January: Oceanside

 In case you have not been able to guess yet: last weekend, I was able to escape my corner of the desert for a few days and go visit Cherished Friend in Oceanside. 

It was lovely.

He is himself, as always. It is a pleasure and a comfort to spend time with him, to listen to him talk, to sit in the quiet of his house, to contemplate the Scrabble board, to take a walk in the Oceanside trees, to look out over the actual ocean. 

Every now and then, the temptation to be self-conscious creeps into the back of my head; but he (a little frighteningly, actually) knows me so well -- oftentimes predicting what I am going to say -- and forgives me my awkwardness, flaws and foibles, that I choose instead to just let go and acknowledge that for whatever (very mysterious) reason, he accepts me just as I am. And a rare sense of serenity results. 

I have worried on occasion that the Many Terrible Things of the past several years have made me cold and hard and unfeeling; there, I am better able to tap into my well-hidden core of warmth and be myself. 

The only hard part of visiting him, is the knowledge that the time in Oceanside is very short. It is so important not to anticipatorily grieve leaving again; and yet, it is so difficult. I do my very best to stay in the moment. 

I know he has a well-established personal space sphere, and I respect that, keeping distance to ensure his comfort. He was kind enough, though, to tolerate sufficient proximity to take a selfie of the two of us together before I left. (Actually, several, until I could manage one in which I did not look like a demented chipmunk.) I'm grateful. 

When I think of Cherished Friend, I often think of the saying: Friendship is a sheltering tree. It is rare that I am able to be in the shelter of this particular tree, but the peace and safety there are immeasurable.

January: Boat Show

 I went to a boat show. (Can you guess where I was yet?)  So many boats.  It was in many ways much like attending an RV show, except water instead of wheels, and more often wood instead of composite. 

My takeaway from the boat show: I finally understood Cherished Friend's Boat Dream. 

I have supported his Boat Dream for a long time -- it is his dream and important to him, and so it is important to me. But I finally UNDERSTAND why it is his Dream, what the Dream is all about, and what steps are needed to truly bring it to fruition. 

It makes sense. 

-----

In many ways, Cherished Friend is much like my college physics class: I feel like I am on the cusp of understanding him, and that if I ask just enough questions, or just the right questions, I will finally -- finally! -- be enlightened. 

I may never truly know anything. But at least as far as the Boat Dream goes, it's clear why it exists. 

January: Sometimes It Really Is Fun and Games

I do enjoy a good Scrabble game. My goal, with my Scrabble companion (who absolutely excels at the game), is to lose by fewer than 100 points. 

509 to 345. I lost. By more than 100 points. 

389 to 362. I lost. By fewer than 100 points!

330 to 350. I actually won this one! It was a very close game.

279 to 273. A low-scoring game, though once more a close game. I lost. 

342 to 217. I lost. By more than 100 points. Again. 

It was all just delightful.

Quietly

 When someone does not like celebrating a birthday, what do I do?

I try to be as unobtrusive as possible, but still mark the day, because it's important to me: it is the day someone close to my heart arrived here on the planet. And one day, in the fullness of time, we met, and my live was changed infinitely for the better. 

Walking the line, quietly. Happy birthday. 

Catch-up

Herself speaks.

Let's play catch-up, shall we?  

The house refurbishing continues apace. Today I boxed up the last of the rooms that needs boxing -- that was quite the accomplishment.  This one was the study, and so it was quite the archeological dig:  old school pictures of the Offspring, tax forms, Important Papers, ancient defunct laptops, obsolete mobile phones, CD-ROMs of computer games from over a decade ago. I took down my diplomas, and carefully peeled off the pencil drawings made by the Offspring that I'd taped there, along with three photos: Beloved Husband holding an infant Offspring the Third; my Lovely Daddy and I during my college graduation weekend; a rare willingly-taken (toleratingly-taken) photo of Cherished Friend from a camping trip a thousand years ago.  I cleaned off all of my favorite schoolbooks from the shelf -- my Latin and Greek books from high school; organic chemistry; plant biology -- and put them in a box with the classics: The Phantom Tollbooth (Norton Juster), I Am A Bunny (Ole Risom), Anam Cara (John O'Donohue), The Prophet (Kahlil Gibran), When The Tripods Came (John Christopher), and other favorites. I added the books on lichens and mosses, and medicinal plants. A wealth of knowledge, in a single box. 

