a random assortment of chocolates

Milk chocolate hazelnut center

Big storm tonight. Tornado warning and everything. My student left right as the thunder was knocking on my door, the rain pushing impatiently, wanting to be let in. It was glorious. I hope she made it home safe.

Nutty nougat

I was so afraid I had done something wrong yesterday, while existing in my self-centered universe. Of COURSE nobody has anything else in their lives to do. So as I hem and haw and my apocalyptic imagination invents the worst possible scenario as to why my best friend has shut me out of her life, she is meanwhile running around town like crazy for doctor appointments, birthday party arrangements and doing various good deeds for others (that is a given with her, bless her soul). Two words: um, DUH.

Dark chocolate covered cherry

SA flying Beijing back to NA, in LA for 20 hours then back to SA after whirlwind oriental tour. NA wants to fly to LA to meet SA and that ain't gonna happen, folks. (don't even ask) Flight status: on time. 16 hours--don't miss those flights one single bit.

Milk chocolate raspberry center

Damn stink bugs. They are everywhere and I cannot get rid of them. Sound like B-52 bombers as they fly overhead in my bedroom. Am I to be assimilated? Is resistance truly futile?

White chocolate dark center

I awoke at 5:30 this morning to the distinct feeling of itsy bitsy spider feet crawling across my face. Better not be the dude that bit me in the neck during the weekend and that, I believe, caused my subsequent chest rash. Regardless...any spiders crawling on my face in the dark hours must be annihiliated...if I can find the creature.

Chocolate covered toffee

Piggy-backing students starting tomorrow. That must mean I am starting to become popular. Thankfully my longtime Wednesday morning student, who was smack dab in the middle of my Wednesday mornings is flexible enough to move his session up a half hour so I can fit in a 2 hour advanced session in after him. Young Prince stays for lunch those days--now I can actually afford to leave him for lunch!

Dark chocolate solid

40th birthday bash coming up on Saturday night. Is 50 the new 40? No more Geritol and Ben-Gay jokes at 40, I take it...? Don't want to be inappropriate.

Dark chocolate coconut center

Feeling rather antipática toward Him. Nothing new, but severely skewing my senses to actually allow myself to believe ALL MEN ARE THIS WAY. Not fair, is it? At least I still have half a mind left to realize that no, it is NOT fair of me to generalize. So--please accept my apologies.

Dark chocolate lemon center

Got paid--do I dare deposit it in the bank??? Yelled at kids. Realized September is actually over. Prepped classes. Finished up more details of textbook. Coached a softball practice. Yelled at non-team player for drawing in the dirt instead of picking up the ball and throwing it. Met up with old friends and new on Facebook. Feeling restless--need another trip to calm my wanderlust. Too much Pathwords. Not enough Life. Escapism?

Dark chocolate milk chocolate center

Garage sale done, Freecycled most of the rest out, trying to sell a few things on Craigslist. Including my wedding dress. Time for it to go.

Milk chocolate almond center

Am tired of who I see in the mirror, want a change but don't know how to achieve it. Doing much better than before but still not yet there. Instant gratification, damn it. I want THAT.

White chocolate orange center

I hate white chocolate. And I'd be allergic to all these, anyway. Damn soy lecithin.

Above inspired by See's, my West Coast favorite.

another full circle

Nori called today. He's getting married!!

We met in New Orleans. He was studying English, I was starting my masters program, missing Japan and longing to grasp hold of anything or anybody that could bring a bit of my three years in Japan back to me.

And I met Nori. And a couple other very close friends as well, but Nori was special.

His dream was to become a famous photographer in New York. I vouched for him to Immigration so that he could obtain the necessary visa to find work, get an employer sponsor and start the wheels turning so that he could begin to pursue his dream.

And he did. He had his own freelance photography office based out of Manhattan and was doing model shoots, advertising shoots for Calvin Klein and Ralph Lauren and other famous people. I, feeling almost like the proud mother, watched and relished in his successes.

He will now leave this dream-come-true and return to Japan; not to him hometown 古里 but instead to Tokyo. Neither he nor I like Tokyo very much. But Japan is his home, and will be where his new life will begin at the side of his new partner!

It has been ten years. We were lovers for a very short time, fulfilling a basic need we both had but is the only with whom I still maintain a strong friendship. He even photographed my wedding, in black and white; his photos were better than the photographer we hired. His folio of our wedding won him first prize in a photography school contest.

