Somebody Else's to them, whomever they may be.

Somebody Else's to them, whomever they may be.
How I feel after throwing a party...

Thanks for the visit!! :)

Monday, February 14, 2011

Wuv...Twue Wuv...Is What Bwings Us Togetho Today...

Artist: Alex Raymond: Flash Gordon

Cupid shot two arrows and this is where they landed...

Once upon a time there was a young woman from the East who loved life.

She was effervescent and sunshine sparkled in her laugh and shone out of her eyes. When she was old enough to travel and live on her own she packed her numerous bags and her music player, grabbed her coat, hugged her family and said goodbye as she launched herself into the sky on a grand new adventure.

During the course of her travels, she found and made herself a new home, deep into the West. She settled there and met many new people and had many new experiences, some of them good and some of them not so good.

After several years of living on her own, of making friends, working hard and sometimes not so hard, after mistakes and successes, she met a new and interesting person whom she did not expect.

One early Autumn night a tall, dark and handsome stranger with cornflower blue eyes and a ready, wry wit, appeared one evening at her door. A silly minded pair of ninnymuggins who at that time lived with her had invited him and some of his cohorts to her home.

Introductions were made all around and shortly thereafter, as she was not an invited party to the gathering, she made her excuses and stepped away with no idea whatsoever that fate had been set--the strands of two lives were now entwined and it was only time that would tell what this tapestry would look like.

During the next few days and weeks, this randy band of brothers came to visit quite often, quickly making good friends with the young woman and her best friend. There were all night sessions of conversations, laughter, flirtation, witticisms and occasionally donuts. There were movies and books and schooling discussed and a general air of electric camaraderie permeated their gatherings.

Gradually, over the course of time, a warming ember grew in the girls heart. She didn't acknowledge it as love but rather as excitement and joie de vivre and a little bit of danger. She and the young man were taking circling steps around each other, dancing the dance of the ages. They tested the water and the air and the mood for small changes and differences for encouragements and permissions to circle in more closely, to watch and feel the electric snappings that raised up between them. It was a very exciting time to be alive.

Now it may or may not be important to note that this dark stranger had no intention of entering into a serious or intended relationship. He had his own plans for travel and adventure that did not include a passionate affair. This was for *fun*.

The young woman had just gone through a massive heartbreak of her own and was planning on joining the Peace Corps and going to Africa to plant crops and then to China to save babies, and also had no intent of binding herself to another. She was just living in every moment that she could.

They were both of them deceived.

As the flirtations turned to secret handholding, which turned quickly into stolen kisses and impassioned embraces in the deep, dark of night in covert rendezvous in the forest by a wild midnight fire, the threads of fate began to draw in ever more tightly together. Hearts began to be bound unknowingly together, inextricably joined.

Because they both had plans and were not interested in love and binding, they proclaimed themselves to be the dearest of non-committed kissing friends, though neither had eyes or lips for any other. They shook hands on their non-commital commitment to each other. They proceeded onward with their covert kissing and hand holding interspersed with strawberry shakes and French fries and spent every waking, and a few unwaking, moments together.

He could not believe that she existed and called her "the girl who has never been born" and to her he was "so West, so wild" and so they did bow their heads together to talk and learn and breathe of one another, and they laughed and without knowing it, they loved.

One afternoon the young man felt the bands that had slowly tightened and proclaimed "Oh no! I've just got to be free. This cannot continue, I have plans!" and so he resolved to break the young girls heart and part himself from her.

When she saw his face and heard his words she knew that the tightness that she had felt and the embers that she had enjoyed were coming to an end, and though she hadn't consciously acknowledged them until she heard his words of grand parting, she realized that without intention she loved him and she felt his loss very keenly indeed.

But they had made a deal for friendship and not for love and she would not betray it to him with least no tears that he would ever see. If she had to lose his love she was determined not to lose his friendship, and so she stood up, and she embraced him with a sad smile as her heart within her cracked and cried out in sorrow that resounded deep into the universe.

The young man saw her grief and he knew that without intention, and perhaps without a knowledge of her own, that she loved him but was being brave, and he did love her even more as he turned and left her and walked out her door.

And so as deepening afternoon came on, with her newly shattered heart, she walked on and out her door for an evening of writing and wandering in the colossal university library where her sorrows could be comforted by the smell of books and paper and the ghosts that wandered the stacks.

The boy came to find his one true love later that evening because he could not stay away and in his own guilt he wanted to make sure that she was ok. But she was not to be found.

So, as the minutes ticked on, he sat and talked to the girl's best friend. They decided to get pizza and to wait for the girl.

