Freshness at the Market

While visiting my dad in New Jersey last weekend, we drove through Manhattan to run an errand. His wife wanted to drop in at her favorite salon to see if they had time to squeeze her in. He double parked and she ran out to make her inquiry.

(Well, "run" may not be the best verb choice. She's 20 weeks pregnant, carrying my half-brother. It might have been more of a waddle, since her belly is already round and prominently jutting out from the rest of her body.)

I looked around. New York is full of art. Everywhere you look, there are colors and shades and pictures  - more than my eyes can hold at once. And always changing, so I don't dare look away for fear of missing something spectacular.

And I saw something.
There was a market with flowers.
There are always markets with flowers.

But there was a color that caught my eye and dug roots in my imagination.

"Oh, wow," I involuntarily gasped.

"What is it," my father asked.

"Look at those flowers. Aren't they beautiful," I was only slightly aware how dazzled my voice sounded. I was still caught in a real life daydream where colors dance and build happy lives.

"Go get some," my father's resolute command snapped me out of the indulgent romanticism of the moment and forced me into pragmatic mode. I didn't want to buy them; I didn't want to be responsible for them. I just wanted to admire them, to love them from afar - to daydream after them.

"Uh, no. I don't think that's a good idea," I answered him. "We're going to be in the car for the rest of the day. And then I have to drive back home tonight. They won't survive all that chaos. Better to leave them where they are."

"It's worth you having them only for a moment, if they make you so happy."

He called out to the guys sitting in front of the shop, "Hey, who owns the shop? We want some flowers!" Then to me, "Go out there and pick the ones you want."

I walked up to the market, a little giddy and feeling like a princess. Oh my god, I thought. They are even more beautiful up close. I didn't even bother to look at any of the other options available. I pointed to the bouquet that housed the colors, the shades that sent me spiraling out of reality.

The men completed the transaction.
The flowers were carefully wrapped and handed to me.

I went back into the car and zenned-out in a moment of nuzzling up close to these brilliant, just absolutely beautiful blooms. They smelled amazing. Each one offering its freshness to the witness available: before to the exhaust-filled city streets and now, to me.

My dad was right. They were worth having, even only for a moment. But I would have them for many moments. And even though they were in for a hard 24hours of traveling, I would take as much care of them as possible so they could last as long as possible.

For such beauty, the burden of responsibility was lighter than I had originally given it credit for - and it made me wonder: how many times do we deny and reject beautiful things for our lives, because we're worried about the responsibility or how we many have to adjust, or possibly change for them?

Thank goodness the beauty exists - calling us, tempting us to step forward, to reach higher to improve our lives. Thank goodness its there, making heavy things lighter; providing smiles to counterbalance the tears; overwhelming us with love to overpower the hate.

date on the milk carton

"Mom, I want Cheerios and chocolate milk," he gave me a light shove as he substituted a 'Good Morning' salutation with his breakfast order.

"Ok, babe. Give me just a minute," I whispered.

He settled back into the blankets. One good thing about having a kid that's a gamer, if he's got an iPod Touch, he's golden. And it makes those early mornings on Saturdays and Sundays - heck, any day that we don't have to get up early for school - bearable. He sleeps later than typical kids, but not late enough to suit me. He's a Night Owl, though; like me. So, there's hope for even later mornings as he gets older. 

I didn't want to break the early morning stillness. It had been another late night, in a series of late nights as far back as I can remember. My body ached with many pains: some instigated by my own aggression during yesterday's yard sale, I forgot the fact that I'm not in my 20's anymore; some a part of the ebb and flow of the periodic reminder that I'm a women; some because of the drastic change in weather, the surprising drop in temperature - reminders of my rheumatic heritage.

He generously gave me another 5 minutes to ponder these thoughts and just barely drift off again towards numbness, when...

"I'm going downstairs. I'm hungry. I want Cheerios and chocolate milk."

He started to throw off the covers and I woke up - for real this time.

(There's nothing like the threat of spilled milk - all over the kitchen floor - to wake a mother. And it's not that I'd be crying over it. It's just the fact that I would have to clean it. Not really up for all that effort today.)

I plodded downstairs after him - slowly, painfully.

He happily made his way to the table, as I made my way to the counter and sink to survey the mess left the night before and start preparations for a cereal breakfast.