I told him today of my separation. That was incredibly hard for me to do for various reasons, the first being that he is just a week away from being married in Tokyo. The second, as he was not only in attendance at my wedding but photographed it beautifully and even caught the garter that was tossed from the balcony of the Columns Hotel.

But I did it. And I am glad I did, because one of my greatest fears regarding this new phase of my life is the possibility of disappointing others--especially those who witnessed my wedding vows.

I wish him all the happiness in the world, and thank him from the bottom of my heart for picking up the phone to share his lovely news with me!

racing clouds

The sky appears overcast and gray. Another stormy arrival is imminent. The trees are quietly shuddering in anticipation, and the insects have quieted, out of respect for Mother Nature's forces. Lawns appear green beneath the gray, greedily awaiting their thirst-quenching drink.

Look closer at the sky. It is not a quiet gray. It is moving, mobile, clouds are racing east to west. It is not a heavy gray; there is instead a constantly evolving texture to the cloud cover not visible at first glance.

Busy, hectic, churning, drawing.

A police car drives by. Maintaining order?

Nothing is at it first appears.

my new song

It is Mine. All Mine. Thanks to Windy.



Holy cannoli, I don't think I have laughed so hard in years.

Enjoy!

rights and responsibilities

The few places He has looked to move into have been co-op living arrangements, in which you have your own space (being your bedroom) and everything else is shared, which means that responsibilities for cleaning, cooking, shopping, laundry, grounds maintenance, trash, etc. is shared.

So--as He is still in this house, is he somehow exempt from the responsibilities of running and maintaining the house? I find it excrutiatingly interesting that, on my weekends without children I have to vacuum, do the shopping, pay the bills, mow the lawn, and even cook for the children if they're in the house. On top of, of course, getting my professional work done as that is my only no-children worktime when I don't have students scheduled (a big downside of working from home).

However, he gets a weekend out of the office and gets to sit on his ass and pick at his head and watch TV and do nothing. Trash? Forget it, I have to do it. Grass? Forget it, I have to do it. Vacuum? Fortunately, did it while he took the kids to church yesterday. I even brought my work to She-ra's house yesterday and got two good hours of organizing and binding in because all he did was sit there looking like he was waiting for us to go.

I had to be firm with him this weekend because his brother calls (how he ends up getting a sibling out here while I am still completely family-less is beyond me. Wins again.) and wants him to bring the kids out for time together yesterday. I said that he had them last weekend and this is my weekend, aside from the fact that I had already made plans for us. I agreed I would be flexible, but I ought not be the only one who is required to be flexible; I need down time with the kids that does not involve trying to get them from one place to another, getting homework done, and working while they play together. I should not have to make my down time with the kids the errand time, the shopping time, the cutting grass time each and every week. Sometimes that is necessary; when I can roll it all into the weekly routine, that works fine but it does not always work out that way.

So he was surprised that I stood my ground, I think, and felt a bit lost...most likely akin to how I felt last weekend when they left. And just because I had other plans did not mean that I had to leave the house at a given hour and go. It just meant that he could not take them, but that they were completely fine entertaining themselves for a while as I finished up a few things.

Yes, I would love to be able to get to the gym this morning or do something all alone since a student cancelled. But instead I will have to fill that time with grocery shopping just to have something to eat in the house, since he sat on his ass all day yesterday, only ate granola cereal and chips so that he would not have to get any groceries, and use what is normally a work day to further fulfill household responsibilities that should have been completed this weekend.

I understand fully that this is how it will be when he is not around. However, there will also be one less person (big person) to have to clean up after, and the separation issue with the children will be much more defined than it is now. So do I have right to complain? A part of me is afraid to open my mouth--out of fear of appearing that I just can't do it alone. And I can do it...I just don't feel it's right for one to have a "free ride".

Or am I missing something completely? Is he somehow exempted as he earns the Big Paycheck? Does that give all rights to being able to take a full weekend ass-sitting break?

response to Dad's House

Certainly not a defense...but I started to respond to the post over at Dad's House today and it turned into much more than a response.

Dad is completely right. Feeling hoochie-mama-esque does, and ought to, come from within. And I am not looking for someone to fulfill all of that--but instead I illustrate how good it is for me when I have my partner by my side. Unfortunately, I can't say I ever felt like how I described in the previous post in my marriage.

