Sacred Intimacy

It’s been far too long since I posted anything. My life has been in a kind of whirlwind for the last couple of months that I didn’t know how, or was ready, to express until now.
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Most people who know me, know that there is NO topic that is taboo with me. I will discuss ANYTHING. I may not bring it up first, but open the door and ya better be prepared for my candid response! I will talk about things that make even the most open and honest person blush like a school girl. I have to admit that I actually enjoy it when that happens. I think it’s good for the soul to let yourself free.

Some people have made me their secret sound board because they feel they can’t talk about it with anyone else, including spouses (which I believe is just wrong; I think you should be totally open with your significant other about all things secret). I love that they feel that comfortable with me! I will never judge someone who will let their guard down and spill their guts, or other body parts, even if the topic is beyond my experience or even just plain fricken weird!

So, on that note… I guess you can call this paying it forward?

Over the last few months, my life has taken a huge turn for the better in regards to having someone I can be completely open with. I’ve known this person for 15 years and we have always been very close, in all ways. Our timing has always sucked though. One, or both, of us has been in another relationship, usually a relationship that is failing anyway. I lost this person about 5 years ago to the detriment of both of us, but the fates have brought us back together again. And what a marvelous roller-coaster it’s been!

I came across a phrase recently, Sacred Intimacy. To me that means an intimacy so profound, so trusting with absolutely no threat of harm, physical or mental, that you become one with each other. A willingness to explore new avenues that you had never thought you’d do before, usually out of fear or judgment. I had heard about this magical thing before but never thought it was attainable for me.

This person and I have always had a very rewarding love life. But looking back there was still… a block or wall that prevented a true Sacred Intimacy. In our love making, I always came first (pun not intended) unless I requested otherwise, so I ignored the block. I don’t know if it has something to do with maturity but from the moment we saw each other again after 5 years, something has changed. Without even really trying that hard, Sacred Intimacy has become a very real and tangible thing that we are both holding very close to our hearts. We are so profoundly trusting of each other, we feel so completely safe that there are no blocks or walls that we have to hurdle anymore. We want to try new things that may have scared us before.

Some of you may know that a few years ago there was someone else I was trying to bring closer to me. All my efforts failed although we are still very close. His life just wasn’t ready and may never be. He will always be in my heart, my rock. Although, at this time I am having to be his rock. It breaks my heart to see him so miserable but I’ve accepted that it’s out of my hands. All I can be is his support during this truly crappy part of his life. He was there for me during my crappy times.

I don’t think I’m the only girl out there that gets moved by what really is a very tiny little thing. Last week, my man (he’s always been mine in spirit) said that he wanted to make love to me. Make love. Two simple little words. Too simple little words that he had never used before. It has never been easy from him to say the word love, in any form and I totally understand. In my childhood I never used that word. I didn’t want to let anyone, even my family, that close to me. I never truly hugged anyone until I was in my mid teens. I don’t know why but there is probably a reason why and a reason why my brain is blocking it from me. Until my brain unlocks it, I just accept that I was a strange child. It may be why I tried to beat the crap out of my sister with every chance I got. She could love so easily.

Make love. When I heard those words from him, I just about cried my eyes out.

Yes, he is currently “unavailable” to truly be with me, but I know that day will come as surely as I know the sun will rise tomorrow morning. I’ve waited 15 years for it. Waiting a little while longer is worth it. I know some people will call me crazy. I never claimed to be sane!

Sacred Intimacy.

We talk as often as possible. We email back forth all day during the week. He makes time in his life for me. What a concept. Time for me. We have so much fun together. Isn’t that what making love is supposed to be? Fun? With every other lover in my life it’s always been so serious. I’ve been a flirt in the past but that skill went by the wayside long ago. Some of you will know why. There is no better remedy for a fractured ego than hot, steamy flirtations. It does the soul good, trust me.