I was in auto-mode. Most definitely not thinking about much more than getting a fresh pot of coffee on the brew.

Put away the dishes.
Grab a clean bowl. 
I need coffee...

Return the silverware to the drawer.
Walk to the pantry to get the cereal.
I need strong coffee...
 
Clean off the counter.
Add dirty dishes to the sink.
I think I'll add an extra spoon of sugar to my coffee...

Pour cereal into the bowl.
Grab a clean cup.
I should definitely use the dark roast...


Go to the fridge...grab the chocolate syrup.
Grab the milk.
Look at the date.

Stop dead in my tracks.

Because the date on the milk jug is our anniversary.
The date I have treasured each year since I was with you.
The date I always count down to...

But not this year.
This year, I am more alive than ever.
This year: your memory has never been fainter.

I'm going to be honest. I completely forgot about it, about you.
It only took how many years to truly forget, and not just pretend to forget?

I am back at the counter absolutely stunned.
I mix milk with chocolate syrup and pour the result into a bowl filled with Cheerios.

"Babe, I've got your breakfast ready," I say and place the bowl on the table. Then I'm back at the counter: thinking, but not thinking; feeling, but not feeling.

It's too damn early for this shit, I think.
I pour yesterday's coffee into a mug and stomp to the microwave.
It'll have to do. 

Top 5 in Floyd

While in Virgina this weekend, I visited the small town of Floyd. And in fact, this is not my first time stopping in for a visit. When in the area, I try to make sure that Floyd gets on the itinerary. And I encourage you to do the same.

Floyd incorporates many attractive features that makes it a great place to visit. It's a place where artists of all kinds meet and mingle. It's populated by mountain folk, who - in my opinion - tend to be among the most friendly and independent of people. It offers a wide range of cultures and cuisine. And, you can get full bars on your 4G network in the heart of downtown!

There are many, many things that I like about Floyd, but I'll stick to my Top 5. That way, if you get a chance to go, you'll still have the chance to adventure for yourself.

1. Friday Night Jamboree 
The Floyd County Store is the home of the Friday Night Jamboree. But the whole town comes out to celebrate in the festivities of the evening. It's true - you can go to the Country Store (get there early to find a seat) and sit a spell to enjoy the music that's being played right there on the stage in the back of the store; but you can also just walk down the main road through downtown. Musicians (and dancers) set up in the little nooks and crannies on the sidewalk and set to collaborative playing. You'll see any sort of instruments; and hear bluegrass and hillbilly tunes that span from twang to a kind of renaissance flair.

All the shops stay open a little later to take advantage of the crowds. Take advantage of their availability. You aren't going to want to miss out on the treasures that fill up the shops to overflowing. Floyd is the perfect place to find a gift for that hard-to-shop-for person. The items are unique and range from hippie-punk to delicate and flowery - there's also a little sturdy and reliable thrown in there for good measure. We are in the mountains, after all. Check out the New Mountain Mercantile - it's one of my favorite shops!

2. Dogtown Roadhouse
Not your ordinary pizza place! At least, to be truthful, I didn't expect this kind of place to exist somewhere on the Blue Ridge Parkway in the middle of Virgina. Dogtown specializes in wood-fired pizza with creative toppings. I had a pizza there once that sported a Butternut Squash sauce topped with Arugula and Green Apples (among other tasty toppings). I am assuming that you can order the regulars (cheese and pepperoni), but why would you when you can adventure a little further from the safety of the beautiful Sun Music Hall?

Did I mention they also have beer? A variety of taps with some really great local offerings. Come to eat and they stay for the music. They often have performances going on a little later in the evenings. Check out their Facebook page to stay on top of the latest news!

Visit Dogtown Roadhouse - 302 South Locust Street, Floyd, VA

3. Red Rooster Coffee
I learned of Red Rooster Coffee through their Kickstarter project. They were raising money for a new roaster, which would come in handy for the annual Floyd Fest event. Check out their website for more information on the specific kinds of coffees they roast and share with the community (meaning right there in Floyd through their small shop and around the world via their online shop).

They have a Facebook page as well. I follow it and can't help but wish I was in Floyd more often to get my hands on some of their small batch roasts that always sound so good. I read their updates and can't help but smell coffee on the brew.