When I feel on, I feel on. And it's great, albeit rare. There is such a feeling, though, that all parents (correct me if I'm wrong, please) single or married experience--that certain feeling of gender-neutralization. I am not Woman--I am mother, errand-runner, accountant, dishwasher, cook, laundromat, grocer, sports coach, professional in my own right--and the idea of being a sexual being is completely negated, not only by myself but by others with whom I interact.

(Sidenote: perhaps this is why I so enjoy communicating in Spanish, as there is a constant recognition of the gender of the other--adjectives must agree in gender with the nouns they modify, you are guapo, I am guapa. I love to know I'm being recognized as a woman. --okay, sociolinguistics lesson over, back to the post.)

In this marital split, I am learning the benefits (emotional, health-related, etc.) of being true to myself. In many ways, that now comes so naturally to me as I am no longer living a lie to myself or to others. I am no longer with a man who says he loves me but cannot--or will not--learn to give me even a little of what I need while I fulfill all of his needs, wants and desires.

This is the first year that I am starting to notice great physical changes as well. My skin is losing the elasticity it once had. Blemishes and bruises no longer heal at lightning-speed rates that they used to. My feet hurt and I am always cold. I am realizing that time is passing-ten years have passed, two children birthed with this man and I am not the young sexy thing I once was. The season is changing and I recognize a great deal of these feelings parallel negativity about increased hours of darkness during the day. So I take self-help steps where I can--and feel at the same time a carpet being pulled out from under my feet as age starts to make an appearance.

I also know how sex can release so many endorphines to help us feel good about ourselves. Naturally, in the act we have to release our inhibitions and bare everything to another, who accepts and loves us in that form. That acceptance does wonders for manifesting hoochie-mama feelings! Yet when not having sex that feeling fades and I no longer feel sexy as I no longer have that pure acceptance in my life, in which it is not anything I don that makes me sexy--it is instead the fact that two can revel in the absolute essence of each other that makes me feel so sexy, from the inside-out.

I know I have felt this way for a long time, but have not had the guts to write on it. I am feeling freer and more courageous, thanks in great part to knowing I am simply not alone.

So...back to my cute jeans, high heels and leather jacket today. I'm going to go shopping while children are in school! Hoochie-mama this, baby!

life is so damn short

La Princesita and I just finished watching the end of the Latin telenovela entitled Al diablo con los guapos. I had been interrupted while watching various key scenes in the duration of this particular soap opera and the children enjoy watching a show I can narrate a bit for them, although La Princesita is starting to understand some of what is being said.

Lots to talk about here...

Why on Earth do I let my children watch overreactive telenovela trash? Because I am finding this is a great entry into specific talks I need to have with them. They see drug/alcohol abuse, so we talk about those dangers. They see the "bad guys" smoking...only the "bad guys" seem to smoke. They see sex, and La Princesita asks me openly about it. Racism is a common theme, as are class issues and poverty. Instead of having to be the initiator of all these conversations, I can allow the show to initiate and then let the children come up with any questions they want to ask. Perfect.

The soap operas in Latin America last anywhere from a few months to a year and a half, max. So, much like a short story, it is easy to get emotionally invested in the life of the protagonists as character development and evolution is rapid, coming to closure in a decent amount of time. Then it is all over. Sometimes these come to a "happily ever after" conclusion. Others, like that of tonight, are surprising in the pure quantity of wet tissues they produce.

About 20 minutes into the final hour of tonight's finale, the "happily ever after" wedding occured and all were happy-happy-contentos-felices. It was lovely. Princesita giggled, saying that her eyes felt all wet. I told her it is natural to feel like you want to cry when you feel happy as well as when you are sad.

Commercial break. I wondered what was to come next.

The scenes, over the last half hour, jumped in time from after the wedding a few years, adding more, then more; the protagonist's mother died. Another mother died. It was not bad; it was peaceful, with loved ones surrounding. Children were born, the cycle of life was illustrated. Happiness, aging, and then the protagonist's father died--miserly and alone.