I finally threw out my review materials for The Task, though. 

I also cleaned out my closet upstairs. I finally gathered all my formal dresses that I will never wear again and donated them.  They were all beautiful in their individual ways -- velvets, sparkles, fringe or shimmer. They felt so lovely under my fingertips as I packed them up. I felt pretty when I wore them (a hundred years ago, now), and I was sad to see them go.  I hope they will each find a good home elsewhere. 

I moved the bunnies to their new room.  It's out of the regular flow of traffic of the household, but is quiet.  It's smaller, but I will get them a little rug so they can hop out and about in the rest of the house more after the refurbishment is done. 

I was concerned that they would find the move upsetting.  They did seem a bit cranky at first.  But they are adjusting. 

We parted ways with our dining room furniture.  It was old, in need of repair and polishing and tender loving care, and someone was willing to give it a good home. I feel sad and a little guilty, but I know that someone will enjoy it more. I did save the hand-embroidered seat cushion covers, though. It was a rhythmic, soothing process, to remove the hundreds of little furniture tacks. I will restore the embroidery and save the works for posterity. 

I rewarded myself for all the hard work, by speaking with Cherished Friend via Zoom this evening.  It's lovely to see him, to talk about ordinary things. I am annoyed he does not live closer -- how delightful that would be. 

When we said goodbye, the tiny grief of knowing I cannot really be a part of his everyday life and he cannot be a part of mine, flared white-hot for a moment. 

There is no point in crying, though. It won't change anything. I'll just put on my brave face and keep going.  

And that, lovely readers, is all the catch-up for now.

Front Row Seat

 Herself speaks.

I am a very slow learner. 

-----

It took me a long time to become a fully developed human being. People were always difficult to understand, and neither college nor professional school really taught me what I needed to know to navigate Life in a sea of people of assorted motivations, attitudes, temperaments, needs and goals. (This is why I always loved school, though -- academics were my strong suit. People? Notsomuch.) 

I was engaged very young (at 21), and married young (just a few days after my 24th birthday), and had my Offspring young as well (at 25 and a half, 27 and a half, and just a bit after 31 - getting old there!). I was able to hide my social insufficiencies behind the roles of "Fiancée" and then "Wife," plus "Mother". And overlapping with that time, I spent many, many years telecommuting, so my interactions with other people were often very limited. I did not need to learn more than I already knew. 

Then, there came a time when the needs of the Offspring necessitated particular activities, and I ended up having to out of my comfort zone of my usual roles. It began at the taekwondo gym, since Offspring the Third (who was being bullied in grade school) needed both the means to protect himself, and a group of peers with whom he had a sport in common. And (somewhat begrudgingly, and rather terrified-ly), I interacted with the other adults at the gym, and became Friends with some of them. And it was delightful.

As time went by, I discovered that there were cliques and whispers and problematic interactions amongst the people at the gym (and the teenagers, too), and that was my first lesson in adult heartbreak: not all people were to be trusted, and not all people were honest or forthright, nor said what they meant. Not everyone is kind. Not everyone is nice. It was a shocking and bitter lesson.

Nevertheless, the greatest good came out of that experience: I made, and have kept, my most Cherished Friend. 

-----

In the time since then, I have continued to work on my people skills and my people experiences. Time has shown me that my original roles of Wife and Mother were too limited: one cannot be a full person, if one exists only in relation to others. 

Children grow up and become their own fully-fledged human beings (and lovely ones at that, I might say, my beloved Offspring), who no longer need their Mother (as much). And as entwined as my life is with Beloved Husband's, and even though there exists in movies and literature this romantic notion that one's spouse is one's Everything, the truth is that it is both unrealistic and an unfair burden to ask one human being to fulfill the entirety of another's needs. It takes a village to raise a marriage. A spouse must have -- beyond their husband or wife -- siblings, parents, family members, and friends, to support and to spend time with, to enjoy and to enhance the human experience. Sometimes a spouse cannot (for a multitude of reasons) Be There. Other people are a necessity. 

