Saturday Morning… School’s Out for Summer.

I do like Alice Cooper. Like Zappa, he is a satirist of the first water. Enough of that, however. I am not writing about satire or even music. This is supposed to be about me. Solipsistic, you say? Not to my way of thinking.

On to the stuff of personal reflection…

I’ve spent a couple of days really exhausted. I think that all of the rush with school and doing hours at CG Elementary took its toll on me. Really, that amounted to several 16 hour days, inclusive of all of the travel time. I’ve decided that this summer will be more moderate. I will do some of the tests that I have to get off of the plate for employment, play my guitars and basses, record, and – most importantly – spend time with MM.

My younger daughter is here. She will help me organize my home as a birthday present. My older one sent me a really interesting CD for my birthday. I asked her to send me “some music that was not known to me and that she felt I should know.” She succeeded admirably.

I am looking forward to slowing down for a bit. Though I have to think about becoming employed again. I am coming to the end of my funds and need to stay on course.

Life feels good today, despite a bit of birthday depression.

The interesting thing about that is that, in the past, I could have remained depressed for the whole of June and part of July. I thought about my life – as anybody who read my last depressing entry could see – in terms of meaninglessness. I am still not convinced that there is any ultimate meaning to life. We are not creatures that traffic in absolutes or the eternal: we are ephemeral and exist in this moment. I suppose that any meaning for us need not be eternal, but would be found in a life well lived. That is really the honest measure of the man or woman. I do love Hamlet and Macbeth. But I am neither; nor am I Miniver Cheevy. I am me. A man whose life is lived in this moment and who is very much in love with a wonderful woman that I cannot bear to be apart from for more than a few hours. That is the measure of a life well lived, I think.

It is hard to be depressed when I know that somebody loves me as passionately as I love her. Lutherans think about faith as a corporate expression of grace (watch the use of those terms, they are not interchangeable). If I cannot believe, or find faith, the body of Christ will believe for me until I find the ability to believe for myself. I have always wondered if the manifestation of grace is that one does not have to believe, but to live a life that honors God by caring for one another. Justification by grace through faith was Luther’s way of freeing the individual from a need to be saved. The rationale for this was for the individual to live a life of compassion and care, free from the need to save him or herself. Being free from myself, I can be for others. How does this relate to my topic sentence? I think that love is the measure of our humanity and thus our purpose for this life. Depression is anger turned inward (pace Freud); inward hurt at being “less than…” constitutes depression. But if one is loved and loves, how can one be less than the object of another’s delight and joy?

And I believe that she believes in me and loves me even when I can’t.

It will be a good day. MM loves me. And I love her.

It will be a good day, indeed.

Sitting in the Library... Just took my final

So here I am, an eager young mind. Well, maybe not so young. The test was a joke. So many grammatical errors and unformed questions. This class was one of those that was simply a hoop to jump through. At least this term is one session away from being history.

I went to see MM today. God I love her.

She is the woman that I dream of when I sleep, and hold dear to my heart when I am awake. I miss her when she is not by my side and am most at peace when beside her.

It is my birthday. 47 years old. Damn, that seems old. I don't feel it. I'm told that I don't look over 35. I really don't know. I do know that this moment is all that I will ever have. Some moments are depressed (see my last posting) and they have to pass away in the stream of time and conscienceness. Others are joyful and will also pass away in that same stream. Eventually, we are all carried out by the tide into the eternal. Maybe that is why I love the ocean so much. It speaks to the primal rhythms of my life and calls me to see moments that ebb while others flow. I don't think I could have said that when I was 27.

Here I am, very much in love with MM, my dear heart, my other self and looking forward only to the moment when I am whole again by her side.

I do love her so.

But I am a lovesick fool...

Today is my birthday…

And there is a part of me that wants to say, "Big fuckin' deal." I have really hated this day for years. I have a history of being depressed on my birthday, of feeling like life is really nothing more than a lot of meaningless noise that keeps us busy until we die.

Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

- Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5

And in one-hundred years - what the hell? How about a moment after death - does any of it really matter? Even presuming faith and the hope of eternal life does this mere shadow of life that we call existence mean anything? I don't think so. Let the Bard of Avon speak again:

I have of late,--but wherefore I know not,--lost all my
mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so
heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth,
seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the
air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical
roof fretted with golden fire,--why, it appears no other thing
to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours. What a
piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how infinite in
faculties! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in
action how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the
beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what
is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman
neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

- Hamlet Act 2, Scene 2

The quintessence of dust: there is an image. In Genesis God is supposed to have created humanity from the dust. We are little more than the dirt under God's fingernails. And so it is that year another anniversary of my birth seems to be a cause for depression rather than celebration.

I keep thinking that my life has been a case-study in unfulfilled potential; a lost opportunity for excellence and achievement. There is much that I have done, when I look back over the past several years. I just have not realized much material gain. What I did was destroyed by people that did not value my work. It is a hard thing to see the labor of a lifetime trashed. Dirt under God's fingernails, indeed.

I suppose if I am given to quoting poetry that I should quote a couple of my favorites.

MINIVER CHEEVY, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.

Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
He missed the mediaeval grace
Of iron clothing.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it;
Miniver thought, and thought, and thought,
And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.

E.A. Robinson is not known for his cheerful verse. He is not Ogden Nash. He speaks to my love of history and feeling that I am something of an anachronism, a man born out of time and misplaced in my origins. Miniver Cheevy is a singularly unsympathetic character: he sits, drunk, in his disdain and loathing of all things current wishing for a glorious past that never was. Unfulfilled potential, a case-study in self-hatred and unrequited possibilities: Miniver is much worse off than me.

FUBAR... Or the Augustinian doctrine of original sin? Pelagius spoke of original innocence. Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition: dirt under God's fingernails. Like Sateen-Dura Lux and FUBAR, I am Rabo Karabekian holding a key to an old potato barn. I watched my life's work simply fade away into the recesses of faltering memory. My secret is bigger than a breadbox and smaller than Jupiter... I am a man twice divorced. Having lived in a sort of emotional stasis for the past three years, feeling the stirrings of life just recently revived. Recalled to life? Will I get the message from Tellson's Bank? Is Mr. Lorry looking for me?

My mother's name is Lorry.

We don't talk much anymore. None of my family and I really share more than an occasional pleasantly. What possible message could I find there? I was the scion of hope's dreams fulfilled for one brief shining moment; now I am the pariah of a dream deferred. Wilted up like a raisin in the sun...

There was a story about me as a baby. I was born premature and was not expected to live. Following an extended period of time in the oxygen-pure atmosphere of an incubator - the cause of my poor vision - I was moved to the nursery. They swaddled me, as they did in the fifties; one of my hands crept out of the bindings and forced the blankets to free myself. I hated to be bound then as much as I do now. I did make reference to another poem. From Tamar, by Robinson Jeffers:

Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.

47 years old. Big fat hairy deal. Thank God for MM.

Just another day in the life of this fool.

LATER IN THE DAY...

I was listening to Writer's Almanac and heard this poem. Too good not to post. "What We Want," by Linda Pastan, from Carnival Evening. © W.W. Norton.

What We Want

What we want
is never simple.
We move among the things
we thought we wanted:
a face, a room, an open book
and these things bear our names--
now they want us.
But what we want appears
in dreams, wearing disguises.
We fall past,
holding out our arms
and in the morning
our arms ache.
We don't remember the dream,
but the dream remembers us.
It is there all day
as an animal is there
under the table,
as the stars are there
even in full sun.

Sitting at MM's Computer... Jotting a Note or Two Down

It has been a good day. School is winding down. I came here, as has become my custom, to dine with MM and her son M. M was not feeling well and slept through dinner - odd behavior for a 14 year-old boy to say the least!