The final scene had Millie and Alejandro walking on the beach, the same beach upon which they first slept together--remember, the one with the perfectly fluttering white linen in the beach breeze silhouetted against a red sunset? Yeah. That one. This time, however, they were ancianos, a pair of lovers who had aged so much that they shook as they made their way in the treacherous sand. They stopped and looked at each other against the light of the sun, flashing back to that night they were first together, expressing their undying love for each other, how her eyes are the last thing he ever wants to see in his life, how he wants to die with her. Flash from past to present a few times. You can see their memories of that first night that sealed their destinies in the same envelope for the rest of their lives.

The kind of love I would die for. The kind of love I want to know. Life is too short...

At that I could not hold back the tears. Sure, it's fiction, but it's the beauty of the ideal that gets me.

The two of them made their way to the makeshift little cabana that still exists. Somehow there is a sofa there, under the sunshade. They sit and flashback to making love on the blanketed floor below their feet.

Flashback to present: elderly Alejandro has slumped down against ancient Millie. She puts her head down and they die there together.

Together. In peace and in love.

I don't think I've ever seen my Princesita sob so hard. At first I thought that perhaps this was too young to let her watch this--but I didn't know the show series would end this way.

Then I remembered that, when I was her age, I began to experience fear. She has been asking me about death lately, about what happens to bad souls vs. good souls when we die. Hard questions.

I tucked her into bed and kissed her tears. They continued flowing.

--Do you need to sleep in Mama's bed tonight?
She nods.
--Come.
I take her hand and lead her back to my king. She lies back on my pillows and cries.
--Do you want to talk about it?
She shakes her head.
--It's life, darling. We all get old.
"I don't want to get old. I am afraid to get old. I never want to grow up."
--If I hadn't grown up, I wouldn't have you now, you know.
Silent, sobs, shuddered breathing.
"I don't want to die. I'm afraid to die."
--So am I, love. I am, too. That's okay.

When I was young, I used to lay in my bed at night and cry myself to sleep, wondering if it would be as black and dark when I die as it was in my bedroom. I know how she feels--but never had a parent who would hold me through those nights. I was always "overreacting."

My baby girl sleeps with me tonight. She needs me. I need her, too.
Life is too damn short.

hoochie mama

Here I am in my sweats, hair pulled back, not yet showered today, garden grime lacing my recently-cut and self-manicured fingernails, two four-year old boys playing in the dirt in my front yard and thinking

I wanna be a hoochie mama.

Yeah, right. I can hear you snickering.

Although I am quite aware of the familiar negative connotation of that, I have only heard it used or have used it myself to simply mean a really hot, sexy lady with no deragatory implications whatsoever.

So what would it take for me to feel like a hoochie mama?

No, I don't need to turn heads when I walk down the street. I cower under that kind of attention; having lived and traveled as a foreigner in many different countries in which I looked so different than the native population, I don't get a rise out of people looking at me.

All I need is just a look from one single person.
The one who makes me feel like the most important person in his life.
The one whose touch-or even the though of his touch-even after so many years sends electricity through my body.
The one whose voice makes my body quiver.
The one whose eyes make me melt.
The one who sacrifices sleep to make sure I am well, secure, okay, healthy.
The one who calls me his Queen.
The one who invests himself to make sure we are okay
The one who calms me.
The one who challenges me.
The one who questions me.
The one who makes me a better, more patient and more tolerant person.
The one who teaches me.
The one who motivates me.
The one whose kisses communicate his love for me.
The one who I lose sleep over.
The one who ravishes me.
The one I love to ravish.
The one who I fight with.
The one I always reconcile with.
The one that communicates so well with me.
The one who hates when I wear make-up...or when I have to wear anything at all.
The one who puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me when we walk, who shows the world in his look and his gesture and his stance, "I am her man, she is my woman, we belong together."

Is this a dream person?
Isn't this too perfect to exist?
Is this a fallacy...or is it being true to myself?

porn for women

I am at a total and complete loss for words at the point. Nothing bad, just nothing coming to me, and not in English (I'm into a great Argentine women's short story anthology--but in Spanish--that's what my thoughts are on right now. Always deconstructing...such a nerd, but such the life for a lit nerd).

So I'll let the pictures talk today.

the lone box of raisins

Mama Llama failed her Princesita.

She was sent to the first grade on Friday with the belief that she would be purchasing herself some pizza. Her Friday "treat"...and Mama Llama's once a week treat of not having to pack lunch. Just a little perk.

