Perfume Behind Her Knees

Love is a good thing. Love rocks.  Love is an alive force of nature.  Chemistry, pheromones, hormones, synapsis, rapid heart rate, sweaty palms, perfume behind her knees.  How did she know?  Her bright orange fingernails raked his face.  "You fucking bastard!" A shout but more a plea than volume. "You have love oozing from every open pore on your body!  Goddam you!"  She wanted something he wasn't giving.  Too much love for one person.  Too much love for her.  Still, she wanted his love.  Not just his body but his soul, his core, his energy.  She wanted to know how to plug into it like he did.  When he was plugged in to his source, it was a dance away the day world.  Nothing mattered but what was going on in the room at the time.  The room was the center.  It was where he was and when he heard music, it was there also.  Dancing was the magic. Let yourself roll with it for I say unto you that ye shall dance your life away to the music that plays from the jukebox inside your head.

He looked at her.  Disheveled, mascara running down her red cheeks, her gold Doris Day dress wrinkled, she was crying.  No sobs, only tears.  He loved her, he knew.  She didn't know his world but he thought he knew hers.  Empty vessel looking to fill up on something, anything that made her feel alive.  She had come to him.  A nightclub, she asked him to dance.  They danced all night.  She liked him but there was a quirk about how he danced, free, flowing body movements, almost like ballet but with a heavy beat.  The band wasn't bad but they played covers and only with enough talent to pull it off.

She wasn't like this but she went to his house that night.  He put on Cheryl Crow.  They danced to every song on the album, the fast ones, the slow ones, every one of them.  The dawn came and went.  She tried to get him to bed.  He danced.  She had taken her jacket off and her shoes.  She was feeling it, the love, the energy.  Oh my God! she thought.  This doesn't happen to me.  What am I doing here?  He has so much just pouring out of him and he says nothing and twirls and twirls to the music.  He looked at her eye to running mascara eye.  "I love you," he told her from across the room.  She viewed him from a downturned face with upturned eyes.  Shit fuck!  "I...I love you," she whispered, " but I don't know what to do."  One night, not even twelve hours with this man and she knew that she, too, was in love.  He had plugged her in to the core, the juice, the power, the source.  She wanted to stay there.  It was good.  It was positive.  It gave off light.  It made her alive.

"Well, then," he said in a low voice, "let's dance."  He started across the room.  She met him halfway.  They embraced tightly, no air between their bodies.  She was slightly taller than he so her head fit on top of his shoulder.  Perfect fit.  She could feel the hardness in his pants rub against her pubic bone.  Oh God!  She quivered slightly and pushed against him.  They swayed back and forth to music only they could hear.  Nothing came out of the speakers except ambient static. He looked her straight away in the eye.  "To dance is to celebrate God," he quietly whispered in her ear.  She thought of another way they could celebrate God.  He didn't seem interested in anything but dancing.  That's when her hand went toward his face in a swipe.

Now he was standing, looking at her thoughtfully, as if determining the remedy for a particular situation.  "Are you finished dancing?  Then you must go."  It was a matter of fact statement with no discernable emotion in his voice.  Just a statement.  "And if I'm not finished dancing?" she hoarsely whispered.  "Then we shall dance until we can no longer and sleep demands to be let in. Then we shall lie together and sleep.  When awake again, we shall dance.  It is love."  He was self assured and seemed to truly believe what he was saying.  She was trying to be skeptical without much success.  It was all too real, the smells, the facial expressions, the feeling of his body, it was all here.  She was hooked.  She had to go with him.

"Come with me, love, and celebrate the goodness we take for granted.  Love me, and I you and we shall never climb down.  Be assured that I am here for you.  Now, let's dance."

She looked at him, looked away, then back at him.  Yes!  I will.  I belong.  To him.  And she knew that he belonged to her, as long as they danced.

Twice Bitten...

Cliff wondered what kind of man could still love a woman who dumped him twice and was having too much fun to drop him a line once in a while?  Why did he believe the things she said to him?  Why did he trust her?  It could go two ways, he thought.  Either I loathe myself and need to somehow punish myself with anxiety and depression.  And it's a textbook depression.  The kind where you just can't get out of bed.  Or, is it because, somewhere in the valleys of his core, he knew he loved her and that she loved him and things would turn out.  Turn out how?

