Tag: marriage

Forgiveness

Can you ever forgive yourself? Is it even possible to really forgive one of your transgressions and fully move on? Forgiving yourself is harder than forgiving someone else. We can look at another person’s faults and misgivings, come up with a hundred reasons why they did what they did and forgive them for it. It may take a while to move on, but eventually we accept the misdeed or error in judgment by someone else and get on with our lives and relationships. So why is it so hard for us to forgive our own missteps? Do we have higher expectations of our selves than others or is it that we look at a lapse in judgment as an insurmountable failure?

I am not proud of my youth. I have done some really stupid things growing up. I made a lot of bad decisions born out of low self-esteem and when something jogs a memory I still cringe inwardly. I look back into the past with loathing for my actions. Granted I was a stupid teenager then and am well into my fifties now, but something about that time in my life still haunts me. There are so many regrets and a desire for a do over, knowing the outcome would probably still be the same, but that doesn’t stop the wishing.

I didn’t kill anybody or maliciously try to hurt others; my transgressions were all directed at me. I wish I had pushed myself more in school, gone to college, had some direction, instead of going along with the aimless mindset of a self-absorbed teenager. I thought that if a boy paid attention to me it meant he loved me. It took me a few years to figure out what real love was.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my life, my husband, children and my friends, but I wish I could have been better. I wish I had made smarter decisions and wiser choices, not the bonehead mistakes that I can’t seem to put in the past forever. I know I’m not the person I was then; I don’t need validation from anyone else now. The validation has to come from me and grant me the forgiveness of my past sins.

When I look back over the years of my adulthood there have been many great accomplishments. My husband who I love with all of my heart, my two sons, who are all grown up and have families of their own, a daughter that I didn’t give birth to, but love as much and a few truly special friends that I would walk through fire for. These are all the best part of me, the today me.

So what is it about those short seven years of my life that haunt me more than the thirty plus years since? How do I absolve myself, move on and truly face the future with hope and resolve? I can’t answer that, but I am working on it.

Surprises

Yesterday we went to see a play. Something I had never done. Oh I had been to dinner theater ages ago, but I’ve never gone to see a real play. So this was to be a new experience. And ladies surprise, it was Mitch that suggested it not me. He had read the review in the newspaper and was intrigued so he suggested it to me. I’m pretty much game for anything so it didn’t matter what the topic was, but I read the review too and said sure why not. The play was being run at a local theater house, “Unicorn Theater”. I went online to their website read about the venue and future offerings. The plays looked a bit offbeat, not stuffy at all. I went ahead and purchased tickets online and printed them out.

The play we were going to see was “Venus in Fur” and the paper reviewer had written that it was a bit kinky with bondage, leather and whips. I was really surprised that Mitch wanted to go. Mitch is not in to debauchery, me, well I’m always up for a bit of debauchery. Maybe more than a bit, but I’m not telling.

We decided to go to the Sunday matinee, thinking that it wouldn’t be very crowded and were immediately surprised that it was almost a packed house. Imagine that, all the seats filled on a Sunday afternoon, in the middle of the day, who knew plays were so popular. The next surprise was that the majority of the patrons were female and even more, elderly. We were the youngest in the crowd. There were more canes in the house than in an old folk’s home. I had no idea there were so many elderly women that were into kinky. It makes you wonder what goes on behind those lace curtains, doesn’t it?

The play started off sedately enough but soon the “F” word was flying around repeatedly. Me, I wasn’t offended because I can fling it with the best of them, but these women were my mother and grandmother’s ages. I would never say the “F” word in front of my mom, not if I wanted to keep my teeth. I looked around to see all the faces with the shocked disapproving looks and was completely floored that all of these women were laughing and slapping their legs at the raucous bawdy humor. I guess I need to get out more.

The play progressed to partial nudity, black leather spiked dog collar, black lace bra and garter complete with black stockings. And this was what the actress wore before she donned the sheer white nineteenth century gown. It was distracting for me to see the black under the prim and proper white gown. I’m pretty sure that was the point and it succeeded. The play was engrossing and held the audience in rapt attention all the way to the surprise ending.

We really enjoyed ourselves so much that I think there may be more plays in our future, and who knows, maybe more kink.

What a Couple of Fair Weather Sissies!

My chair has been bashed for the third time now and I have almost been knocked out of it twice, all because these two hooligans have decided it’s game on. When Charlie and Orso go at it, furniture gets moved whether it’s occupied or not. It is eighty-five degrees outside and these two sissies think the only place that they can play and wrestle is in the house. At almost nine years old, Charlie is a tad on the cranky side most of the time and won’t play with Orso. Orso who is the perennial puppy is always up for a free for all, so when Charlie is in the mood Orso will take advantage of every moment of neck chewing he can get.