It was talked about Thursday night after Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep was said. It was met with great enthusiasm, hugs, kisses and "Thank you, Mama!" So I assumed...

I have since learned that my darling princesita forgot.
Mama Llama, of course, also forgot to remind her on Friday morning.

And she thought that all I packed her for lunch was a tiny little box of raisins (for afternoon snacktime) and a bottle of water.

So all my baby girl had on Friday to eat was a lone box of raisins. "But Mama," she said, in an evident effort to dry my I Have Failed As A Mother tears, "I drank my entire bottle of water!"

Oh, darling little girl.

Whoever knew that one single box of raisins could bring a mother to her knees, humbling me so?

the great void

Oh Great Ones Who Know, please tell me:

How do you get over the immense void you feel when your children are with the other parent?

Such a part of me wants to be with them--such the joy and vibrance and life and love they bring to me and bring out in me. Yet at what cost? I am not happy when with them and with him at the same time. I cannot smile, I cannot have fun because I am too busy resenting the presence of the other--but I can still be with them and they can have both of us without feeling like they have to choose...

I don't mind being alone, except for the fact that, when I am alone I immerse myself in so much work that I forget to, oh, say, eat. Their presence keeps me on a schedule, keeps me healthy, keeps me in check.

During my God time this morning in my garden, we (God and I) had a little chat. We have lots of those little chats. I apologized for my rant during my God-garden time yesterday, during which I mowed the lawn in heavy humidity and warmth, cursing the fact that, on his days with the kids--or even without--he can sit on his ass and do nothing at all, all day long. I feel that, if we still have to share the house, I should not have to do all the upkeep of the house and grounds. I don't touch his room or his bathroom. He doesn't believe that he should ever have to use any elbow grease at all, and that machines will do what they were made to do, and in the end ruins clothing, doors, appliances, woodwork...you name it. I am not sure where he learned this mentality. And I am sick to death of using MY time to undo what he has done wrong--the story of our relationship, always trying to fix things, always trying to make things right.

That was my rant. I feel better today. It promises to be an even warmer day, but I had a restful sleep and got my hands in the Earth early this morning before it became too warm to bear. I need some new clothes for work for Fall, so I will consult now with the shopping gods and hopefully heed what they have to say...may the Sale Gods be with me as well.

Speaking of Darwin...

Taken from WTOP online news regarding Ike and refusals to obey mandatory evacuation orders among Texan costal residents:

In Surfside Beach, retired carpenter and former Marine Ray Wilkinson became something of a celebrity for a day: He was the lone resident in the town of 805 to defy the order to leave. Authorities found him Saturday morning, drunk.

"I consider myself to be stupid," Wilkinson, 67, said through a thick, tobacco-stained beard. "I'm just tired of running from these things. If it's going to get you, it's going to get you."

He added: "I didn't say I had all my marbles, OK?"

Now doesn't THAT just about say it all?

passion

Passion is important in every part of our lives. I am a particularly passionate person, very opinionated with strong points of view regarding how I live my life and what I believe to be good and true for me, my family, my country, and my world.

I am a passionate mother, much like many parents are. I could be a passionate wife and lover when with one who can bring that out in me--challenge that passion and match it.

Part of my fabric, which I have learned to be true in my adult life, is my passion for teaching. I am a language teacher, but the first time I taught was violin. I had a student while I was in high school, then had a few while in university. I thought music was my greatest passion; my violin and choral work would evoke such emotions that would bring me to my knees. I had never known such joy or such melancholy as I did when expressing myself with music.

In the second grade I remember answering that I was going to be a teacher. Teaching was always a part of me; Daddy was a math teacher, Mom was an English teacher, my grandmother had a teaching degree from OSU, my uncle retired relatively recently from teaching in Sacramento. I always held all my teachers in highest regard. Clearly I had my favorites, but I respected all my teachers for all they did for me. I can remember every single teacher I have ever had.

Now I am teaching in my own right. Fifteen years of teaching while affiliated with an institution of some sort has given me the confidence to branch out on my own; my teaching evaluations always came back stellar and I resented old-school professors who wouldn't allow me to teach the way I do (student-centered rather than egocentrically me-centered).