MM took a short nap to take care of her headache. I did the dishes, fed her dogs, and sat down to play my guitar. She came to listen and we spent a couple of peaceful hours engaged in parallel activities. She was playing on her computer. I was playing the blues. We were engaged in other activities but together. It was nice.

I am spending most of my time here with MM. She and I act as if we have been a couple for years on one level, while on the other there is still so much yet to discover.

I will be driving to LA to pick up my daughter for this weekend. It will be my birthday on Thursday. Odd thing to be so close to fifty and feel still so close to twenty.

I spoke with my eldest daughter last night. She went to meet up with G, her old boyfriend. I think that she is still very much in love with him. He is a nice guy, though I know that there was some hurt in the past. Really, it has come to the point that none of us are free of baggage. The real key is finding somebody whose baggage matches yours.

I hope that R is OK. She sounded melancholy when we spoke, that sort of dreamy pain of unrequited love... Bittersweet.

MM is beautiful... I do love her so.

The fool continues in love.

---

It is later, I am at home now. I've just left MM's side. It is harder and harder to leave. For the first time I left clothing there to have something to change into. It seemed like a big step. I was a little concerned about how she would feel. She was more than OK, she liked the idea.

We talked a bit after making love. We do act like we have been together for years. Maybe this is because both of us have had the experience of being married for years of our adult lives. Maybe this is because of a comfort level. Probably a bit of both. Still, it feels so damn natural to be with her. She was taking care of her headache and I was practicing quietly in the front room. I looked up and saw her there, smiling. She was looking for me to be by my side. What bliss.

My home is feeling less like my home. My home is beside her.

I realize that that could pose quite a dilemma. I am willing to chance it. She is the single most important person in my life. I do love her so.


Ah, but I am just a lovesick fool...

Just Got Home from MM’s Home

I have become downright domestic...

I had dinner with MM. She made ribs, I made mashed potatoes (scallions, bleu cheese, and more herbs than should be legal!). It was a good dinner. We just hung out this evening. I did some homework, she gardened. We organized a cupboard and cleaned up after dinner. Overall a wonderful evening, even if it was über-domestic.

The reality is that I am happiest by her side. Damn, I am so much in love with this woman.

I guess that it is time to begin trusting love again. My heart has been broken so many times that I have become somewhat jaded, calloused toward the idea of loving again. I always felt that I would keep the better part of my heart for me. My plan was to find somebody with whom I could be friendly. I would never really use the “L” word and would avoid entanglements. That way my heart was well shielded, not vulnerable, and therefore not breakable. I am a good friend. For me to offer friendship is to offer something worth-while. I did not trust love. I felt that love itself had betrayed me, especially after my second marriage died an ignominious death.

I could have understood S telling me that it just could not work. To be lied to was hard. We separated under the pretense that we would reconcile. I clung to that promise for way too long. When she decided, rather unilaterally I might add, to pursue a divorce I was devastated. In retrospect it is best for both; I still hate the way that it happened. I just wish that she had been honest rather than playing along, letting me be duped. She did not want anything material. She just wanted out but could not find the nerve to say so. She says that she values the friendship. I have a dictum that I live by. I will trust you until you prove that you cannot be trusted. I will not be angry if betrayed; I may even understand the motives. I will, however, never trust you again. I just don’t trust S anymore. I felt the same about love.

MM has valid reasons not to be trusting. She told me that she has issues with trust. I look at her and I see a person that is incredibly trusting, especially given the recent past and history of broken promises. I see her as exceptionally trusting. I think that when her doubts surface that they are onerous and it seems like she cannot trust. I have never felt anything but trust from her. She is a beautiful soul and a wonderful woman.

She loves and trusts me. I love and trust her. I am learning to trust love again. I think that it was not love that betrayed me, but my inability to be a good partner to the women that shared my life. There have been three that I have been attached to, L and S, to which I was married, and P, who was a girlfriend of nearly three years following my first divorce. All three ended, leaving me broken-hearted. Each left a scar that was sore and a source of uncertainty and incredulity. I swore that I would never let myself be hurt that way again.

