The Name Of This Blog

Mak once asked me awhile back if I was ever going to change the name of my blog once I found Mr. Right. I still haven't come to a decision regarding that, but I have said yes to Mr. Rose.

He asked. I answered.

I love him.

There's so much more to say, and of course, I will. If I have the time, I'll continue to do so now. If not, you'll get it in bits and pieces as I plan for our wedding.

OMG!!!!!! I'm getting married to the most wonderful man I've ever met!!!!!!!

A Visit

Mr. Rose is coming to Oz to have dinner with me. We talk everyday, and I've been getting to know him better as a person, friend and especially a man. He sent me more music and his understanding of who I am blows me away. He is kind and loving which is something that I have been searching for but there is so much strength and passion contained within him. I thought that I might have to forgo that.

Even if things don't work out between us, I have learned so much about myself from him.

But I think I just might want to give it a try.

btw-Tripped GOING UP the stairs to work yesterday. Everyone, including me, got a good laugh out of that one.

No Pressure

Haven't really given y'all the low down on Mr. Rose and his trip to Kansas. He has friends in Kansas, but it was easier all around to have him stay with some of my relatives. There were a lot of cousins interested in hosting him, but I wanted him to feel comfortable so I made sure he had his own floor including choice of bedrooms and bathroom.

I got into Kansas all gross from working and then traveling, and the first place I went was to see him. Points for Mr. Rose that he didn't run screaming for the hills. He then went on to tell me that I look better than my pictures. I beg to differ. I think he was just excited that I'm a real live person and not a figment of his imagination.

He had already sent me flowers, books, and music, but the next thing I know I have a box of chocolates in my hand and am told that I don't even need to share. WHOA!!! Y'all know how I feel about chocolate. Not only that he brought me more music, he has great taste, two toys for DB and... a brand new tool belt. That's the way to this woman's heart!!!

I like working with my hands... in numerous ways. Get your minds out of the gutters!! ;-) I crochet, knit, needlepoint, replace light fixtures, toilets, faucets, sinks, vanities, not to mention working on my car. I like to get my hands dirty. Believe it or not I have never owned a tool belt, and there have been many occasions when one would've come in handy, repairing the ceiling fan is just one of them.

All I can say is he really listens to me and then thinks about me when getting me something. Unbelievable. I'm blown away.

Well, he obviously feels something for me. He's been telling me in letters, phone calls, and now in person, but I'm a little uncomfortable. Things are moving way too fast on his part. Yes, Petey, I know I fall easily, but Mr. Rose has fallen harder and faster.

He was going to come to Oz for Shabbos, but we're slowing things down a bit. He's totally cool with that. WOW!!! Is he too good to be true?!?!?

Wasn't able to finish the post last night...

Stopped at Home Depot today. It's one of my favorite toy stores, and finally picked up a new ceiling fan for the kitchen. I was going to install it tonight after I changed the light switch in the bedroom, BUT had to go pick up DB from a sleepover party. He's still not comfortable quite yet sleeping at a friend's house. So I now owe Mr. Rose a nickel. I told him I could have the fan installed tonight and he bet against me.

It seems like he has an idea of who I am. He started talking about firemen, and how being stuck in Home Depot with one would make me a happy woman.

Broken

Make A Wish

Just something that was easy and fun to write



Sometimes it would catch her by surprise. She would look at the clock and there it would be staring at her waiting for her dreams.... 11:11 "Make a wish." That's what her friends had taught her. And she would.

When she first learned about it the wishes were of ponies, a new bike, pink ballet slippers, and a brand new baseball glove that had to be broken in with saddle soap, a baseball in the pocket, secured with rubber bands and then put under your mattress.

She wasn't all girlie girl. Her best friend David could attest to that. Hell, with a nickname like Frankie you knew she didn't sit at home polishing her fingernails waiting for a boy to call.

Baseball was what brought them together. They became friends that first day at camp when she stole his favorite hat from his sweaty head and took off running. She wore it the rest of the day and it didn't bother her that it had never been washed. It was the summer before both of them were going into fourth grade, and they were inseparable.