Today an ex-student from the uni contacted me. He is an African man about to finish his Ph.D coursework and embark on his dissertation. He needs Spanish to help him fulfill his doctorate in nationality and ethnicity, but is unwilling to continue with the University's program due to the lack of, in his words, 'qualified professors like you who know what they are doing and can actually teach well.' So now, two years after he first took my course, he would rather study with me than earn any credits through the University.

Tonight I met with two new students, both from Iran. These young men are extremely interested in learning Spanish--and with me. One told me today, "Do you know why I contacted you? Let me tell you. I took two advanced courses at the local uni. The professors could not captivate my interest nor keep my attention. They didn't seem to care. So then I went through Spanish Black Belt. Great website, only native speakers teach. But they offer absolutely no substance to back up their marketing. I was surfing around on CraigsList, ready to give up but then saw your ad. I checked out your website and you know what got me? Your enthusiasm. It comes through in your words and in your testimonials. You obviously love what you do. So I figured I should try you out and see if I can complete my goals through you, and here you are meeting with us, letting us get to know you and ask questions all on your time."

Enthusiasm. Passion.

When creating my website, upon deciding to go independent, I struggled with how to market myself without coming across as a braggart. Tonight's feedback told me that, to at least a couple choosey customers, I have succeeded in that quest.

Now I only hope not to let anybody down.

misreadings

Tonight, while driving home from She-Ra's house, I saw an interesting license plate, here in the Land of the Personalized Pl8s:

GR8 COCH

I started giggling uncontrollably: of course I read it as pronounced in Johnny Cochran's name...and thought about how some people really, really need to have their great license pl8 idea read by a few people B4 putting it on metal for all the world 2 C.

Then I decided my reading of that license plate was a result of the goggles I must currently be wearing.

The Exception today posted an intriguing reading regarding "goggles", those lenses through which we see and interpret Life, and how such goggles can be colored depending on a variety of factors; hormones, alcohol, horniness...

So...to write on how very de-genderfied I feel as of late, resulting from what has been my decision to resume an extremely light dose of hormone therapy. Although I have still been walking into walls and hitting my head on cabinets (depth perception issues) and have felt 'off' and slightly on-edge this week (removal of the ring tonight after three weeks of wear), the relative PMS I deal with now is nothing when compared to how much I wanted to kill somebody every single third week--and it was only getting worse.

The thing is, I had such a libido. Almost a hormone with legs. My marvelous vibrator was getting incredible use because I had such a hunger--one that was clearly never satisfied, of course, as a rabbit-no matter the color-wasn't going to give the emotional warmth that a skin-on-skin, hands-and-toes intertwined, sweaty, passionate, kiss-filled encounter would give.

Three months into the Ring, and I have no libido. Give it time.
(sigh)
This month makes 10 months.
Verdict?
All gone.
Zilcho.
Nada.
My response is fine--but I have absolutely no desire to even try to stimulte myself. I've let the bunny's batteries die dead away...and I don't care.
And I have noticed that this has affected the way I look at myself and at others, especially other men.

I don't get that immediate jolt of excitement and heat-driven energy when I see a hot package anymore. If I close my eyes and make myself think--think, think, think, conjure up images and memories and think--then maybe, just maybe those familiar waves of warmth will start to wash over me.

I feel sex(gender)less as a result. I like to desire and to feel desired. I feel great need for male physical contact in my life and yet, not having any now, I don't feel like I miss it...but at the same time I just feel like I am merely existing,
no longer feeling,
no longer--me.

But maybe that's a good thing...for now. Maybe that's where I'm supposed to be, so I can look at everything else going on in my personal life without hormonal "goggles" to rose-color that which is, in reality, so gray.

My extreme moods are now in check, I am no longer homicidal (I say that half-jokingly, of course...) and I don't seem to experience *any* me-feelings anymore.

It's all lack-of-hormonal me. Those are my current goggles, and I'm not so sure I like them.

pressing delete

I just deleted an entire blog I kept for almost three years, separate from this, under a different identity and for a completely different purpose.

Pushing one single button took the most courage I have mustered in a long time. Is it time to move on? I am not sure. What I do know is that I need to start ridding my life of that which gives me little to no return on my investment.

If only that is as easy as pressing delete.

all is well

With the heavy, overcast skies trapping the cool dampness from an overnight rain shower in the earth, I hear my garden calling me, challenging me to take back control. Young Prince's fever left as quickly as it came yesterday. Although he is ready to go back to school, I'll hold him another day so he can rid himself of his headache by helping me in the garden. Princesita is as strong as always. I give myself the morning.