What happened to the plans?  The preparations for travel and uninterrupted communication?  Didn't he say she would call but it would have to be very judicious?  Yeah, Cliff thought, I remember that.  Didn't he say we would Skype once a week?  Again, Cliff remembered those words.

What about the almost unintelligible "profile" on the business connections site?  What the fuck was that all about?  Bewildered and feeling disheveled, Cliff lifted his glass of wine and sniffed.  He drank.  Yes, he told himself, it would be great to be a drummer in a hot band again.  But I've already done that.  Man, I'm 60.  I don't think I want to do that anymore.  What is it like, Cliff wondered, to get to a place where you can even forget about love?  Is there such a place on the Earth?  Must be, Cliff assumed, my girlfriend found it.

Cliff stood stiff.  His eyes darted back and forth as if an answer was just beyond his sight.  What is this all about?  Cliff is perplexed.  He had taken her at her word.  He didn't know forces stronger than he were at work when she left country.  It was agreed the time would be short.  He would repair the house.  She would return and come see Cliff and the house.  She would take the train.  It sounded like a storybook romance where the couple overcomes all the obstacles and wins. Cliff reveled in it.  He felt the love, he felt her presence in his house.

Cliff ruminated about it.  Was it me?  I'll bet it was the first time we Skyped.  I was probably too matter of fact, not lively enough.  Fuck, it didn't make any difference right now.  One thing Cliff knew was this is as real as a rock for him.  He still loved her. It's real.  She is a part of me, he said out loud to the empty room.  When she quit communicating with him, he tried to shrug it off.  Lots of excitement, he figured.  Then he tried to ignore it.  She sent a short note on Valentine's Day.  That was cool.  Cliff was hopeful.  The next couple of emails were the nuclear ones, the ones that sent Cliff into a frenzy, the ones that said yes, I'm ready for a relationship but can't give you what you want right now.  Cliff's frontal lobes ached.  He thought he had a relationship only to be informed that, if anything, it was nothing more than a rehearsal.  Miffed.  Cliff was miffed.  It was as if he didn't understand anything anymore.  His world had never been like this.  Maybe he was naive.  Didn't see it coming.  They promised monogamy.  He held no hope for that. Yes, he was still monogamous but for how long?  He wanted to be.  Damnit, Cliff said.  Damn! Fuck! Shit! Hell!  How could he let himself fall?  He had dated other women.  They were cute, vivacious, funny, beautiful but they did nothing to Cliff like this woman did to him.  She collected his heart and left town.

He missed her.

Boom Boom, Out Goes My Breath...

I had severe chest pain tonight.  I get chest pain a lot but this was accompanied by trouble breathing which is never a good sign.  I got through it once the stress of working lowed.  I'm ok now.

Wonderful dy otherwise.  Students were friendly, want to hug me or shake my hand as if I had just won an election.  I don't remember the election. Do you?  Summer, come to me. Melt the winter from my bones.  Let me make a close friend.  I could use one.  Maybe I'm too particular.  Still, I could use someone to talk to.   Slow, meandering one on one with wine.  We can talk about love and true love and all the times we thought we had it nailed down.  Then someone comes along and pulls the nails.  The irony of it, the why of it.  Maybe some people just want to be in love and dont 'really think of the ramifications of telling someone you love them when you only think you do.  I am open to what happens next.

Are My Ears Ringing or Is There Someone at the Door?

Tinnitus is mostly described as a ringing in the ears.  It is most often caused by constant exposure to loud noises and is most prevalent in the industrial world.  The loud sound is actually a frequency wave, or several of them at once, that mows down the stereocelia in your ears.  Kind of like clear cutting the forest.  If you had enough amplification, you could log with sound.

Ok, that's lame.  I have tinnitus.  It can best be described as two or three high frequencies going all the time, with extremely slow modulation.  All the time.  24/7.  Sometimes I don't notice but if I stop to listen, I can hear it.  It makes it difficult to hear a conversation at times.  At one time, I could read lips and understand as long as I could hear the tonal quality of the voice.  It made me good at reading body language, too.