There are some things that a majority of men have a real problem with, some say it’s homophobia. I think it has a lot to do with being so vulnerable with someone. They just don’t realize the full extent of what their wonderful bodies can do! Ask a man where his erotic zones are and he’s say his penis. Always the penis. There’s something wrong with that.

About a week ago, my man put his vulnerability into my hands completely. What would’ve grossed me out a few years ago, is oh, so intriguing now. He said he was ready to try prostate massage. I want to do everything I can to take his sexual experiences to a new level. So, I did what I do every time something new and intriguing crosses my path. I researched it.

The prostate is the equivalent of the female g-spot. Why the hell wouldn’t they want to know more about it… and use it! I’m sure some men also don’t realize that their penises are also larger then outwardly appearing. The base of the penis is actually located in their perineum between the testicles and the anus… and is highly sensitive. A third erotic zone! Oh my!

In my quest for new information, I’ve had to dig through all kinds of informational and pornographic web sites… no worries there, I fully admit to enjoying porn. I’ve learned a variety of new techniques that I’m very eager to try. He’s just about bursting at the seams getting ready to be my guinea pig. I went to the local adult shop (been a very long time since I’ve done that) and consulted with employees. Apparently, my lack of taboo subjects aids in graphic descriptions to strangers too. Never mind that it’s a little weird talking sex with an experienced, knowledgeable employee who is half my age! I’m eagerly waiting the day that I can bring him in there with me. Oh, the fun we will have! I got out of there with several toys and the perfect lube (according to the employee) to start my man off very slowly. I’ve picked up some great massage ideas for his perineum area.

My man, who just a few months ago before we found each other, had pretty much given up on having good sex again, is now almost experiencing a euphoric high… and I haven’t even tried it yet! We are both ecstatic that we have each other again, two people who have perfectly matched libidos. How often does that happen? I’m still the priority to him but with patience and a gentle touch, I hope he’ll find out what an amazing recipient he will be! I cannot express how wonderful it is to be so comfortable, so trusting with someone that we can be completely free with each other.

Sacred Intimacy.

Trust me, all my favorite women-folk, it pays to do some research. I’ll let you know how mine goes!

A Running Theme

Apparently, my brain has decided that all future dreams about John are going to have a common theme. I’ve already had this similar dream five or six times, all in row, whenever I dream about my husband. I really can’t remember a John-dream that was more positive, even when we were married! They were nearly all bad in some way. He had a lot of bad dreams concerning me too.

These dreams don’t always start the same way but at some point it changes focus to the all too frequent theme…

I’m living in a house, somewhat similar to the one we lived in Monmouth (a real crap hole) but a little less crappy. The area always looks a little like the Dallas-Monmouth area but not identical. In the dream, John has decided that he doesn’t want to live at home with me anymore. When this part of the dream starts, he’s already gone. He never stops to say goodbye; he’s just gone.

When I figure out that he’s left me, I also figure out that he’s decided to live “off the grid” to figure out his life… to find himself again. This is always very surprising and a little painful to me because in real life, he actually did live on the streets for a period of time when he was young. There is no way he would ever choose to do it again. It was a deeply ingrained fear.

Anyway, once I realize what he’s done, I start driving around everywhere, trying to find the “camp” he’s chosen to make for himself. Sometimes, when I’m driving, I wonder how the bills are going to get paid, where will he get is mail, what he will eat, how will I survive without. I always deeply feel that I MUST find him. I spend a lot of time driving up and down a river (yes, sometimes I’m actually on the river… in a car), searching the banks for his campsite. Sometimes I find “false” camps, sometimes I don’t. I usually have someone with me at the time; frequently it’s my mom… I don’t know why.

I’ve kind of figured out the car-on-water thing. I’ve always had a deep fear of drowning in a car. If you believe this kind of stuff, it makes me wonder if, in a past life, I died this way. A lot of stressful dreams (or nightmares) have a car and water figured in them somehow, just to add a little more suspense, so it’s not a big surprise that it would occur in these dreams.

