Amy

Where to begin this one. Amy. Quite frankly, I'm still somewhat in shock over the events of the last couple weeks, much less the last 15 years. Suffice it to say, we just never knew.

I met Amy in January of 1993 at Itza Pizza where I worked delivering pizzas in the afternoon and evenings. I was a freshman at ASU, she was a senior at Dobson High School. At the time, I had dropped out of college for the semester to work full time and figure things out. I hadn't had the most successful fall academic semester, and figured it was time to feel things out and see what I wanted. Rather than blow another semester's worth of tuition at a time when my dad was out of work, I decided to work full time and see what that felt like. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was going with the flow for the first time....no plans, no formulas...just work and see what happens.

The first time I saw her she was sitting on the patio outside the pizza shop, coolly smoking a cigarette. She was the sexiest thing I had ever laid my eyes on. Faded jeans, Birkenstocks, black t-shirt, wavy dark brown hair, and dark eyeliner outlining these amazing, piercing hazel-green eyes. Beautiful eyes. Intelligent eyes. I said "hi", or something. She took a drag, blinked slowly, and said "what's up" in the sexiest radio-DJ voice I had ever heard. I don't recall all my thoughts at the time, but I was smitten. How could I ignore this? She had all the elements to catch my attention. Clearly she was not like the rest. I could feel her intelligence, her vibe emanating like a beacon. It was as if my radio was tuned to static my whole life and suddenly she tuned in and the music started. She was not like all the other girls. This one had that kind of edgy, sexy, confident appeal that I had never seen before, except maybe in the movies. I thought I didn’t have a chance.

The next couple weeks we danced around each other, acknowledging each other while I tried to figure a way into her sphere of attention. There were a few other guys that worked there that consumed most of her attention, but only because they already knew her. I was a newcomer, and had to find a way in. So, over lunch one afternoon, my buddy Chris (who also worked there) challenged me to ask her out. He even bet me a pizza I wouldn't do it. I won that bet a few days later. She answered the door in flowing black top, silver hoop earrings, and those eyes. We went to see "A Few Good Men" and did Olive Garden for dinner. Yes, Olive Garden was still cool in those days, I think. She sat on my left, toward the back of the theater, and yes, I reached out and held her hand. We were a little guarded that night (it was a first date) but I enjoyed every minute. After that we started looking for reasons to spend time together, like going out during the day to put flyers on apartment doors for the pizza shop. And then we were dating.

Amy was skittish at first. Her parents were divorced, her Father whom she rarely saw lived in Alaska with his new wife and family, her mother was having trouble getting settled, so she and her sister lived with their Grandmother. The tough exterior was the result of disappointment after disappointment growing up. She didn't trust easily at first, I remember that, but eventually after a few dates she did come around. And when she did, her smile was enough to light up any room. I loved that smile. Still do.

I had a similar toughness, but for different reasons. My parents were together, but distant, and I never really had a space of my own growing up. My mother ran a daycare out of our house, and for as long as I can remember, I had to share my room and my Mom with napping children and screaming babies. I would come home from school to a dozen toddlers wandering all over my space. My dad was a corporate drone at the time, present, but in absentia. So I spent a lot of time away from home. As much time as I could. Football, drumline, summer tours, anything. Ever since then, my personal space has been sacred. I was a bright but needy kid. Still am to a degree. Amy fulfilled a need for me that up until that time went unfulfilled. Beneath the exteriors, we discovered the little boy and little girl that just needed some attention. But attention was just the beginning.

I remember our first kiss, up on the south side of Camelback mountain, standing up through the sunroof of my Celica, looking at the city. I vaguely remember something playing on the car stereo, and I’d like to think it was something by Depeche Mode, later a staple of our music collections, but I think I’m going to have admit it was Red Red Wine by UB40.