My particular form tinnitus is the result of listening to loud music, mostly through headphones, and playing loud music as a drummer.  Certain medications exacerbate the condition but it has been with me so long, I hardly notice the extra frequency.  That was an attempt at levity, there.

Slip, slip, slippin' into that dreamscape of sun on my face and water on my back.  Water, a trip to a body of water.  I did not make it to the river today although there was plenty of time.  I didn't think of it until just now.  The dog is moving slow today.  I might have worked him too hard.  Now I'm floating in the sand, swimming back out to sea, waves pushing against me but I am Bert Lancaster without Deborah Kerr leaving a trail in the sand as I crawl on my elbows to meet the waves.  I had a deep crush on Deborah Kerr when I was a kid.  I don't know how old I was, possibly twelve.  I saw her in a movie with Cary Grant and was smashed in the heart by her classic lines and porcelain beauty.  I was smitten for at least two years.

My inner peace became manifest the first time when I was a wee lad of 18 or 19 years.  Nothing was holding me down when I received a "job" offer from a band that was located out of town and I skedaddled.  I eventually wound up in Seattle.  I answered an ad in one of the two Seattle newspapers for a roommate. Ended up living with two of the most esoteric people I have had the privilege of knowing.  They were gay and showed me a culture that this little apple knocking kid from this town would never otherwise have experienced.  They threw parties with the most beautiful women in town.  The women felt very safe with them.  Me?  I was a fly on the wall.  I watched bugged-eyed.  Voices mixed, smells mixed, laughter, existence all happening and I was there watching and being a part.  I was the curiosity.

The owner of the house and I took a midnight trip to the Seattle Memorial Cemetery.  The house was next door but across the street to the boneyard.  He had a place of entrance he called "the hole in the wall."  It was a place where you could pull back the wire fence and crawl under. Nobody ever put a move on me in that house and I trusted the owner.  At that age I don't know if I would recognize a pass.  He and I stood at the top of the hill.  I went over and sat on somebody's giant tomb and watched the sun come over The Olympic Mountains and I swear I heard a choir of male and female angels emanating an E maj chord.  It was a perfect moment.  It has stayed with me to this day.  Even more so now as I realize I have incorporated that moment into the fabric of my daily life.

To this day, my life continues to experience "eternal" moments, where time stands still and I can take a look around with that half smile that graces my face and think, "This is ok."  Everything fits.  The many make the one.  Even now, as I sit typing, I am smiling.  Not grinning.  Not laughing. Smiling.  Sometimes I feel this life to be one continuous moment.  Lately, say for the last few months, as I am lying in bed trying to convince myself to sleep, I think of something that makes me laugh out loud.  Then I even more can't get to sleep.  And I laugh again.  Just some random, idiotic thing that happened either during the day or the previous day.  It will pop into my head and I laugh spontaneously.  A mild burst, I suppose.  Then I think it's funny that  I thought whatever was funny and laugh again.  Eventually, I sleep.

I am not grasping.  I am not trying to over reach myself.  I accept what I am and am very content to be who I am.  I'm usually pretty good at keeping myself entertained.  I'm not looking to be rich.  Money is fine but it has to be from me.  Be it through music, art, or teaching, I have to do it.  I am good at what I do.  If I wasn't, I would be too embarrassed to do it, I think.  That's it, though.  I have the confidence of being on stage.  Certainly Shakespeare had it right when he said that all the world is a stage.  We are the itinerant actors upon this space at this time busy being what we are.  And what are we?

Are we the sum of our experience?  Are we able to shed some experience in favor of more wearable experience?  Like dirty clothes for clean?

I haven't thought of it much but I AM divorced now.  It still amazes me how quickly I slipped back into being me and how comfortable I am with that.  Soon, summer.  Peak season.  Reason to roam.  Summer nights are my absolute favorite.  This summer will be interesting and most assuredly fun.  I hope to hell I have this house done by then.  Sure, I will, if I want to have summer.