Meanwhile, the girl, finding only dust and sorrow in the library that she usually loved to wander, saw no further reason to stay away from home. She was tired and sad and hungry as she walked out into the November night.

When she walked into her front door the last person she expected to see that night rushed down the hallway and stopped in front of her "Where have you been?"


"Out where?"

"What does it matter to you?" (It’s true, she was feeling a little peevish and wanted to give off an air of you-haven’t-hurt-me-non-chalance.)

"Oh, we were just worried. Do you want some pizza."

"No thank you, I'm not hungry."

And inside she wondered why he cared and why he was there and man, did that pizza look good. But no pizza! No favors! Not right now. She didn’t need anything from his devastatingly beautiful and funny amazing self.

Inside she sighed.

Outside she smirked a flirty smile and said “So what’s going on tonight?” The beautiful boy blinked and said “Oh, I was just waiting for you to make sure you were safe. I’ll see you later.” And out the door he went.

And so she sighed again and grabbed a piece of his precious pizza and moped back to her room.

The next morning, she stayed home from her classes and listened to Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares to You” way too loud and lost count of how many times she hit the “Replay” button. As she sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom in her pajamas and tousled hair, she called her little old Latvian grandma and sighed and lamented her woes out to her. Her grandma said, “Shush, shush, it’s alright. He will be back and he will marry you and you will see that everything will work out.”

The girl laughed at how ridiculously optimistic her grandma was and smiled through her sadness and chose to believe her grandma even though she knew it wasn’t true. So up she got, showered and got ready for her day and off she went like a shot, ready to start a new day with best feet forward. No time like the present to move on from a heart break.

That afternoon, as she walked home alongside the granite mountainside with late Fall sunshine warming her face, she kicked around the past 24 hours since her life had unexpectedly exploded and thought of what course of action she should take next.
She decided that the Peace Corps was very definitely in order and that the babies in China were calling her name stronger than ever before. She was sure that there were some Romanian babies calling her name as well, and that there were always seeds to be planted and wells to be dug in Africa.

Yes, with a renewed purpose to do good in the world she quickened her pace and happily went home to watch Days of Our Lives before starting in with homework, and waiting for her best friend to get home from work so they could go get big Diet Cokes and frosted pink sugar cookies from the local convenience store.

Many hearts have been mended on caffeine, sugar and soap operas, why not hers?

Unbeknownst to her, the boy had the pretty, perky girl on his mind. How could she love him? Why did she do that? This was supposed to be a just-kissing-friends kind of a deal and then she went and fell in love. It was all her fault and now he was missing her and wanting her. He would not go over there. He would not call. Better to break it off now anyway.

And so he paced and pondered and was annoyed. Why did she have to be so fantastic? He wasn’t intending on getting married before he turned 30 and had lived a little bit. That was 9 years away. She was too early. Married?!?!?! Did he just think that awful word?? He meant…he meant…he meant something else is what he meant. Arghhh! She’s too soon!

And so another lonely evening descended on the two broken love birds. Her pride was prickled and she would not be the flower that chased the bee, let alone the first one to say “Come back, I love you. Be mine.”
And so she lost herself in her friends and in her own thoughts while she missed him and wished to be in his arms peppered by his hot kisses. And the young man pondered late into the night on what to do and he lost himself in his work, with visions of a dark haired beauty girl who had never been born dancing through his mind.

A new day dawned and where there had been pain and confusion, change and a new light were found.

That afternoon, the girl received a phone call from the boy who said he needed to talk to her and could he come by. She was giddy and her brain felt silly and overcome as she said “Yes. I will see you when you get here.” And so she ran to the bathroom to pinch her cheeks, touch up her makeup and fluff her hair and she quickly spritzed herself with perfume, and with one mad glance back and a giggle of a thought “O.K. What does he want??” she calmly went to the door.

And so he walked the short walk, and knocked a brief knock, and came in and saw her and she was just as beautiful and amazing as ever and he couldn’t imagine why he had walked away from those sweet lips, and tender loving arms and that funny, quippy brain. What had he been thinking?

And when she saw him the butterflies threatened to burst out of her chest like some kind of weird Technicolor alien rainbow. Oh he was amazing and beautiful and brilliant and funny and “I hope he stays and that he has changed his mind!” All the while thinking “Do not dare to hope!”

As he walked towards her he whispered “I was wrong—I don’t just like you. I don’t want to be just hugging friends.” And he took her in his arms and put his cheek to her cheek and whispered sweet words next to her ears and then her lips, lips that were so tantalizingly close that she dared not move for fear of ending the moment, her brain fairly screaming “Kiss me. Kiss me! KISS ME!”

