An average day

He dances in and out of the room and back in again. He's so happy it's infectious.

I love the smell of him as he wraps me up in his arms. I love the feel of his heart beating against my chest and the tug on my lower lip as he pulls back from a kiss. I know and love every bit of him.

But most of all, I love that he loves me.

The scars on our hearts

I wrote this post a year ago, give or take. I took it down because I'd been blind and believed I was crazy. Most of those months seemed so normal, filled with the same number of "I love you more than anythings" kisses and bedtime snuggling watching  bad TV.  But there were weeks in his basement recording music with his friends and my son. I was not included, but  I wanted to give him time of his own. At first I ignored that voice in my heart. I wanted so much for there to be nothing to find, I did not think I could bear another gash across my heart. When that pain came with all the rush of missing time and misdirection I went completely info the deepest manic depressive state I've ever had, The light of my world turned off and I was left in the dark,And still I believed I was responsible and it was my crazy that put me there.That it was something that was my fault. Amplified by a horrible thing I'd done 16 years ago. It was a pain that left me empty and ready to just stop living. Thank you my sister listing to me and for not taking me to a hospital psych eval. Thank you to my mother in law for talking me down off the emotional ledge. Thank you for the tears and the flowers, and the passwords, and the posters and notes, and the begging - but mostly thank you for showing me I had not been crazy, and that you promise to forever be there for me and be the person I need you to be. You say never, ever again. You say I know that. You say that I know you love me more than anything.

It's the same time time frame as last year. Its truly gone. Our life is back normal, filled with the same number of "I love you more than anythings" kisses and bedtime snuggling watching  bad TV.  I'm ok, perhaps a bit more medicated But there are triggers he doesn't see. I am not the same woman that I once was but not because of the scar. It's the life that I chose.

Symbols

I don't know what to say except "it's complicated."

I ordered this heart today. My husband knew I wanted a Thomas Mann heart for my 60th birthday. The day should not be upsetting, but it is because I am afraid my feelings about always being young at HEART might be overshadowed by the feeling of being old. It does not make it easier that my husband is 22 years younger and fabulously bizarre and unique. I love him now as much as I did when I met him 19 years ago online in "The White Rose Inn" - a chat room on AOL where people role played through words in a game called the "Vampire Masquerade." I started as a cat who roamed the Inn watching and interacting remotely through inner monologue, commenting playfully on the people in the inn.

That is where I first "saw" my husband. He was bizarre and funny and completely captivating. Nym was his character's name. He had other characters he also played as did most of the people sitting at their computers, connecting with the world through a new and addicting way. You could be anyone or anything you wanted to be. As character, they interacted with other characters and their "environment." As a cat, I saw that characters and the people playing them were engaging emotionally. There were in battle, banded together as "families," and as couples. They fell in and out of love. There was passion and fear. As in life, your character could "die" and you could no longer be that person you were so invested in. With a roll of the dice your fate was determined. Nym was as the center of that. While he was funny and the darling of everyone around him, he was also powerful enough that if you had to go head to head with him, your character would die.

I wanted to be loved. To be in love. To be happier than my world beyond AOL. It was wrong. It was cheating, but I abandoned the cat and became Tink. As Tink, I was able to have feelings. Real feelings. I fell in love with Nym. He fell in love with me. What should have been pretend wasn't. I still love him the same way I did then. Completely with fierce intensity. The characters, Nym and Tink, said they had "no gaps" no space between them. And when I met him in the real world, it was obvious to us, to everyone - that we were meant to be together. Both our lives turned upside down, but we were together. Against all odds, we are likely one of the only couples that met in that world, in love, still in love, married, together...

There have been moments in time where we were torn apart. HEARTS were broken and put back together. We both remember those painful times in a heartbeat. Sometimes we let those feelings out, a weapon, hurtful, not meaning to pull us apart. We hurt each other with those words. Regretting them the moment they are said. Hoping the turmoil they cause will pass quickly, moving past and back to being as we have always been since the moment we met. We are supposed to be together and nothing feels better - more intense and wonderful.

Yes, it's complicated.

The heart, this heart, like all hearts before it represent both sides. It represents the sad times and the happy ones. I have them tattooed on me, but they are written on our beating hearts as well. I am sorry. I am always sorry for the scars I left on his heart. I know, even as a new scar is scratched next to the others that it will heal. They always do. I know he never means to hurt me and I never mean to hurt him. No matter what - we always come back to the point we started at - closing the gap till there is no gap.

This heart, though it fills me with a mix of happy and sad will heal. In time the heart always heals, so I am choosing to heal it now. I have less time than I did at the start. Less time to dwell on petty pain, a moment there, a moment unmeant. I choose to see only the love in the heart.