Normally the wrestling only lasts for five or ten minutes tops, but tonight this has been going on now for twenty minutes. There is lots of heavy panting, but no one is giving an inch of ground. Barking, snarling and bodies leaping on and off the bed, means a good time is being had by all. Mitch has been trying fruitlessly to stay out of the line of fire, but it’s not working. He’s been bowled over twice now. I call a time out when one of them grabs the edge of my rug in his teeth and wants to play tug of war. Nothing is safe from the jaws of death around here.

After twenty five minutes Charlie has finally called a truce and both have tongues hanging all the way to the floor. A quick drink and both collapsed on the floor to cool off. Now I just have to cross my fingers that maybe they will both sleep all night long and not come nudge me in the middle of the night to see if I’m awake.

Cramping My Style

Work is cramping my style. I have been swamped at work lately. So busy, that I have been going in an hour early every day and working through lunch just to keep up. That extra hour of early time means that I don’t get to do any writing and of course when I have no time to spend writing, I have lots of great story ideas. All of these ideas come when I’m either walking the dogs, taking a shower or doing something else that entails my hands being otherwise occupied and there is no paper or pen around so I can at least jot down an idea. Then just like a dog seeing a squirrel, I start something else and totally forget what I wanted to say. I have no idea how many story ideas that I’ve lost and are floating around in the mishmash of my brain among all of the other things I’ve forgotten, like where I put the electric bill.

What I need is a thought activated idea recorder that will record my random thoughts, organize them into complete sentences and write a finished polished story. I could then take my idea recorder, plug it into the computer and download this wonderful story. What a superb product this would be. Every writer I know would have one. Sadly I know of no such gadget or believe me I would be the first to own one.

But back to my original thought, work is definitely getting in the way of my writing. (See what I mean about “squirrel”? One minute I’m focused the next off on another tangent.) The audacity of a company in the business of making a profit through the labor of their employees, said company shows its’ appreciation by paying us a salary and actually expects us to work and earn that salary. Can you believe it? Actually work to receive my paycheck? Oh man, the unfairness of it all. But I really like eating, I’m not the starving artist type, so I go in and work every day giving it my all, so for now I have to squeeze out my writing time when I can, right along with my work out time, which isn’t getting done on a regular basis either.

Orso, Orso, Orso What am I Going to do with You?

Orso is trying to kill me, or at least maim me. This morning as I was waiting for Mitch to come out to the car so I could take him to work as I do every morning, I reached over the driver’s seat to pet Orso when he turned sideways pinning my arm against him and the barrier bars separating the front seat and the back section of the station wagon. He leaned against the bars crushing my arm, invoking a string of foul language and screeching on my part. It hurt deep down to the bone, I was amazed my arm wasn’t broken.

Of course that would have changed our plans for the morning and I wasn’t dressed for a trip to the emergency room. I hadn’t showered yet or put on any makeup, definitely not a pretty picture at four in the morning. I could see the whole scenario in the emergency room now.

The first question would be, “Are you in an abusive relationship?” and the nurse would look sideways at Mitch.

I would hesitate and say, “Yes I’m definitely in an abusive relationship, but not him. It’s my dog that beats me up.”

The nurse wouldn’t believe me and call in a counselor and then the whole day would be shot which would put Mitch in a foul mood, getting him arrested. Then after I get my cast I would have to go the ATM and get money to bail him out, go to court and try to explain why it wasn’t Mitch. I’m not sure that I would be allowed to take Orso into court as evidence, but anyone that owns a big lunkhead like him would believe me.

Luckily for all of us, Orso didn’t break my arm, but I am sporting a huge knot and a bruise that runs across my foreman. That dog is out to get me.

I’m Married to a Ten Year Old Boy

Don’t get me wrong, I love Mitch with a passion and ninety percent of the time he acts like any normal man in his sixties. He takes his responsibilities seriously, has a strong work ethic and for the most part makes good decisions. If you ask almost everyone that knows Mitch, they will tell you he’s an old soul. He is usually pretty serious, doesn’t smile much, which scares a lot of people. He’s reserved and holds himself back a bit around people. Mitch is definitely not in the group labeled that the collective IQ drops when a bunch of guys get together. But every once in a while the ten year old boy comes out to play.

