I just went on a date with myself.  It all started when I was at the refrigerator.  On the door are two quotes which I needed to read.  I’d been looking at things all wrong today, thinking about what I didn’t have instead of all the things I should be grateful for.  That’s one of the biggest blessings about having had cancer.  I can remember very clearly walking in the park, trying to wrap my head around the news, going over how I was going to tell the kids.  That feeling of being in DEEP shit is still as vivid today as it was seven plus years ago.

So that’s where I started.  I’m in perfect health and just the thought of what a relief that is made me grateful.  I decided I was eating too much sugar lately, and I suspect that plays havoc with the emotions.  I went upstairs and got ready for the day, had GREAT sex with myself, because rather than bemoan the fact that I don’t have a man I decided to focus on what I do have of him:  that amazing kiss.  I’ll get some mileage out of that .  Then I took advantage of the last bit of sun and went for a walk with my dog.  I got home just as the rain blew in.  The phone started ringing, and all three girls called.  I feel SO lucky to have such close relationships with them and their partners. 

I watched Cramer to see what he said about the market being down so badly, and pretty much the message was that things suck right now and they’re gonna suck for a while.  My instincts to do nothing — I did buy something today that maybe I shouldn’t have but they had a great quarter, reported after hours last night so they didn’t have a fighting chance today and still they went up a little.  That’s when you can get good buys, on a day like today.  Anyway, at least I’m not just starting out and I’m not panicked.  I know this will pass.  It may take a while but I’ve been through worse. 

I saw Becoming Jane today, with my oldest.  I went to her apartment to bake cookies to send to the youngest for her birthday.  The movie made me want what I didn’t get.  Now I’m regretting what I said on that last phone call.  I haven’t heard anything so I’m thinking “We should go have a beer sometime,” means I don’t plan on calling you any time soon but I’m not ruling it out.

The market’s down over 280 points so I suck at that, too.  It’s going to start raining again which could put some people over the edge around here.  I dipped into the cookie tins and added sugar and vanilla flavoring to my coffee.  Even the cookies suck.  That is to say they aren’t as good as I remember them being.  Life is just one big disappointment these days. 

Kevin Goes Crazy

I parked in front of the dock and went around to the back of my car, lifting the tailgate.  There was a bicyclist approaching, so I waited to let the dog out of the crate.

     “Hey, I used to work on that car,” he yelled. 

By now he was off his bike and coming my way.  He had the hood of his sweatshirt up so I didn’t recognize him, but I knew who it was. 

     “Kevin?  I half asked, half exclaimed.

     “I forget your name,” he said, uncharacteristically unsmooth.  We were standing close enough for him to recognize me, and I don’t think he did. I’d taken vehicles to him for years, but he’d only worked on this car twice, which didn’t occur to me until just now. 

     “Prudence,” I reminded him.

     “Oh, yeah.  And you were with…”

     “Henry.”

     “That’s right.”

     “What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”  I asked.  His shop was way across town. 

     “I just got out of jail.  I’m a three-time felon now,” he said, broadly.

     “What!?”

I’d wanted to get the dog off the road and down onto the grass, so we were already on the trail when I stopped to get a closer look at him.  I was trying to bridge the gap, thinking of all the times I used to stand opposite him, watching him work on my front end.  He always wore gloves.

Kevin was handsome then, lean and young.  He’d had an air about him and the kind of vocabulary that made coveralls seem an odd choice.

Once Henry and I ran into him and his wife at Nordstrom, and I was surprised.  I’d always wondered who he’d be with.  She was a travel agent , blonde, and very sexy. I remember thinking she didn’t seem good for him; all flash and no substance was the hit I got.

     “Henry was the one who ended up with my silver.  It belonged to my grandmother.  He gave me a lot of money for it, too.”

     “He probably just wanted you to have the money.”   

     “Yeah, I had to sell everything.  I got involved with this model — Well, she wasn’t really a model but she looked like one.  She ran out on me, took my Grandma’s wedding ring and all my cash.  I saved her life once and everything.  We’d gotten pretty strung out on OxyContin and, you know, your heart gets so slowed down you can die.  Then I switched to heroin but now I just use meth, the drug of choice around here.” 

     “That stuff’ll mess your brain up good,” I cautioned, realizing why his speech pattern was so different.

     “Where are you living?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

     “I’m homeless now.  I lost everything.  But I found God.” 