Beyond family, there are acquaintances, colleagues, friends, professionals, and even public figures, as well as all sorts of People who impact one's life, whether directly or indirectly, either momentarily or more long-term. A world of People-ing.

I have also learned, though, not to expect much. Because People... disappoint. 

-----

One of the characteristics I appreciate about Cherished Friend, is the depth of his understanding of People. When I have been mystified or dismayed, I have been able to ask him Questions about People, or have been able to talk through what is perplexing me. And to his credit, he has never made me feel Stupid for my incomprehension. He has listened. And explained when necessary. 

It occurred to me today, that Cherished Friend has had what is essentially a Front Row Seat to my gradual disillusionment with People. He has seen it all: my annoyance with generic human misbehavior. My anger at Pandemic misconduct and at political shenanigans. My rage at injustice (both large, and very personal). My despair at words and happenings that have broken my heart. Rumination and loss. Everything. 

Has it been hard to witness my gradual loss of faith in Humanity? 

He is such a patient soul. 

Never did I imagine when I walked into the taekwondo gym all those years ago, that the Universe would bestow upon me there, a gift of a tiny seed of Friendship; and that over the years, that seed would be watered by innumerable tiny moments to become the sheltering tree it is now. 

He has made the sting of Life Lessons more bearable. I am so grateful.

Oceanside tree, March 2022.

Let Us Try

Every time I have one of those infrequent opportunities to spend concentrated leisure time with one of my Important People, I am very conscious of the rarity both of the moment, and of the feeling of peace that accompanies the occasion. It is not at all often that my brain, so constantly full of Work and Volunteer Commitments and Ordinary Obligations, is able to relax and unwind enough to feel unhurried and at peace. I am so grateful to have had one such opportunity this past weekend, and it was Lovely.

Now, as I sit in limbo in an airport in the pre-dawn hours, I am trying to adjust to the inevitability of re-entering the hustle and bustle of my Ordinary Life, while simultaneously holding on to  the Intangible Joy of the time of the past weekend. I am trying, too, not to let Grief creep in - although I know that is inevitable.  As Kahlil Gibran reminds us in The Prophet, Joy and Sorrow are inseparable:

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

They are, in fact, opposite sides of the same coin:

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

The hardest part, is knowing that Sorrow is necessary, in order to have Joy.

-----

I'll do my best to focus on the mundane for now. I'll go get an overpriced airport snack, continue my DuoLingo streak, and then I'll be boarding the plane back to my desert homeland soon. I will be glad to be back there. Even though I leave a piece of myself behind here. 

We will do our best to move forward, day by day. 

As the French say: Essayons. 

You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place. ― Miriam Adeney

Visit

 Herself speaks.

I was finally able to make my pilgrimage to Oceanside and spend a few days with Cherished Friend. 

It was delightful.  In this world of ever-increasing uncertainty, it is so comforting to find him to be Himself, as he always is. My most Cherished Friend. 

I struggled a bit to stay in the Moment during the visit. I am more aware than ever of the ephemeral nature of everything, and I had to reign in my mind and keep it from wandering into the not-too-distant-future when I would be leaving again. I also had a hard time with keeping at bay, what can be described as Fear Fleas: tiny little biting worries that would pop up into the conscious, attempting to distract me from the joy of being in Oceanside.  You are boring. You are needy. He will grow tired of your presence and will be relieved when you go. You rely on him too much. You are all take and no give. 

What do you have to offer a person like him? Why does he even put up with you? 

Only he really has answers to those questions. I hope, though, that despite all of the Very Hard Things I have been struggling with this year, he has nevertheless been able to see that he is, as always, one of my most favorite people on the planet. That listening to him talk about what is on his mind, is one of my favorite things to do. That I value his opinions, his thoughts, and his company. I don't have a lot to give right now, but I happily give what I can to him. 