Visit Red Rooster Coffee - 117 South Locust Street, Floyd, VA

4. The Bread Basket
This jewel of a bakery is a little ways past the downtown area on HWY 8. I would say about 5 minutes, although it always seems longer to me. I think that's only because I am always so darn excited about getting there.

This little place is run by Mennonite women who are stellar shop-keepers. The place is always neat and clean and filled to the brim with tasty things to eat. Check out their fresh baked corner - I would HIGHLY recommend the Snickerdoodle cookies. (Ehem, you may be counted a fool if you don't add them to your basket.) They're also known for their deli (you can order a fresh-made sandwich) and their shelves of bulk items (the veggie chips are the BEST IN THE WORLD). They also house a variety of locally made items: soaps, creams, carved wood items, knitted goods, etc...

Now, I might be a little biased (not that you couldn't tell by my wording), but the best way to know for sure is to visit it for yourself. I would say around lunch time. Order a sandwich, grab some chips (the veggie kind, that way you won't feel guilty when you eat an extra Snickerdoodle) and a drink. If the weather is nice, sit out at the comfy picnic tables in front. A local craftsman made them.

Visit the Bread Basket - 2167 Webbs Mill Road North, Floyd, VA

5. Chateau Morrisette Winery
This is a little bit of a stretch since it's not located in the town of Floyd but in the county of Floyd - ah...details, details. This winery is located off the Blue Ridge Parkway not far from Floyd proper and it is definitely worth the extra traveling, so make sure that you add it to your list of must-sees.

There's isn't anything I don't like about this winery: the tours are interesting, the tastings are generous, the variety of wine types is plentiful, the grounds are lovely, the people are friendly, the restaurant is both beautiful and offers tasty food that highlights local produce...

Oops, my description ran away from me. The point is, if you like wine, take a minute to stop and enjoy all that Chateau Morrisette has to offer, because there's plenty. Stay in touch with them on Facebook to hear about their upcoming events and make reservations online through their website. 

If I lived closer, they'd see me every Sunday at their Sunday Sounds events. If you're in the area on the day of rest, sit a spell and jam-out to any sort of talented local musicians.

Visit Chateau Morrisette - 287 Winery Road Southwest, Floyd, VA 

------

And so, that ends my Top 5. I would love you to tell me what makes it on your Top 5 list after you get a chance to visit this awesome place.

Adventure on, my friends!

revisiting mountain zen (with mom)

My friend's family owns property in Meadows of Dan, Virgina. For the last year, I've had the pleasure of visiting the cabin on a handful of occasions and have really come to love the area.

It may help that the area is just off of the Blue Ridge Parkway, too that it's near a handful of wineries; also that it nurtures a creative vibe that seems to breed around mountain folk - a creative vibe that's passionate about the land, the people of the land and the love of it all.

Talk about some of the best things in life coming together in one place! It's an area of the country that's full of beauty and creation. Even in the ugly-duck-phase of winter, there is still a resonance of lively things about to burst forth in joyful appreciation of the land and lives around it.

My friend's cabin sits on old family property that's still-green with life. There is an apple tree just in front of the cabin that is laden in the month of August. I made my first homemade applesauce from its harvest last year. There's a dip in the land just beyond the tree and the view from the porch opens up into a vast field. I've picnicked in this field, letting the bright sun and vibrant blue sky remind me of the dreams in my soul. At night, the field and tree line mix into a shared blackness, so that all your attention is focused on the sky chock-full of dazzling stars. On several occasions, covered by the darkness of mountain-night, I've made peace in my heart.

It's a quiet place. It's a perfect space to hide from the busyness of the world, from the insanity of your schedule and focus instead on the untapped creativity that simmers within. Being at the cabin and soaking in the creative vibe that suffuses the local communities is among my most favorite of experiences. I've nicknamed the experience "mountain-zen."

And I've come to crave and appreciate each new opportunity that may come with living through the experience of mountain-zen.

------


In a couple of days, I'm taking my mom to the cabin and introducing her to the pleasure that exists on top of the mountain.

My friend has been encouraging me to invite her to this place for some time now. And finally, the right time has come. The perfect combination of availability on many fronts has provided an opportunity for me to share this zen space with mom, and I couldn't be more excited. It's a belated Mother's Day gift, but it's a perfect gift and honors the idiom: "Good things come to those who wait."

