Partnered with an Englishman is nothing if not amusing to say the least.  We are indeed as different as night and day.  He’s suave, sophisticated, and smart.  Me on the other hand, well, I’m just a small town guy with simple tastes.  I’m not at all suave.  As a matter of fact, for the longest time I thought that word had two syllables.  Sophistication is completely lost on me.  But I suppose I’m smart alright – a smartass.  I could go on and on listing the differences, but it’s more easily summed up like this:  Mark drinks imported lager from a freshly chilled mug and I just swig beer right from the bottle.  Poor guy.  He could do much better. 

He’s somewhat of a celebrity here in our little town.  First it was because of his incredibly luscious English accent, but now that we’ve been here for a few years, it’s his genuinely warm yet reserved personality and incredibly quick wit that people take note of.  I know he always keeps me guessing. 

We pretty much divide the household chores evenly, which is only fair.  Mark is the one who cooks (thank God!), does the grocery shopping, and keeps our accounts in order.  I, on the other hand, am responsible for keeping house and garden in check.  This works out well, because to be honest, Mark is not really a ‘neat-nick’ and if he tries to deny it I’ll post incriminating pictures of his study and workshop to prove it!  I’m always picking up after him. When it comes to laundry, however, we usually take turns. 

This weekend, it was my turn to do the ironing.  There is usually quite an intimidating stack of shirts to press.  Dutifully, I set up the ironing board and dived in.  About two thirds down, I noticed a particular dark blue shirt of Mark’s that was once quite fine English made Egyptian cotton but after some ten years of wear has become, well, worn.  The cuffs and collar are threadbare, there is a sizable tear in the sleeve, and the once beautiful navy color has faded into a greyish blue.  Basically, it’s a rag.  So, I questioned Mark about the shirt. 

“Are you still wearing this shirt?”  I said. 

“Well, yes, only around the house.” Was his reply. 

“So it’s a work shirt, right?” 

“Yes.  Indeed.  It is a work shirt.  Something to wear when I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Uhm, okay, if it’s just a work shirt and you don’t plan on leaving the house wearing it then why do I have to press it?” 

“Well”, he said “I want to look nice, don’t I?”  

And this is precisely why I love that man.

Lily of the valley blooms beneath my bedroom window.  Its heavenly scent wafts into my nighttime.  I am reminded of much simpler and carefree days when I ran barefoot through the woods of my uncle’s farm.  After the chores where done, we – the hooligans – would run like wild apaches and climb trees and swing on wild grape vines.  Clinging to the vines like make shift Tarzans.

Innocent youth.  An endless outlet for our energies.

Teasing that mean old goat.  Riding horses bareback with wild abandon. 

My precious, innocent, honest youth.

I would trade anything to have that once again, but sadly, it is no longer.

My father is gone.  My uncle dead.  I don’t think of them. 

Instead, I smell the lily of the valley and just remember.    

We’re going to skip Haiku Friday this week, Sweeties.  I’m on sabbatical.  42 tomorrow.  Jesus. 

Hermann, Missouri

Sausages, polka, fine wine

German heritage

You remember the rules?  5-7-5 syllables of silly bull.  What's your haiku this friday? 

I’m so confused over the shootings at Virginia Tech.  The mind boggles as to why someone would commit such a heinous act.  I viewed the video and pictures that   Seung-Hui Cho made and it fills me with so much questioning and despair.  The odd thing is that in some ways, I can understand why he did what he did.

It’s a terrible and hurtful thing to be marginalized by society at large.  We all need some level of acceptance.  The need to feel a sense of inclusiveness is important.  We are societal creatures and need a certain level of acknowledgement.  Cho obviously did not have that, for whatever reason, and felt then that the world was against him.  That certainly in no way justifies his acts.  Absolutely not.  Of course not, but it does, for me, hammer home the idea that we need to be kinder and more gentle with each other.  We need to forgive petty misunderstandings and communicate and learn to accept and support each other.

We need to do better.

We need to understand each other.  We need to accept that each of us is doing the best that they know how.  We need to realize that if we knew how to live our lives better than we would.  We need to care for those who are mentally troubled.   

We need to communicate from a safe place.

We need to support, even though it might be challenging to do so.

We need to embrace and help those who are in pain to help them to a better place. 

We need to learn that no one is disposable. 

When you feel that someone wrongs you, the worst mistake you could make is to cut them off and ignore them.  We need to be bigger than that so that we can all improve, learn unconditional love, and elevate our species. 

We need to create a society where these sorts of acts are not even possible or mindful.

We need to do better.

I believe that if we perpetuated a sense of acceptance, love, and understanding we could in fact create a world where this sort of madness would not, could not ever happen again.  Too many innocent people have become victims.  Too many deaths.   

I challenge you.  Who is it that needs you to reach out and communicate and come to some sort of understanding?  Who needs your support now?  Who needs you to understand and offer unconditional friendship and love?

We need to stop this madness.  We need to correct this insanity.  We need to do it now.  

What are you waiting for?   

You all know about the construction going on at our hospital?  It’s a multimillion dollar project that will take about two to three years.  It’s pretty exciting.  We need it badly.  The building is in such disrepair.  But you can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs and it’s difficult for the hospital staff and the renovators to work around each other. 

I don’t mind all the noise.  I don’t mind having to park far off of the property and walk in.  I don’t mind the dirt and mess.  Why?  Because there are some extremely good looking manly men working bobcats, and tractors, and those digging thingies.  I finally have some eye candy around here!  Just this morning, I was in an employee benefits committee meeting and right outside the window were two rather hot construction men digging something or other up.  I have absolutely no idea what we talked about in the meeting as I gazed out the window and thought up a little story about two excavators and a scientist.  

