My Heart Yearns for You.....

The promise of spring, it teases me.

The daffodils are opening

yet I remain reticent,

for you have taunted me with promise

only to blanket me with frost.

I will not call out to you or

plead for your grace.

I need you to come of your own desire

and inhabit me with commitment.

Commitment is what transforms a promise into reality. It is the words that speak boldly of your intentions. And the actions which speak louder than the words. It is making the time when there is none. Coming through time after time after time, year after year after year. Commitment is the stuff character is made of; the power to change the face of things. It is the daily triumph of integrity over skepticism.

~ Abraham Lincoln

Artwork by Joye Tilton

Love and Marriage - Hope and Heartbreak

Writing about all the good guys my girlfriends have married has set my mind on a quest. Exactly how does one know when they’ve found a Cary Grant and are not instead being fooled by an Archibald Leach in costume? I’m also pondering how all these marriages last when we, as the human species, have our good qualities our not so good, rather ugly stuff that surfaces now and then.

I wrote my “good guy” post to offer hope to my girlfriend who has been struggling with defining the need for a man in her life. I wanted her to see all the good in the world and convince her she deserved the same. Instead, she read it and cried – and it wasn’t a good kind of cry, it was the other one. This is my second effort with a little more heartfelt honesty and a lot less spiritual, universal froo froo.

How do all of my happily married friends handle it when they have a bad fight or wake up each morning to the same guy with messy hair and bad breath? How does all this happily ever after fit into reality? In other words, how do they fucking do it?

I recently realized almost every couple I know who have been married for 25 plus years are of the Catholic faith. Is it religious belief that holds them together? I suppose fear of the Pope or burning in hell has saved quite a few marriages but I don’t think that’s the answer I’m seeking.

I was married to one of the good guys and I left him. I was bored out of my mind, dying on the vine and eager for more out of life. My good guy wasn’t good enough.

Before Seinfeld, we were all expected to stay with our partners for better or worse. Seinfeld spoofed the impetuous, relative ease with which we tend to hastily declare - NEXT. His character sacrificed a plethora of seemingly perfect love interests based upon trivial infractions such as not tasting his apple pie, being liked by his parents, laughing strangely, having man hands or the eternally classic, eating her peas one at a time.

I have to admit I turned down a second date with a guy once because I knew I could never live with that annoying laugh.

A little online research led me to find the following "official" list of reasons when it’s time to call it quits:

1. You can't be yourself with your partner.
2. You feel that the relationship is smothering you emotionally, socially, or spiritually.
3. You sense there are differences in values, beliefs, and life goals.
4. One of you is moving a distance away.
5. You find yourself outgrowing the person.
6. You're in an emotionally, physically, or sexually abusive relationship.

Thank heavens we have an official list but what happens when your boyfriend’s hot temper scares you but he’s not emotionally abusive or what do you do if your kids don’t get along? What if during a fight, one person is allowed to say enough is enough but when the other person doesn’t want to pick up the phone to talk, they are accused of immature behavior. Is this trivial, like eating your peas one at a time or is it more like peas and carrots, which contrary to Forest Gump, really don't belong together. In other words, is this enough to break-up?

Blended family issues are not discussed in the reasons to break up I found online. What happens when you’re asked to leave in the middle of a date because his daughter is having an issue; yet he refuses to sit in the back seat when she’s dealing with her emotionally distraught son. Or, he speaks up, telling her children what he thinks of their behavior while she has chosen to remain quiet and non confrontational about all the head games his kids are playing.

And what if we just don’t have enough patience to stay calm and work through contention, preferring instead to walk away from someone that may very well be one of the good ones? As for my girlfriend, I understand why she’s enduring such an arduous task, convincing herself of the need for a man in her life. When you live a life filled with work, kids and bouts of enormous stress, it is challenging to add someone to that. But it takes an effort of Herculean proportion to want them to stick around when their ugly stuff surfaces.

It begs the question, is it worth it? Does she want the better and the worse? What if the good guy she finds decides he doesn’t want the better if he has to deal with the worse? What if they are both too independent to really allow someone into their lives? And by “allow”, I mean willing to change behaviors that hurt them, drop the baggage being carried in from previous relationships and work together to achieve mutual goals.

That’s it. That’s what my successfully married friends have figured out.

It takes work.

And work takes desire.

Do those of us that are still single, dumping people in a Seinfeld-esque manner, want to remain carefree, fun-loving people who will never live the lives our parents lived?

Or do we desire a life-long relationship where work and a healthy dose of patience is required?

Well, my friend…do we?

The Conclusion of the Rear-Ender Offender

When I told #1Son about the incident, he said holy cow mom, your description of that old geezer reminds me of Frodo's uncle who turns all crazy and mean after being asked to give up the ring. He couldn't have been more spot on because suddenly, I was staring deep into the watery eyes of a man possessed.  Bilbo Baggins for sure.

Good thing I'm used to dealing with douche bags.  Even old ones.

