He's got an elephant on his head

now for something completely different.

i'm dating a great guy. he's funny, tons of personality, socially savvy, nice looking.
good. good. it's all good.
and except for a few minor idiosyncrasies, he has maybe the best potential for long term possibilities than any man i've dated in the last year.

there is the issue of his piece, though.
yes.
my new man has a piece. and i don't mean a handgun,

although he might pop a cap in my ass if he ever reads this.

he wears a wig. a hair hat. a toupee. and i have no idea how to approach the subject.

the first couple of times we were out together i wasn't all the way sure. it's a pretty good little rug. but now, after several dates... let's just say i'm sure. all doubt removed, if you know what i mean.

he has to know that i know. so we've moved past the point
of my not mentioning it "just in case he thinks i don't notice."

it sits on his head; like an elephant that neither of us acknowledge. i catch him now and then kind of fluffin it around in the back when it gets a little... askew. but i always turn away before he notices me noticing.

watching television with him is an adventure in anxiety. still in our first month of dating, i'm not sure how to react to a GirlsGoneWild commercial, let alone a Hair Club for Men infomercial. i'd almost rather sit through a Viagra ad and watch him squirm. (he's 51, but i do think down there he is au natural).

we were at a baseball game last week and i found myself staring at the side of his head, trying to find the dividing line between the real stuff there around his ears and the fur. i can feel it when i pull my fingers through his ...um, hair. i know it's stitched in there somehow. i think the front of it might be velcroed on. which frankly, fascinates me. if i ever get the balls to ask him about it, i'm gonna want to see it. like, "take that shit off and let me hold it," you know?

for those of you who know me (both of you), you know that i can be honest to a fault. let's face it: i'm a lot of things and tactful is not one of them. i have bad breath from putting my foot in my mouth all the time. so, naturally i've been tempted to just give that little carpet a good hard yank; as if in a fit of wild passion i grabbed the first thing i could get hold of.

but i can't. i'm afraid i'll embarrass him; or embarrass myself. i like him. i don't want to be cruel, hurt his feelings....but you know me... i can't just not say anything...me & my shoddy internal sensors... but once it's out there... then what? because if it comes right down to it--i want to talk about it. i don't like pretending i don't notice. but... like a lot of things, i want him to say it first.

i like bald. most women do. i'm sure he doesn't wear it so women will dig him. he is attractive; hair is not going to make or break him. all i can figure is he wears it to make himself feel more confident. i can dig that. i guess. can i?

He's a successful businessman. he's a salesman to his bone marrow. he's got it in his blood. he's a big flirt, also (see idisyncrasies as mentioned above). so maybe his confidence is tied up in his hair...in this case stitched and probably held up there by some form of velcro tape as well.

i had a date last night. with a different guy (yeah, get me, huh. i haven't had a real date in 8 months.. this month i've got a selection!). this guy has his own hair. grey and kind of clinging on for dear life, but all original owner stuff. and we had a really good time. he's nice looking, super kind, considerate. but doesn't have the wild streak that my wig-man has. a fun rug trumps a ho-hum head of hair any day. it doesn't matter to me whether he wears the hair or not, it just bothers me that we don't talk about it. .. like he's ashamed of it... maybe he just needs some temporary confidence to push him over the edge. i hear viagra is a good boost. we could try that.

Fifteen Years away from the Pain

On April 12, 2003 my seven year marriage fell apart. That night, i caught my then husband having an affair with a colleague. Confronted, he announced his love for her and his intention to move to Colorado to live with her, which he immediately did.  I was 8 months pregnant with our second child; our oldest daughter had just turned five. The next five years were the roughest of my life and there were times i thought i'd never be able to look back on them without being overwhelmed with sadness. But i was wrong. This was written to my sister, her husband and my parents. 

Back then, you would ask me: "What can I do? What would help you right now?"   I remember saying to you, (and to myself again and again, like a mantra): “I want to be years away from this moment. Please take me years away from this nightmare.”    Nothing could really help me except time.  I just wanted to be years and years away from those angry, scary, sad minutes, hours, days.