Because we pheasant hunt, we own bird dogs which require daily exercise. Our walks include both dogs sniffing the ground checking the scents left behind by other animals. Squirrels, raccoons and possums beware; these two will sniff them out and if we let them, will give chase. Squirrels run in fear because Charlie is fast enough and has caught and killed a few; Orso goes along for the ride. Geese are another favorite that the dogs love to chase. As long as the geese are not nesting, it is legal to harass geese with dogs in order to make the area less desirable to them. Geese are pretty lazy and will stay around and take over an area if not managed by different means, such as egg shaking and using dogs to make the geese fly. You can’t let your dog attack and kill them, though.

The ten year old boy thought that it was pretty cool to let the dogs chase the geese and make them fly. Well the geese only flew as far as the lake and landed in the water. That did not stop the dogs, only slowed them down a bit. Charlie and Orso jumped right in and started swimming after the geese. The geese swam up and down the lake with the dogs in hot pursuit and refused to come back when called. The two just kept swimming away after the geese to the other end of the lake. Problem one – Mitch discovered that there was no way he could get to the other end as quickly as the geese and the dogs would. Problem two – how would he get to other end quick enough to catch the dogs? Mitch had to run home jump in the station wagon and drive to the other side of the lake. He got there just in time to see the geese and the dogs turn around and start back the way they came. The ten year old boy quickly figured out that the dogs would drown from exhaustion if he couldn’t get them to come out of the water. This meant that he might have to jump in and swim out to them. Mitch finally caught Charlie’s attention and coaxed him to shore, with Orso following. I had two very tired dogs and one husband in the dog house.

One of our neighbors put a deer target out in his front yard propped up against a small tree. The start of our walk yesterday morning was just about sunrise still fairly dark, and the dogs didn’t notice anything, but on the way home the sun had come up and was a lot brighter out. Charlie saw the deer first and froze just staring at the deer; Orso swung around and saw what had captured Charlie’s eye. Both dogs stood stock still waiting for the deer to make a move so they could give chase. Of course Mitch encouraged Charlie to get a closer look, just like a little kid. Charlie lunged at the deer causing Orso to follow suit. The deer statue didn’t move, the dogs felt foolish and now I had a ten year old boy rolling on the ground laughing at the prank. All I could do was stand there, shake my head and roll my eyes.

The Sultan of Slobber

The other day I was sitting on the bench at the end of the bed putting on my shoes when I glanced up and saw a long brown streak on the wall a little higher than eye level. I walked over to get a better look and figure out what it was. You can imagine the look on my face when I realized it was dried dog slobber. Gross! Of course this isn’t the first time I’ve found dried dog drool on the walls, it is almost a daily occurrence around here. Ever since we brought Orso home we’ve had this phenomenon. So you’d think I would be used to finding it by now, but every time I spot a new blob of drool, I get grossed out.

I’m pretty sure there is a Saint Bernard hiding in that Labrador body. I’ve never seen a dog drool quite as much as him. Orso will be walking along and drool will be hanging down swaying back and forth with each step getting longer and longer. The long tendril will even pick up stray debris and add to the drool creating a sort of anchor at the end. It’s really disgusting looking. Mitch will take his shoe and knock it off, no big deal, but not me, I do not want that anywhere near me. I’ll take a twig to try and snag it, but I am not going to touch it with any part of my anatomy, unh huh no way. Yuck! I am pretty sure it is some sort of toxic waste or something like that.

What amazes me the most is how in the world it ends up splattered on the furniture, the walls and occasionally me. That is probably the grossest feeling in the world getting hit with flying drool. My stomach usually turns over a couple of times when that happens. Then I rush to go bathe.

Now my life is reduced to doing daily wall checks, where I walk around each room and check for fresh slobber shrapnel. I have found it as high as above the door jam, how he got it almost seven feet high amazed us both, but it usually is about five foot off the ground that I find most of Orso’s weapons. There is nothing more embarrassing than washing down all the walls and as soon as someone stops by the first thing anybody sees is the remains of a fresh nasty slobber blob at eye level.

That’s my dog.

Wanted: A Big Honkin Guard Dog

We have a prowler. I made this disturbing discovery last evening when I went outside to water the tomatoes. I found a beer can in my garden outside our bedroom window and a cigar butt about five away from the beer can. The beer can still had about a quarter of beer left in it and the cigar had been smoked down to about two inches left. It still had the cigar band on it. So somebody stood outside our bedroom drank beer and smoked a cigar, and our two “watch” dogs never made a peep.