He was acknowledging the cliche but was sincere, and he described sitting with his cellmate, reading the Bible.  We had reached the end of the trail, and I took him down to the fire pit. 

     “Last summer a homeless guy set up his tent here every night and packed it up every morning.  I’d come through here with my dog around 7:30, and he’d be sitting up in front of his tent, still in his sleeping bag, doing the crossword puzzle”

     “Wow,” he said, “look at these boulders.”

It was a picturesque spot, right above the river, hidden from the road.  While he was maybe figuring out a way to get a tent I was regretting my big mouth.  I always take my dog down on the dock after we walk the trail, and she’d gone on ahead without me.  Now she couldn’t hear me calling.

     “After my girlfriend took off I lost my shop.  That’s when I sold Henry the silver.  I’ve got nothing now but I’ve never been happier.”

I was thinking his good spirits had everything to do with the chemical high he was on.  He was all revved up, talking gibberish.  We had reached the end of the dock and stopped to look back into the sun, where he was pointing out the location of his P.O.’s office.  That’s probation officer, for those of you who don’t hang out with felons.  I was trying to act like I do around German Shepards that are high strung.

     “The jail was too crowded, and they had to let a bunch of us go.  Monday morning I woke up free.  It was like Christmas morning only better.”

He always did have a way with words.

     “I think God has a whole new plan for me.  I don’t think I’m going to be a mechanic.  I don’t really care to do that, I just liked helping people with their cars.”

It was true.  He had worked a lot of overtime and would always stop whatever he was doing to listen to your car troubles.

     “I was a workaholic; that’s all I ever did.  Now I’m havin’ a ball.  I like to gamble.  I have to steal sometimes, though.” 

He’d stopped at the other end of the dock, just below the ramp up to the street, and now I was anxious to get to my car, but he was standing in the way. 

     “Bridget,” I yelled, “Let’s go.” 

It must have sounded urgent because he said,

     “What’s wrong?” 

     “Nothing.  I just need to get home before the stock market closes.”

I hurried up the ramp to the road, finding the car key in my pocket. 

     “Do you want my phone number?” he asked, dead serious.

     “No,” I said vehemently.  “You’re crazy.  I remember the old Kevin, that’s who I want to talk to.”

He looked confused and hurt, as I scurried to my car.  I quickly shut the door and drove home, horrified.  To think how much life can change us and how quickly. 

He’d worked so hard building up his business, moving to a bigger, better space.  Now he had nothing to show for it, trading his life for the model’s.  It confirmed my conviction about being careful who I spend time with.  I never in a million years would have believed he could ever have a drug problem, but he’d spent the last few years chasing from one high to the next. 

My lonely life was looking better.  Nothing wrong with plugging away day after day, taking care of business.  I may not have a whole lot to show for it but I’ve managed to hang onto — Well, that’s not entirely true, I’m down for the year.  The point is I am living a responsible, healthy life.  That old axiom about moderation in all things ccomes to mind.  And I am reminded that it’s never good to put too much energy into the opposite sex, at the expense of your self.

Question:  I’ve never tried to write dialogue before where the person was messed up.  And this was subtle, like if you hadn’t known him before you wouldn’t notice the truncated speech.  He would just plunk a short sentence down and not elaborate, already jumping to the next thing.  Reading it now, seeing the lack of flow, I am wondering if it holds up.

He called.  Just now.  I’d left two messages on his phone yesterday.  The first said:  “It occurs to me that I have not given you my Email address, and sometimes that’s ….pause ….handy.”  I was trying to make it easy for him, thinking I might speed up the process.  I felt okay doing it because he had mentioned not having it once, but I never gave it to him because I wanted him to call, instead of writing.

The second call was after one drink and after a time at night when I knew he would not be calling.  I was annoyed, and I was done waiting patiently.  I don’t remember everything but what he quoted tonight, which he thought was pretty funny  was — He exaggerated my tone – ”either you’re in or you’re out.”  I remember saying, “it shouldn’t take three days to figure that out.”  And I told him I was fine with whichever way it went, I just wanted to know; that I totally understood if he weren’t comfortable …  Oh, and I said I thought it was bordering on rude, the part about the three days.  For off-the-cuff, after one drink, I did okay.  