And now I am. I woke up this morning in the same house, but not in the same bed.  I woke up my baby, just like I did fifteen years ago, but today she got herself dressed, blew out some candles and headed off for high school. I sit here with my fresh coffee listening to the fountain ripple in the background. I take a good look around -- the woman I was back then wouldn't recognize the woman I am today. She would barely recognize the house.  

It’s funny that this time marks some of the worst days of my life and some of the best. Allie is a hilarious gift, even though her first years were so tough for me, and I’m sure for her too. Her first years were hard for all of us.

Forever I'll remember that first Good Friday- one year out. I remember sitting in a pew at Sugarcreek Baptist, two kids in my lap in the dark, funereal service and as I sang, through tears I told them, “we made it girls, we're one year later.”   I deeply celebrated those 12 months between me and the pain.  With the little bit of clear thinking I had at the time, I invested it all in believing that we three could make it. Back then, I didn't know what “make it” meant and I surely didn't know how, but I did believe.

And you believed.   Your help fortified me; your faith carried me – at times when I was very, very heavy.  For the meals, and the favors, for your willingness to forgive me in my struggle and still sometimes give me hell when I needed it.  For the talks, the laughs, the kid-watching, the everyday stuff and the once in a lifetime stuff –  thank you. Thank you.   

Thank you.

I didn’t know how much time I would need to come between me and those dark days before I could look back on them and not see them shrouded in black.  But I do know it's been that much time, more than enough time. So much healing, bright, brand new time in fact, that those black shrouds are not only gossamer, but memories of those times glow with aging gratitude for the love and the help that you gave me, and for God’s incredible grace in helping me raise my littlest bundle of wonder into a confident, funny and love – filled young lady.   Happy fifteen years, I know you celebrate with me.  

You might be A Cruiser if ...

With impending birthday celebrations afoot and a weekend to kill, We and The Gang booked ourselves on a bonafide oceanic cruise out of Galveston. An affordable lark to get our feet wet and see what we're missing with the Cruising Lifestyle. 
  
Now this wasn't the fancy-pants river boat where we luxxed together that summer.  Blissful nights cutting through the gentle sway of the Danube and discovering new, old history spots every day. No. This is a weekend getaway for the masses; a sprawling hallways, massive-scale, line up and keep moving, hotel on waves.  We're not in Bavaria anymore, folks. 

After a fun and silly weekend on board, my takeaway is that if you love river cruising, you may not like ocean cruising. And based on feedback from my cruise review on ShipMate -- if you love ocean cruising, you probably won't love river cruising. In that vein and with deference to Jeff Foxworthy, I've compiled a list that may help you decide if the Cruising Lifestyle is for you.  

You may be A Cruiser if :

--  you've ever worn sweatpants to a funeral because they were your good ones.

--  you've ever celebrated a milestone at Golden Corral. 

--  you never look at yourself from the rear.

-- you're obsessed with looking at yourself from the rear.

-- you see a hot tub full of random people and think, "that looks fun." 

-- If claustrophobia makes you horny. 

-- If QVC is your favorite way to shop

-- your fashion motto is, "if it zips, it fits." 

-- Bingo sounds like a wild night out

-- If you've ever longed for less tranquility while lounging at the pool

-- if your spirit animal is Cattle ... 

            You May Be a Cruiser 


 ...Any leisure time spent with friends is time well spent and our cruise was a resounding success in that we had a fantastic weekend and put lots of currency in the memory banks. But i think our next excursion will be on land.  Love to Cruisers everywhere <3 font="" nbsp="">

Let Them live their Best Life, Mom

I am a critic. I pick everything apart. I notice things. I can find the little bit of bad in all things, even the goodest of things.  No one and nothing gets five stars in my life, because five stars is perfect and as i'm quick to point out : there is no perfect in this world. 

People watching (eye rolling, get-a-load-of=thatisms, etc.) is a long honored family past time of my formative years.  it's not classy and sometimes unkind, but it's what we do. we point out quirks, but just to ourselves.This family tradition stops with my fifteen year old daughter.  Facial tattoos, purposely vague gender appearance, extravagant body hair or just plain weirdness is to be embraced. Anything and everything is acceptable, and she encourages me to go with the flow, let them live their best life, mom. in other words : stay out of it. 