We spent the spring and summer together, parents and other "adults" worried that we were spending too much time together and getting too involved. Worried that if we continued, I wouldn't be able to serve an honorable 2-year mission for the church, because that's what boys of my faith did when they turned 19. I had a commitment to fulfill, and I never heard the end of it from my parents who paid the bills and my faith that paid for my sins. I owed them something. I was 19. It was time to go. 2 years out of the 20 I had been on this Earth was a reasonable 10% tithe to the organization that would cleanse my soul, right? Never mind the fact that I had learned to live and love according to the dictates of my soul, something very few people in this life accomplish. Maybe they were jealous?

Amy and I were in love. We did everything together. We found joy in the mundane, peace in the presence of each other, and joy in the experiences we shared. It wasn't just infatuation, it was real. That was the only time in my life that I didn't have any "what-ifs" about other women. I was just happy. We held nothing back. We were fearless together. We talked about our future children. I remember one night, sitting outside her mom's apartment talking about children, a cat jumped down in front of us. He lingered for awhile, like he was listening. Amy surmised that maybe the cat was the spirit of one of our unborn children. We weren't afraid of conversations like that. She didn't know this at the time, and this is difficult to describe, but when we were sharing that special intimate connection I remember feeling the innate desire to have a child with her. That was the only time I ever genuinely and naturally felt that, without some timeline or checklist driving me. It wasn't forced, necessary or required, it just was. That whole year, we never used any birth control. Somehow, those children never arrived. We let ourselves go, clumsily maybe, to a special place that no one could touch, yet everyone at the time seemed to be against.

We spent the month of June at her friend Jennifer’s house. Jennifer’s parents went to Europe for the month, but left Jennifer and her brother Brian home. Brian spent the month elsewhere, with friends, and Jennifer had the place to herself. Amy and I basically moved in. Party time. I sometimes wonder if Brian ever suspected what happened in his room during that month. Or on their kitchen counter, for that matter. Or the pool. Or the lawn in the backyard. We discovered that Amy (and eventually Jennifer) was bold enough to go “hey dude-ing” at the local Circle K and get older guys to buy us booze. (“Hey dude, will you buy us a couple 6-packs of Zima?”) It didn’t hurt that Amy was as sexy as she was, either. I mean, what would you do if those eyes and that body and that voice walked up to you and asked a simple favor? Show me a red-blooded ‘Merican man that would say no and I’ll show you the Loch Ness Monster. Jennifer was cute but I don’t remember her being as successful as Amy. We watched from afar and it was like shooting fish in a barrel. If I remember right, even though we would give them money, we got some booze for free from a few charitable souls that may have appreciated what she was asking for more than most. Yeah, we were into Zima in those days.

I got sick late that summer. Mononucleosis, with some complications that affected my liver. My mother told me it was a sign from God, and that maybe I should listen to it. I laid in bed for a few weeks, taking prescription steroids, drinking Gatorade, taking in the words of Rush Limbaugh (douchebag) and Cleon Skousen, the Mormon Philosopher, amongst others. I buried myself in the right-wing weirdness of my parents reading library.

What happened next, I don't fully understand, but it happened nonetheless. I got angry. I got angry at the fact that I was sick. I got angry that I wasn't progressing with my education. I got angry at myself for not living up to my parents expectations. I got angry at the people at church that wondered openly when I was going to put my papers in to serve a mission. I just got angry.

So guess what I did. Following a pattern I have discovered repeats itself when I contain my feelings, I went on an angry rampage. (Note: these are the times I need people that really understand me to talk to. I need fellow tribesmen with no hidden agendas. And as I have since learned, I really need to listen to them.) I ditched the hippie clothes and bought a whole new look, so I could look "more respectable". I resumed classes in the fall. I ignored the now. I ignored the journey. I ignored the flow. I ignored the gods. And in hindsight, I ignored my soul. Instead, I found some new goals and focused on them with single-minded determination. I didn’t bother to run them by my soul, I just took them at face value. This was good and bad. It was good in that I learned drive and determination and learned how to create momentum in my life. It was bad because I didn’t consider the consequences. So I moved forward. Consequences...and casualties...be damned.

