My Friend J.

I have a wonderful friend named J. He and I have been pals for ages. Yes, we dated initially, but we were young and headed (so we thought) in different directions. To my delight, we repeatedly turn up in the same places, all about the country.

J is my rock. He has picked me up out of the dirt countless times, rescued me from calamities only I can create. He never rubs my face in it. He never lectures me about it. He listens. He supports. He feeds me when I have no food, and he takes me places when I have no vehicle. He is my cheerleader in all things, even when he does not understand my choices.

I love my friend J. I'm probably always going to be a little bit IN love with him. How could I not be? I love his wit, his enthusiasm, his need to travel and learn and experience the world in which we live. He is clever and sweet. He thinks I'm wonderful, too. Had things been just a tiny bit different in both our lives, I would have married him. Timing is everything, so they say.

J is getting married this summer. I am so happy for him. I want only the best for my pal J. I'm a little jealous, even though I am married to someone else. I don't know her, and while I know anyone J loves must be ideal, I am fiercely protective. Okay, more than a little jealous. I'm a lot jealous. I don't want to share.

I wonder, is this how he felt when I got married?

Devastated

Sometimes bad things do happen to good people.

I am crushed for my poor husband today.

It's a long and complicated situation, but the short version is that he got fucked out of an opportunity that he NEEDED to have in order for his career to continue on his chosen path. This happened not due to who he is or what he does, but was a result of a couple of people dropping their respective balls and making arbitrary choices unrelated to my husband's impeccable work history.

I am so ANGRY at the Coast Guard, and the few people involved in this mess. My husband is a man of very few words and even less emotion. I want to scream and rail at this situation. I want to fix it for him. I want someone to APOLOGIZE to him. I want the look of resignation to leave his eyes.

It is done.

It cannot be fixed.

We have to live with this.

It isn't fair. Not in the least. He deserves better.

How Does This Happen?

This makes no sense to me either, but I frequently find myself neck deep in doing things for other people. Obligations, we call them. This is strange, as I (have I mentioned this lately?) hate everybody. I can't explain it. These things just sneak up on me somehow, and suddenly I have no time to do what I want to do. Well, here I am again. I have 4 (yup, 4) part-time jobs. I am on the board of the local arts council. I have an enormous and time-consuming dog. I am married. I live in a house that constantly requires cleaning, and more to the point, I have a level of cleanliness to which I am accustomed, and when it is not near that level, I get cranky. I also have hobbies I need time in which to pursue, and a dance troupe to manage. This incudes choreography and rehearsal.

So.

Here's what will happen. GONE are the Monday job and the Monday night (free) class. I don't feel right quitting the Tuesday job as they are already short-handed, so I'll keep that one. It's only about 2 1/2 hours a week anyhow. I am still considering the other class...money is good, but the prep/instructing time is an issue. I have enough money, but never enough time.

I want to enjoy what time I have left in this place. I want to live my life before it is too late. My father loved his life. He had a wonderful time, almost all the time. He found the greatest joy in simple things. He got huge mileage out of his life, and what a shame not to do the same with mine.

New rule: if I don't love it, it's gone.

I owe that to myself.

Assassin

Here I am plotting the untimely death of Scheherezade. I finished the choreography the night before the show, but it apparently turned out fine, as I got positive feedback from the other dancers. Of course, they might have been just saying that because I'm scary and I had two big knives...

Appreciate Your Surroundings

I have been growing tired of the long dark. I have the winter blahs, I miss the sun and can barely recall what it feels like to not be cold. I am antsy and island fever has me in its clutches.

Yesterday made up for it a fair bit. The mailman stopped his truck in front of my house. Two ravens hopped into his truck. On the way to town, the bald eagles perched in all the trees alongside the road like enormous Christmas tree ornaments. A herd of large sea lions played in the water as they swam past the dock where I parked my car. A healthy, fluffy fox crossed the road in front of me en route home again. A family of deer grazed in my yard last evening.

I get it. Be happy for where I live and all its wonders. I am and I do.

Still cold, though.

Memorial Roof Repair?

So. My father died 2 years ago. He was an Anglican priest. And one of the world's truly Great Men. It was...devastating, at the least. I will remain forever crushed and lost without him here as my mentor and guide.

The new priest called my mother and asked her if it would be alright to use the money we have placed in a memorial fund for my dad to fix the roof on the church. (Deep breath here.) My mother, caught unawares and not being altogether socially ept to begin with, said she would have to think about it. THINK ABOUT IT?!?!?!

My immediate response: Oh, HELL no. What gave this new priest the idea that using money meant to honor a life well-lived and a soul missed desperately by many to fix a fucking roof was even remotely acceptable? Such a thing diminishes our intent in establishing a memorial in the first place.

AND...this is a memorial for the former priest of this parish. He deserves better. We, his survivors, deserve better. The church deserves better. Stained glass? Bibles? Anything lasting and appropriate would be just fine with me.

I have so much more I can say about this. I am so angry. This is something my father would NEVER have considered asking a family who lost a loved one. Churches are supposed to be concerned more with people than with money. I question this priest's ability to understand this and I will not contribute further to a memorial held in that church.

There is another memorial in the local library, where my Dad spent much of his free time enjoying the many programs they provided. The library has used this memorial money to purchase much-needed bookshelves and they kindly attached a brass plate with my father's name upon it.

My father does not need an Ozymandias-like statue in his image. He will live on in my heart and in my spirit, which is so much like his. However, he does deserve to be remembered in an appropriately respectful fashion. This will not include the Memorial Roof Repair.