It's a simple point she brings up and stirs up questions about how I see my own life and am I living my best life, as these weridos and wackjobs seem to be. 

So what if they really are living their their own best life.  What if the ultimate dream of this person is to hang out in a lawn chair on his driveway with his smoker in the front yard.  And who am i to eye roll that ?  

It's true. how would I or do i know what someone else's Best Life looks like?  Hell, i don't even know what my best life looks like -- and i spend a lot of time thinking about it. i certainly have no idea what someone else's best life looks like. Yet, i still pick at it. needlessly, automatically;  and it picks at me . 

It's frequent that I'm described as negative.  Truth be told, when people meet me for the first time, response is typically not all together positive .Feedback from my first impression includes words like egotistical, selfish, judgmental and cold. however, there are also words peppered in there like powerful, intelligent, funny and strong. I also hear cynical a lot, which i consider a compliment. 

 

Now that sounds pretty negative, right ?  Even reading it, it has a negative connotation and uses a lot of negative words. But i see myself as a born critic, these comments just come into my head. I overthink it. It feels natural. 

Food, movies and vacations are dissected and critiqued with the utmost sharpness. notice i didn't say "Judged,"  but critiqued.  And there's the rub.

  

Is Criticism is by it's nature negative judgement? let's go to the tape: 

crit·i·cism

ˈkridəˌsizəm/

noun

noun: criticism; plural noun: criticisms

1. 1.

   the expression of disapproval of someone or something based on perceived faults or mistakes.

   "he received a lot of criticism"

   synonyms:

   censure, condemnation, denunciation, disapproval, disparagement,  opprobrium, fault-finding, attack, broadside, stricture, recrimination; More

2. 2.

   the analysis and judgment of the merits and faults of a literary or artistic work.

   "alternative methods of criticism supported by well-developed literary theories"

   synonyms:

   evaluation, assessment, appraisal, analysis, judgment; More

   • the scholarly investigation of literary or historical texts to determine their origin or intended form.

Okay, so obviously you can see the problem here.  One definition of is clearly negative -- even synonymous with "attack," "broadside," and "disapproval."   That's negative. That's pessimism, ugliness, pettiness. That's the critic i don't want to be. 

But definition 2 (also a noun)  is more on along my track of thinking (i hope). This definition takes into account both sides, "the merits and faults,"  and is synonymous with analysis, evaluation, appraisal.  That's the critic i want to be, or do I?  "Judgement" is synonymous with both definitions of Criticism, so if there's any equal sign to be fairly assessed, it's between those two words. 

Criticism = Judgement

Is judgement negative ? My daughter would say mine is. 

The Lime Tree Story

I've lived in this house for 18 years, and just this summer did I first notice a lime tree growing in my neighbors back yard.  I guess it just got tall enough for me to see the tiny green balls sprouting above the fence line -- some of them even hanging OVER the fence, preciously perched on my side.

Now, I'm sucker for edible plants.  It started last year when I bought some spindly herbs in tiny plastic pots at HEB.  I'm one of those gardeners with great intentions, but poor execution so when I transferred the little plants into big clay pots on my patio, I had realistic low expectations. But with regular watering, all of my herbs flourished and soon I enjoyed fresh basil leaves & clumps of dill in salads and baked vegetables. Twigs of sweet mint leaves made nighttime hot tea an aromatic little treat. I was hooked. I sprouted ends of celery in tiny dishes of water around my sink.  I planted garlic pods and onion bulbs.  I researched foraging and looked for edible weeds and medicinal herbs in my yard grass. My big discovery was identifying a random Purslane that sprung up in a flooded, dirt-filled pot after a hard rain.  I proudly plucked off it's salty leaves for salad with dandelions. I was the suburban farmer, eating what I grew-- at least as garnish.