At some point, he will make a very brief entrance in the dream, usually to tell me, “it’s not you, it’s me” and that he hopes I understand, hopes that he will find himself and be happy again.

I never do.

Deep Thoughts...

I was just sitting here, staring at my computer screen, thinking. Thinking about how people can be tied together and never know it. Thinking how one person can set off a chain reaction of life changing events and never realize it.

I'm having lunch tomorrow with a dear friend I haven't seen in five years. If this friend hadn't entered my life fifteen years ago...

I would never have had my last job.

I would never have met my husband.

I would never have been laid off from that job.

I would never have gone back to school at Chemeketa for computer programming.

I would never have met my mentor.

Three very important people in my life, tied together.

Tomorrow, I think I will tell my friend thank you.

What Happened to Goodbye?

Have you ever noticed that people don't say goodbye anymore? You answer the phone, hold your conversation and then... nothing, just empty silence before that annoying beep-beep sound. It was only a few years ago that I thought that someone who didn't say goodbye at the end of a conversation was just plain rude. Now it's so common it almost sounds weird to hear the words. What is even weirder is that I more often hear goodbye from friends and family than I do from strangers! Granted, my version of goodbye is more like "bah" when I'm declaring the end of a friendly conversation but at least, I'm saying it. I also say, "Hey!" instead of "Hello" when I answer a phone call from someone I know.

It also seems that "Thank You" or "Thanks" is the new goodbye, the ending to a conversation. I work in customer service, answering phones all day... and all day long I hear, "Thank you." Click. From really friendly customers, "Thanks!" said with a smile. Click. Last week, I even heard, "Thanks a million!" Click.

Every so often, I have to try and force a goodbye. The customer is going on and on about how their sweet little Collie dog got side-tracked by a poster advertising our Elvis impersonator and it ran to grandma's instead,  insisting that she buy tickets,  instead of rescuing Timmy from the well and isn't it so funny that it happened on a Monday when the sun was out? I laugh along with her but I'm silently begging, "Please say goodbye." Please let me have those last three minutes of my life back.

Thanks for reading!

That's it.

I'm done.

Finito.

Bah.

Something Worth Sharing

I read a lot of blogs... a LOT of blogs, and they cover a wide swath of the human experience. So, occasionally, I post someone else's post because I either feel it's important or because they have written something far better than I ever could. Here's the first.

Angie, at A Whole Lot of Something, thank you for writing something better than I could.

A Whole Lot of Nothing

Her Highness, The Fatty

All my life, I’ve had a problem with my weight. I was born fat (nine pounds) from fat parents. I was always THE fat kid in school. I was teased, ridiculed, stomped on and spit out. I also developed very early… and the boys enjoyed looking at my… er… over-development, but I was still fat.

When I was in junior high school, there was a gym teacher, Mr. L, who was just plain scary. He openly stared at the girls, had constant greasy-looking hair, fat, balding. You get the picture. God forbid, if he actually brushed against you for whatever reason! That held true for the boys too. I will forever remember the ultimate humiliation of my life. It was “gymnastics month” in gym class and all of us poor suckers had to run and hurdle over one of those pommel horse things. Can you see it now? Me, running (amusing in itself), aiming for the pommel horse where Mr. L. was standing, ready to “help” people over it. I hit the horse, and then hit Mr. L… and both of us ended up on the mats, with me on top. OMG!!! I still hear the laughter now.

Don’t get me started about having to run around the track with my boobs flying everywhere.

But, I digress. Back to the original topic.

I’ve always been fat. I’ve never been one of those fat people who eat tremendous amounts of food at one time. I’m a grazer and I love grazing on sweet stuff. Can’t get enough of it. I think my addiction to chocolate is equal to the average (if there is an average) addict and I was married to an alcoholic so I have a pretty good idea of what I’m talking about. I’m just hanging out, chillin’, then, WHAM! MUST GET CHOCOLATE NOW! Not a pretty sight.

