MUSINGS

This is part two in the balance of catharsis. My father was married for several years and had four sons with his first wife.  After around 15 years of putting up with each other, they called it quits, she remarried almost immediately, he moved on to bachelorhood for a few years.  Roughly 5 years after his divorce he met my mother, courted her, married her and the rest is history.  Now my mom is 16 years younger than my father, therefore roughly 12-13 years younger than his former wife.  After they'd been married for a couple of years, mom had my sister to keep her company while my dad was at work.  She'd get calls from his ex raging at her, sometimes for hours.  Mom said after the first couple of times it happened, she would simply put the phone down and go play with my sister or clean the house.  She'd come back after an hour or so and eventually ex would have yelled herself out and hang up.  Now why on Gaia's green Earth would a woman, who had voluntarily divorced

When someone comes into your life that has a shady past yet refuses to acknowledge it, it kind of grinds on a body.  Maybe I'm just jaded, or maybe I'm just too old for bullshit.  I'm sure it's a mix of the two.  It's no secret that I have no love for seemingly privileged folk, or those who believe themselves to be more than the truly are.  Mine is a constant effort to be exactly what I am, nothing more, nothing less.  Others are not so inclined.  There are women in this world who have taken steps to entrap men, use them, and then toss them aside.  They get their panties in a twist when their plans get messed up by said man.  Maybe that man wasn't so easy to shake, or maybe he put up a fight for that baby she trapped him with.  Either way, when one is faced with ones daemons, folks need to sit back, take their medicine, and remember:  You're just another speck on the great Earth of ours, no one owes you anything you didn't earn. I was spoiled in the w

It's almost midnight, I need a shower and I'm sure there will be Taco Bell inspired nightmares and fierce heartburn come 3am.  But.  I'm not drunk, and I didn't cry, and I remember who it was that made me melancholy tonight.  His name was Larry.  He was my brother. I was raised with my sister, we two daughters from my fathers second marriage.  My dad is now an old man, struggling with his own mortality.  He has buried three of four sons from his previous marriage.  One remains, the youngest, the calmest, and the least likely to get into things that are not good for him.  I wish I could say that I was inspired to cry in grief, but the thing that made me want to cry was the fact that I had no idea who this man was.  I didn't know his favourite song or band, much less what kind of music he liked.  I didn't know what he drank, if he drank, or if a toast to him would have been appreciated.  What I remember of him was a tall, dark haired, good looking man who was ve

Chicken and tasso simmering in a Mag-na-Lite skillet, cold beer next to me, my girl soaking up some TV while she folds laundry, the Honey in the shower after a long, hot day.  My house is finally feeling like my home.  I've been in this house for three years now.  Everyday has contained a new lesson, a new awakening and has given me purpose.  This past week I spent on a cruise ship soaking up the sun and just being.  I got to put my hands on ancient structures, climb a temple, and have too-strong drinks with some wonderful people.  Amid sunburns, hangovers, perfect blue water and beautiful young bodies I came alive again.  Upon coming home my eyes opened to things I forgot to appreciate:  a loving generous daughter, a kind open-hearted man, and a home that has been mine all along. Yes, we are doing the YMCA at the top of a Mayan Temple Five days aboard a beautiful vessel was about as much fun as I've had in years.  We danced, we sang, we drank top shelf drinks till the we