I cannot say the same thing for him. As I began to size him up, studying him from head to toe, observing his clothing and mannerisms, taking copious notes of my opponent, I realized he was a man who was quite accustomed to pushing people around. He was not dressed in the customary 80 year old man, pants up to his nipples ensemble. He was a power monger.

Driving around in his newer model red Caddy, wearing his perfectly creased Brooks Brothers blue and white striped dress shirt with white cuffs held together by what can only be described as old man bling. I kid you not, his cuff links were emerald shaped aquamarine or possibly blue topaz boulders. I'm surprised his frail little arms could hold those things up.

I'm fairly certain he must have been relieved when he saw he had smacked into a woman. I'll just stand here in front of her bumper, tell her everything is okay and she'll believe me. Oh look, she's got curly red hair and she's wearing a lacy, delicate feminine sweater.  Even better, he thinks. She's not a feminist, she looks like someone who has been taught to respect their elders and act like a lady.  She looks like a woman who knows her place. Piece of cake, he thought, I'll be back on the road driving recklessly in no time.

As we now stood in front of the officer, telling two very different sides of the story, he kept looking at me as if he didn't understand why I would be upset. This was the most puzzling aspect. It was either pure evil in its truest form or some form of dementia was at work. In my moment of very un-zen like rage, I chose to believe he was a pompous ass who had picked on people his entire life.

The policeman informed us without an independent witness, he could not take one side or the other. He would write both sides into his report and let everyone go without a fine or citation.  Essentially, he said your insurance companies will fight it out - it's the law here in the cheese state. Oh, and get this, they don't ask you for proof of insurance. We are one of only two states that allow uninsured motorists to roam the streets at their leisure.  Positively, unbelievably, fucking delightful.

When the PoPo went to his car to write up the paperwork, I decided to venture on over to Bilbo-bling-daddy and let him know exactly what I thought of his behavior. Drawing from my very best dignified, steady and precise Julia Sugarbaker impersonation, I strolled up to him in a friendly manner and said, "Sir, may I ask you a question?"

Of course, I didn't care or even wait for a reply.

I am wondering how you sleep at night? When you close your eyes, do you have trouble falling asleep or do you sleep like an innocent baby, free from any thought of guilt or remorse? Tell me, do you do this often? How many other people have you hit lately. Have you hurt any small children with your 3,000 pound weapon of mass destruction? Do you have many children and grandchildren?

My children and grandchildren are of no concern to you, he protested as he folded his arms in front of him with righteous indignation. 

I was just asking because I am wondering how you look them in the eyes knowing their beloved role model is nothing but a lying old sack of bones, willing to hurt other people to protect his own worthless ass. My mom and dad raised me to be honest by example. Can you say the same for your own kids. Did they turn out okay or are they as fucked up as you are?

I will not allow you to speak to me that way. Who do you think you are talking to me like that?

I'll tell you who I am.  I am your worst nightmare.  You will wake up at night and think about me and when you do, I want you to remember, I'm a single mom who works a full time job to do the best I can raising four children.  It's not easy but I get up and I do it every single day. I'm the woman who just purchased this car three weeks ago because my other car was not safe to drive in the snow. I'm the woman who will not rest until I have your license revoked in the state of Wisconsin. That's who I am. Now, if you don't want to have this on your conscience, you get over there and you tell that policeman the TRUTH!

The cop can hear me now as he is walking toward us with our driver's licenses in hand. He turned to me first and calmly explained he already knew the truth. He said he knew I hadn't backed into him, like duh, that's pretty obvious. Then he looked at the old guy and said, "Sir, do you realize you're driving with a suspended license?"


Post Script: He's a slickster alright. A record check revealed a long list of violations and when I say long, I mean 25. Some were for traffic issues, speeding, failing to stop at a stop sign, passing on a hill or curve, while others were for evictions, tax warrants, small claims and large law suits. Apparently, he used to live on Lake Drive, which translated for non-Milwaukee readers means he was living in luxury in the wealthiest area of the city with a view of Lake Michigan out his window. He now lives in a condo in  Waukesha and drives a red Cadillac with a damaged front bumper and hood. He was able to pay $50.00 to reinstate his license so he is still at large. He was insured however, so my agent is going to fight to get me covered under his policy. I haven't figured out how just yet but I do plan to take action to get him off the roads for good. In speaking with a police officer friend, I was told the police have to catch him in the act of a violation then require him to go in for a driver's test and reevaluation. Hmmm.  Wonder how I could arrange that, any ideas??

The Case of the Rear-Ender Offender

There I was, dangling in the middle of one of those busy highway intersections where you have to cross three lanes of traffic, then wait in the median for traffic to clear from the other direction, enjoying a picture perfect, practically unprecedented April 1st here in typically cold-until-freakin'-July, Milwaukee. I had just purchased my fast food lunch at Sonic; opting to grab and go instead of eating in my designated stall with the other throngs of people who were there enjoying the weather. The traffic was thick. I hunkered there in my beautiful new car purchased three weeks ago, with plenty of time to pop a tater tot or two when WHAM!