If there's anyone I know who deserves zen, it's my mom. She works hard - all the time. In the face of roadblocks and cliff-edges, she carves for herself a new path. And she does it in her own special way, with grace and a resolute spirit. Her example continues to challenge me. She encourages me through her actions to join the matriarchs of my family who exhibit strong characteristics of determination, persistence, ingenuity, creativity and passion.

In the last several months, my mother has proven to me that her support in my development as a writer isn't just lip service, it lives in the actions she takes to provide for my well-being. In this way, she feeds the future of my dreams. 

And I stand in awe of her sacrifice; and I swear to myself that her investments won't be in vain.

We're leaving Monday morning to share in mountain-zen. I hope she loves it as much as I do. I hope that the juices of creativity will seep in and add its unmistakable spice to the already simmering pot of her soul.

Like many moms and daughters, we share a special connection - a consequence of both the nature and nurture of our relationship. I hope that we can share this too: the delight and renewed sense of spirit that mountain-zen is known to bring.

this won't hurt a bit

Sometimes, you just have to close your eyes, grit you teeth and take it.

You tell yourself: "This won't hurt a bit."

But it's going to hurt like hell, and you know it.
There's no fooling yourself this time around, because you've traveled this path before and you know how the pricks will draw blood.

------

Thank goodness the body replenishes the supply. Otherwise, you'd die of the choices you make. Each hot drop, sparking like a ruby in the sunlight, escaping through tears and gashes in your skin, in your heart.

When you run through the nettles and thorns, what else can you expect? Whether you like it or not, you suffer the consequences of the company you keep.

the colors of my dreams

This was the last picture I took during this past weekend's mountain-zen trip. It was a long overdue trip meant for rest and relaxation. I did a lot of drinking in the colors around me; the colors that brighten the sometimes (lately, often) dull-gray moments of the daily grind.

These are the colors my dreams are made of...

It's nice to leave home base and find a place to catch your breath.
It's nice to survey your daily routine from a different perspective.

Distance can often give us the opportunity to accept new bits of wisdom: it gives us new eyes to see with, new ears to hear with...maybe even a new heart to feel with.

I am thankful for this opportunity to recharge (because I also did a lot of sleeping); and it was nice to have a whole weekend of brilliant colors to enjoy, whether I was awake or asleep.

An opportunity to feel special

"I like feeling special."

It's what you confirmed to me while we were talking and kissing in your bed.

I like that feeling too.
There's nothing much like having an opportunity to feel special.

And even though I am pretty sure you've had many more bed partners than I have, you do a really good job of making me feel special and unique when we share bed-space.

And we should be confident that those opportunities together are truly unique, and we should revel in the special feelings, because for those moments shared, we've chosen each other. And they have been beautiful happy moments; moments of raging desire and tender snuggles.

I'm still not sure how we manage the balance between two such different perspectives of sex, the fine line of fucking and making love. And maybe it isn't a balancing act after all. Maybe, instead, it is a teeter-totter, a see-saw between the two.

Back and forth, in and out, enough that both our Id's and Ego's are satisfied with the experience.

------

Our conversation is a mix of dialogues from a porn movie and the Real World.

We covered protection last time, but I mentioned it again this time in preparation for what I hope to be: a next time.

"Next time, we'll have to use a condom. I'm having my IUD removed."

"We can get one now, if you want," you offered generously.

"Nah. Next time is will be fine enough."

I was being greedy. I wanted to feel you.

I was being generous. I wanted to give you a opportunity for mental preparation, a kind of "we'd better enjoy this, because it won't happen this exact way ever again." 

Come to think of it...
Nothing ever happens the exact way ever again.

------

Feeling you inside of me challenges me to accept new dimensions of myself. My senses are pushed to the next level; everything pulses as if about to explode.

I told you this time, "This is the stuff that magic is made of," because I couldn't figure out a way to describe it any better; and "ohh, this feeeellls soooooo goooooodddd," seemed trite and cliche.

------

I went all-girl on you and cried.
I didn't mean to.
And I'm sorry if it made you feel uncomfortable.
I didn't want it to.
But I couldn't help myself.
Somewhere along the way...

with all the pressures of real life,
with all the insecurities of being me,
with all the unknowns of my future,
with all the denials of my real feelings,
with all the past rejections of my heart,

our shared moment called me out;
and I gave into...

the beauty of confidence,
the pain of your aggression,
the sensual nature of my womanhood,
the hunger for your body,
the pleasure of our union,
the comfort of being held,
the tenderness of our relation to each other.

