Words manifest

The world seems embalmed in gray, wistful anticipation for fickle nature to relinquish her water and drench an already soddened earth
And I, plan not for what words shall come forth from heart to mind to prose
And I think not of what I will create,
but with open mind and heart, like mother earth I wait
Words as well can fall like rain
Form easily from clouded thought to manifest in a down pour of emotion and content
Till the hands cannot keep pace with the magnitude, (though once trace) of effort spent
I cannot provide intent or source of prose
For what provided inspiration to my story true
I can only hope that what was wrought
Whether sadness, fear, laughter or pain
Did ultimately touch you

if I should die before I wake

In a prayer to our father, those fateful words “if I should die before I wake” never rang so true for me.

Armed with your love my heart is strong, my life one of solidarity.

If I should die tomorrow it would occur with no regret, for did I know the rapture of love everlasting, to feel part of a unique partnership that sealed the gaping hole in my life with passion, allegiance and true honesty.

To have lived a life surrounded, yet so alone. To never know the sweetness of someone other than my mother wondering and worrying about me..Until there was you-longing for me, desperate for my safety and desiring of my happiness over yours. To look at my many neurosis with a quizzical smile, to never cast judgement over my countless sins though it would be justified if your condemnation chosen, to put a vibrant life on hold if mine were pensive or pending, to cry ancillary tears in honor of my own, to feel a strong sense of accomplishment over my triumphs, to experience physical pain over my own torture, and to assume the responsibility of bearing my burdens and problems without a second thought, now you see why this is not a morbid thought but rather a joyful platitude, that if I were to die tomorrow that I have known true love and completion through you.

My husband is slow

I often accuse my husband of being slow
Not in a negative light as in a "slow thinker" or dim witted
Rather he is methodical, calculating, planning everything
In his head thoughts revolving and turning, obsessing and burning
For weeks, months, for he is both creative and diabolical in his assessments
And will deliver near perfection in answer and summary for "less than" is never good enough for he
He is not prone to compulsive action or thought such as I
I have a quick answer for every problem, a quick solution for each dilemma
Though I think, true, and think through, I sometimes act where I should halt
I sometimes speak where words have wrought greater damage still and silence is a welcome shrill
Doing naught is a veritable impossibility for me
Yet he will wait and watch and muse
And while I think I win for action's sake
He must correct the damage wrought by my compulsivity and thus I lose
Never underestimate the silent and slow nor mistake them for weak or deficient
They will still be planning, plotting and producing while you with wasted energy spent

fall before you fly-to my dearest husband

I longed for wings, I longed for things, emblazoned fear from denial so wrought, until all excuses did so diminish what was a heart once bold, my inspirtation cold, until the only words I could utter, hopeless
In my stationary limbo, twas easier to declare that my wings refused to sprout, the proverbial skin stayed smooth and unblemished save for the red dryness where I picked and poked and prodded searching for the smallest sign, a random feather, broken skin with smallest growth, and yet there remained no indication just endless miles of smooth dermis
I longed for bumpy uneven surface, prelude to gorgeous, sparking wings that weighed my shoulders down and extended beyond my mortal shouders, to serve as a brilliant canopy to catch the wind and divert for flight, the smoothest down cloak to shelter me from gusts of wind that whoosh and whirl while one rides the chariot of the night sky, wings to rival the ancient gods or the equivalent of the archangels' own
and still the days passed and there remained no sign
until the day you tired of my hoping and vaulted me over the cliff into the sun, you always told me I had to fall before I flew but I always thought you were talking in the blessed proverbial. In truth you had grown weary of my waitng for greater things and blessed, cursed man did you take matters into your own to goad my dreams to reality
and as I plummeted to earth and cursed your name for you had turned away, my security had abandoned me, my longing to live, to survive and become more of what I knew I was consumed me, the basest instinctive will to live and not become one with hardest ground,
for the earth that circled close looked brutal and unwelcoming, a nasty grave while the wind beckoned, it soothed my trembling skin and spoke of lightness with clarity
the second before my fate was sealed, my back it arched, my skin erupted and the canopy of light and gold that transformed my heart from weak to bold, the canopy enveloped, the angel's wings sprouted and saved me from my oblivion,
as I began to soar above the earth, velocity and direction diminished as I rode each gust highter, above the canyon, above the earth to my destiny, dreams manifest to accept no less than your own greatness, to never wait and long and wonder for that which you can MAKE HAPPEN NOW
and as I scanned the horizon line, I saw the smallest speck, of life, zooming closer twas you looking up with arms outstretched, to catch me just in case I should fall
my anger fled I smiled instead for I did need you after all