Amy was a casualty of the next few months. She loved me. And I loved her. But I didn't take her with me on my journey then. I don't know if I could have, but the fact that I didn't really try will always haunt me. I had changed. Not entirely, but I had changed. I ignored the gods and tuned in to the "spirit" of going on my mission and getting my education completed. This, I was told, or perceived, was not compatible with my relationship with Amy. I was too young to have that kind of love. I was too inexperienced.

Or maybe I was too much of a rock star for those fat pathetic bastards behind the podium to accept.

I remember thinking, fuck this...I'm going to go get a job, an apartment with Amy, move out of my parents house, and go on with my life as my soul dictated. I remember apartment shopping with Amy. I remember planning it out...school loans, budgets, etc. I remember discussing the details. It was all very exciting. But the reality at the time was that I didn’t have it in me to take the jump. I’m sure Amy would have come with me. And who knows how it would have turned out? That is a what-if that will be with me forever.

But we had different journeys to follow. This I cannot deny…we were not meant for each other at that time. My mistake was in not acknowledging that to Amy and telling her, straight out, like a man, that we needed to go our separate paths for awhile. Instead, I got focused on school and work, and the phone calls and dates became few and far between. By the time December rolled around, I had already planned on moving to northern California to audition for the Blue Devils and spend the summer touring with them. At that point, we were so distant, yet still technically together, that I don’t even remember if she knew I was moving. Our relationship just vaporized.

I very clearly remember the last time I saw her before leaving for California in January of 94. She came over to my house in a car that her Grandma’s boyfriend at the time had given her. She was so happy. She had a job and school lined up. I sensed then that she was moving forward too, and I wonder if that night was a sign that we could move forward together. If it was, I didn’t read it. I just gave her a hug, didn’t invite her in, said something like “that’s great”, and essentially blew her off. I can only imagine how much pain I inflicted. I never really knew, but I knew.

California was a big change. Alone, finding new friends, and working my ass off to get established. I started calling Amy’s Grandmother to get a hold of her, but I never got a call back. I think I started realizing that there was a comfort in her presence and proximity, and without it there was definitely something lacking in my universe. The sad part is, 16 years later, that void hasn’t been fulfilled. But the Blue Devils had a reputation for working hard and playing hard, and that lifestyle kept my mind busy and helped me dull the pain and ignore the void. So I continued.

2 months later I decided I had enough. I wonder in hindsight if Blue Devils was just an illusion, something I had created and built up in my mind to get away, because I knew if I stayed home I would have to continue down the path towards the 2-year mission. I wasn’t ready to be out there, and I wasn’t feeling what I thought I would be feeling. I was depressed, far away from home, and alone. Blue Devils had changed and my expectations were wrong. It wasn’t my vibe. So I left.

I left quickly. I packed up everything I owned into my red Toyota MR2 and headed…south. Didn’t even know where, I just started driving. I intended to take the Pacific Coast Highway south until I came to a decision. I drove out across the bay into Marin county, drove around for awhile, then back south across the Golden Gate bridge into the city. It was on that bridge that I decided I had nothing else to chase. I remember the moment well. It was on the bridge, and the sun came through the clouds just as “All This Time” by Sting came on the car stereo, one of my all-time favorite tunes. It was time to get ready to go on a mission, and I just had to accept the fact that I had to do it. Later, I also decided, that no matter how much I wanted to, I wouldn’t try to contact Amy anymore. I had to leave her behind and move on. But I never could.

And all this time the river flowed
In the falling light of a northern sun
If I had my way I'd take a boat from the river
Men go crazy in congregations
But they only get better
One by one
One by one...

We ran into each other in June of 94, at the Coffee Plantation down on Mill Ave in Tempe. That was one of the only “cool” places (along with Hippie Gypsy and Trails) that underage kids could hang out at, so it was always packed back in the day. We went there often. That night happened to be a night of weakness for me…I had gotten drunk and decided to go hit Coffee Plantation with my good friend Levi, for old times sake. And there she was, sitting at a table with Jennifer and Jennifer’s future husband. I sat down.