Everyday is a winding road.  My daughter sent a message to me on Facebook tonight with the Cheryl Crow song and video attached.  She told me that it was the song of her childhood.  When the daughters were much younger, I made a home video of them with this song as the background.  No narrative, just music and kids.  I've got to find that.  Everyday is a winding road.  Take a walk, see where it takes you.  Leave your mind behind.  Let intuition and your heart lead you.  Hang on if you have to, let go if you want to.  Don't over analyze.  It's all as good as it gets at any time.

I'd also like to thank the angel or angels who have been watching over me these last few years.  I almost believe in you.  That was an attempt at ironic humor.  Did it work?  I used to tell people that I'm a pantheistic agnostic:  God is everywhere.  So what?  Funny?  I think so. You have to be smart to get it.  Or not.  Maybe I just have to explain it every time I tell it.

Thanks for this day.  It has been good.  I laughed and made people laugh.  People I don't know smiled and said hi to me.  That's always a good sign that I'm on my game.  I'm me.  Cool.

Cliff's New Clothes (working title)

Cliff washed the clonazepam down his dry throat with a chug of cabernet.  He held the glass of wine in his left hand and looked out the window. The city lights grew brighter as the evening dropped in.  Everything shot to shit, he thought to himself.  It looked good this morning but, goddam, it wasn't that way now.  Cliff knew that situations changed on a dime.  It's just that they usually happen to other people.  His patients, for instance.

Cliff is a chiropractor.  He had his own business until the new age chiropractors starting graduating from every college in America.  He still had his business but had added writing prescriptions for medical marijuana to his practice for the quick, easy cash involved.  It's the only thing keeping his business alive.  Chronic pain or illness, that was the criteria that would keep regulators off his back, so he wrote them, gleaning medical records for anything that might satisfy the regulator's staring eye.

He's at home, by himself, again.  Is it just me, he thought, or does every body go through life feeling as if something is about to happen?  It caused him anxiety.  Waiting, waiting, for what?  My whole life, waiting for it to happen.  What?

Another glup of wine and Cliff was still staring out the window.  Earlier in the day, Cliff had taken his dog, Flash, down to the river to walk.  Cliff wanted Flash to be a service dog but Flash got too excited at the river.  Today Cliff was going to walk Flash and not let him off the leash.  He and Flash walked one half mile, sat for a while and then turned around and walked back.  Flash knew he was being tested and kept calm but all the time thinking that if he got half a chance he was in the water.  Done.

Done.  Done walking.  Cliff looked up and saw his friend Amos coming toward him with his two young sons.  About a year ago, Amos had asked Cliff to sign off on his son's physical for football.  He had just wrecked on his bike and Amos didn't want to take the chance that his son would not be able to play Pee Wee football.  Cliff needed the cash and did it.  Doesn't make much difference, he thought.  At least he gets to play football.

"Hey, Cliff," Amos called, "How ya doin'?"

"Good, Amos.  You?"

"Good, man, good.  Junior's football team did pretty good last year, you know.  Thanks for letting him play."

"I only signed a piece of paper that could have put me in jail if your kid got hurt, Amos"

"Yeah, well, he didn't and he's even stronger this year."

"Right," Cliff sighed

Now, Cliff stared out the window.  The leaves on the apple orchard across the street had yet to come in.  It was February and the flickering anti crime street lights of the city could be seen through the trees.  There would be a full moon.  The house was quiet.  Flash was asleep on the floor.  He was snoring.  The furnace kicked on with a whoosh.  Flash sighed.  Cliff sighed.  Cliff drank.  It was a cheap cabernet sauvignon bought at Costco for $32 a case.  It was decent and not at all acrid as a cheap wine might be.  Cliff didn't know shit about wine.  He drank it anyway.  It helped put things in perspective.  It was good for his heart.  He drank it.

This is a rough draft of something, I don't know what yet.  I have to think about Cliff and figure him out.

The Wino Who Mistook His Wife For a Ukelele

Remember that book, The Man Who Mistook His Wife For a Hat, by Oliver Sachs?  Full of funny psychotic disorders?  And you're thinking, "Well, how can any psychotic disorder be funny?" And I'll be the first to understand your point of view, but yes, some are funny.  Soooo....