I did better tonight.  I’d made a joke which got a good laugh and to which he replied. “I like you you a lot,” and somehow I was able to manage “A person can’t ask for much more than that.”  But by the end of the call I really couldn’t tell if it was a mercy call because of our mutual friends or if he wants to get to know me better before he decides whether he’s in or out.  I’m thinking the latter.  At this point I’m disappointed enough by his making me wait four days and what might have taken him so long that it feels like I don’t really care any more.  I can’t imagine that’s true, but I feel sort of done. 

In my absence much has changed.  I never even figured out the friend thing, and now there is something about a True Badge and people are leaving me minis.  Thank you but what are they and how do you get them?

I was reluctant to respond to the friend thing and, believe me, it had nothing to do with anything other than I had just come back from being gone, didn’t understand what I would be committing to, and wasn’t sure I was going to be that good of a commenter, let alone friend.  Is it a way around the ten-people limit for protected posts?  I got a message from someone I didn’t know saying I needed to be their friend, and now I’m wondering if it was so I could read a certain post or something.

About that time I see on the footprints someone from France has stopped by.  The second time they showed up I took a closer look and it listed Review as the page they came from.  What does that mean?  And why was it in special blank ink?

I have noticed, on several people’s sites (front page), the word chatboard, with part of a message left by someone for everyone to see.  Weird. 

I go to see what the topic is for Featured Grownups and someone is writing about whether or not they got the True Badge, whatever that is.Suddenly, I’m getting an occasional comment with a fancy looking  “ in front of it.   How is that happening?  Does it have something to do with the minis?  Are there other things I have yet to discover?

I have this burning desire to write lately.  Not what I’m supposed to be working on, that I had people actually willing to critique, but this daily drivel.   I don’t know why I need to be here night after night.  It’s half about the writing and half about trying to see myself the way I am.

I told this guy at church — Yeah, I met a really cool guy at church.  What the hell is going on after all these years with no men in sight that I suddenly am meeting great guys?  He’s probably with someone but he sure was friendly — and I was talking about writing, how much I enjoy trying to accurately get down what I see and think and feel.  Not just because I’m self-absorbed but because it’s easier to get at true words people will relate to, if I choose a subject I can address, firsthand.  Like I loved doing the favorites list.  It’s a little embarrassing, though, writing about my inadequacies, but this is a chance to get an objective look at myself and to maybe change my thinking.

I suddenly could care less about getting published.  I think the best thing about writing the memoir was the cathartic effect it had.  Putting yourself into people’s shoes is so much easier when they are a character, as opposed to when you’re living with them.  By the same token, seeing myself through the first guy’s eyes is — our views are not jibing and, since I’m biased, it’s making me think his view is more accurate.  It’s unnerving.

Sooo, still no phone call.  What Boo said made me feel better.  I’m not exactly sure why.  I am having a real hard time coming to grips with where I’m imagining he’s at.  What she said about the fact that this is visual is totally true because he is so visual.  We talked about that at dinner. 

The more worried I got today about what he was thinking the more I started finding fault with him, replaying some things he said that I’m not all that okay with.  I also have questions about his health. I’m starting to think that maybe I shouldn’t be writing about him.  He knows I am though. 

I think he’s also thinking about the fact that I’ve lost a lot of money in the stock market.  I told him my broker said I had to get a job.  Even the smartest money managers in the world are down for the year.  If you are a long-term investor, you’re gonna be down in this market.  I told him I was refinancing my house, borrowing money.  It probably sounds scary to him, it scares me.  But I did it once before when the market was down and I made it all back plus more.  Any way you look at it, I sound risky.

When you see yourself through the eyes of a suitor and you come up short, it’s like seeing yourself for the first time.  I’ve just never looked at myself this way.  I have been really good at the stock market but this is a bear market and I don’t know how to do that.  I believe it when they say if you aren’t VERY experienced trading in this kind of climate, DON’T. 

It’s so different dating when you’re old.  It feels like a much bigger commitment.  Not only do you have to take into account political and religious beliefs you need to look at their medicine cabinents and their children.  Since our mutual friend introduced us — And, by the way, she doesn’t know the details about my medical history — he must feel obliged to — It puts him in an even more awkward position.  Our friends are out of town until tomorrow.  I imagine her husband will be getting a call.

So, I’m back from the date.  Actually, I’m back from the blues bar.  Thank God for that place, as I always feel loved when I get there.  The guy who hosts the jam — It’s his band — climbed down off the stage in the middle of a song to come get me and we danced.  It was just what I needed.  He’s never done anything like that.  Usually, after his set is over, he gets the next group up there and THEN he asks me to dance.  He’s a fantastic swing dancer (west coast) and we are good friends so it’s always a treat for me. 