But I am risking the same hurt by letting MM so close to me. I would not have it any other way, though. I trust her and believe that she would never intentionally hurt me in any way. I am willing to trust her and to go where I said I never would: into a love that is deep and intense, that becomes definitive of the person that I will be with her. I am risking much. So is she. But we are doing it together…

And so the Dancing Fool has a partner in this life’s gavotte.

And I am such a smitten, lovesick fool….

Sunday in Finals Week

It seems strange to celebrate my 47th birthday during finals week. Really, I feel a bit old for this silliness. Truth is that most of the classes that I’ve taken to get my credential have been little more than bullshit. This is disappointing to me. When I was working on my last advanced degree the work was worthwhile. There was content. Really, who can expect independent thinking with true-false and multiple guess. It is all bullshit. Oh well, that is probably why I really don’t give a damn about finals. I will jump through the hoops with minimal complaints and will do what is necessary to move on and to get my credential. Done and double-done.

I spent a good deal of the weekend with MM. I find that I really hate to be away from her. She fills my thoughts and every time I feel that I should act my age, I find myself feeling like a giddy school-boy who becomes tongue-tied at the sight of his crush. That is a good thing, I suppose.

I did something kind of selfish: I purchased a (used) Fender Stratocaster for my birthday. It is beautiful and I am not playing it nearly as well as it wants. The design is elegant, now fifty years old. It is a beautiful instrument, blond with a clear finish.

I should go back to drafting mock-lesson plans and all that rot. Really, I just want to play my music and see MM. I want to make love to her and learn to trust in love again. Now that is a loaded sentence… but, dear friends, that is another posting for another day!

Alas, the dancing fool is lovesick and loving it…

Another Lonely Park, Another Sunday…

Just living today...

That was the title of a song by the Doobie Brothers. I always liked them, before they onslaught of Michael McDonald. His presence ruined a first-rate rock band. Disco had triumphed and then we got Ronald Reagan. Need I say more?

Today I’ve not done nearly what I thought I would do. I’ll be working late tonight. I’m futzing around, cleaning here and there. I made a salad and enjoyed that. MM (formerly "My Friend") and I are going to dinner later with her son, and then I’m returning to work mode.

I did some domestic stuff and am beginning to see the floor. A good thing, that. I did some laundry and am beginning to think about other stuff that needs attention. It feels good to get my home back into condition.

The next couple of days are going to be something of a haze, I fear. The final stretch for school and then focusing on my recording project.

Not much to say. Just living another day, quietly today, and making my environs neat.

I love the DVD on my computer…

It has been a rough couple of days.

My friend has been feeling an incredible amount of stress at work. Let me say this here and now: she is a master at what she does, there are few – indeed, if any – that are in her league. I say that because I have seen her working, not because of my feelings toward her. Sad to say, part of her job requires her to face people that are quick to critique, sometimes without grounds. This causes no small amount of stress to her. That was evident this weekend. Add my stress and we managed to set each other off. I tried to be supportive to her but ended up hitting a rather sore spot. She snapped at my me in front of my daughter. I took umbrage at that. It went downhill from that.

We were able to resolve things, but it was a pain-filled couple of days. I broke down, thinking that I had offended her and had lost her. She came over and we were able to work things out. We went to a local festival together and spent some time together with the kids. It was a tough weekend. I am glad for how it worked out. My daughter fell asleep on her couch and we decided to stay. I made breakfast and we stayed together on Sunday. Yes, it was a good weekend, but it made me think about my own anxiety and my tendency to age-regress when I am feeling severe stress.