On a related note:  The other day, we had a technician come into the laboratory to perform annual preventative maintenance on one of our instruments.  It’s just like your car – every once in a while, you have to get the oil changed and the tires rotated in order for it to keep running well.  (That reminds me . . .  I need to have my car serviced too.) 

The usual technician took a job change, and so we were sent a new guy with whom I had never met.  He had called a few days ago to confirm the appointment.  He sounded nice enough. 

Well, let me tell you, the guy is really good looking.  Tall, slender without being skinny, dark, thick hair that really laid “just right”, a brilliant smile that he liked to flash a lot, and the most interesting eyes I’ve seen in some time.  Sort of a cross between light brown and green.  Very intense. 

He and I stood discussing the performance of the instrument, any problems that we had noticed, calibration drifting, QC recovery, blah, blah, blah.  Stuff you probably don’t care about, but what I noticed was that he was smiling a lot, looking directly and intently into my eyes, and kept shifting himself to stand extremely close.  Now usually, I get pretty antsy when people invade my “space”.  I like to keep a healthy bubble around me.  For some reason I didn’t feel uncomfortable with this guy at all.  I suppose it was the constant smiling or the look in his eyes that seemed to say that he genuinely liked me and that made me more comfortable.  I don’t know. 

Okay, so he was flirting a little and I’ll admit that I liked it.  It’s not like I would ever allow anything to happen.  First of all, I’m attached.  Secondly, I’m at work.  But I did like the attention.  Now that I’m older and not such a hot little trick that I once was, coupled with the fact that there aren’t any other gay men that I know of in a forty mile radius, means I don’t get hit on or flirted with very often.  So it was nice to get the attention.  I ended up smiling for the rest of the day. 

I love the fact that we now have all this testosterone around here.  Being around these nice looking guys makes me feel nice and nicer looking and that’s a nice feeling indeed.  

Sometimes you just have to stop, take a breath, take a break.  For some, prayer, a form of meditation, helps to quiet the mind and ease the heart.  My favorite rosary set is made of gold and the beads are green malachite.  It was blessed by the diocese bishop.  It is nimble in my fingers as I work through the prayers and consider the holy mysteries.

Hail Mary, Full of Grace, 

I allow my body to relax and release the tension that I feel.

The Lord is with thee. 

I concentrate on the prayers and one by one the worries that trouble me leave my mind for a while.

Blessed art thou among women, 

For a while, I can forget the troubles that surround my home.

Blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. 

For a while, I can forget the problems and stresses of my work.

Holy Mary, 

For a while, I can forget those people who cause me pain and unhappiness.

Mother of God, 

33 innocent people murdered in cold blood.

Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death. 

I can’t seem to stop thinking of that, however.  I just can’t seem to wrap my brain around this senseless, meaningless, act.  I can only ask, “why?”  What causes people to do these things?  And I can only ask that God bless and be with the survivors and family members of those killed.    

Amen.

Friday the thirteenth

When inept poets gather

Creating bromide

 You remember the rules?  5-7-5 syllables of sily bull.  What's yours?

The day was a long one spent more as a firefighter than usual.  It seemed as if the telephone summoned every 10 minutes followed by yet another knock at the door.  Problems.  Issues.  Concerns.  Requests for information.  Some days are like that, you know?  It just wears you out. 

The short drive home was also tedious.  Since the road closure of highway 100, the traffic doubles as it detours on my usual route home.  I grit my teeth and bear it because I really have no control over it and I’m certain the detour isn’t pleasant for them either. 

Once home, the solitude of the house greets me.  I set my satchel down after pulling some paperwork that I’ll have to work on tonight.  Wallet, keys, watch, glasses, mobile phone – all put in their respective places on the kitchen counter to wait until morning when they will be summoned again.  I grab a beer bottle, change my trousers, and head out of doors to the back porch. 

The birds are returning.  I spot a tufted titmouse, a woodpecker, cardinals, and finches.  I wonder if I will see my favorite indigo bunting soon.  They congregate around a busy feeder taunting a nearby squirrel who can’t reach but has to sneak seed from the ground.  It’s warmish and there is a slight breeze that freshens the air and beckons me to explore the acreage of trees that surrounds my house.  Knowing that the ground will be wet and spongy, I change my shoes and put on my old barn jacket.  The one that is faded and worn around the cuffs and has a hole in the left pocket.

The ground is wet but the fallen leaves are dry and the combination makes an interesting harmony to my ear.  The canopy hasn’t leafed out yet, so it is still quite bright even though the sun wears a veil of clouds today.  The farther I retreat into the woods, the closer I come to my inner self.  The one that is too often neglected because of responsibility.  About an acre and a half in, there is a corridor of sorts.  A clearing where there sits a huge and ancient boulder that is covered in wild fern and moss.  It is cool to the touch and on very hot days, I like to trek to this favorite place in my forest and cool my naked body against it.  I will not disrobe today, but rather I will perch atop my rock and close my eyes so that I might have a silent conversation. 

Rain lightly spits from the clouds and is quite refreshing on my face.  I thank God for blessings, protection, and guidance.  I ask for my relationships with those three important friends to be healed and blessed.  I wish so much to be accepted into that group.  If this will ever happen, I don’t know, but I ask for it anyway.  I laugh at myself for sounding like a 14 year old girl.

I contemplate soon to be 42 years of age.  In one sense, I feel so very old and unattractive.  In quite another I remember that my granddad lived to be 97 which would mean that I may not even be at the halfway mark yet.  I make a vow to start living my life with purpose rather than just existing. 

I remember that I should be hitting the gym more often than I have been.  And maybe join that yoga class I’ve been putting off.

Mostly, I just sit in the quiet with the mist bathing my face and just be still.  I want to linger in this place for a while longer before making my way back to the “real world”.