-----

I already miss his soothing presence. I try not to think bitterly of how I would just do so much better on a daily basis if I saw him more often, because that is not To Be. I'll just have to carry little pieces of the moments in Oceanside with me, and hope they will buoy me through. I'll think about my Cherished Friend sitting in his chair, and I'll look forward to the next visit. And I hope that he will look forward to it, too. 

Friend

Kitchen

 Herself speaks.

During a Zoom call yesterday evening, Cherished Friend was making a cup of tea and brought the tablet with the Zoom window open on it with him -- so I momentarily had a view around his kitchen, which I haven't seen in person for nearly a year now. And it was so distractingly delightful to have that glimpse of this ordinary space of his life, that it took an extraordinary amount of energy to refocus and remain in the conversation and not allow the unexpected pang generated by the view to inflate and pop right then. 

One of the small blessings of being so extraordinarily busy lately, is that it is easier not to think about how much I miss having my Friend nearby, about the small joys of being able to make a meal, go for a walk, play Scrabble in person. The flip side, though, is the weight when it makes itself known, like a clap of thunder and a cloudburst in the desert -- a deluge of sorrow, of the knowledge of what I am missing. 

This is the price we pay for having a Friend. 

It's always worth the Price, though. 

Time

Time is a funny thing, when it relates to other people.

Ever think about how long someone's life has intersected with yours? Knowing a person for a mere fraction of their lifetime doesn't seem like much, until you reach a milestone -- such as 50, or beyond -- and then you suddenly realize that perhaps it has been a bit, after all. And somehow the time seems both long, and incredibly short. 

You wish it were longer, and then you realize, how lucky you are that your paths ever crossed in the first place. And how much you are looking forward to seeing how ongoing life unfolds for them. You hope it is filled with satisfaction, comfort, and contentment, and that it is blessedly free of tribulations.

The frailty of humanity reminds you that there never seems to be enough time. So you hold in your heart, the gratitude for the time you have had, knowing that it is irreplaceable.

Scrabble

 Over the years, we have honed our Scrabble skills. Mine are still inferior, but are improving slowly.

Game one:

288 to 270 (his win)

Game two:

360 to 375 (my win)

Game three, the tiebreaker:

360 to 344 (his win)

(yes, his win, despite my having played 

a 152-point word on my very first move)

If I were asked why I like my Friend as much as I do, one very short answer -- which is both literally and metaphorically apt -- would be:

Because he plays an excellent game of Scrabble.

Moments

As you may have guessed from the posts of the past few days, I have been visiting my most Cherished Friend in Oceanside. And the trip was all that I could have hoped for, and more. 

-----

The most critical part of being in Oceanside, is staying in the moment: not to dwell on the long interim between the previous visit and the current visit, not to give thought to the immediate future when parting is inevitable and the waiting time begins again, but to be, suspended in the present with -- and in the presence of  -- my Friend. And it is, surprisingly, incredibly easy to do so. 

I listen to his voice, I walk alongside him, I sit in companionable silence with him. It is all simple. All easy. And there is such beauty in being able to savor each moment. Don't look forward, don't look back. Just be. 

Indescribable: the comfort of the knowledge that, despite how I might feel about myself and my failings and flaws, he nevertheless understands my thoughts and my words and still somehow accepts me for who I am. I don't know what I have done to earn his friendship; I do not feel worthy. Yet miraculously, the Universe sees fit to allow me periodic, restorative coexistence with him. What a Grace. There aren't words. 

I don't know how to tell him how honored I am, or how thankful. There is no way to ever repay him for everything. All I can do is to try to return the gift, in kind. 

-----

Sometimes when Things are hard, I fear some terrible day in the future when my life has diverged from his so much that I no longer have the comfort of his sheltering tree. Hopefully when those thoughts arise, I can look back on this Post and revisit in my mind's eye the moments of this visit. And I can remind myself: don't anticipate a Loss. Be Present. Hold on to the Moments, like a life preserver. 

I wish I could show him, himself, through my eyes: to give him a moment in time when he sees that he is loved for who he is, exactly as he is. And I would hope that he could carry that moment with him, like a shield against the slings and arrows of life. To be able to provide that for him would be a Joy. 