Several entries ago I wrote about age-regression. It is frightening when it happens. I went through all of the broken relationships that had ended despite my protestations to keep them afloat. It seems that I have lost several significant relationships and have felt betrayed by the women that have left me. I tend to love very deeply and will work hard to keep love alive. When it dies it is hard for me. I time-tripped through almost all of my lost loves when my friend came to my door. She said she saw hatred in me. What she saw was pain and fear. The fact is that she came. She came to me to work this out. She said that she did not want to lose what could be the best thing in her life. Damn, I do love her so.

We need to find a way to support each other when we are both stressing. That may be easier said than done, however.

Today was a good day. I worked on her computer, set it up the way that she wanted and got her office organized in a manner that would allow her to have access to her tools easily. I felt good about that. We made love several times today. It was good to feel her heart beating against mine. I missed holding her. There is something healing and life-affirming in her embrace.

I am in the last minute grind of school. I really let myself fall far behind. Nothing that can’t be made up with lots of coffee and no small amount of bullshit. I worked on part of my school stuff today at my friend’s house. Our kids really get on well together. Watching my daughter and her son is like watching a brother and sister that love each other interact. The two watched movies, teased each other, just hung out together and seemed to enjoy each other’s company.

I’m at home now, doing my journal and writing other stuff. I have the DVD of the movie Eight Men Out playing in a corner of the computer. This is great for my AD/HD. I get some peripheral attention that ironically allows me to focus on what I am doing. I can write and follow a movie at the same time. This is a good thing. Monday, Monday… It is coming soon. Soon I will also face down another birthday. I mentioned to my friend that I tend to get depressed on my birthday. She told me that she was excited about the presie that she got for me. I do love her so.

In a couple a weeks we will roto-till her garden and plant some veggies. And I will turn 47. Still recording. Still aging. Still postponing death by yet another day. It is getting late. I need to turn in and get some rest. Coffee in the morning and a bit more work.

It will be a good day.

And I am such a lovesick fool…

Feeling Sick...

I really hate feeling sick. No, it goes beyond hatred; it is a personal insult to my soul to have to feel ill. I just got off of the phone with my older daughter and she asked why I was sick. I responded that I just hadn't fulfilled my stress quota, so I needed to take antibiotics and feel like death warmed over just before finals and while I am recording. She laughed. Then she said to feel better.

I ate dinner with my friend tonight. I would have been happy with a bowl of heated canned soup. She made chicken soup from scratch. What a sweetie she is.

I read an interesting article on the Christian left. I never thought of Christianity as polarized between the political left or right. Taken as a politcal force, the Christian religion would be a thorn for either left or right. But that is the subject for another posting. I don't have enough energy to really think. So, instead, I will do homework.

I wonder about having made this decision at this time of life. I have come to a place where I have a very low bullshit tolerance. the school where I am working on my credential seems to excell at production of BS. All of this is just plain taxing. I need to sit down and grind out nonsense to get a grade that the kids I will teach will never know about. I just wish that the assignments actually had something to do with the work that I will be doing.

Enough of that stuff... back to schoolwork. God, I hope I feel better soon.

Saturday, cleaning house, missing my friend...

It is a warm day here in Ventura. I am sitting at my new computer desk, the savior that will redeem me from a cluttered desk. Is it true that stuff just expands to fit the space available? We shall see...

My friend dropped by into the torrent of dirty clothes, trash, and other assorted junk this morning on her way back from dropping her son off to see his father. She stayed a bit and was off on her routine. I spoke to her at lunch, dropped by and had lunch with her. On my way back my friend MAS called me. He has a rough cut of his new CD project and wanted me to hear and critique it. I listened and offered an opinion. It is so hard to be critical of music when music is the stuff of life for this guy. He is a good musician; I thought that the work was less than he is capable of. With my own stuff I am brutal. With others I am gentle, almost to the point of being innocuous.

I listened to A Love Supreme today. John Coltrane was a genius. The music, however often I listen, demands my attention and makes me face the reality of chaos and redemption. His spiritual epiphany occurred the same year that I was born, 1957. The man died, sadly, in 1967 of liver cancer. He was too damn young.

