Birthday Boy!

Today is Michael, my manfriend's birthday. I was asked recently why I call him my manfriend. Well, I was dating him and we seemed a little long in the tooth to call each other girlfriend or boyfriend. My friend said call him your manfriend, that's what my mother would call him, your manfriend. So it was, manfriend stuck. I long for the days when we used to go skiing for his birthday every year. It was fun for me, but just watching the unmitigated joy on his face as he skied down some of the steepest hills, riding along, going around moguls, as if he was flying, well, it was like watching the best testosterone filled ballet ever. I miss those days when we would be surrounded by friends and snow, lots and lots of snow. He is never as happy as when he is skiing down a double black diamond hill, gracefully maneuvering through the snow. Our son Thomas skate boards, and when I see him weave on his board, it reminds me so much of Michael it makes me tear up. By now everyone who sees what I write knows we are faced with a rather unpleasant quandary of what to do about his impending move away from us. This might very well be the last birthday I get to be with him for a while. Yes, it makes me sad, very sad, but I will say that while he is here, in front of me, coming home from work to this house, I cherish every single minute. I notice everything about him these days. I notice every new grey hair on his head, every mannerism that may have escaped me before, every syllable he utters, even the ones where he is talking about dog pooh. He is without a doubt my manfriend. Michael and I met years and years ago at college, when I was a sophomore and only 19 years old. He was a whopping 22. He was an "old man", what they called upper class men in band. We were both going to Ohio University, and I had gone to band camp for marching band. I knew everything about marching band in high school, but let me tell you, being in the OU 110 was a whole different animal. Michael was on the staff for the band camp and busy doing all kinds of things to help out our director. One job was he had to take pictures of all the new people, so the director could put faces with names. He would stand outside the dorm we were staying in and put us one by one up against a wall and snap the photo. Every time he did it, he got asked the exact same question, "Why?" I was just another face in a long line of newbies he had to photograph. He was surly and short in his answers, even snapping at me when I asked the inevitable question. I couldn't help but feel something was different about this guy, something was extraordinary. I stared at him until he turned around and asked, "What?" I shook my head and headed back to the herd that was my group. I knew then as I know now that there really was something pretty amazing about this saxophone player with the surly attitude. Michael and I dated in college and after. I felt so drawn to him, so riveted by this boy, this brunette, sinewy youth, who was funny, smart, handsome and focused. We were like magnets that always found ourselves next to each other, but we wanted such different things in our youth. Michael wanted to travel, be free to do what he wanted when he wanted. I wanted kids, a home, a family. I knew we were at odds, and he did too. Out of love and respect, we did what felt very unnatural, we let each other go pursue our individual dreams. Love is what brought us together in the first place and love is what escorted us right back out of our relationship. Because it was out of love we decided to part, we made a decision to keep the friendship. Our friendship grew over time, with our acceptance and our expanding lives. I did get married and have kids, and Michael came to the wedding, eventually becoming Betty our youngest, Godfather. We did double date, including our significant others in our friendship. When he broke up from his latest girlfriend, we talked it out. When my marriage failed, he helped me move. We were there for each other in ways I could not have imagined when I was 19. Michael has been my friend when I needed one the most, and I have been his friend when he felt alone and distraught. I look back now and see that is where the real love started, in the showing up for each other without any expectation. We saw each other as people first, treading carefully when needed and making the other laugh when least expected. It is our foundation, this friendship, this companionship and mutual respect. Had you asked either of us way back then, if we would be married now, I doubt we would have seen it. But now, in this time in our lives, it seems completely right, and nearly unthinkable for things to be any other way. Our love sneaked up on us. It came softly, not with overwhelming passion at first, but with quiet walks, and inside jokes, and total appreciation of who each of us were to each other and ourselves. I was right when I saw extraordinary surrounding this man. He is in every way. He is the best friend you will ever have. He is the kindest person you will ever meet. He is generous to a fault, inclusive to his world, gentle to those who are weak, and able to show unbelievable strength when required. My 19 year old self, feeling nothing but a gut instinct, knew enough to stay close to the young man with the agitated demeanor at band camp. I knew enough to treasure him first as a person, the same way he treasures me. We are who we are as a married couple because of who we are as friends. Today we celebrate his birth, the anniversary of his arrival. I can't imagine how this world would look to me without him. He changed my perception of how I see others, how I respond, how I think. His influence is everywhere in me, as if a part of my DNA. I have mannerisms similar to his, now. After being married, we have started to acquire physical traits where there used to be only emotional ones. I tell him all the time, one day I will have a goatee, and a larger nose, while he would have glasses and a craving for chocolate twice a day. (He got his first pair of glasses just last month. Our oldest now calls us Pawpaw and Memaw when we watch television.) Today is one of the happiest days of my life. It is the day God gave me Michael. It is in every sense one of the best days of the year, along with the kids birthdays, because this being the anniversary when they hit the ground running. My darling boy is older, softer, a little greyer around the temples. He is wiser, funnier, and more thoughtful. He is showing our children how aging gracefully looks. He is the best of men, this manfriend of mine. Today is not a day for thinking what we might not have next year, but a time to celebrate where my Michael is today. Today, he has never looked better. He kissed me goodbye this morning and the electricity, the sheer warmth of it has stayed with me all day. He says it's because of static cling. But I know better.