“Hey…I thought you were dead!” I said, full of drunken energy and excitement. She reciprocated with “I thought YOU were dead!”

We had these big, fake smiles on, trying to not be awkward. It was a quick, cold conversation. I probably confirmed what she suspected; that I had turned into the typical college douchbag that we used to make fun of together. And I probably did to some degree. I had left behind the artist that I loved to chase some fake glittering dream. I decided to choose rather than embrace.

Jennifer sensed the awkwardness and indicated it was time to leave. We said out terse goodbyes, and she walked off as Levi and I stayed at the table.

That was the last time I saw her.

(Many years later in February of 2005 at a pub in Denver where Levi was living at the time, we talked about the Amy/Jennifer summer over beers. I found out that Levi had found out through a mutual friend how angry Amy was about the whole thing and how she had written me off completely. That discussion and revelation sigificantly intensified and renewed the regret I felt.)

1994 continued. I left on my mission in January of 1995. While at the MTC and while in my first area, I wrote 3 or 4 letters to Amy, trying to set the past straight at first, then just reporting on what I was doing. I never heard back, so I figured that was it…she really didn’t want anything to do with me. But I still held out hope. What I didn't know at the time was that my parents never delivered those letters. They warned me not to stay in touch, and I suspected they would hesitate to deliver them. I was right. I could have sent them to her Grandmother, but I was afraid she would do the same. In any case, they never got delivered. A year later, at a zone conference, I ran into Elder Martin. I found out he went to the same high school as Amy and graduated the same year. Of course I mentioned her, and he replied “Oh yeah, she just got married a few months ago.”

My heart sank.

At that point, I knew that I absolutely had to let it go.

Amy was happy, presumably, and moving on. The door was now shut, locked, and forever barred. Many years later I looked her up on classmates.com and found a picture of her and her husband and 2 kids. She looked happy, and that was enough to forever keep me from trying to contact her. I probably needed to, if anything just for closure, but something kept me from that.

They say a city in the desert lies
The vanity of an ancient king
But the city lies in broken pieces
Where the wind howls and the vultures sing
These are the works of man
This is the sum of our ambition
It would make a prison of my life
If you become another's wife
With every prison blown to dust
My enemies walk free
I'm mad about you

I'm mad about you

I married in August of 1998. At the time, I was packed and ready for the long haul of eternal marriage. I married a good girl. Smart, beautiful, disciplined, but different from Amy. Not that Amy lacked those qualities. But my new wife did not have the same soul as Amy. And, in hindsight, it was Amy’s soul that ultimately, outside of the eyes, the demeanor, the sense of humor, the morbid curiosity, the smile, the laugh, the taste in music, her taste, the sense of fashion, the appreciation of the unknown, the love of life, the willingness to explore the human experience…it was her soul that fulfilled me, way back in the summer of 93.

I still ask myself why I never contacted her. I suspect what kept me was fear of seeing her again and having my feelings towards her renewed. The years had dulled the pain, and hopefully it had on her side too. Why risk re-opening old wounds, or worse, re-discovering old love and ruining two perfectly good marriages? However, my ex-wife once looked her up. Not sure why, or what she was thinking, but her good friend advised her it was a bad idea. I honestly can't image what my ex hoped to accomplish by doing that, but I'm glad she didn't follow through with that idea.

Amy would show up in my dreams occasionally, and I would feel that summer again. Every time those dreams ended with me waking up and feeling the same heartache. It was 6 years into our marriage before I confronted my demon, and told my wife that I still had flashbacks to the days of happiness I had with an old girlfriend. That was during one of the many times our marriage almost crashed and burned. That revelation didn't go over so well, and led to the aforementioned research project to find Amy, which of course fortunately never happened. In any case, I decided to fight for the marriage, to put the past to rest, and to move on. I can honestly say that I did. Over the next 4 years, the dreams nearly went away, became less vivid, and I moved on. Regardless of that self-healing that took place, every so often the subject of Amy would come up, and I would keep getting the same advice; look her up, get closure. Most of this came from my mom, who had a similar demon, and an even crazier story. Some of it came from the women I saw after I separated from my wife. But I never did. Didn’t feel right.