And he must have heard her mind, because he bent his head to her and he kissed the girls lips and it was like a first kiss all over again only better—so much better because it was without doubt and fear and was full of confidence and light and joy. And her heart exploded in a cacophony of song and so she fell and spiraled down and up and all around and her world was a kaleidoscope of colors and a whirlwind of sensations and she felt like she was made of sunshine and there was nothing else in the world at that moment but them.

And so this is the story of how two became one.

It is the story of love unveiled, of friendship cemented and loyalty bound so tightly as to be undivided through the eternities.

This is the story of one boy and one girl, of one Guardian and one Angel, how once found, two halves were made whole forevermore.

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤
Happy Valentine's Day.
Live by the sun.
Love by the moon.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Trooping Through My Humanity

So I've mentioned it here before, once or twice, because I really don't obsess about it, that I have PCOS. PCOS = Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and it's really a bitch of a "syndrome." It wreaks havoc with your internal girl organs, which in turn jacks up other stuff along with it. For example: It can knock your insulin out of whack, which in turn can knock your hormones out of whack, along with other members of the endocrine system, which in turn can also create problems with your blood pressure, which in turn can knock your insulin out of whack and so on and so forth.

The side effects are everything that a woman fears and avoids in regular life, so when you have them hoisted on you beyond your control and revved up a little bit just for good measure...yeah...not so awesome.

Here, I will indulge you with a few of the side effects just for your viewing pleasure (mind you, you don't usually have all of them, but you can get a right nice cocktail of them going just the same): weight gain (which is not like normal weight gain, but can border on incredibly impossible to get rid of no matter how many few calories you eat or how many marathons you run), infertility, cycles from hell (no not know...ole Aunt Florine what who comes to visit), hair growth in terrible and humiliating places IE: one's face, neck and breasts, acne and thinning hair just to name a few. So imagine one or some combination of these and you've got life with PCOS.

It's really a disease that terrorizes a woman. You never know how things are going to go, and you have daily maintenance and grooming issues that other people with a generally normal life have no concept of. It attacks everything that is identifiable as being feminine: skin, hair, weight and the ability to conceive, retain and give birth. Of course you also have to deal with the insensitivity and rudeness of the common population who think that somehow it is their business to inform you that you are flawed by making snarky comments, looking you up and down, or even hollering out at you from a passing car "You're fat!!" "Oh really genius? Did you notice that all on your own or did you have help with that one?? Nice. I thank you for pointing out the obvious as I am never around any mirrors or ever see my reflection." On top of that, sometimes your body likes to throw little surprise curve balls your way, things like bleeding that starts out of the blue and lasts forever...stuff like that that requires that your purse always be fully stocked with any number of provisional supplies from the Feminine Aisle of your local Wal*Mart.

But of course, this does have one or two perks as follows:

(1) If there is ever a fellow woman in need. You have got that sisters back.
Friend, blushing: Tracy, do you have your purse?
Tracy, laughing: Oh you know it girl. One is a nice selection...would you like one of each?
Friend: What? Are you kidding?
Tracy: Welcome to my life.

(2) If you are travelling in foreign countries, particularly ones that do not have modern amenities...oh say...the Philippines?

Tracy travelling: A number of years ago I did quite a bit of travel. I had been in the Philippines for about a week and a half, when some rogue coconut water at a party laid siege to my intestines. The show must go on, and so it did, BUT, I suffered significantly. While continuing on in my travels and excursions I needed to find a restroom, not realizing what I was walking into.

Let me set the scene: I'm walking through a semi black market mall. It is humid and people are chasing after me saying "Ma'am! Ma'am! I have DVD, CD. Come! Come! You come with me, back here." and me saying "No thank you." while walking on and thinking "Yeah, come with you back here, right!" I make my way to an escalator, which apparently doesn't work...unless as stationary stairs, but it is the way I must journey to find the restroom, which to be honest with you if I could have gotten a taxi and made it back to my hotel, that's what I would have done, but there was not that kind of time. So I trooped on.

Through windings and weavings I found the public restroom which appeared to be pretty clean. I thought "Ok. Good." and walked on. I pushed one door open, no toilet seat, another door, no toilet seat and so on and so forth. O.k. so, no toilet seats, not a big deal, so I pick one and go in. I pop a squat and take care of my business, then, reaching for the toilet paper I realize a fatal oversight...I didn't check for TP.

I was in a desperate situation, so I was looking to get in the stall as opposed to thinking too much farther ahead than that...hence the predicament.