It's not that they were outcasts. They both had friends of the same sex. It's that they were most comfortable when it was just the two of them . They understood each other. Her friends (girls) didn't get it when she talked rbi's, era's, and her dreams to play shortstop. Day's friends (boys) didn't understand his love of reading and writing. When they were together there was an easiness; conversations switching between how their team could've lost last night's game to which book was their favorite that week.



They hated the teasing, and they got it a lot. Their parents, friends and siblings just wouldn't let up. She was the only girl invited to his bar-mitzvah and as soon as he said hello at the party they both heard the kissy sounds of his classmates. He told her they were jealous when he saw the tears in her eyes as she ran from the party. And it was then that he realized that they probably were and with good reason.

She was special and even if she was only a buddy, she was his.

It took her longer to realize. All through high school, he listened to her as they would throw the ball around, about this guy or another. He never told her how he felt. He was always afraid she would laugh and think he was joking. She dated almost every guy in his class and some in the classes above and below. The almost was that she didn't date him.

It was the summer after their graduation when he told her. They were both going away to school, and he was afraid he would lose her to a college guy. He had almost lost her earlier that year. He remembered listening to her talk once again about how she felt about someone other than him, except this guy wanted to marry her. It shocked him into action.

She laughed while talking about it. Finding it so very funny that someone could even think of her in that way. She still loved baseball and hanging with the boys. She couldn't see herself as someone's wife and then later as a mom.

He took another look at the girl he loved and realized that she wasn't a girl anymore. Other people saw her as a young woman with a brilliant smile that would light up her eyes even if they were hidden behind glasses and under that ever present baseball hat.

My Ghost

My thoughts are filled with him. I see someone smile and think of his eyes twinkling. I hear a horn honking and think of him driving. My phone rings and I hope he is calling.

I live with music and every song I hear connects me to him. I can't get away from him. There is nowhere to go to escape his sweet deep voice and rumbling chuckle.

Even my dreams are filled with him... so real that when I wake I'm reaching for him.

He haunts me with his soothing words and chains me to him by the teasing names he calls me.

I miss him but he is not gone from my world.

Recognition

There's this man that I've seen around a couple of times. Actually, more than a couple.

The first time I saw him we both kind of did a double take. We most certainly did not know each other, but there was a connection, a recognition of something there. Of course, every time after that when we saw each other there was a silent understanding. I don't remember ever smiling at him, and I smile at everyone. Believe it or not there was never any flirting between the two of us. He never smiled at me either, but we always looked each other in the eye and knew.

He's younger than I am, but he's not a guy. He's a man. There's a way that he holds himself; a confidence, a surety. And I wasn't sure if he is/was married. I'm still not sure.

I saw him about a month ago. He came into the store, and there was that instant knowing. I looked up and saw that he was caught by surprise to find me working there. We didn't say anything to each other. I was busy helping other people. He walked around as if he didn't remember what he had come in to buy, and then he left.

Yesterday, he showed up in the store again, but it was empty. There were no other customers, and I was laughing with another employee. I looked up and there were his eyes looking down into mine. He smiled back and for the first time I spoke to him.

I helped him find what he was looking for and he joined in on the joking around. There was still an unspoken acknowledgement between us, and then he left. I did get to find out that he is intelligent and funny, but still not sure if he's married or not.

Do You Remember?

Do you remember what show this phrase is from and who used to say it?

Bee-dee, bee-dee, bee-dee...

For some strange reason Petey said "bee-dee" while we were talking today. We were both immediately reminded of a tv show we watched when we were younger, much younger.

Am I... When I...

Just Listen

When I talk to my friends about things that are going on in my life I don't expect answers or solutions. In fact, I don't usually appreciate them. I just need to talk. I usually know exactly what's going on and what needs to be done. This is my life after all. I just need to vent or hear my thoughts out loud.

I try my best to do this for my friends too. It used to be much more difficult. I hurt when the people I care about hurt, and I used to want to solve everything. I find that listening is appreciated more, and if they really need advice my friends will ask for it.

Even if I share similar characteristics to you, what you might find a workable solution may not necessarily apply to me. I am my own person and make my own choices so it bothers me if someone feels that they are responsible for giving me "bad advice" and what occurs afterwards. In no uncertain terms, is that true. For one thing, if you give me advice it doesn't necessarily mean that I'm taking it. For another, by apologizing for the advice you gave, it is as if you are assuming direct responsibility for my actions.