So where does this story end?

My divorce was final on March 3rd, 2009.

A few days later on March 11th I got an automated email from Match.com with my “daily matches”. Amy was one of my daily matches on that day. I have since found out that she separated from her ex-husband of 13 years the week before my ex-wife and I separated.

Her divorce was final on March 4th, 2009

We went to dinner for my 35th birthday last week.

And the journey continues.

Thinking about thinking of you
Summertime think it was June
Yeah think it was June
Laying back, head on the grass
Children grown having some laughs
Yeah having some laughs.

You made me feel like the one
Made me feel like the one
The one
You made me feel like the one
Made me feel like the one
The one

Drinking back, drinking for two
Drinking with you
And drinking was new
Sleeping in the back of my car
We never went far
Needed to go far

You made me feel like the one
Made me feel like the one
The one
You made me feel like the one
Made me feel like the one
The one

I don't know where we are going now
I don't know where we are going now

Wake up cold coffee and juice
Remembering you
What happened to you?
I wonder if we'll meet again
Talk about us instead
Talk about why did it end

You made me feel like the one
Made me feel like the one
The one
You made me feel like the one
Made me feel like the one
The one

I don't know where we are going now
I don't know where we are going now

So take a look at me now

Companion version 2.0 - Journeymate

In no particular order, I thought I'd jot down the list of "requirements" that I'm looking for in a journeymate. I recognize these likely can not be fulfilled by only one person, but most of these in one would be nice. The first requirement is that you clearly understand what "journeymate" means. If you don't, best to stop reading now. Here's the rest:

-You must be spiritual. I mostly don't care how it manifests itself, but you must be aware enough to be able to feel what the universe is telling you.

-You must be a kindred spirit. This means that our souls can communicate, not just our bodies or our brains.

-You must be an explorer. The fearful need not apply.

-You must be okay with the notion of being a step-parent.

-You must be at least as interesting as me. I don't want to have to carry every conversation, I like to be entertained too.

-You must be able to make me genuinely laugh.

-You must have and understand passion. I don't care if you like what I like, but you must have and/or deeply understand what it means to have a passion for something. If your interests happen to be the same as mine, great, if not, maybe even better. But they should at least overlap significantly.

-You must be physically fit and understand your body well enough to stay that way. No couch slugs.

-You must be physically affectionate. No ice queens, please.

-You must be emotionally independent. From everyone. Especially your parents and ex-boyfriends/husbands. Co-dependents need not apply.

-You must be sexy. If I don't have a hard time keeping my hands off you, there is a problem.

-You must fundamentally be an optimist. No overly depressive types. It's okay to be down, but not as a lifestyle.

-You must be experienced emotionally, physically (sexually), intellectually and spiritually.

-You must be edgy. Vanilla need not apply. If you can't handle an F-bomb, Irish whiskey, Guy Ritchie or Frank Miller movies, you can't handle me.

-You must be outgoing and capable of being social. If I can't take you to a party, concert, football game, or bar without traumatizing you then you need not apply.

-You must be willing and able to party like a rockstar but be ready to call it a night when appropriate.

-You must love my family, 'cause they ain't going anywhere.

-You must live in the real world, recognize and embrace it for what it is, and not run from it.

-You must not treat relationships like science projects.

-You must appreciate the human experience, not be afraid of it, and have a genuine desire to embrace it.

-You must value education enough to have educated yourself.

-You must be genuinely honest. That means being able to say and live with "I don't know" sometimes, but not forever.

-You must be able to make a decision, but never just for the sake of making a decision.

-You must understand how to play on a team together.

-You must realize what you are dealing with. I ain't a child, and I ain't a pet.

-You must be able to appreciate the Journey as much or more than the destination, and accept the fact that sometimes the Journey IS the destination.

-You must not react like a baby when you don't get your way.