Let's see what I can accomplish!

noise

I am procrastinating.

I am also taking care of Young Prince, who has been stricken with First Week of School Germs and has a fever, so hence my excuse for not getting too deep into anything.

So today I will throw out here a potpourri of what is on my mind today.

*-----*

It is raining. Pouring. Again. I love the rain, and although I'm not feeling particularly in a bad mood, I am pensive, a tad bit melancholy. I'm not certain why; various reasons but nothing special.

• Just a bit blah.
• Not sexy, not feeling very woman-like.
• My feet hurt horribly. Think I might need to go to the podiatrist. I have no weight issues that could possibly be a factor in painful feet, so I must need some sort of insole. Any recommendations or suggestions? I am now wearing indoor sandals (Montrail--they are awesome and on sale now at backcountry.com, if you are interested!) on my hardwood and ceramic floors 100% of the time, but that is not enough. I can no longer bear the pain to not wear them.

And that is the end of my complaint section.

*-----*

My husband just called. He needed the number for the doctor's office. I gave it to him.
He said he found a big lump.

*-----*

Every morning when I have awoken it has been like a deafening silence. My dreams must have been absolutely cacophonous. I somewhat remember what I dreamt two nights ago but have no recollection of my dreams last night. But there was noise--so much pure noise--and when I awoke it was silent.
So silent that I thought I had lost my hearing.
I wonder if deaf people can hear in their dreams.

*-----*

I feel tired.
In my class this morning, we completed some review by examining Chinese horoscopes and the "said" characteristics of those born in the said years. My "rat" year was quickly guessed by my students. We played "Go Fish" in Spanish. It was fun, and we will resume classes on the 23rd, following their vacation to visit their daughter in (sigh) Oregon.
Perhaps I'm homesick--but I no longer have a place I really feel I am "home."

And that's about all I can muster today.

the perfection of Hanna

It rained today.

Perhaps that is an understatement. My local neighborhood raingauge read 9 inches, all of which fell, with the exception of some light overnight moisture, mainly between the hours of 10 a.m. and 5 p.m.

We watched it rain all day. Saturday Morning Cartoons broke a bit of the monotony of the earlier storm hours, and then we played games and did puzzles to fill the afternoon hours. At times there were some exciting gusts of wind, making us want for more as we watched the sheets of rain dance along the flooded street. However, with no tornado watches, no thunderclaps and no transformer explosions, it made for a relatively uneventful tropical storm pass.

Some are not so fortunate, as I have friends who are shop-vaccing out their basements as we speak. Thank God we had that french drain job done five years ago--right before Isabel hit us. It has kept the basement dry since.

After a delicious dinner served up by the Crock-Pot Queen, the Young Prince and I strode off, hand-in-hand, in the glorious post-storm wind gusts and clearing skies. Sidewalks are never as clean as they are following storms like this; the air is crisp and the different layers of clouds create a dizzying effect as I watch the darker, closer ones race through the lower atmosphere with the upper level white on blue sky serving as a somewhat less speedy backdrop.

As we jumped over puddles and muddy patches, we watched squirrels madly scrounging for the nuts that trees had released in the winds. I explained the mechanics behind rain gutters, sump pumps and flooded yards; and we could see with a leaf-created line in the neighbor's lawn just how high the water had come along the street during the height of the storm.

Returning home, we decided it was time to take advantage of a gardenful of pliable soil, so the Young Prince grabbed his Tonka Dumptruck and I grabbed handfuls of weeds and effortlessly ripped them from the mulch. I created small piles of weeds and the Young Prince dutifully loaded up the dumptruck and towed them away to the large pile that will go into the compost tomorrow, happily chattering the entire time.

We had to surrender to the darkness; neither of us wanted to end our cool, humid garden time but so had arrived the hour of being unable to see enough of the weeds anymore to make a difference. I did not bother to wear gloves today as I wanted to feel the cool, wet earth between my fingers and was in the mood to dig the dirt out from under my fingernails.

It had been so long since a good soaking rain was enjoyed. The crickets sound happy, the worms were squiggling gaily...

...there was a thirst. And it was quenched. Perfectly so.

expectations and sacrifice

I was speaking to a close friend yesterday about the theme of my last post; namely, the realization that I am the ideal partner for my children's father in that I am everything for him--but how my needs are not met nor have ever really been a priority in the history of our relationship.