I’ve had periods in my life where I lost a few pounds, here and there. One summer, in my early teens, I lost about 15 pounds. I was staying with my aunt and uncle in CA, and lived almost entirely on cantaloupe (if you know them, you understand), not to mention all of the walking we did around the multitude of theme parks we visited. I’ve blocked out what that did for my IBS, probably for good reason, but I was so happy when I got home.

Didn’t take long for it all to come back.

When I was 23, I found a lump in my right breast. I didn’t really care what the lump itself was (non-cancerous). After all, I already had had brain surgery. What could be worse? All I thought about was that I could finally get my big, pain-in-the-back, guy-eyeballing, boobs cut off. Yes, that’s how I thought of it, getting them CUT off. When the plastic surgeon, who was also a family friend (I used to babysit his kids) warned me that I might feel a “loss” of my breasts and get depressed, I laughed, rather hysterically. When I woke up after surgery (which was much worse than brain surgery), I looked down at my flat chest (flat from being tightly wrapped), I was ecstatic! 9 pounds had been taken off. You heard right. NINE POUNDS of gross, fat boobage!

After I was fully recovered (which was also much worse than brain surgery), and the weird torso-wide scars healed, I realized I could run! And jump! Without knocking myself out! I was running up and down the stairs at work, taking a quick jog across the parking lot. Freedom! The first time I had to have a stranger give me a proper bra fitting was thrilling! I got to throw away all of my triple Z squared times 507 size bras (I did keep one for sentimental laughs) and got to go down to a C cup. Happy day!

In high school, I was a size 26. After surgery, and months later, I got down to almost a size 14. YAY!

Then, I met a guy… who broke my heart… repeatedly. I threw away my scale.

After my husband died, I lost 24 pounds. The “I Lost a Spouse Diet” works wonders. I’m just sayin’.

Last October, almost to the day, my mentor and I decided we were going to lose weight together. His heart took a turn for the worse and it became a true life or death battle for him. We were going to walk, eat right, keep tabs on each other… blah blah blah.

Yeah. That didn’t really happen, at least for me. And the pounds have been creeping back. He’s still on my case about it but I haven’t really cared lately.

That brings me to now. 40 years old (cripes) and fatter than ever.

This morning I got on the scale and YIPEE, the weight is going back down again (probably something to do with having little food in the house)! How did I celebrate today, you ask? I had 2… fine, 3, donuts for breakfast… and 3 Twinkies after lunch.

There’s something wrong with me.

To Introduce Myself

I'm a 40 year old woman, dealing with the trials and tribulations of being single again. When I unexpectedly lost my husband in 2009, I had to make some life-changing decisions. Some chosen by me, others forced upon me. First, I had to get a roommate... for the first time in my life. Second, I decided to go back to school. Third, I had to figure out how to be financially independent... something I have never been very good at and will most likely be a problem until the day that I die (sorry to my poor not-so-unsuspecting family).

The man I married was born a troubled soul, lived in a troubled family until he left to seek his own troubles, which eventually became my troubles. Genetically predetermined for alcoholism and a plethora of mental issues, he came to the marriage with LOTS of baggage. I fully admit to my own baggage, mostly concerning how I see myself (the fact that someone was willing to marry me was, and still is, a miracle). When we mixed the two cargo trucks full of bulging suitcases, it was a difficult marriage at best. During the last three years of our nine year marriage, he finally became sober, after hitting his rock bottom (which I will probably talk about at some point). The last couple months of our marriage was the best it ever was.

Here's the story of how my new life began on a seemingly average day, May 13, 2009. I wrote this two days after he died and posted it on Facebook.

I'm trying to cope with the loss of my husband and best friend. He died very suddenly Wednesday.

I came home from work at 7:30pm and found him on the bed. He looked like he was napping even though I thought it strange to be napping at that time. It kills me say that I was briefly angry that he hadn't fixed me dinner like he had promised. I grabbed some food from the freezer and stuck it in a pan to cook then went back to the bedroom to wake him up.