-You must be able to smell the roses.

-You must respect me for what I am, not for what you want me to be.

-You must have friends of your own.

-You must have a life of your own and not require my undivided attention to solve things you should have figured out as a single person.

-You must be able to dress yourself in such a way that indicates you are aware of what society is doing at the moment (Borrowed that one...thanks MG)

-You must learn to appreciate eating out at someplace other than Chili's.

-You must appreciate that quality time with your significant other is required, frequently, to keep him happy and engaged.

-You must recognize that a relationship should be based on love for each other and not a contract.

That's a long list, but expect it to expand and/or change over time.

It is, after all, a journey.

Won't you take me to....Funkytown?

I had a great time this past weekend. Went to SLC to go skiing with my brother Dan and meet up with a few friends. We stayed at the Hotel Monaco downtown, which turned out to be really cool. It's an old 15-story building that's been recently remodeled, and the service was fantastic. We had a corner room on the top floor with views of the city to the west and the steel frame of a skyscraper being built to the south. Oh yeah, VIP all the way. Doug and Eric flew up Thursday night, me and Dan on Friday morning. I met up with Doug and Eric at Alta on Friday afternoon while Dan went and hung out with his local friend Rusty and his wife in town. And then, gravity took over.

I love being on skis. I love the feeling of tossing myself from turn to turn, of unweighting and letting go, allowing gravity to do its thing, catching myself on the next edge, and doing it over and over until my thighs burn and my face is sore from grinning. I love the weightlessness between turns, like a child on a swing, just way better. I love using the terrain to help with the next turn, taking what the mountain gives you and leaving her with something beautiful. I love the feeling that even though you never know what the run will look like, even though you will always find a way down, the tracks you leave are up to you and they can be as ugly or beautiful as you want them to be.

I hate it when I don't wax and tune my skis beforehand though. But, typical of me, the experience suffers because I forget or overlook some stupid little detail. Of course, to most it wouldn't be that big a deal, but to someone who is acutely aware of how it should feel, it robs from the experience. Oh well. Good day, nonetheless. And it was just getting started.

That night I went to dinner with a Utard (that's a term of endearment, BTW) who also understands what it means to be on a journey. The hummus was great, as was the chicken souvlaki and the chicken ala Aristo, one of the house specialties. I felt like a king after that meal, even though I got a parking ticket because I'm apparently not intelligent enough to tell the difference between a 2 and a 7. So whoever was in parking space number 2...hey, the extra hour parking was on me. I blame my parents and the school system I grew up in. And drugs.

After dinner we visited...the Oracle.

Say it with me in a creepy voice...The Oracle...

Sounds way cool that way, huh? Well before you jump to any conclusions involving young girls getting high and advising ancient Greek kings on the merits of going to war with a vastly larger opposing army, let me just cut you off right there. (But you are way cool for thinking that) No, the Oracle was merely Margaret Ruth, local conjurer of all things metaphysical. A professional psychic, serving the needs of SLC and beyond. Without going into too much detail, the Oracle told Mother Gaia sitting next to me to cool it and wait for permission. Yeah right, like that'll happen. Mother Gaia strikes me as someone that would rather ask forgiveness later rather than permission first, and I like 'em that way. That's how we roll in our clan, and that ain't changing anytime soon. She also told her that she saw a future in environmental activism and protection. I guess Mother Gaia will have to sell the Hummer first if she rolls with that one.

Just sayin'.

Anyhow, moving on, the Oracle indicated that I should probably get in touch with Grandpa Reggie a little more because he is trying to tell me something. I know what he's trying to tell me, and I'll admit, the Oracle hit the nail on the head there. She also indicated that there is something for me in a more instructional or professor-like role in the future. The gods know I'm experienced, and I have plenty of words of wisdom (mostly warning) to share, but I have a feeling it was more related to my job and career going forward. I'm at a crossroads here with this economy and the industry I'm in, but I think the Oracle confirmed what I knew already. More on that some other time.

