it is exactly what we deserve.

In cynical moments I think that a marriage of any length is nothing but a progressive sense of disappointment in this person who has pledged their life to yours, and you to them. For he has definitely disappointed me and I know I’ve disappointed him. 

But how could it be otherwise over such a great span of time, and when we are such flawed humans?

Maybe I just have the most flawed marriage ever? Or perhaps these feelings are quite common but I’m the only one stupid enough to admit to them! The struggle of any long-term relationship is real and I can’t tell you how often I have thought of just giving up. 

Yet I can honestly say, at least for today, the struggle has been worth it. I do deeply love this man; it’s of course cliched, but not untrue, to say that he’s my very best friend. The one who knows me the best, has seen me at my worst, and still likes and loves me. 

We’ve both been so very many different people since we first met each other, back in the Spring of 1996; all these different versions of ourselves within this one relationship, it sometimes amazes me to think about it. 

One thing that has always helped us is we’re extremely good at making each other laugh! If we couldn’t laugh together, we probably never would have made it this far. And sometimes we have those thoughtful philosophizing conversations (this way of looking at life with which we first connected and started this journey), that make me feel the beautiful world is still full of mysteries and magic.

When we’re our best selves, like this, we are flowers and pink, fuzzy heart-shaped boxes for each other. The trick, I think, is to be our best selves more often, and forgive each other, and ourselves, when inevitably we fall short. 

A photo of us that I love from last summer on our way to Milwaukee to celebrate the impending birth of our first grandchild.

(One Human’s) Experience of Time

So this has been my 

life, so far and my experience 

of time: a heaping on 

of sorrows, accumulation 

of loss, an ocean 

of a concept but also only a 

mental construct, a kind of 

con: that false 29th day 

February phantom limb, and 

weeks and months stringing out 

before you like beads on a string 

to the horizon until they are gone.

Elastically expanding 

one moment -  those longest 

days of school before 

summer vacation - then snapping 

back to brief, creating that 

wound in your heart when 

you have to leave him.

At 37 you think you still have plenty 

of it, you think it’s still on your side. 

At 47 you feel it slip-sliding away, 

as more hairs become gray and you can 

no longer keep those plump and shiny 

cheeks, your face turning to desiccated old

apple doll, no matter how much collagen and 

water you drink or regimented 7-8 hours of sleep.

Before you know it, you’ve missed 

that glorious Goldilocks moment - somewhere 

between 25 and 40 - when you are no longer 

“too young” but not yet “too old” - “No one told 

you when to run/you missed the starting gun” 

~ Pink Floyd somehow knew all about it

I feel it burning away, a little bit more 

every single day, until all is lost 

in the burning.

21 best songs about time