Be well, my Cherished Friend. I wish for the very best for you, Always.

Friend of a Friend

 Herself speaks.

Things that are delightful and ever so slightly bittersweet: it appears that Cherished Friend has acquired Oceanside Friends. 

This is marvelous. What I want more than anything is for him to find what brings him contentment, especially people with whom he can spend time. I hope that they appreciate the fact that his trust is hard-won. They are fortunate to to have his company. 

It is also slightly bittersweet, for it means that ultimately, he is less available to me. Because life has been a bit... fraught, I know that I have been reaching out to him more than perhaps usual for moral support. And yet, due to his admirable dedication to purity of focus when with someone (how can I learn to be that way?), he doesn't respond if he is out with friends. That is to be expected. The problem, in fact, lies with me. 

It has taken me a great many years to come to terms with the idea that just because someone doesn't reply to a bid for conversation, that doesn't mean they are annoyed or angry with me or tired of me. (Ah, abandonment issues, how you creep in to everything.) Cherished Friend -- like most people -- is available when he is available, and is not when he is not.  It seems to me, from careful analysis of the data over the years, that his occasional Silences appear to have absolutely nothing to do with me, but everything to do with what is going on with him, whether inside his head or in life in general. And I respect that. A need for solitude or quiet should trump a need for conversation. 

The hard part for me is that I do not see him regularly any more, so it is difficult to tell what is happening in the Silence. And so, when I don't hear from him after I reach out, my mind walks down a familiar and unpleasant path: Did I do something wrong? Did I unreasonably ask for more than he can deliver? Am I just too needy, and is his silence an indication that I need to need... less?  It takes a very concerted effort to get to the endpoint, which is: he is probably out with friends, or doing Things for himself. Good for him. I can eventually convince myself that such an endpoint is the true nature of the situation. Most of the time. I'm working on it. 

-----

Although Envy might be too strong a word, I do feel a pang of wistfulness that it is not I (nor Beloved Husband, who has always enjoyed Cherished Friend's company), who gets to spend free time with him. His presence is soothing, a sheltering tree. Lucky are those who get to experience that. And lucky is he, to find local Friends with whom he is comfortable. 

I'm happy for him. 

Perhaps someday, with his fine example before me, I will be able to find a new local friend or two myself. It won't negate the space I hold for him -- nothing will ever change that -- but it may help ease the occasional loneliness. 

That would be good. 

Photo Copyright 2020, 2022, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Proximity

 Herself speaks.

It has been two years since the Divergence, when Cherished Friend left this desert land and headed to Oceanside. 

Seems like yesterday. And like an Eternity. 

I have not seen him in person nearly as often as I would have liked (there being a Global Pandemic, and all) -- only once, to date. And electronic communication, whether written or via video chat, is a poor second to in-person conversation. It's the best that there is for now, though. 

I miss the ability to go for a walk, to play Scrabble, even just to roam through the aisles of a store, in his company. It's not big things; it's little things.

I hope to make plans soon to visit Oceanside again, so that I can enjoy a bit of Proximity once more.

Photo Copyright 2020, 2022, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Missing Out

 Herself speaks.

Yesterday, Cherished Friend sent me an email about his going to look at cars. (He's been contemplating trading in his vehicle for a different vehicle for some time now.) And today, before I'd had an opportunity to respond fully to his email, he let me know that he'd bit the bullet and made the change. 

On the one hand, I'm very happy for him: his choice for different vehicle is an excellent one, and it will serve him very well in Oceanside. As always, he carefully thought out the permutations and possibilities, and then executed a purposeful plan. Well done, Cherished Friend.

On the other hand, I'm having a hard time with the fact that not only was I not fully available to give my (likely useless) two cents on the vehicle issue by email, but I was not able to go with him to look at vehicles, to contemplate the options, to be present in some form or another. I am so preoccupied with All The Things here, and so far away, that as a result I am missing out on parts of his life. 

This makes me quite sad. 