Daddy Issues

Tonight I was thinking about a time with Michael and I where I got to really cut loose. We were dating and I got travel with him to Mexico, Belize, ski trips to upper state New York, really fun stuff. I was not thinking about the kind of daddy issues that lead to a pole, although I did take a one night strip course in which I saw myself in one of those floor length mirrors that prompted me to put away the notion of ever doing any moves in front of anyone, including me. I am talking about the kind of daddy issues where I was both mother and father to the kids after Danny died. It went something like this..."Ladies and Gentlemen, we proudly introduce the one, the only, asexual, food encrusted, dust bunny killing, mom/dad combination...Kellie!" To which I would do a sweeping curtsy and trip over the microphone wire, falling directly on my face. Tahdah! I ran offensive tackle for one son, defensive goal keeper for another one and taught my youngest daughter to stand on my feet when she danced. I had to do it all because there was no one else to do it. I was all consumed with kid stuff. Every once in while I got the chance to travel for a few days and forget that I was both father and mother and I got to be all girl. I lived for the those times, counting the days, packing weeks in advance for the chance to board a plane and become someone's girlfriend. I wasn't much of a drinker. I am known even today as TBK, Two Beer Kellie. Given a little food and a dance floor, I can hold my own with a couple glasses of wine, much more than that will lead to me either falling asleep or falling down. Neither is attractive to a date in a bar. I had been pretty much straight sober before my divorce for 7 and 1/2 years, with the only exception being a wild night at the neighbors making luminaries, drinking wine which lead me to be trapped in my own sweater when I got home falling off the side of the bed. The neighbor and I, both really embarrassed, only spoke of it one time after it happened. She had been blasted as well, watching me stumble home, taking an incredibly long time to key into my house, whose door was already unlocked. So you get the picture, I can't hold my liquor, wine or beer, for that matter. One summer while Michael and I dated I got the chance to go to Cozumel, Mexico. It was hot, July, and I was anxious to get the hell out of my house. It was baseball season, pool season, summer vacation for my kids and they were home being "bored" participating in every activity known to mankind. I was working long hours and coming home to chaos. I needed a break, a vacation from being a parent. I needed to be a girl, woman, person who didn't cut up food on others plates, or run a washer 7 days a week, or chief, cook and bottle washer. In Mexico, we snorkled, swam, laid upon a snow white sandy beach, ate fresh fish at nice restaurants, slept in clean sheets sans the little person in my life who did not like sleeping alone. One night Michael took me to a place called Carlos and Charlies, a loud, wild, dance club for the young drunken set. It was perfect for me, seeing all that tanned youth, drinking shots, dancing carefree, happy to be alive. We were at a table when a guy came up and asked if we wanted a tequila shot. "Ooooh, yes, please." I said almost drooling at the idea of not checking my watch for the time to see when I had to get a sitter home. I was free, the kind of free parents get once only in a very few years. It was the kind of free where time does not exist, patients never die and children are with their grandparents, safely tucked into bed. The first shot was in a very thin, taller than a shot glass glass, that went down like silk. "Mmmmm, delicious." I murmured over the hazy after glow of the alcohol. We were laughing and dancing and having such a marvelous time when the guy came back with the second shot, I immediately said "Yeah!" Once again he gave us the magic tequila, while blowing whistles and shaking our heads as we giggled and slurped. "Yum!" was my only response. The music was banging loudly and we continued on being "partying" kind