I was tapped.
And the tears came.
And I wasn't sure what to do.
And I didn't think you would mind,
But I was still scared that you would.

My vulnerability had been stripped bare.
I had nothing left.

And I was overwhelmed by the raw-glory of the moment.

(and I was happy to share it with you -- it's easy to feel that way when I feel sure that I'm wanted)

------

I am heading to the doctor this week to take care of that damned IUD.

I was surprised to get one so quickly, but it most certainly needs to happen. I'm not sure whether I should worry about coming up with a story explaining the bruises you left on my thighs; or, if I should just...not worry about it.

She may decide to commit me, if I told her they make me feel special.

sitting in a non-moment

We were snuggled on the couch; two people suspended in a happy-quicksand moment of beer and live music, and shared company.

I was soaking in your warmth, the solid feeling of your body so close to mine, the acceptance that comes along with being familiarly close with someone I appreciate and who I believe appreciates me.

It was a moment of peace. 
A moment of being absolutely 100% in the present...and happy.

We have a history, but it is left mostly untouched.
There's no reliving the moment, only tentative comments from both us every now and then.

As if we're asking each other, "Did that really happen? Did we really do that?"

And the answer is yes.
But, we don't explore much past the affirmative.

We journey forward in a friendly manner.
Supporting each other as best we can from our different places in life.
It's a kind caring; a mutual kind of encouragement for each other.

A very human love.

------

"Aw, you guys are so cute together."

She was loud, brash...and drunk.
She invaded our space with her assumption, with her challenge.

"Um, we're not actually together."

Maybe, that's not what I should have said.
She became angry, almost insulted that I had denied such an obvious fact.

"What do you mean you're not together?! Why not? I can tell that you like him."

I didn't realize that my "we're not together" could be translated into "I don't like him." I reminded myself she was drunk. I reminded myself that it didn't matter what she thought.

"You're a fucking coward."

Oh. Well. That is true on so many levels, but I decided it wasn't really prudent to start down that path of conversation with a drunk woman who just seemed to want the fairy tale to make sense in her head.

I couldn't blame her for that.
We all want the fairy tale to make sense in our heads.

------

Unfortunately, reality isn't the fairy tale we want for our lives.

It doesn't really give us the neatly tied package of happily ever after. It gives us struggle after struggle to battle, to do our best to overcome.

Our happily ever after, should we choose to accept it, is an endless process of fight-and-win.

And tonight, I wasn't fighting. Nor was I winning.
I was sitting in a non-moment, in a time-out.

I was "just being" on the couch close to you.

And it seems, my reality was calling me out...again. 

the red, burnt-orange light

It spoke to me again.

This light knows no kindness.
It's a lustful beast of heat and desire, of touch and taste.

It teases me now.
That we're not together.

It reminds me everyday of how it wanted to see us touch, to see us taste.
Its reminders keep you close to my mind.

Infuriating.
Lusting.

Of all people to share this light, to share this beautiful red-insanity...

I wanted it to be you.

I wanted you to touch my face with your green-eyed intensity. I wanted the balance of lust and trust, of dominance and submission, to be tested within the clarifying light of this late afternoon mind trip.

Pineapple Tongue

I kiss your tongue.

It's wild and tropical, like pineapple so tart and sweet. It's juicy and I drink of your essence, knowing that this will be among the last kisses I ever give to you.

My flavor is dark and spicy, heavy with things like coffee and nuts and chocolate. We make our own nectar in this moment; a sticky, memory-binding kind of paste. It'll prove a lasting topping to the experiences that have led up to this moment. It'll encase things like stars and crosses, electricity and fire, food and love.

Young love.

The kind that will never be forgotten.
The kind that forgives easily.
The kind that explores with a dynamic zest. 

------

It's the kind of love we all wish to go back to, but after you've had it, after you've made such a nectar, there's nothing quite like it.

There's a freedom in its zest.
A freedom that becomes timid, tired even, after heartbreak.

I want to share the light...

There's a light that exists in my room in the peak of the afternoon...

It washes my room in a burnt-orange-rose-colored glow. Everything is hazy and warm, and I want to share this light with you.