the first meet

She walked confidently into Starbucks, appropriately dressed for a first encounter post match communication, 7 jeans and a black sweater, conservative yet classy, as the plunging neckline does not facilitate an engaging yet moderate first impression when one's eyes are cast mid chest as opposed to reminding one that yes, you have eyes. And they are right up here under my scalp.
She looked around hesitantly, and shuddered in concern as a pot bellied, sweaty, fifty something with a bad comb over met her eyes. He raised his frappochino in greeting, and she took note of the classifieds that lay askew upon the wooden table. It couldn't be Ed, her witty and assuredly handsome match friend with whom she had been bantering this past month. This horribly middle aged monstrosity was both unappealing and jobless. Been there, done that she mumbled in repose over a bad memory from her younger years.
A hand motioning from the corner table caught her eye. There was her Ed! Handsome, younger, great smile. She nearly floated over to his table in blessed relief until he opened his mouth and proceeded into a diatribe of how hot she was, what a great body she had, did he look as good in person? While her mouth widened as if to catch flies but really in shock over his immaturity and horrid communication. He proceeded to tell her that he drove a porsche ( on a vice principal's salary) but that he was up to his eyeballs in debt due to the economy and "not wanting to budget though I should ha ha". He then asked her income, her weight, and finished off his line of questioning with "what great chemistry, do you feel our chemistry, and we would have great sex." She paused, and smiled as it occurred to her that what was great about this situation is that she could walk away, which she longed to do, quickly and assuredly flee out of starbucks. Instead she grabbed Ed's arm, nicely whispered that she enjoyed meeting him but had a plane to catch, and sauntered toward the front door. So this did not work out, no big deal. He was one of many and there had to be a few good picks among the bad apples. But as she walked by comb over man on her way out the door she felt fleeting regret as she knew he would have at least been a standard above the idiocy she just endured. Oh well, NEXT!!

the match series volume 1

This series of blogs will highlight my dear friend's adventures in the on line dating world.
And thus my friend returned to online dating, and found a plethora of potential matches in her "in box". Those who emailed her soliciting interest and a desire to communicate or "meet up" (some creepy, some with potential, some of the wrong "sex"). Those who "viewed" her page but did not include a message or greeting (she had mentally categorized those folks who opted to look and not communicate as indecisive or shy and could not bother with them; no time to waste on the wishy washy in her pursuit to find love) and with a sigh of resignation she began to filter through the responses. A series of questions assaulted her mind as she reviewed the potentials. How many suitors were honest in their profile content and pictures? Why do men think that posting pictures bare chested, with questionable wash board abs as their main profile picture is ever ok? And why do bi-curious women write to a designated hetero sexual woman with an obvious declaration of "woman searching for men" on her profile view? The same sex is for friends and friends only. Being a female is difficult enough, trying to understand yourself and your emotions is a challenge. Why on earth would she attempt to take that on in a partner? Back to the pictures-do 45 year old men seriously think that including a high school senior picture circa 1982 with mullet and "Van Halen rules" would lend credibility to an otherwise shady posting? And the several inquiries from 20 something, barely through puberty youngsters? Puhlease, she was so over the training wheel period of her life. NO matter how hot, anything less than 35 required an owners manual and detailed directions on building and maintenance. Let someone else train that trick pony. After several hours of perusal, and a few decided potential "dates" with seemingly good looking professionals who hopefully had their shots, were not drop outs from Rikers or former detainees from the state mental hospital, she closed her computer with thoughtful yet guarded anticipation of the adventure of dating upon which she would soon embark. Stay tuned.

Return to match.com

Online dating is a slippery slope. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, always interesting. We have all done it, loved it, hated it, left it and returned to it, much like a bad relationship. An old friend has returned to online dating after a hiatus, and this blog posting was written from her perspective, in her honor, to capture what we have all experienced..

She distinctly remembers the great excitement/apprehension she felt upon first posting her profile to match.com. A flurry of unanswered questions swarmed her mind. Would anyone look at her profile and take an interest? Was the content exiting, informative, characterize her appropriately, or was it scripted and cliché, a cookie cutter version of what everyone else was saying. And so that first evening, heart pounding, nails bitten to the quick, she logged in and was fairly overwhelmed with the large volume of likeminded single men (and some women, gulp) who were interested in her profile. In retrospect she knew how naïve that was, how sometimes match was just a nightclub in cyber space, and it really took a discerning navigator to read through the fluff and select suitable candidates for that first meet. And her second wakeup call and thus extremely crucial lesion learning was the first “meet”. Handling the disappointment and shock over the men that did not resemble their profiles, by twenty years/pounds/ and IQ points. How to handle men who made no qualms about sexual impropriety and their selfish use of the internet as a new medium for physical conquest, at your behest. Not to mention the large amount of simple losers out there looking for love.
After six frustrating months without a solid suitor, she deleted her profile, and took a long and introspective sabbatical. She pondered the experience, weighing the positives vs. the negatives of cyber dating. And while deciding that it was not for her at the moment, she did not rule out an eventual return to match.com for the second go round.
And here she was, two years later, after cleaning the clutter and straightening her spirit, ready to try on line dating again. This time she was much better prepared for the experience, knowing which tactics to employ for the game ahead, and avoiding the silly and yet sometimes debilitating disappointments’ when things didn’t’ work out. For don’t we all get caught up with our thoughts or ideals of what we think a person is going to be, and thus bank on that day dream vs. leave an open mind for what could be a shadier reality. And as she posted her profile, there was no nail biting, no apprehension, rather an appreciation for the wild ride that loomed ahead, and the laughter and lessons it would surely bring the second and better time around. Open mind, open heart, zero expectation, urgency or mad dash. She had time, she was discerning and she would keep her standards high no matter what, for she knew she was a catch and what she brought to the table.
And dear reader, stay tuned for more postings about "return to match .com".