I love my friends, but I resent when they do that. If I choose to do something, it may not be because of your advice even if you did mentioned it.

I know I'm a little bit touchy about this. It might come from the fact that I lived under someone's control for quite some time and had to work very hard to break free of it.

Thanks for listening.

Give Me More

I don't like one word answers. I like reasons, and explanations.

I like to know why something took place or how come you feel a certain way.

I want to understand before I can accept. And I hate the answer that there is no rationale or logic for things to be the way they are.

If you feel a certain way, I want to know how you came to this point.

I don't know if I want to know all of this because I'm curious or because I feel that there is always a causality.

All I do know is that it's easier to explain to me the answer why, as opposed to telling me to do something because you said so. It usually also takes less time.

btw-I've noticed that same thing applies to DB

Becoming Jane

Happy endings can be written
but not lived with the passion
and yearning for their life together

Alone in the future with words for company
each story ending with love
while her own must continue without
not willing to hurt him through his family

Doing what is right and necessary
Instead of what is wanted
For a love never to be lived
but imagined and dreamt
Created with characters

each one, him
each hero, him

because her thoughts are full of him
and the only way to rid herself of them
is to give them to others
as she has given him to others

Everyday, every night
She remembers his behaviors and tones
With a smile on her face.
Hoping that he is happy
That what she has lost
He has gained without her

She was never erased
Always a reminder
In a name of a beloved child

It does not still the beating of her heart
or dry the tears on her soul

He has not forgotten


If only he had,
then perhaps one day she will.

Writing

Do you get scared before posting an intimate story, poem, or intense and questioning feelings? Do you feel compelled to share them anyway... to open your soul so that the world can embrace it or trample it at will?

I find it easier to expose myself to many people at once than to just one person privately. Maybe it's because there's a lower chance of rejection, ridicule, anger, disgust or even shame. Because there must be someone out there who has experienced even the tiniest bit of what I write.

I'm thinking about why I write. Yes, it's expression and I use it as a release, to clarify and then try to look more objectively at my thoughts and feelings. But I think I write for understanding, interaction, feedback and accomplishment.

My writing voice is much different from my speaking voice. The tones and word rhythms I hear in my head are more formal. Isn't that funny? You would think they would be more casual. But maybe its because I view my thoughts and emotions with such intensity that is deserving of a more serious and formal tone/voice to express them. I love to write and forgot how much I loved it... how it flows from my head to my fingers.

There was a time when I refused to write on my computer. I was used to a more visceral experience... of my pen pressing down hard on paper leaving marks of the letters on the pages underneath. Crossing sentences and words out because I disliked the way they fit was always down with numerous strokes which then used to annoy me when I felt that I needed that phrase or word in another part of what I was writing. I would have to stare at the paper to find the shapes of the letters hidden under the marks.

Then I started to use computers and saw that the words could flow more freely, quicker than with my right hand and the callus on my middle finger, that bump from gripping the pencil and carving my words. It has started to get smaller and not as noticeable. Believe it or not my brain still works faster than my fingers and when I have a thought of another line to follow if I don't write it down it's possible to lose it as I get involved in the thoughts I am writing at that moment.

It can get distracting sometimes. I prefer to finish the thought I'm in the middle of rather than to write down a reminder word or phrase afraid of losing the flow. And now I have done just that and am racking my brain trying to concentrate on these words hoping that the idea will decide to come out of hiding, as if it's punishing me for ignoring it.

I even reread all the above to see if it would kick start it, but it seems that it's gone. But instead I go back to how I used to shuffle the papers around. And I've just remembered that I wanted to write about how I would agonize over first sentences, how I would write and re-write them. Or even start with the second sentence knowing that something a certain rhythm, cadence of words naturally belonged in front of it. I used to place the papers with different sentences and switch them around till I felt they fit together.

Do you write with a rhythm in your head knowing that a certain word comes next with two syllables and the emphasis on the first one? I do. If I can't remember the word I want I don't usually fill it in with a synonym instead I leave it blank and come back to it later. Re-reading and drumming out the beats of the word in my head until it comes to me or until I use a thesaurus. I do this when I write prose as well as poetry.