I didn't even get to say goodbye to his former vehicle, which seems absolutely ridiculous to say, but it took us on various adventures and mundane errands and whatnot, and I miss those times. With each change in his life -- change of residence, change of vehicle --I feel as though he is somehow farther and farther away. The metaphorical distance pains me somehow even more than the actual physical distance. 

I know that someday, travel will again be possible, and I can go say 'hello' in person in Oceanside. It seems a million miles away right now, though.

Alas. 

Photo Copyright 2020, 2021, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

Green

Herself speaks.

Cherished Friend sent some truly extraordinary photos from Oceanside. There were three folders of photos, each from a different Oceanside location, and I found myself wanting to look at only a few of the pictures at a time -- savor them, dive deep into them, absorb them. I'll share some of my favorites in due course. It's hard to choose. 

Looking at the photos reminds me of going for walks with Cherished Friend and his camera, on mountains and at nature preserves and in all sorts of places in between, and the wistfulness generated by the memories is nearly overpowering. I miss those moments, so much. 

Someday (Universe willing), there will be more walks. And photos to remember them by. 

Photo Copyright 2020, 2021, Mediocria Firma.

All rights reserved. Used with gratitude.

BFF

 Herself speaks.

Four months in, Cherished Friend has begun to put down roots Oceanside: he has a new Abode. I'm happy for him. The next step is to ship his household possessions, which have been in storage here in this desert land, out to him. As Keeper of the Storage Key, I have gone to the storage units to meet with potential movers so that they can assess the situation and provide estimates. 

The potential movers have all been congenial people; it was a little odd to make small talk with strangers after months and months of Pandemic Social Distancing, but not unpleasant. Two of them asked about my role in the situation (a reasonable and not unexpected question, given that Cherished Friend is Afar, and I am Near, and we do not share a phone number or last name). 

One, more generally:  Are you related to him?

Another, more specifically: Is he your....(pause, hoping I'd fill in a word).... boyfriend?

I told them both: "He's my BFF."  It seemed the simplest answer.

-----

I know it was a nearly throw-away question; no one was particularly interested in an actual meaningful answer. Even in casual conversation, though, I did not want to minimize. "A friend" would have been insufficient. "Just a friend" would have downplayed the importance of Cherished Friend for me.  I suppose that people with a large and well-connected social group would find "friend" to be enough of a descriptor. When there are very few people in one's close circle, though, friend takes on a larger and more significant meaning. 

Retrospectively, the question was unexpectedly upsetting. Perhaps I have not yet come to terms with the fact that Cherished Friend is so far away; with his possessions still in this desert land, his transplant to Oceanside has not yet seemed real. His full establishment of his Abode, complete with all of his possessions, will make things much more Absolute.  

I am glad for him, that he is close to the ocean, and near boats and sailing and Dreams to come true. I am still bereft for myself, though. Facebook flashback reminds me on nearly a daily basis of the places we have visited and the adventures we have had, together as well as with Beloved Husband and even occasionally with various Offspring as well. I do not know when any of us here in this desert land will be able to enjoy his excellent company similarly again. And the Pandemic is a cruel presence, denying me even thoughts of what it might be like to visit Oceanside -- for if I do not know when it will ever be possible, how can I imagine it coming to pass? 

I'll get past this moment. He has moved, this is true, but he has not dropped off the face of the earth. He is still within reach, by phone, by mail, by internet call. I'm grateful for that. 

Stay well, my Cherished Friend. There are still more adventures to be had. In time. 

Just Right

Past Due

Herself speaks.

It's been six months since I visited White Sands National Monument with Cherished Friend. Six months -- plus one pandemic, and one 1700-mile move. How things have changed.

I used to see Cherished Friend with regularity; even when he was in a different corner of this desert land, he was within a few hours' drive, and I made a point to try to visit him, or host him here, every couple of months. Yet now that's no longer possible. And it is even more painfully obvious at this time, as I am reaching a point where I would normally be looking at the calendar, inquiring as to when he might be free, and mulling over what sort of hiking or outdoorsy activity we could undertake together.

The truth is: with the pandemic, I don't know when I'll see him in person again. And this fills me with incredible sadness.

All I can do is be patient, and hope for the best. And a vaccine.

We shall see how things unfold.