Off We Go

The Actual River, Honest.

Dear Diary:  I took my Border Collie to the Mighty Columbia River today.  He wanted to swim. Badly.  The river is down and swift in parts and waves swelled on the round rocks. We were walking off the asphalt path from one of the many dirt trails that lead off to the river.  Because the powers that be are draining the river so it can hold this year's mountain snow runoff, the river is harder to get to.  Round rock, some the size of a bowling ball, makes a shore.  The dog runs through the waves surging on the rocks.  I am fifteen feet up on the shore from the river.  Too much mud.  Another man had a Golden Retriever who was galloping after a green tennis ball being chucked by his owner.  My dog took notice but still had bushes to pee on.  Off he went.

We crossed the rocky mudflat to get to an island that you can only get to this time of year, as long as the river is down.  In the warmer months, the PUD's on both sides of the river dam up the river and slow its flow to produce more power. This route becomes underwater and swimming is the only access or by boat.  I wanted to take advantage of the river's ebb.

We made it over and the dog sought out the river bank while I stood atop the flat part of the island.  Downstream about one hundred yards probably more than forty Canadian geese took air and floated on the wind blowing across the river.  Then the wind let go and the geese swooped low over the river before rising up on the other side.

The wind kept up but since it wasn't biting cold , we kept going up river, along the shore.  The man was letting his retriever swim and this bugged my dog because I wouldn't let him swim. He loves any water deep enough to have a go 'round in.  This water, while warm for the time of year, would give him hypothermia.  Since he just about croaked from eating rat poison, I stuck to my guns and he did not swim.

We meandered back to the dirty, water stained asphalt and followed it back to the path to the parking lot.  I could tell the dog was tired but happy.  I was happy.  I sat on the brick wall and swung my feet while the dog sat far enough away not to get smacked by an errant foot.  We sat for a while.  The wind was blowing.  We crossed the parking lot to my car.  I got in and looked for my "government issue" sunglasses.  Crap...I left them at the river.  They could be anywhere.  I was not going to go look for them.  Too much ground to cover.

The dog and I got into the vehicle and drove toward home, stopping at Costco before going home.  After Costco and before home, I stopped off at my coworker neighbor friend's house to tell her kids that Banjo was ok.  They bought him a big tube of tennis balls for Christmas.  They were getting ready to go watch roller derby so it was a hi and goodbye hit and run.  On the way out, my coworker told me she might buy her friend's house.  I asked her how much.  She said $305k.  I thought: Holy shit!  Is it one level?  Yes.  With a three car garage.  Where?  Up the street, turn left on Mary St.  It's a small lot with hardly any yard.  I drove by and took a look.  Holy Shit, I thought again.  If this is what $305k gets you, what's my place going to be worth?  At least that.

And again before I got out, my coworker neighbor friend who lives up from Costco but not quite to my neighborhood said, "Why don't you buy my house? It's just right for you!"  I asked her how much.  She said probably $209k.  Holy shit, again.  Three bedrooms, two car garage in a neighborhood.  Hmmm...neither of those two houses has half the view I already have.  If somehow this did come about, and I'm only half considering it, it would be the newest house I have lived in since high school.  My mom kept popping out kids so, instead of building a new bedroom, my mother would have my dad build a new house.  Contract to have a house built to my mother's spec, I should say.  To this day, I pity the guys who built any of the houses we lived in.  My mother was OCD for detail.  The last house we had built and lived in as a family had a winding wooden bannister that my mother sent back THREE times before she would pay for it.  I'm sure the people making the custom bannister did not make a cent on it.  It probably cost them. That was my mother.