I just read an essay on poetry and on the rhythm of syllables. I need to read it again so that I understand it better and can actually use it and the terms describing it that were written there. When I read different authors the words on paper set a rhythm in my head. I like the way it feels, different than my own thoughts.

I guess people would call it a style of writing but when I hear that word it reminds me of the characters and descriptions a writer uses not their____. I also find that writing late at night or very early morning the words flow easier. Is it less barriers because my mind is tired after a long day and thoughts and feelings come out??? Don't know. I'm getting a little too tired to write now it's about four in the morning, and I've been listening to the slight click of my fingers on the keyboard.

What a difference from the sounds of typewriters or even older keyboards. Maybe it's easier for me to write with a computer now because the sound is less distracting to the rhythms in my head. But I remembered one more point about how I also write using an informal voice. That's when I hear my talking voice in my head. It's when I feel as if I'm having a conversation, maybe a more relaxed or joking conversation with the reader. And that made me think that maybe my formal voice I also use my formal voice my writing voice when I speak. Hmmmm.

Too tired to continue and the thoughts are not fighting for attention in my head anymore. My eyes are closing so I'll end this post. I'll read it later to edit it for spelling etc., but this one just wouldn't leave me alone until it was done. Good night or should I say good morning the birds have been singing for over a half hour now. That makes sense considering that its now 6:30. I thought I started writing a little earlier. Guess not. G'morning to you guys I'm off to get some much needed eye rest.


After reading this over again before I posted, I remembered another thought that I lost while I was writing. It's that I don't listen to music when I write. I like quiet. That way I can hear the rhythms more clearly... so maybe that's another reason why I like to write late at night or early in the morning the world and my life is less noisy.

Friends

Friendships go through ups and downs. They come in or go out with the tide. True friendships survive and continue even if you are at opposite ends of the ocean. Sometimes you drift closer blown by storm winds and try to support or shield one another from pain and hurt. Other times you drift far away or even crash into one another through disagreements.

Happy Girl

How can you be angry at someone who knows you better than you know yourself? At someone you don't even want to be angry with? At someone who knows you just want to pick a fight and don't really want to hurt them?


I was upset when he called. He knew from the second he heard my voice that something was wrong, but he didn't push and ask me about it. I was trying hard not to be argumentative, but then he asked me if I wanted to fight. It appears that I can't hide things from him, not that I really want to or maybe I do.

Something he said made me smile and he knew it would. The next thing I knew there were tears in my eyes and he offered me his shoulder to cry on. That did it and I felt the wet drops trace a hot path down my cheeks. My voice didn't catch in my throat and I wasn't sniffling so there was no way for him to know I was crying. His soft words soothed and relaxed me as if he were holding me in his arms.

Usually when I'm that distressed the tears will go on for quite some time, but as he tells me he's "magic." Never have I felt better in such a short amount of time and with less tears. The next thing I know I'm giggling again.


OR


I'm not upset when he calls, and then he says just the words that he knows will bug me. It's done on purpose to get a rise out of me, and it works of course. He's got his fingers on what buttons to push.

Then he chuckles, and he is most definitely aware that this only infuriates me more. Two seconds later he tells me something that has me cracking up despite myself. This makes him laugh even harder knowing that I'm trying my best to stay irritated with him and that I'm losing the battle. My giggles inform him that he has won again.


Either way it's hard to stay angry at a man who makes me happy... a very happy girl.

Not Making Sense

I've started four new posts within the past 2 days, but I couldn't finish them. The posts are about HIM. Then, just like now, my emotions are all jumbled up and get stuck on the way out. The words are there but I'm tripping on them. Maybe I'll stop worrying about sentences and whether or not it makes sense, and write it down anyway.

Yes, I care about him... deeply, and not just sexually, although there is definitely major chemistry there. miss him want to trace his face with my fingertips and feel safe in his arms. he understands me like no one I've ever met, and knows what I'm thinking before I do. Sometimes I don't think he's real... just a fantastic creation of my overactive imagination. He's a man, but I can see the boy that still lives inside of him.

I could talk to him for hours, and sometimes I catch myself smiling just because I'm listening to his voice. I'm trying to figure this out and I've spoken to some friends about him. I'm not used to this.