Those of you who know me well and know my medical history know what I had to tell the first guy tonight.  We had arranged to meet at his favorite coffee shop which was situated between our two houses.  When he got out of his car to greet me he got up real close.  He has a tummy and I just naturally put my hand there.  He kissed my cheek and I got in his car. This behavior was NOTHING like our last meeting where he’d been distant (maybe because he was sick).  We conferred about where to go for dinner and he left it up to me. I chose a restaurant that I knew was one of his favorites which meant we didn’t have to drive, as it was within walking distance.  We crossed the street, hand in hand, and I knew how it was going to go.  He paid for dinner, which I NEVER let a guy do, and all through dinner we each knew it was a go.  Little did he know.

When dinner was over we didn’t want it to end so we drove around.  He needed gas and was looking for a quiet little neighborhood place where we could go for a drink.  Or maybe he was looking for a place to neck.  Do people still do that?  Once he got gas I started to panic.  I had to tell him before he kissed me.  It was feeling like I should have told him before but he sort of disappeared on me and now all of a sudden we were talking about future plans. 

He found a place he knew, and, as he was parking the car, I brought up the fact that I had something to tell him.  He took it worse than I thought.  His mother had had breast cancer, and I could feel the fear well up in him.  But I launched into my schpeel about how it was the best thing that ever happened to me, and, after all these years visiting with patients in the hospital, I have it down.  Because it’s the truth.  We sat in the car talking while the place locked up — I could have used a drink about then — and slowly he seemed to take it all in.  But he seemed deflated.  He had been pretty excited in his cool way during dinner but, while I talked, the enormity of the responsibility he imagined seemed to weigh down on him.  Or something did. 

When I felt like it was safe I said something to wrap it up, and we drove back to my car.  I opened my side, matter-of-factly.  I didn’t know what to think but I didn’t want to act like I had any expectation at that point.  He seems like the type that would have to think things over.  He must have jumped out in a hurry because he met me in front of the car and we hugged and he kissed my cheek again.  Then he kissed me on the mouth.  I knew he’d be a good kisser, and I just went with it.  I haven’t kissed anyone in a very long time, and I’m comfortable with this guy.  Plus, I think the powers that be urged me on because I kissed him in a way that made him  — He made an appreciative noise.  I forget what he said as I was getting in my car but it was good.

When I got home I got nervous, though.  That’s when I decided to go to the blues bar where I am loved. 

Man, I am back with a vengeance.  All I want to do is write.  And read your comments.  I seem to be hungry for them.  For the first time, ever, I stuck a new title on an old post and resubmitted it.  Then I remembered the comments I lost.  Woops.  Actually, I wanted to give more of you a chance to share your favorite things but I realize that takes time. 

About my love life.  Just typing that is exciting; that I might be having one.  The first guy, who I really like, just called and we are going to dinner tomorrow night.  The reason he hasn’t called, he said, is that he’s been entertaining his brother, who is leaving tomorrow to go visit their father. 

The second guy and I went for a walk today.  I met him at the golf course and then he drove me to this very touristy park you have to pay to get in.  There were lots of ducks and ponds and beautiful trees.  Kinda not my thing, the ducks not the trees.  It was going fine, though, until we got back to the car to go get some coffee and he backed into something, taking out his left taillight.  I felt so bad for him but he shrugged it off and we went for coffee.

It was so noisy in there I suggested we walk around the neighborhood and he seemed fine but towards the end I could tell he was thinking about his car.  I am very comfortable with him but I’m not interested in him, like I don’t ask him questions about who he is.  I don’t find him attractive yet I feel sexual around him and there is a lot of touching, mostly on my part.  I mean like bumping into him when we’re walking or touching his arm when I’m drawing his attention to something.  He takes really good care of himself and seems to be a wonderful person.  Like he was happy to pay to get in, wanting to support the place.  I hate the way he dresses and I don’t like the pinched way his face looks but when he smiles he looks like a happy little kid.  He’s a good guy.

But the first guy I can’t get enough of.  I love his voice and the way he talks.  I like the way he thinks and I LOVE the way he dresses.  But he spends summers elsewhere and he seems fussy about his house.  He has a really nice car that he takes great pride in, which, to me, screams weird ego stuff.  But maybe that’s just a guy thing. Tomorrow night should be fun, though. 