Let me usher you into my room around 3pm, so that you can see what I see, feel what I feel. I want to see how your skin reacts to the colored light. See how your smile looks heated by the sanguine-like passion in the air.

I want to run my hand down your bare chest and feel whether the light creates a difference, an added tenderness to the moment of my eager fingers touching your firm body.

Let's wrap the light around us as we enjoy the different perspective this light gives.
Come with me.
Breathe in the rose-air and feel the heat of it burn your chest with the desire.

----

This light whispers its own desires to me.
It asks me to share it with someone I love.
It taunts me with stories of what it - if given a body - would do.

It challenges me to see things differently; to be bolder.

Let me share this light with you...
So you too will know of its desires.

your memory vs. my body

He's got you on his shelf dusted with care. You're out - front and center - you can't be missed. I see you clear as day and can only assume he means to keep you close in that way. A memory honored until the bitter end.

He's got me in his bed, moist and ready for his attention. I'm present, but packed up and hidden; a kind of embarrassing truth to his current existence. I'm kept at arms length - just close enough to feel some warmth, but not close enough to feel the commitment of his arms around me.

I look in the mirror and wonder who he loves more...
your memory or my body.

Sometimes, Beauty Can't Travel

I recently roadtripped to Teaneck, NJ to visit my dad. He took me to Costco to shop for some of the lil man's favorite foods, so that we would be properly stocked for the weekend. It was a kind gesture. It's always nice to have some familiar foods on hand - a comfort-thing, I suppose.

I saw this orchid - and it stopped me in my tracks.
Now, I am not usually an orchid kind of girl, but it was lovely. And, keep in mind, it was only one in an entire display of them. It's beauty was powerful, overwhelming.

My dad noticed that I had fallen behind. When he looked at me, I am sure that he saw stars in my eyes. I felt like I had been hit with some kind of beauty-potion, a character paused-in-play until it would wear off.

"Let's get it. You can take it home," he said resolutely.

His words broke the spell...and in a way, my heart.

"Are you kidding?! This is beautiful. It would not be once I got it home. It won't survive the roadtrip back to NC. I promise."

(I have a small Saturn. It's usually packed to the brim with things to distract the kid en route.)

"Are you sure?" He really wanted to get me something. My birthday was close coming, and I could tell that he wanted to spoil me rotten.

I looked at him. I was sad. I would have loved to have admired this beauty for as long as it would survive under my care. But, 9 hours stuffed in a crevice in a car with a looney and careless Latina and a clumsy-though-well-meaning 6 year old. I sighed deep. It had no chance.

"I'm sure."

I snapped this picture to remind me of the beauty that exists in places that I cannot be...beauty that cannot travel with me.

living with the ex

Did you know that I was living with the ex?

Yea. It's true.
Let's talk about how that's an interesting pick up line. No...really, it's not.

Most people don't really let it process when I say it...and when it finally hits, "OMG, you're living with your ex-husband?!" - their eyes get big and a bit panicked.

At this point, a month into this project, I can chuckle; but only because I've wrestled down the dirty monster of panic.

It's a delicate, mixed bag of tricks:

I've started and invested just about everything I have - time and money - into my new writing career. The time came when I had run out of money and needed to make some big changes in living arrangements (i.e. I couldn't pay rent any longer).

I am thankful to report that I really had a lot of options...people who would accept me into their homes, even with the little man in tow. But they're all out of state. Which means that I'd be uprooting the little man, mid-year, and starting the IEP process in an unknown environment; or that I'd be giving his dad 24/7 parenting responsibilities. Either option wasn't really an acceptable option for me.

And...

Even though I asked my ex to remove my name from the mortgage 2 years ago, he still hasn't managed to get that paperwork completed. And this is with the incentive of 100% of the financial gain - I told him that I would forfeit any portion of the equity at resale, all he had to do was remove my name.

He tried to complete the paperwork over this past summer, but come to find out, an appraisal is required as a part of the process. He didn't want to schedule a meetup for the appraisal, because he hasn't been taking care of the property.

(The neighbor told me a story...
The Girl Scouts came around selling cookies and asked her if it was safe to visit the house just because it looked so bad on the outside. I responded that if they thought it looked bad on the outside, only the things of horror-stories lived on the inside. Sigh.)

And so...

The choice became clear. I would move back into still-my house and become the property manager, moving towards the final solution of getting my name off the mortgage & deed of the house and surrounding property. It would be the almost-best solution for the kid. And it would give me a little more time to get a successful marketing campaign up and running for the books that I had just published.