But no worries, I knew I had to have something in my my big straw purse (at least there had better be something...I just couldn't see myself hollering to my hosts from a locked public stall "Heyyyyyyyyy!!! I NEED TOILET PAPER!!! OY!!! Is anyone there???"), and so I scrounged and scavenged. A couple of mildly damp-from-my-sweaty-forehead-and-neck Kleenex, did I mention it was humid?...and some tampons and a couple of pads.'s to sweat-dampened Kleenex and pads, the tampons weren't going to do me any good, they've got no capacity for external cleaning coverage. Did you know that, as long as you don't get the sticky side of the pad on you of course, pads ain't half bad as a TP substitute? They don't tear very well, but it all works out just the same.

Anyway, I solved the problem, and without being humiliated in front of the locals, I gracefully walked on out and continued on with my day. Might I mention that before doing so, I peeked in all of the other stalls and there was no toilet paper to be had in any of them, nor were there any paper towels. When I mentioned this to my hosts in passing (not in the above mentioned story...which is funny now but wasn't then...) they said oh of course, no, they do not stock public restrooms with any paper products. I thought "Huh...Good to know...would have been nice to know prior to the need though." So I've tried to pass on the detail to my other female travellers as the opportunity has arisen.

But onward...

In addition to all of this, you have a whole plethora of doctors who really don't know what they hell is wrong with you, so there's that whole conversation. They don't get it.

Here is a for example:

After 5 years...

Patient (i.e.: Me): I've been researching and reading trying to figure out what is wrong with me. I've come across a couple of articles that talk about PCOS or Polycystic Ovary Syndrome. I printed them out in case you wanted to take a look at them.
Doctor: Blank Blinking
Patient: It talks about insulin resistance and infertility and weight and a bunch of other things that I've been struggling with. Have you ever heard of this before?
Doctor: I just really don't know why you can't get pregnant, or why your bleeding is so erratic. Are you sure you don't want to go on the pill?
Patient: **PAUSE** NO. I don't want to go on the pill, nor will I ever go on the pill again. That's what caused this in the first place.
Doctor: The pill did not cause the problem. The pill is perfectly safe.
Patient: Not only will I never go on the pill again, I'm trying to have a baby...if you'll recall. Being on the pill will not help that goal, correct?
Doctor: Well, if you ever decide to have gastric bypass, I have some excellent recommendations.
in her mind "WTF you complete incompetent MORON!!! I'm not fat enough for gastric bypass you money hungry, jacked up sonofabitch!!"
...but actually: Yeah, that's not something I'm going to consider right now.
Doctor: Well, if you change your mind, let me know. Is there anything else?
Patient: Nope. We're good. (And I will never be coming back here again.)

Anyway...there is a whole emotional/psychiatric piece to living with PCOS. Women with PCOS, 55% of them, tend to suffer at some point in time from significant bouts of depression. Can't imagine're fat and hairy and you have no baby...what's to worry about? Anyway, and you're dealing with insensitive doctors which doesn't improve the situation.

Luckily, this girls story worked out somewhat better and from the aforementioned asshole, I was able to move on to a doctor that was somewhat better, immediately diagnosed my problem and hooked a sister up with some Metformin, which helps with the insulin problem, which in turn helps with the weight problem, which in turn helps with the heart problem, which in turn helps with the depression, which in turn helps with the enjoying life with others without periodically wanting to drive into the ocean. But I digress.

Doctors still push all of the expensive treatments, IVF and etc., but for the most part the Metformin has significantly helped. I've lost 60 lbs. which is no small feat, not that there aren't additional pounds to go, but it's much better than it was. I still have no baby, but at least the cycle piece isn't a nightmare like it use to be. Depression still comes and goes a little bit. Not real bad stuff, but the blues, I mostly stomp through it to the other side, or at least I try to, it mostly works, sometimes taking longer than others. It's a lonely disease, because unless you have it, most people don't understand it, and it's all uber personal stuff that you're not just going to open up about...unless you're writing a blog post on an unlocked blog...yeah, there's that. ;)

Anyway, the Metformin does have its side effects which can be difficult (extreme stomach sensitivity to put it politely but to be direct it can give you wicked awful diarrhea and debilitating stomach cramps unexpectedly no matter what you do...Hello my new friend Immodium.)

I guess the whole reason I started writing this was because today, I'm just pushing through my day. I've been up, off and on, since 2:00 a.m. with the aforementioned stomach upset, which really wipes me out, and now I'm tired and I just don't feel well. The Immodium kicked in, but I try to take it as a last resort because I don't want to overdo it.