And I'm off track again.  Just before I went to the river today, a van pulls into my driveway and pulls through and parks in the lot as if they have been here before.  There was that air of authority about the van and its foreknowledge of where to park that put me at ease as to who it could be.  It turned out to be another coworker friend teacher person and his two beautiful sons who think I'm the best thing since Dr. Seuss.  My coworker needed to use my phone.  He was supposed to be at a church kid's party with "the inflatable castle thing..." and couldn't find it.  I gave him my phone. He couldn't find the church.  He was on the wrong side of Grant Road.  On one side of Grant Road , everything is North or Northwest.  The other side is South and Southeast.  He needed to be North but was South.  Seems they were late because the oldest son, who is five, was watering the flowers.  Nobody asked him to but he was doing it anyway.  His younger brother, who is four, decided that the mud being produced was too much to pass up.  After all, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.  After this, they would be told that this activity was wrong and would not be able to do it again.  That's how discipline is supposed to work.  He tromped through the mud.  Again.  And again.  Yet again.  Then he walked into the house just as it was time to go to the church party.  Both boys had to be cleaned up.  When they got to my house, the father was flustered.  He had the phone and started to call someone.  The oldest boy told me what happened. the youngest said, "Yeah, my boooots were muddy.  I should probably take them off."  They looked good to me so I told him that's ok, we'll hose down the place later.

Dad was still on the phone trying to figure out what was going on.  This is a guy who told me last week that he had smoked weed for the first time.  He read that Carl Sagan had tremendous insights when smoking marijuana.  I looked at him and said, "Well?"  "I was couch bound," was his only reply.

I took the boys out to look at the bamboo.  I pretend to hide in the bamboo.  "You can't see me!" I shouted at the boys.  "Yes we can!  Yes we can!" They were both jumping up and down.  I jumped up and laughed.  "Hey you guys, what kind of animal lives in bamboo?"  "A panda. Pandas!" They were both shouting.  "Should we be watching out for Pandas?"  They both stopped, looked at me, looked at each other, looked back to me. "There's no pandas here, " said the oldest. "Right!"  I said, "Let's go find some!"  I led them back into the house where dad had finished his trail of calls.  Turns out he was too late for any activity, no they didn't need his help tearing down but thanks for asking.  They three trooped off to the van and vanished on the road.

Returning home from the river I still had enough energy to go out to the studio and decorate some platters.  I'm into a series with basically the same design.  The design is Picassoesque as I admire Picasso's work on ceramics.  One of the best exhibits I have seen was the collection of Picasso's ceramics, owned by his daughter.  It was on exhibit at the Tacoma Museum of Art.  Simple, expressive strokes.  Fabulous.  Tomorrow I will finish fixing the kiln and try to get a load together to test it.  Wish me luck.

Ahhhh...

This is a storm that was coming over Mission Ridge the other day.  It looked as if we were in for snow but, as usually happens, the storm circled the valley and went on its way to somewhere else.  Too bad.  We could use the moisture.

Crocus Are Popping Up

This day is off to its beginning.  The sun is out, the wind is blowing 5-10mph from the northwest, bending the green yellow bamboo to the southeast.  I sat for a bit on the front deck with my tea in my self made tea bowl.  I'll be moving to coffee as soon as the machine fills the pot.  Sitting on the deck with my eyes closed and face toward the sun, I let the warmth caress my face and warm my clothes.  Like I'm St. Francis of Assisi, the animals gather around me and lay in the sun.  They peer at me expectantly but I have nothing to offer except the occasional petting of whichever animal is closest.  If they aren't within reach I make no effort to extend my hand.  This is the moment of peace, when life is what it is and acceptance, forgiveness, and love fill my soul.  Ah, I hear the beeping of the coffee machine. Time for coffee.  Hang onto your hat.

My lovely daughter came over to visit Monday evening.  She and I share just about the same temperament although I'm probably a bit more aggressive than she.  She is like her mother in that she does not like confrontation of any sort.  But, the rest of it is me.  We have the same sense of humor and shake our heads at certain human frailties and are in awe of certain human strengths.  We talked about love and long distance relationships, something we both know about.  She fell in love with a high school exchange student.  Both knew it was star-crossed but took it as far as it would go and then let go.  She still thinks about him, probably still loves him.  We always laugh at the same things.  She is lonely but, like me, I think it might be a self-induced loneliness.  There are plenty of people to hang with but something about it is missing, so we don't bother.  We like to celebrate moments.  Each moment, special moments, moments with people we love.  Each other.  Nobody.  Although I'm her father with many years of experience behind, she still has a sensitivity of someone quite beyond her years.  She knows of things without actually experiencing them.  Wondrous.