When I listen to 'Trane I know that I'll never produce an opus that moves the spirit in the same way. I don't try to, I suppose, because my life experience and spiritual development is quite different than Coltrane's. I'll tell my stories and hope that the Trane had it right when he said that "all vibrations find their way to God."

My computer desk is clean. My home is a mess... best get back to the mundane tasks of living.

Ah, what a lovesick fool I am... I miss her even now, knowing that I will see her soon.

At Home, Just Left my Friend's Home...

I knew that I should not have said that my headache has broken. It came back in spades as if to taunt me for exalting exceedingly much over its departure.

Enough of that nonsense. I am spending the largest part of this weekend cleaning house, taking care of domestic stuff too long ignored, doing school work and preparing for recording on Tuesday and Friday. I have several songs ready and another in the works. It will be a productive session.

I spoke to my friend about past relationships today. I have resolved not to have any secrets from her and to be open. Really, that comes from a time when I was so very compartmentalized and did not want to share parts of me with others. I want to be absolutely available to this person. Discovery is a good thing, commitment is better.

I went through a period of being something of a letch. There was a time when I was sleeping with three or four different women a week, mostly without knowing more than their first name and having a phone number. I would choose a woman and do or say whatever (without any lies being told - that was part of my game) to get her into the sack. I am not really a handsome guy, I am not the most elegant and certainly do not have material wealth. Fucking was easy. Fucking is boring. Fucking just dulled the pain of not having a lover. I practiced safer sex on everything but the emotional level. That is really what cost me. When I separated from S, I became something of a monk. I wanted it to be love not lust, making love not just fucking. The funny thing is that my libido died with that relationship. It is only now coming back to life.

My friend and I made love before we parted company. It was sweet and beautiful. I love that feeling of not knowing where I end and where she begins. I will see her again tomorrow and spend time on Sunday with her. I feel as if I am being renewed, recalled to life, when I am with her. She has become my muse, the subject of more than a few songs and much of the poetry that I am writing. She is beautiful, strong, loving, and wise. I am indeed a lucky man.

LIfe is good... perhaps the fool can take his own advice and live, laugh, and love?

Ah, I am such a lovesick fool!

A new day... the dancing fool's in love.

My headache has finally broken… it only took two weeks. This one was not so bad as others have been, but two weeks of headache hell is more than anybody should have to endure. Its over, if nothing else. That is good.

School grinds toward the end of the semester and I am still behind on work. That is catching up, but not at the rate that I would like.

My friend and I are good. I am spending most of my time with my friend, spending most evenings there. I find that she and I are growing closer daily. That is a good thing. It still feels weird to have my place as little more than a drop off locale. In the past I have been so territorial, needing my space to maintain sanity. The reality is that the only reason that I need to spend some time here in my home to justify having it. My friend made a comment that others would think that we are living together. We are in every practical sense: I eat there, sleep there, and spend almost all of my time with her. I come here to change clothes and work at my desk.

Realistically, it is way too early to think seriously about living together. Allowing myself to dream and to make believe, it would be nice to live together. When I return from my fantasy life I have to say that I would want us to have at least a year together – maybe more? – before we would even consider a move like that. So many changes would have to happen to make room for me and my daughter. The practical part of me chides the heart of me that wants to be beside her. But still, my time with her is sweet. In a very short time on the calendar I have fallen deeply in love with this woman. It is difficult for me to imagine life apart from her. We are close, very close.

I went through a period of having lost my sex-drive following my divorce from S. I was content that I would live alone and was not wanting to be with any one person. All of that has changed: I can feel lusty fires beginning to burn in my heart and in my loins for my friend. That part of me that wanted most to love and be loved is beginning to hear the words of love that recall it to life.

I have only been apart from my friend for a couple of hours, if that. I just did my homework and returned a phone call. I am missing her. I want to be in her arms again.

I do love her so.

I am a lovesick fool…

and am loving it, too…