Anybody who knows me well knows that I have guilt issues with receiving. I can give-give-give but have come to learn, especially in the past few years of my evolution of character, that a great part of giving is also receiving. Perhaps it is partially this realization that has stirred such discontent in my marital life; a discontent I thought, eight years ago, I would be able to overcome and learn to live with.

So I was asked yesterday a key question:

"Have you ever thought that maybe your expectations are too high?"

-Sure, they are.

"Maybe you should lower them?"

-Okay, so I lower them, like I have done in the past and I still end up sacrificing my needs. I feel like I deserve better. Why should I have to be the one to always compromise so much?

Yeah, I can be selfish like that.

"What exactly is it that you need? What is the key to your marriage falling apart?"

-Honestly, I think that, beyond the multitude of issues, the root of all of it is that I don't have someone to grow and evolve with.

"A motivator?"

-Yeah. Someone to challenge me to be a better person rather than me being the only catalyst for change in his life. It's now all about him, and it always has been. I am secondary, my needs have never been considered first. By nature, I had done this to myself, so it's my own fault.

"How?"

-By not having found my voice earlier, by just standing back and giving-giving-giving, thinking that was my job, and that in the end I would somehow find, I don't know, some kind of recompense.

"But you haven't?"

-No. I feel so stagnant and have to search outside of my marriage for other forms of motivation to grow and evolve as a person. I am not saying that, in my ideal marriage, that cannot happen.

"That? What's 'that'?"

-'That' being having a life and friends independent of the marriage. I think that it's healthy that two people who try to make a life together also make an effort to permit the other to foster outside interests...it's part of personal growth. But what I am saying is that we oughtn't be operating 100% independent of each other.

"Okay. So you need emotional compenetration. Apart, of course, from the physical needs that you have also defined as a great part of your love language.

-Yep. I need to feel challenged to grow as a mother, as a lover, as a friend, as a partner, as a wife, as a woman--and that will not happen when partnered with someone who has always been completely content with the status quo, who doesn't feel comfortable challenging himself or moving out of his comfortable existence to push himself or others in his life to grow.

What did I take from yesterday's conversation?

Perhaps that I have high standards, perhaps super-human standards. But that I also shouldn't have to settle.

Perhaps that I will end up living a life alone without a partner because I can see how my needs can be very intimidating. I can also say that I had found this relationship with another, a stormy but extremely gratifying relationship in the profound compenetration and amazing communication we enjoyed, the constant pushing of each other to be better, to do better, to learn from each other and to grow -- but that was at a point in our lives that neither of us could commit to each other.

I feel like I let The One go.

And I will forever have to live with that.

false hopes

Because I usually read situations and people fairly well, and my sixth sense is rather well-developed, I knew this was going to happen.

As my job continues to be managing financial matters in this house (or somebody would be completely screwed), I had to enter his private lair to grab the personal property tax bill on his truck. Due to last year's accident, I implored him to appeal the $14,500 value placed on this car; the total damage bill came to $12,000 and some change. Therefore he had the bill in his possession. Regardless of appeal, the bill needs to be paid in full, then next years' will be prorated appropriately.

Entering his room, I saw a collection of photos that are now looking over his bed. Nice, happy family pictures, our wedding picture...as if he is creating some little idyllic existence in which he somehow believes, deep down, that everything is going to be just fine. Then the little details in his speech, the "if" as opposed to the certain "when" that he substitutes as if trying to brainwash me.

My head started to hurt. I left and went for a long walk.

I realize that, in all that he is not good for me, I am everything good for him. No wonder he doesn't want to let this go. He has won the gold. He has scored big-time. It doesn't matter to him how I feel; as long as he benefits from my presence, he is going to do everything to keep this going.

There. Now my head doesn't hurt quite so much anymore. I feel like I knew this was going to occur since I started being "courteous" and "businesslike", in that it has been a step-up from the silence I have maintained--maintained precisely for the purpose of not raising false hopes.

No matter how much I try, and with steps forward that I feel like I take, I then end up feeling more trapped. But, evidently, it is not all about me and how I feel--it never has been, and I'm not certain that I can do what will keep me healthy and still be in the best interest of my children, allowing them to have time with their father.