We visited.  I let her take all my "The Midnight Special with Wolfman Jack" dvd's with her.  Like me, she is totally into music and especially the late 70's and 80's.  My other daughter is the one who gives me today's music.  This daughter digs the music she grew up listening to.  She also grooves to new music and attends concerts whenever she can find the time.  I remember when Owl City was big and she went to a concert at Neumo's in Seattle.  Holy cow, was she excited.  I went to a Dandy Warhol's concert at the same venue.  It is a huge room with a balcony where the seating is located and then the dance floor with no tables, only a bar and a stage.

She is unsure of what she wants to do.  She feels pressure from her self and from others to do SOMETHING!  I went the other route with her.  I encouraged her to take it slow and not do things because they are expected.  Too much pressure is put upon people to "choose" a path.  It is not necessary.  Maybe the path should find you.  Still, she doesn't know what she wants to do although she is excited to go see her sister in Italy this summer.  Even that seems to be anticlimactic for her.  I think her attitude is, yeah, it's great to be able to go to Italy but then what?  Like me, she is looking for avocation, adventure, someone to care for and love, companionship.  It seems we both may be too particular for this level of life.  To her advantage, she is young and can fully expect to see her desires become manifest. I am very glad to have a relative, a daughter, like her.  She chews a lot of gum.

The Old Boy

Then there is me, the twice divorced father, who tried online dating, and succeeded, who is remodeling his house but wants to do something else, who hates being alone at night, who is alone at night, who's roommates are a dog and a cat.  Both the dog and the cat seem to adore me.  The two of them are like toddlers.  The cat wants in and out constantly.  Consequently, she is out for the most part.  The dog just wants to chase something.  Doesn't matter what.  You throw it, he'll retrieve it.

I live with these creatures and end up talking to them quite a bit.  It's very different than how I talk to people.  With animals, they may understand a word or three.  There is a Border Collie named Lucy, who graced the cover of National Geographic one month, who has a vocabulary of 300 words.  The researchers put over three hundred objects in a room and then called each object by name and Lucy would go to the named object and retrieve it.  My Border Collie has a vocabulary, too.  Most of them are one word commands.  Talking to the animals I get to use my baby talk voice or my cartoon character voice.  I think they understand the tone more than the words.

Panorama of the Property Taken With iPhone 5

Here I sit, no one home to talk to but for myself, the cat, and the dog.  Yes, selfish it seems, and probably selfish it is but who among us does not look out for themselves first?  This house I live in and am paying for and which will never be paid for because if I stay here I will probably die before the mortgage gets paid off, could use some activity.  That means deep cleaning is due.  A party?  I know enough ne'er do-wells who would show up.  It could be fun.  Most of my conversations these days are with 18-21 year olds.  They can be fun, too.

My feeling is that most of us want or need to have a life with meaning.  Otherwise, what's the use?  The working for 25 years in one job, the mortgage, the bills, the relationships that come and go, the accidents, the deaths, the love that passes, why?  I can't say.  I lean toward the Buddhist philosophy of being in the moment.  Just because we can imagine a future doesn't mean there is one.  We remember the past but in the here and now can only serve as a guidepost.  What is, is.  What isn't, well, that's self explanatory.  Love is given away with no expectation of return.  Not sure, but I think that's one of the factors as to whether love exists in a person.  Yes, love yourself first, always.  If you don't, no matter how long you live with somebody or how many nights you spend making love, it isn't what you think it is.  To love someone else, you must truly love yourself.  Indulge yourself for the sake of yourself but not to the point where you are within yourself and unable to see anything but yourself.  Danger, Will Robinson.

Right now I am wearing my lucky blue slippers.  They are magic, fit my feet like skin, and are rugged enough to take a daring trip to the mailbox.  Soon, though, I'll exchange them for my running shoes and take a trip with the dog to the loop trail on the Mighty Columbia River.  Used to be mighty.  Now it's dammed at about every 50 miles and produces the cheapest electricity available in the world.  It will be good.  I will take the camera and my phone will serve as a video camera.  It is windy at the house and likely windier at the river. Fine.  I'm going out to grab some life.