After the Oracle we headed south, towards Disneyland....uh....I mean Provo, without a destination in mind, just to see where we would end up. We ended up watching episodes of Flight of the Conchords on a portable DVD player in the back of Mother Gaia's Hummer. That was awesome. (Say it like Molly...awesome...) I can not get enough of that show. Brilliant.

Hilarity ensued.

You see, Mother Gaia likes to laugh. And I was so glad to see her embrace my kind of hilarity. And so glad to see someone laughing so hard they literally fell out of their seat. Yeah, I brought that into her life. She has me to thank. Awesome.

The next morning, I hit the 'Bird. Snowbird, that is. Loyal readers, you will not believe me when I tell you this, but Snowbird is the only major area in Utah I've never skied. And I finally hit it on Saturday. Oh happy day, all is well, all is well. The 'Bird is famous for a few things. The steeps, Mineral basin, and of course, the Tram:

The Tram is one of the things you have to do if you consider yourself a skier, I think. It's like a 120 person party, with the personal space similar to what you get in a Tokyo subway, repeated every 10 minutes. I can only imagine what it's like first thing in the morning on a powder day. I took the Tram to the top before my last run of the afternoon, a nearly non-stop run through Peruvian Gulch to the bottom, hittin the bumps on the way down on Lower Primrose path. Ah, good times. That was my last run of the day.

The thing about skiing, and life, is that provided you aren't stupid and avoid hurting yourself too bad, you can get as many do-overs as you want. Everyone gets to the bottom of the hill eventually, and every morning we stand at the top where the lift drops us. But the tracks you leave on the way down are like your signature, your mark on the mountain of life, and like I said earlier...they can be as ugly or as beautiful as you want them to be.

Sunday was a bit of a disaster to start with, getting the airline reservations split up so Dan could go home on an earlier flight (he decided he needed some extra time Sunday afternoon to catch up on work) but it ended on a high note. All I'll say is, I laughed, I drooled, I laughed some more, reviewed some more fortunes, and learned that the next generation is not lost. No, not with our clan still alive and kicking. But, regardless of what happens and what may come between us, (because we are natural-born fighters) we all gotta stick together and not give up on each other. Because the minute we do, the damn money changers and lawyers move in and suck the life we create out of the world and we all have to start over.

I headed home that night from my people's homeland, content in what I had discovered, anxious to return, even with that damn 3.2 rule. But as I am starting to discover, 3.2 does not dictate the amount of fun you can have, not with Mother Gaia at the wheel and Funkytown as the destination.

35

35 is half of 70. I'm 35 this month. Half way to 70.

70 is a big number. You never celebrate being able to count to 70 when you're a toddler or pre-schooler. It's just a stop on the way to 100. But it's a big number, and dammit I'm half way there. And, to rub it in, now the days are passing faster. Damn you, mortality. Just when you become conscious of who you are, what you are, what you are capable of...the clock starts ticking faster. Maybe now is when I re-energize my faith in the gods, so I can take comfort in the fact that 70 really means nothing, in the "grand" scheme of things, that there is some grand eternity waiting for me.

Or not. I could just make the most of what's left. And maybe, that will buy me more opportunity in the eternities anyway.

Dilemma....or is it?

Either way, days are like uncut diamonds.

I ain't gonna waste any more.

Well, maybe a few. Here and there. Because I know I'm wealthy in days, so I can.

Duke, and other endings

Duke died last week. He was my yellow Labrador. He was 10 years old. I didn't get to see him one last time.

I got a letter in the mail last week. It was from my lawyer and it said my divorce had been signed off by the judge and had been filed with the state. I am now legally a single person.

Both those events happened on March 3rd, 2009.

Duke was a puppy when we first got him, shortly after we got married in 98. She freaked out at first, mad at what he cost and mad at the additional responsibility. But I was convinced we needed him. And, like in a lot of things during that marriage, I was proven right over time.