Can you believe it? There is somebody out there that has the nerve to stand outside our house drinking beer and smoke cigars, or maybe I should say the stupidity to stand outside drinking beer and smoke cigars. What did they think they would see? The windows are closed and the blinds are drawn, it’s summer, moron. It is hot outside, the air conditioner is on.

But more importantly, our pampered pooches didn’t make a sound. No they were sound asleep in our bed snoring away. Charlie snores louder than Mitch and Orso sleeps like a puppy, totally unconscious. I’m not going to get any help from Mitch either, because he can sleep through a gun shot, so I either become a lighter sleeper or get a bigger dog.

So I think I might place an ad in the paper:

“Wanted” A big honkin guard dog. Looking for the biggest, baddest, watchdog. One with fangs three inches long and jaws with a two thousand pound crushing force. One that can run faster than a speeding bullet and jump higher than six feet (I figure the creep can’t be too tall) and have an impact force of a runaway freight train.

Maybe if I get a dog to fit that description no one will come and hang out in the dark again

Naked!

The boot is off! I am a free woman. Oh what to do, what to do? Now I can do all the things that I have put off for nine weeks. Now I can go get a pedicure, go shoe shopping, do all those mundane glorious chores that I haven’t done for the last nine weeks. I can get back to hiking, working in the yard and walking the dogs among all of the other things on my to do list. Right now even vacuuming sounds fun, sick huh?

After a two hour surgery, five screws and a plate, thirty-six stitches with bones moved and removed and nine weeks of recovery, I am finally completely healed. My doctor said I did awesome on the healing and recovery. He asked if I brought a shoe and I pulled out a pair of three inch strappy sandals and said that I was planning on wearing them home. He looked at me like I was nuts, and I said that it was a joke, that I had brought many pairs to try on. We settled on the mate to the one I already had on

What I couldn’t believe was how weak my leg is and how tender the bottom of my foot is. I went to stand up and my left leg almost collapsed from the weight and pressure. My foot is still a bit swollen and my toes sort of jut upwards, but the doctor has assured me that they will lie down as I walk more. Toes pointing towards the ceiling, cute huh? I have been walking around in a walking boot for seven weeks and thought that shedding the boot and going back to shoes would be a piece of cake. Not so, this is going take bit of time getting back to a hundred percent. I guess this means I’m not running in a marathon next week.

Poor Frankenboot, what should I do with him? Maybe we’ll have a giant bonfire and burn Frank in effigy, Viking style or have him bronzed like parents used to do to baby’s first shoe. Or on a more practical note, maybe I should save him for future use. At the rate I’m going, I’m pretty sure I will probably break something in the future that would require a walking cast. I could even sell it on EBay and maybe get ten dollars for a slightly used black neoprene walking boot.

You have no idea how excited I am to be mobile again. I feel like I’m coming out of a kind of suspended state where most of my life has been on hold and in reality I guess it has, I’ve spent most of my energy healing. Now I’m ready to get back to full steam ahead, even if I have to take it a little slower than I originally planned.

It’s the Little Things

It’s the little things that count the most. The unexpected thoughtful acts say, “I love you” more than flowers or flashy jewelry. I’m talking about the most mundane daily actions, like bringing a cup of coffee to your partner, just because you made one for yourself. Simple thoughtful, considerate boring actions that truly say, “I love you.”

I know that Mitch loves me, he has to, to put up with me but that’s beside the point. It wasn’t until my foot surgery and total dependence on him, did I realize just how much. He could have gone through the motions and did only what was necessary, take care of the dogs, feed me and chauffeur me around. He didn’t, Mitch did the little things, the deeds that you don’t notice until one time it gets missed and you realize how special it is and how much you depend on him.

Since my foot surgery, I have to shower in the guest bath, because it has a walk-in shower stall, easy access for me. And every morning Mitch carries over my hair turban before I get in the shower so I don’t have to crutch back across the house with wet drippy hair. I don’t see him do it, the turban is just there when I get out of the shower. I never even asked him to do that for me, he just did it. What man would care or even notice that a woman would want a hair turban to make a difficult experience a little easier to deal with? This is just one example of so many silly mundane acts that Mitch does without being asked.

This says more about someone than all the expensive gifts in the world. This says that he’ll be here through thick and thin, good and bad and especially when I’m at my worst and can’t even take care of me. I think this what the great marriages and relationships all have in common, sensing what the other needs or helps make their day a bit more comfortable and easier to get through a difficult situation. I am truly lucky to have him in my life.

I guess I’ll have to step up my game when I shed the boot.