Everyone has their cross to bear, and some are definitely worse than others, that's for sure. I'd rather keep the devil I know than trade him for one I don't. So I guess my point is, God bless you...and whatever difficulty you're going through. You'll get no guff from me, I've got my own things to worry about and am not about to borrow trouble by trying to tell you how to run your own life.

For myself...I'm smiling and chill...nobody's kicked me or is giving me any grief...and so I troop on just trying to keep my body hydrated and intact until I can go to bed again tonight and wake up to a brand, new day. :D

Monday, February 7, 2011

Death Days, Memories and Ghosts

So now here we are--February 7th, 2011.
11 years ago my dad died.
It definitely left a mark, a scar, a burn, and it was deep and while it's not red and inflamed and bleeding anymore, it's still tender and a little pink. I'm looking for the day that it's an old white scar that you remember but doesn't still make you wince everytime you think of it, or bump it or whatever. I've written about his passing and its impact on me on a number of other occasions, you can go back and read those if you want more.

Over the past few days he has popped in and out of my thoughts everytime I realized it was February, and everytime a day passed and I thought "Oh, it's the 3rd of February. Dad died on the 7th." or "Oh, it's the 5th of February. It's Andy's birthday...and Dad died on the 7th." and "Oh, it's the 6th of February, tomorrow is Dad's death day." (Yeah, I call it his "Death Day.") and my thoughts were just of that...that the 7th of February was a marker--a marker for a terrible event that was unexpected, sudden and too early. I don't even have to think about memories of him, or his face or to try to strain and hear his voice to make my throat go a little tight in the back and to get kind of sad, it just automatically happens.

But I don't want to talk about my pain today. I just want to notate the following:

1971: Dad and Me

Dad, wherever you are, I wanted to tell you some things--as a memory maker and as an appreciator, please note the following...

Thank you for instilling in me, with my mother, a love of the ocean. Of turquoise seas and blue skies, of waves and storms, of creatures and plants. Thanks for taking us to the beach, and even though you made a big production of it when the water was cold, for going in the ocean. For running from the sand to the sea and diving in and jumping up and between the waves. For picking us up and throwing us, for bodysurfing and for dunking and playing.

Mom and I were talking the other day about the water accident you and I had down in Brazil at the Itanhaem beach. I'm sure you haven't forgotten it--and like I could. I still have marks on my body 30 years later from that disaster. She has told me that you felt bad about it--I hope you don't anymore. How could you know that the devil was in the water and was fixing to take us out of this life that day through heavy-handed, incoming tide rogue waves? At least you were o.k., and I didn't drown, so we are good. I still love the water, though even after all of these years sometimes I still dream the ocean is coming for me.

Thank you for opening our imaginations with books and reading, storytelling, and singing, with sharing fables, myths, legends and tales from around the world. Thank you for reading out loud and singing in the car with mom late at night when we were travelling. I know all of the words to every song off of the American Graffitti soundtrack just because of our cross-country drive in 1976 to New Jersey.

Thank you for music and for art. I know you didn't always like everything I loved when I was a teen, but oh I loved everything you loved when it came to music. I have the Doors, the Beatles, Santana, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass Band, Queen, Sergio Mendes and Brazil 66, Tom Jobim, Gal Costa and so many, many more, not to mention a very particular appreciation for a well done soundtrack. Thank you for the piano lessons that I underutilized and didn't appreciate as much as I should have. Did you know I can play the Celtic Harp now? That is a new acquisition since you died. I've been playing for almost 3 years now and have now played twice in public, once for a group of 300 and once for a group of 600. If I wouldn't have been so worried about botching it, I might have peed my pants. Fortunately for me, neither did I botch or pee...I think you would be proud.

Thank you for languages and for my appreciation of them, and for giving me the opportunity to learn so many. Thanks for making sure that I went to good schools and for helping me learn so much.

Most of all though Dad...I miss being able to call you up and just say "Hey! Guess what happened??" or "Hi Dad--I wanted to ask your advice about..." or "Hey Papa San--I read this awesome book," or "I heard this great album" or " I learned about XYZ and I thought you'd be interested." Thank you for all of the great conversations we had through the years. I'm sorry there weren't more.

You were always a sounding board for my discoveries, and a comfort for my miseries.

Lastly, I wrote you a note today, here it is:

Hey Dad--
It still sucks that you're dead. It never changes. I love you.
Peek in every now and again...give me a cold chill, a "Boo," or something. Anything would be better than the silence of the void.
I miss you.