Duke was there with us in our first house in Peoria. Active, young, full of energy...and just strikingly beautiful. He knew he was loved, and he knew his role. Ours was the first house completed on the street and so we moved in first while the rest of the street was under construction and the workers were all over the place building the other houses. We were too poor to have an alarm system, and we were both gone all the time with work and school, but Duke's bark was enough. We weren't in the best part of town, and in the almost 4 years we lived there ours was one of only a handful of houses in that neighborhood that wasn't broken into.

For a short time, we also had Daisy while we were in that house. She was a chocolate lab that we got as a playmate for Duke so he wouldn't be so lonely when we were gone. She was beautiful too. Different, but beautiful. Unfortunately, she only lasted 9 months before cancer took her from us. She had green eyes, and I remember them glazing over as the vet injected the painless poison into her as we sat there, holding her lovingly on the table. I remember her going limp as the pain was dissipating and she crossed that bridge to the special place where I will see her and Duke again. At least now she has Duke to play with until I get there.

I wasn't there when Duke went to sleep. Michelle had taken him into the vet to check on his tumor and I had taken Ethan to the urgent care to deal with his ear infection and fever. I was holding him for the doctor when the two calls came from an unknown number. I didn't answer, and there was no voice mail. About an hour later I got a call from my dad indicating that Duke was gone. I would have waited until I got through to me. But I think she was anxious to rid herself of him, since he represented me. He always was my dog, anyway. I just wish I could have at least seen him one last time. He was loyal to the end, like dogs are, and I wasn't there. God damn her.

Duke was a good dog. He persevered the children, loved them and protected them, even after it was obvious who the priorities were. He still loved me, even when I was impatient with him. His love was unconditional. He never tore anything up. I remember all the other young couples in the neighborhood that either gave up their dogs or suffered through their dog's bad behavior. They all had one thing in common, they all wished they had a dog like Duke. And I think he knew it, because as far as dogs go, he was one cocky canine. Not always the most brilliant, but he knew where he stood. And now, he stands easier. Runs easier. Jumps easier. He might even actually fetch things again, if Daisy isn't too busy distracting him.

Do all good things come to an end? No. Good things continue. If we're smart, only bad things end.

Am I nuts?

Maybe. I've done some crazy stuff and have the mugshots to prove it. Some days are better than others. Some years are better than others. Like, for example, 2004. Yeah, that was good times. But I digress. I'm in a melancholy place right now. I miss my kids. It's hard dealing with the breakup of my marriage and the prospect of dealing with life as a single person, something I've never really done for any extended period in my adult life. I mean, I did up until I was 24, but 2 of those years I spent D&C-section-4-ing and outside of those 2 years I was always dating and/or girlfriending. Now I've also got to be a single, part-time parent to the 2 most amazing children that don't deserve any of this. I'm facing the biggest void of my life and to be honest, it's scary stuff.

Scary, or one hell of a challenge. Or both. I like a challenge, but I don't want to end up like the Black Knight, sitting (?) there limbless on the bridge, claiming it's only a flesh wound. So yeah, I do think, what could I have done differently? Lots of things, of course, but would they have mattered? I still would have been the same emotional retard. Unfortunately, if I'm going to grow, I'm going to have to weather this one. The adreniline-laced, self-defensive, maniac pace is wound down, now it's time to just clip in and keep the cranks turning.

I do not grieve for the the loss of Her, but for the loss of a her, and mostly for the 10 years that could have been spent elsewhere, growing faster or better. I do not regret, but I do grieve. I also grieve for the loss of myself, the time I spent in a different soul, in costume, disconnected from myself and, worst of all, my family. I grieve for Her, and what she will have to go through, even though it is for the best. Grief is normal when something dies, and it will pass. I really want to spread my wings and fly, but also feel, out of respect for the dead and my own limits, that I should temper my flight path. Besides, I'll probably just hurt myself again if I try to fly just yet. Patience padawan. You are not a Jedi yet. The seperation wounds are still fresh and healing, despite my typical denial. I never let a flesh wound slow me down before, but this is not a flesh wound. Maybe I should listen to this one.

I'm not nuts, I'm human.