Thanks for the Coffee, Bill

{photo from http://caterersguild.org}
As I write tonight, Cole Hamels' butt is gracing my television screen. I have been enjoying the Phillies for a couple of years now. Opera has destroyed any will for me to leave PBS on tonight, which normally I love. I am settling for a 2010 Mets/Phillies game. That's right. A game that has already happened. The good thing is, I don't remember the outcome. If you ask me, Cole Hamels looks like a slightly older Zac Efron.

I digress so far from what I had actually thought about writing tonight. Damn men. Damn hot men. Pfffffff. Getting in the way of my words.

Seriously though, tonight most people are still talking about the death of Dick Clark. It is definitely a big ticket death. I have to say that I'm glad to have watched his Rockin' Eve into 2012. I always thought it was courageous and endearing that he would still do the show, post-stroke.

The end of the summer of 2009, I packed up my belongings from my cute little and coveted abode in the center of the small town that I lived in and moved into another smallish town one state over. I had decided to move in with someone after an extremely brief time together...however, we'd known each other as 12 and 13 year olds so it felt as though I knew him well.

In the back of my apartment house was such good fortune....a man who owned a coffee roasting company had his business there. He also lived in the apartment above the shop. When I had moved in, Bill was an amazing Welcome Wagon. He carried up the fire escape a huge urn of coffee for me and my movers. I remember feeling so welcome and think I may have even posted about it at the time.

But upon leaving, my partner and I were standing on the fire escape looking down toward the roaster. Bill came out, looked up and said to him, "Take good care of her!" Now, I'm thinking, that's a pretty normal and cliche thing to say. I think most women have heard that at some point in their lives. Which means that a lot of men say it. My partner seemed off when he replied that he would. Then he said to me directly that he was basically insulted that Bill would say that. One thing I would learn is that Partner could not handle if he thought someone was saying anything that alluded to telling him what to do. He conveyed to me that Who was this guy to tell him? I was glad that he didn't say anything loud enough (I don't think) so that Bill could hear him. I was certain that it was harmless.

Two and a half years later, I find myself having just moved into my own space in this small town. It's been a rough, very rough, two and a half years. Having finally come to this decision and spending my very first night here only four nights ago, I saw tonight a post on Facebook, telling me that Bill, who was only 50, passed away within the last 24 hours. Bill who I hadn't really spoken with since I left the neighborhood. I find it to be quite the timing that when I disengaged myself from the relationship, Bill passed on, although one has nothing to do with the other.

But here is another heartfelt cliche -the wish for the deceased....Bill, I hope you are up there with a roaring bike that has a cup holder to secure your dark roast. Thank you for your friendship.

Then I Turned Around...and it was Gone!

I don’t know how many of you remember, but I clearly recall standing on the current far side of the bridge a few months ago. Summer was beginning, school was out…a season of possibility and surprise!

Our list included Summer’s greatest hits such as Eating out of the garden, planting and tending to flowers, growing Black krim tomatoes, camping in the back yard, getting corn form a local farm stand, enjoying a huge helping of home-made local ice cream and just in general, a lot of barefoot walking anywhere it could be done.

And this summer had it’s great moments. Freshly fried zucchini with homemade marinara sauce from the garden eaten outside as a family, Sunday evening jazz and blues music softly lending itself to an outdoor beer or wine, weeding (yes, weeding!), watching the Irish Bells come up and actually see how the namesake was derived. Humanling, who has epilepsy, had her yearly EEG during the hottest days of over 100 degrees. Poor thing with her head wrapped up tight in a bandage and the Wrapologist telling me, “Keep her head from sweating”.

This summer also brought a few of the worst fights my mate and I have ever experienced together as well. During those fights, never wanting to give up or leave, just Fix.

Everytime I think I have learned about myself, I realize that I cannot hold onto who I think I am right now. This will not stick. I will be different in a week or a month or a year. I’d love to take those pieces and moments of me that I enjoy and put them in a lidded jar, to contain what I know I will forget. I will forget all those wonderful qualities that I have when a fight comes around. Or when my mate asks why I did something This way instead of That way. Or when I lose my patience and snap on my little girl that I only want to shield from scars of all kinds.

It’s so easy to become down on ourselves. No wonder there’s a market for self esteem and confidence books. And thankfully for the younger sect as well.

But buying a book isn’t good enough. Practice practice practice. My Humanling needs to see me feel like a million percent Light in order to see that it is not only possible, but to bridge her to her own 100%.

I need to prioritize teaching her how to feel Safe with her feelings. That feelings are always okay. She is never wrong for having them. Reactions on the other hand…..our house needs time to slow down between exchanges. Reactions could be different, given a buffer of time. Until we can do so, I can only hyper focus on my own….being attentive, aware and deciding right then and there to drift with the moment on a non-reactive river.

Our summer saw the illness and death of my mate’s stepfather, who was essentially the only and best male role model he has ever had since he was about 13. We watched three strokes, at one per month and then finally on August 21st, stood in his hospital room and watched his last exhalation.

This has been the only death that I have witnessed. I am still trying to wrap my head around watching a bundle of 62 years that laughed, raged, experienced, married twice, raised and adored two daughters and become something huge to many, just end. Simply. No drama, no final gasp like on TV. Just an exhale of Done.

This has been the only time I have witnessed “Til Death Do Us Part” and watch his wonderful wife devastated, yet graceful, accept the reality of this vow.

Due to Bill’s death, I have now been to only one funeral that had a New Orleans 2nd Line feel to it. Bill’s son in law played the “When the Saints Go Marching In” on trombone as we waved handkerchiefs and twirled parasols on our way to the reception hall.

At the same reception, I heard wonderful and lively stories about the dearly departed. He was a wine connoisseur, and had earlier on in life, his own wine shop that refused to carry cheap wine. Our table had the best wine I’ve ever tasted. A wonderful chardonnay with strong vanilla in it. I finally had my first love moment with a wine.

Leaves and temperatures are doing their seasonal ritual….the gradual dips. Slowly so as to not shock us. Another beautiful season.

I’m going to miss my bare foot excursions as the time needs to be taken now to sock and shoe up while gently we move into this new season of healing and adapting.