All any of us have is now. With a roll of the dice, we could be removed from this world and cast into another, be it dark or light. I want to pass with no regrets, no anger, nothing unfinished or unsaid. I hope for light, where there can be no gaps always and forever.

It does not have to be complicated.

I love you Ben. I will always love you. More than anything.

times like this

If I could move my house, like dorothy's in a tornado, I would have it spin into the air and land somewhere in California, near Halfmoon bay. Once the dust had cleared I would look out from my sun room to a sweeping view of the hills to the beach to the pounding surf where I've spent so many hours picking up sea glass.

I would cruise down the coast to walk the pier in Santa Cruz where we were married and ride the Cyclone over and over until I was so dizzy I would stumble down the boardwalk laughing. A sea gull would hover, it's wings spread wide to catch the wind in a balancing act. Not moving forward or backward - still - time passing without change, until a tasty morsel brings it streaking down with a shriek. I would treat myself to a tart carmel apple with nuts on the bottom. I would remember. I was 17 and my little sister and I ran into the surf there with our Dad. He did his best to teach us to body surf in the cold water. He told us of beaches in New York and Virgina. He bought us unlimited rides and we rode the ups and downs and ins and outs till we could not bear another revolution. I would remember. The smells of the steaming pots of crab and shrimp - mixed with the scent of the sea - and the barks of the huge sea lions resting on the boards under the pier. I would remember the walks in the sand and the fried squid I slipped into your hand as we walked away from the patio of the cafe. You screamed, just a bit, and pretended to be mad, but really you were thinking of a way to get me back.

I would hike though the hills and redwoods and ride my bike along familiar roads, drifting with the sense of home and permanence. I would stop at Alice's or Goat Rock or Skyline or the water temple off the road closed off for only bikes. I would insist we visit Flioli and tell the story I've told so many times that "Heaven can Wait" was shot there.

I would cruise into Niles Canyon on my way to visit my son in Davis - stopping first in Niles to look for collectibles in the stores that claim Charlie Chaplin as their own. Coffee. Yellow hills. A sense of place and time. The bigger picture of "home."

I would shop at Whole Foods and Trader Joes and eat sushi and burritos and drink wine and laugh with friends. So many friends - all so different - all loving and open. I could call anyone and get the same welcome. Their homes, their lives open to me - whenever - where ever. Stanford - walking the dish - riding through the quad - remembering. My kids on skates, weaving in and out of pillars. Chalk on my hands - buildering the arch in the same way we went bouldering. The smells of eucalyptus near the mausoleums. The burrs that caught in my bike tires and caused a flat near the shopping center. The paths. The pasts.

I would walk through the Zoo and buy plastic animals in the gift shop. I would spend hours lost on the trails through Golden Gate park. I would remember. The concerts we stumbled upon. Skating through the trails. Skates on Haight. Tea in the Japanese tea garden. The koi. I would remember playing disc golf and the desire to stop each time I drove through the park from one end of the city to the other. Twin peaks. Castro. Mission. I would remember the Musee du Mechanique. The bread, the bay, the sellers lined up with cheap beads and leather. The chowder.

I would remember. Everything. Everyone. I would remember why I called it home. Why I said I never wanted to leave. I would remember why I did.

It is logical, why we moved. I would not give up this house, this perfect home. I would not give up your family or the millions of new memories we've yet to make here. But my heart's home will forever be 2400 miles away.

I can smell the sea.



4/22/17

Update:
http://fiveminutememories.blogspot.com/2017/04/into-garden-of-earthly-delights.html

More than you know

My body is a map showing the consequences of loving him.

Heart tattoos mark the times of heartbreak and forgiveness.

One floats on the waves of the sleeve that matches his.

One is being sewn back together with swallows pulling the strings.

One has roses growing through it, simultaneously piercing and grounding. At the top of sleeve that matches his, his name unfurls.

I am his.

His body is a map revealing the loves in his life.

Ghouls and creatures, nintendo, muppets, and me.

My face looks out from the woman on his sleeve.

My initial is on his ring finger.

My name burns in the flames of the sacred heart on his chest.

He is mine.

On and on...or so I believed.

3/6/16
He is no longer mine
What I thought was for always was "until"
His name on my arm will never let me forget.

Frigid

Around 1970, feminists were arguing that "frigidity" was "defined by men as the failure of women to have vaginal orgasms.

You told me time and time again that I was frigid, remember?

It wasn't until many partners later I realized that what I did to myself in private was "masturbating" and that the glorious feeling of release was an "orgasm."