I would just have to live with the ex...

So, I've done what I always do...
I've started a blog: livingwiththeex

Enjoy the insanity! 

let's pull up our own pants

Okay...so, I find this interesting...

There's a faith-based (Christian) spoken word video that has over 3+ million hits. The description is...

"Marriage today is struggling. Divorces, adultery, misconceptions, etc are plaguing not only the marriage itself but products of those marriages (my generation and the next). My hope in this poem is to highlight the most frequent and problematic issues marriages face today while also pointing to Jesus as the ultimate healer, redeemer, and restorer of every marriage. Whether single or married, my intention would be that this poem would allow you to look more deeply to Jesus to either better your current marriage, or prepare for your future marriage."

And I am pretty much good with all of that...really.
The faith part isn't what's interesting. What's interesting is that the video owner has enabled ads in order to generate some capital (via Google AdSense, I think)...and the current video ad that's running before his message is of popular movie clips that show couples in different stages of love and kissing (Fox Movies: "Own The Moments You Love") and all I can think is none of these movie moments support what I am about to listen to...

And, so, I am distracted away from the heart of the message even before I can begin to listen to it (being raised in a Christian environment, I'm pretty much up to date on what he's going to say, anyway...I'm only checking in to hear the beauty of his word play, the passion in his delivery, the hope in his expression)...

My underlying question(s):

Does the video owner not care about the fact that the video is showing -- in a positively sexy these-are-awesome-movies-and-you-know-you-love-them-no-matter-your-beliefs kind of way -- clips of relationships that are built on the "frequent and problematic issues" that create the marital problems that he is, in fact, about to highlight as really serious no-nos.

Is he not paying attention?
Not that I'm fussing. I wouldn't want to check my video each and every day to make sure that I supported the message of the ad that plays before it.

Is the temptation to make a buck from G Ads too tempting to worry about what the ads are marketing? The argument being..."people usually click 'Skip this Ad' anyway, so those who don't probably aren't paying too close attention anyway" (running to grab a drink in the 60 seconds that are available...or maybe their Bible to confirm any actual Biblical passages that he may use...)

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I'm just wondering.
Because, if I believed in something so strongly and wanted to get the message out; if I was representing something sacred, a faith-based message that was super important to me...

Then I'd pay attention to what ads were running; or, I'd cut my losses with AdSense, remove the ad option from that particular video and proclaim my faith without the hope of collecting.

But that's just me.

And, while we're talking about it anyway...

The issues that plague marriages today and the consequences of how those problems are dealt with are indeed a serious problem. Hell, basic relationships are riddled with a myriad of issues that partners can't seem to deal with appropriately...we can't even get to the committed marriage part these days.

Being selfish, having sex and throwing in the towel are "easy" things. No one seems to want to do the hard work that it takes to make a relationship (or a marriage) survive.

Faith doesn't even have a fair chance anymore, because no one seems to have the basic characteristics required for long-term relationship maintenance: patience, concern for another, self-discipline, fill-in-the-blank with some high moralistic personality trait that betrays integrity and long suffering, etc...

Wait. Strike that. We have them in abundance as along as we're happy. The moment things get hard or uncomfortable, the moment we're sad, we seem to run fresh out of anything that would count for vulnerability or selflessness with/for our partner.

And true, the younger generation "suffers" from seeing inappropriate patterns in their elders, but if we (can I still say we? - another birthday is coming up this Saturday) could just pull up our own pants for once instead of always blaming things on "how we were raised" maybe we could fulfill 1 Timothy 4:12.

Imagine: Taking responsibility for our own actions. Finally working as hard as we play, in order to revel in a moment of genuine accomplishment; to really understand, to own the reward of earning something.

(Wow. What a novel idea.)

We reap what we sow, people.
If our relationships, our commitments really (REALLY) mattered to us, we'd do the work and stop bitching about it, because we'd understand that there are sacrifices involved in sharing our lives with someone else.

And, yea, if faith (if Jesus) is going to help you "deny yourself" and walk the road less traveled, then by all means, look more deeply to him for guidance and help for your day-to-day life. But by golly, all I'm saying, is don't use him as an excuse or a crutch.

Own your life. Honor your faith by putting in a little effort.