I heard his very shallow, gurgling breath. I got on the bed, calling and calling his name, shaking him, trying to wake him up. His face was ashy gray and his hands and finger nails were blue. He was still trying to breathe but his chest wouldn't move. After being married to an alcoholic for almost nine years, I always watched his chest for breathing. I knew the day had finally come and I started screaming "What did you do, what did you do!" His legs and arms were still warm.

I ran to call 911 and the operator stayed on the line for 10 until the EMTs got here. She had me roll him on to his left side. He was on the edge of the bed and I had to prop him up with my body to keep him there. Then he started to vomit as the EMT's came in the door. I moved away and let them do their job.

I can't believe how calm I was on the phone while my love was laying there, dying.

I went to the kitchen, turned off the stove and started keening and wailing, feeling his death attack my heart and soul. I called my sister, Kyra, who lived 15 minutes away, and then my mom who was visiting a friend in Vancouver, Wa, then a friend, Sharon, from work. They all left immediately. The six EMT's worked on him for an hour, trying everything they could to bring his heart back from flat lining. His lungs were full of his vomit and couldn't fill with air even though they kept suctioning stuff out.

I watched everything. I watched the heart monitor move only during the chest compressions. The room (they had moved him to living room where there was more room to work) felt so cold to me. I kept wishing for his soul and spirit to come back and wrap me in his arms.

They pronounced him at around 8:45pm. Everybody is pretty sure that it was a massive heart attack or a stroke.

My brother-in-law, Scott, and then Sharon, showed up about that time. Then the flurry of EMT's, questions, a cop showing up, then the funeral director, started. I'm assuming either Scott or Kyra called the funeral home but I'm not sure who did. Kyra prayed over his body, which I know he would have wanted. She was the last person to touch him before he was taken away a couple of hours later. I kept staring at him, covered in a sheet. Kyra tried to block my sight but I told her I wanted to watch him. I knew he was already gone because I felt a big part of me gone.

I called his sister, Linda, in CA. John was the baby of the family, at 41 years old, last remaining son of three. The other two died in their forties as well; one from the complications of life long alcoholism and the other from brain cancer. Linda drove up to Medford to tell her parents in person. They then called the other sister, Jeanette, in Morocco. She is like a sister to me and I love her so much. She is flying in to be with me and help with the "business" side of things... and to help spread John's ashes in his favorite place in the mountains... where we buried Kenji last Sunday.

My family has rallied around me and I feel so much love pouring into my heart, but the emptiness is only getting more pronounced. My mom is staying with me for a few days. I am not ready to be alone. I'm thinking of staying with my sister for a few days. Nephew hugs will do wonders for my heart.

We had so many plans for the future. John was doing so well in school and he had been clean and sober for almost 3 years. I'm so proud of him. He recently started working out and riding his bicycle. We started going for walks together. Today in the mail, a speedometer he ordered for his bike arrived. I just ordered a new bike seat and riding gloves so I could work my way into biking with him. He was 41, turning 42 on May 23. We would be married 9 years on September 25.

It's 1:25pm on Friday and I just received a conference call from two of John's instructors from the welding program he was almost finished with. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. I'm also feeling lost, confused, angry, and very lonely. In about an hour, Mom and I will go down to the funeral home and sign papers for the cremation. Hopefully I can pick up his wedding ring and the silver necklace and cross he wore. I'm not religious but I'm going to wear the cross because he wore it. He was trying to figure out his beliefs and reading the bible.

There is soooo much to do, accounts to close, money to pay. Sharon opened a fund at the Virgil T. Golden Funeral Home to help me pay for his cremation and other things. John had no health insurance and no life insurance and no savings. We lived off my small pay check and his unemployment and school loan. I have no idea how I'm going to get through this.

I miss you so much, Whubie.