My 10 Favorites, What are Yours?

I started this list in the car on the way to the beach and it got ridiculous.  I’m used to doing the driving so I had lots more opportunity to look around, and in the space of five minutes I had ten favorite things like looking down the long row of trees in a mature orchard.

She stopped at Starbucks but I was good.  When I am trying to stay away from coffee I drink toucha, the blackest tea I could find that’s not acidic.  It comes wrapped in a little ball and I get it at the Tao of Tea on Belmont.  Next door to the tea house is where they do tastings and sell tea and all the accoutrements.  I love watching him bring the big brass urn down and open the lid, never letting me get close enough to get my nose in there.  The tea is wrapped in delicate paper and I get two ounces.

The sun shone through the windshield, and if you know Oregon you know what a treat sunshine is in February.  It was completely unexpected and, at the beach, glorious against the white froth of the ocean’s edge.  Sun is a precious commodity around these parts and on a day when everyone’s feelin’ the love it’s as if that warm glow is being reflected.  It softens my face, melts my heart.

I love purses.  I would never pay that kind of money but my sister wanted to buy a Coach bag at the outlet store so we spent a good hour there, making the choice.  They have pullout boards, like a bread board, which the young lady urged us to use.  You’re suppose to take all the wrapping out of the bag and see if your stuff fits.  While she did that I looked at all  wallets and assorted coin purses, planners, and what-have-yous with the C design.  I used to think that was ugly but by the time I left I’d found a design I liked.  Probably because it was red.

When I was thinking about my favorite foods the white cheddar cheese from Quebec that is aged for six months came to mind.  Probably because I can’t afford it these days.  I like to nibble on it like a mouse, alternating bites of City Sourdough’s bread, toasted with lots of butter. 

Tonight I finished off the bottle of Frangelico I got for Christmas.  It came with two hefty glasses, which look like oversized shot glasses.  I love holding onto the narrow, thick base, bringing the delicate rim to my lips.  The sweet, amber liquid slides over the smooth glass, tasting silky on my tongue.  It sounds like I’m exaggerating but I’m not.  The moment that stuff rolls out of the glass and you get a whiff up the nose you are glad you poured too much.  But it’s deceiving because the bottom is so narrow you can’t tell how much is left so you sip it ever so slowly, savoring that hot hazelnut.  That’s when it’s best.

I have a favorite perfume.  When I performed I would always wear Bourcheron. Now I wear it to bellydance at the blues bar.  It’s like being overdressed but it’s so smoky in there nobody can tell.  Not that they would.  But that parfume makes me feel special, reminds me who I used to be.

I have a lot of favorite earrings, since I’ve been collecting them so long.  The last few years of my marriage I acquired mostly beaded jewelry, made to match my clothes.  Recently, I went through it all, holding each piece up to the window to watch light play with color.  I love delicate, simple designs, with a short dangle and a hint of seduction.  It’s the last thing I put on.

Woops, not true.  Lipstick is the last, and I have a new favorite:  Most of my makeup is MAC and, like the earrings, I have a lipstick for every outfit.  This new one is called capricious. 

I remember once when my then mother-in-law said her favorite thing was warm water.  I thought something must be terribly wrong with her that she’d narrowed it down to a thing so basic.  I totally get it now.

But my favorite and most basic thing is that last moment before sleeping and waking where I am in communion with the entities of the light and all is well.  Sweet dreams.  I hope you all had a Happy Valentines Day. 

It’s past midnight and here I am posting.  Plus, my sister called and talked me into driving to the beach in the morning.  I’ll explain later why I feel obliged.  The appraiser is coming first thing Friday morning, and I really should work on the house all day tomorrow, but that makes the idea of a beach trip all the more fun.  This is why I’m not going to bed yet.  I just read a young woman’s list of her top-10, favorite things.  You know, like the brand name of her favorite lotion or what she orders for tea.  I always like reading that stuff in the magazines my kids leave around.  So, I was thinking on the drive to and from the beach I would try to compile 10 of my special pleasures and maybe ask that you leave me a few of yours.  As tomorrow is Valentines Day, maybe we should treat ourselves to one of those, no matter what anyone else might do for us.  I typed that and was only slightly troubled that I was suggesting doing for ourselves and not others.  I don’t have a guy I would call my Valentine so I’m loving myself this year.  I think that’s okay.