I held on tight to a belief that to have sex, one must be in love first. Married preferably. Engaged definitely. Promised, going steady, solid, committed... a couple. I'd taken some bit of conversation with my mom and turned it into a litany of the situation surrounding sexual activity. Orgasms were not discussed. I did not enter into the situation with passion. For me it was "if this, then that."

You'd shown up at my high school, blond and blue-eyed, the cheerleaders took the first stab at getting your attention. Perhaps my skirt was shorter. We talked the first time through our car windows while "dragging main." 2 miles of teenage entertainment defined by Tasty Freeze on one end and A&W Root beer on the other. I'm sure I was stalking you. You had the coolest car in the whole school so by default you must be the coolest boy. A mystery man who did not know me by my bizarre and embarrassing angst filled years 12-16. I don't remember the details of the conversation, but it lead to our first date.

We saw the movie "Paint Your Wagon" - Clint Eastwood, Lee Marvin, Jean Seberg (Two unlikely prospector partners share the same wife in a California gold rush mining town.) That movie was my first exposure to the concept of multiple relationships. I remember being confused but also a little excited.

You told me you'd had sex with ex-girlfriend.
I'd lost a prior boyfriend by not saying yes to sex.

It took 2 tries before we finally succeeded at having sex. I remember my nervousness that first try. I was embarrassed about unzipping my pant suit and revealing underwear which seemed much more risque than just being naked. I did not make it through the transition that day and cried.

The second time - we thought we were alone and did not close the door. It was truly terrifying when your mother walked past the room where I lay in bed with you after our uninspiring coupling. I was traumatized.

Rubbers were sold in truck stop men's rooms then. It was like a covert op - driving outside of town to score condoms. The fear was pregnancy. Rumor said that douching with a bottle of coke after sex would kill the sperm. It left me sticky.

Sex was messy.
Sex was embarrassing .
I continued to have sex with you to keep you.

You told me I was frigid.
You told me I was flat chested.
You told me I was mental.
You told me I was inferior.
You told me I was lucky to have you.

At 16 I was convinced no one else would want me.

Ever.

The beginning of the end

You were gorgeous.

10 years older, you were the darling of the design studio.
It seemed to me everyone wanted you.
You'd taken me to lunch so many times, it seemed you wanted me.

I succumbed the first time because it seemed I owed it to you.
A boat ride to an island in the river.
An hibachi, grilled cod, beer - a picnic away from the world.
Just being there with you was cheating.
Sex was what you wanted.
I needed to be wanted.

I gave up control to you immediately.
I had given up control at home as well.
I was a puppet.
The phone rang and you would tell me where to meet you and I would.
Dark alleys, empty parks, cars.
Never in a bed. Never face to face.

The night you told me to spend the night at your cabin I was beyond happy. The guilt and shame were overwhelming, but I hoped you were finally going to let me in. Maybe everything I'd done with you was justified. Maybe you loved me. Another "Deborah" was there when I showed up. You said she was just a friend, but then what did you tell her about me? She left, I stayed. You cooked clams on the open fire. We drank wine. You cleaned me as if my being sterile was critical. Face to face. On a bed. I fell asleep with you.

In foggy morning, I told you I was going to leave my husband. I did not expect you to be with me, just be my friend. You said, "I'm not your friend. If you leave your husband I'll stop seeing you." I left you instead.

Months later I ran into you at a party and you charmed me into believing you wanted to see me. It would be different this time. You said to meet you at a dance club. I waited alone, nervous, for hours until I finally spotted you dancing with a gorgeous brunette. I approached you and you introduced me to your "girlfriend" a flight attendant who was 28 and appeared quite worldly. I was barely 21 and anything but. You introduced me as "a kid you'd worked with" and then arm around her, led her to a booth where you made out.

You were the only person besides my husband I'd had sex with. I was going to hell. Figured I'd take the express so I ran into the bathroom searching through my purse for anything that I could kill myself with. Nothing. No one consoled me. There was no one I could tell.

My life spiraled downward. I moved in with a guy I barely knew, who asked me to dance that night because he listened.

Ended

"Us" ended that night behind a neighbor's bush.
"My" suicide ended before I could bring myself to swallow the gasoline.

You were my first date, my first kiss, my first love.
You were the most unique, creative, intelligent boy in town.
For six months I was the happiest girl in junior high.
I took everything you did and said and matched my life to yours.

You said dance, I danced.
You said be yourself, I blossomed.
You said I want to feel you, I let you.
You said I want to have sex, I said I was not ready.
You said... goodbye.

That night ended my innocence.
That night began a pattern.