It took me a few minutes to figure out what had happened. Wait, where am I? I thought, as I tried not to choke on a tater tot. Then he appeared at my window. He was old, 83 to be exact. He looked sad, slightly confused and visibly disoriented. With his watery eyes and mumbling voice, he apologized profusely, holding his hand to his heart.

I'm so sorry, he said.  It was totally my fault, I didn't see you at all, I was looking the other way and didn't see you, I'm so sorry. You didn't do anything, you were just sitting there and I honestly did not see you at all. I'm very, very sorry. Looks like there's no damage but I'm so sorry, he said with his hand still resting over his heart.

Well, anyone who knows me knows I have always been a sucker for the old timers. My mom and dad used to tell me one day I would grow up to work in geriatrics because of my constant concern for their well being. I clearly recall them telling me I wouldn't mind cleaning up their soiled sheets.

Thanks for having such high aspirations for me.

I guess I couldn't blame them for their conclusions. It wasn't uncommon for me to see an elderly woman in the grocery store and run to offer my assistance to reach the upper shelves or stop to steady an old man making his way across a parking lot. When my grandmother was placed in a nursing home, I would sit and visit with all the residents (except for that dirty old guy that would chase me down the hall in his wheelchair mumbling something about big boobies) because they craved me (and not in the way the dirty old man craved me), they needed someone to talk with and my heart was soft and open for them.

As I watched this shaky old man on Friday, I immediately felt so bad, I got out of the car saying things like, sweetie, don't you worry about it......are you okay.....are you hurt.....is there someone I can call for you honey?

No, I'm fine and it looks like there's no damage to your car so you don't have to worry about anything.

Okay sweetie, I said.  But listen, I just got this car so I'd like to take a closer look and see for myself, if you don't mind.

Oh, I already looked it over, he said while standing directly in front of my right rear bumper. There's no damage at all.

At this point, I gently placed my hand on his shoulder and moved him out of the way while bending down to take a closer look at my busted bumper with a deep gash, a few dents and some paint scratches.  Well I'll be, this affable old man couldn't have lied to me.  He just can't see very well, I mean after all, he didn't see a large Mazda CX9, one of the largest vehicles of its type with three rows that seat 7 people. If he can't see that, then he most likely couldn't see the damages.

Listen sir, I would feel more comfortable if we call the police so I can have a report for my insurance company.

There's no need to call the police, they won't even come to investigate something this minor. I will give you all of my information, my drivers license, my insurance carrier, I will take care of everything for you. The police cannot respond to every little fender bender. Let's pull out of this busy intersection and I will give you everything you need.

This made a lot of sense as we were in the middle of a six lane highway, with cars turning in all directions around us. It didn't feel safe. All we needed was to have more cars piling up. I agreed to move to the bank parking lot across the street but I told him I would need to take his drivers license with me.

What, you say? Why was I suddenly leery of this beloved citizen of the senior persuasion? Let's just say, once again at the age of 46, I have learned to listen to my instincts. Thank the heavenly stars above. My 20 year old self would have hugged him and told him to be more careful while sending him on his merry way.

He pulled into the bank parking lot and proceeded to park his bright red Cadillac sedan perpendicularly across the only two drive-through lanes the bank had, cutting off full access. By the time I turned my car around to get to the bank, he had a bank employee at his window, asking him to move. He sat there for a good little while, with his quivering hands and sodden eyes obviously telling her of his accident. I could see her heart bleeding from two rows away.

I called the police.

After he found a real parking place, he came up to my window to give me his information. When I told him I had called the police, I witnessed the emergence of a new character.  Suddenly my helpless, decrepit old man turned into a belligerent, raving crackpot who was either in a terrible hurry as he had been insisting or he had something to hide.

I dropped the tender affection immediately and with my best raised, calm, clear and slow, mom means business voice, I said,

"step....away.....from.....my.....car......NOW".

He took a step back, looking shocked, appalled and unsteady again. Why would you talk to me that way, he said, as his wide eyes began to look all gray, red and moist again.

I rolled up the window and called my insurance agent. The very same woman I had spoken to such a short time ago to tell her I got a new car. She was commiserating with me when he came back to the window and told me he refused to wait any longer. My agent told me to get out of the car and get his license plate number as he could be charged for leaving the scene. She could hear everything he was saying. She told me to be careful. Even over the phone, two cities away, he didn't sound right to her.

I grabbed my ever present small notebook where I jot down blog ideas or inspirational thoughts and began to take down his license plate number. I asked him to give me his name, address, phone number, and insurance information. He refused at first but when we saw the police officer turning into the lot, he began to cooperate. I got everything down except the policy number when the officer came up to us to begin his questioning.

Gramps proceeded to get uncomfortably close to the officer, positioning himself between us, with his head turned, speaking directly into his ear with that sad, old, shaky, helpless voice said, "I was just sitting there officer, and she backed right into me".

(To be continued......)