So when the limes on that backyard tree started getting larger, the conscientious grower in me got miffed : my neighbors weren't taking the bounty! The limes got larger and greener and still they weren't picking the fruit.  One night, I couldn't stand it anymore.  I grabbed my gardening shears and clipped a small branch that was heavy with four limes hanging over my side of the fence. I felt vindicated.  I brought the limes inside and imagined tart, sweet meringue pie made from their juice, or maybe I'd blend up a batch of tangy salty, fresh-from-the-vine margaritas.  That night, I cut into one, to squeeze some juice into my iced tea. But it was dry.  The flesh was tight and pale; the little juice I could get out of it was tasteless, bland.         I was deflated.

BUT, mystery solved, I thought.  No wonder they ignored the sagging fruit, the neighbors knew the secret: those limes suck.  For the next few days, I'd glance over at the tree and shake my head... what a shame, maybe they should just cut it down.

So days went by and I watched the limes continue to balloon, getting larger and larger, their deep green skin started to fade; but none seemed to fall. Doesn't ripe fruit just fall off the vine and rot on the ground if it's not picked?  (well does it  ?  because when push comes to shove, I actually don't know a darn thing about harvesting or plants or fruit trees or gardening at all. This will be come clearer as the story progresses.)

It was about this time that I realized it was a lemon tree.  I'd look over at the pale yellow fruit and chastise myself, I shoulda known. Lemons are even better, I thought.  And just like that, I was excited again, paying attention with anticipation.

I started to think about that tree a lot. I wondered what it says about me that I picked the fruit before it was ready .  before I even knew what it was . even when it wasn't really mine. and then I turned away from it, before it's real time had come.  

This whole thing with the fruit and the tree got me to thinking about expectations and patience ; and assumptions.  and hope.

I have a knack for researching things--addresses, previous owners, court documents, private investigating--I love to snoop out facts.  But I never questioned my own judgement on that tree. A quick google probably would have told me that those weren't limes, heck I could have asked my neighbor--at least if I could pick some.  But I made plans and even took action, without checking out any facts beyond what I saw, (behind a fence).  I wondered how many times had I done the same thing with jobs or relationships and how many of my life's decisions were tainted with false assumptions, or worse, how many of my regrets could have become precious moments with a little patience on my part ? Is God using this backyard tree to teach me about myself ?

My first job after graduating from college was a fun job.  I worked at a tiny record label, with business trips to blues festivals and breakfast meetings at noon.  I met semi-famous people and got into shows for free.  Like I said, it was fun.  About three years into it, the label folded and I was approached by one of the executives to start a new publicity company, with him as the Founder and President.  At the time, I didn't know much about the music business. In retrospect, I didn't even know the circumstances of why our label was folding, but from the little I saw, it looked like an unorganized mess, and I didn't know this guy very well. He'd come to label right before the shut-down so I had no background on him. I declined on the spot.  I wasn't going to take my chances, I went on to work in an office, answering phones and doing the 9-5 for the next 20 years. Not Fun Job. Turns out (you knew this was coming, right) that the guy who approached me turned out to be one of the founders of the South by Southwest Music Festival. Even if his company didn't get off the ground (which it did) the contacts and connections from that job may have set me on a different career course for life.  Or maybe I would have just become a secretary 5 years later than I did. There's no way of knowing.

I can think of other examples where a little research, patience and honest assessment could have carved out an opposite life for me, but analyzing what's already done is just a way of ignoring what is.

As a single mom ten years ago, with a newborn and a four year old, I didn't even fantasize about the life I live now. I'm married to a hilarious, generous, great-looking guy, who shows his love to me as much as he does my children and my parents.  My path has had some deep scary caves to explore along the way, but for now I'm flooded with bright, loving light and allowing myself to finally let go of the critical, broken girl that used to live in my body.  I'm learning to embrace this story of the lime tree as a new way to see my spectrum of possibilities, recognize a tendency to jump to judgement and remind myself to pay attention when things don't go as expected, life gives you limes but you may end up making lemonade.

............

The other night our neighbor's little girl peeked through the back fence pickets to talk to us while we had wine on the patio. She told us that her name is Amelia, she's almost three and she likes our dog's name: Lulu. She likes bubbles and oranges, especially the oranges from their tree--but they're not ready yet, she squealed, we have to wait for them. Yep. it's a dang orange tree.  Good one God.