of people. I had met a young man at the next table and in my increasingly intoxicated state, decided a popcorn fight in the middle of the bar was exactly what was needed to liven things up. This young college kid and I had the best time throwing food, dancing on tables, waving our hands being generally fun loving slightly drunk vacationers. The third time the guy with the shots came around, my inhibitions and judgement were shot. Michael raised his eyebrows at me and said, "Kel, I don't think it's a good idea to have a third one. Those things sneak up on you." Not being of sound mind or body, I responded with a flat, "OK, Dad." With that Michael threw up his hands and let me drink the third shot as I danced around in my warm and very fuzzy state. A little later, the popcorn dude was falling to the floor and Michael was escorting me to my feet so we could make the walk back to our hotel room. He held onto my hand tightly as I bobbed and weaved with invisible changing gravity, down the sidewalk, making our way back to our temporary home. I still in my tequila fuzz, fumbled my clothes off and lay in bed in my underwear. I stayed in the exact same position all night long until the sun rose the next morning. My head banging much like the beat of the previous night's music, I felt sick. I wasn't throw up sick, but I was definitely "oh dear God, kill me" sick. Everything on me hurt. My hair hurt. I was so hungover and craving something cold for my face I went out on the balcony, in my underwear and laid down on the porcelain tile. In Mexico the workers get up and go to work at sun up, so there I was this crazy American drunkard laying out on the balcony in my underwear praying for death. I had put on my sun glasses to keep out the light since my eyes had shriveled to the size of raisins, as the Mexican workers pointed to our balcony yelling "Americana, el loco!" as they wandered down the busy street to work. It's not really an exact quote because I do not really know Spanish, and well, I was a little busy being extremely hungover. Later that morning Michael looked at me as I wore dark glasses, my hair tousled, head in my hands and said, "I guess Dad wasn't wrong after all." Had I not known how right he was, I surely would have called him names and stormed off. Instead all I did was laugh for the first time all day, since my tequila incident. I have never called Michael "Dad" since that night. If he tells me I might not want to do something with that raised eyebrow thing he does, I stop doing it. Wild and crazy was fun, but drunk and hungover was not my cup of tea, which ironically is all I could stomach for a while after my tequila regression. I learned something on that trip. First, I learned whistles, music and college students have a price, second I learned to cut loose without the need to lay face first on a balcony in my underwear in a foreign country, and thirdly, the

most important lesson, when your best friend says don't do it, then that is the perfect time to stop.

Living An Extreme Lifestyle

I was written to by someone I knew a hundred years ago when I was a teenager. He said he didn't mean it as a criticism, but he thought I was controlled by my extreme emotions. At first I thought he did mean to criticize me, but had qualified it, so I would not retaliate in writing using words to get back at him. But then I realized since he and I had never had an actual conversation as adults, he had no idea who I was without inflection to my words. It's a curse for all writers to try and explain a feeling, or describe an emotion or event. How do you get something across to someone without the inflection in your voice? How do you say what you mean, if the written word is all you have? I describe my emotional state the best way I can, trying to convey the power of a single moment in flowery words, but the truth is most of our biggest moments would not be considered very big if someone actually heard the conversation. I suppose he was right in some ways. I suppose to him, in my writing I probably sound as if I am controlled by my extreme emotions, but I know I am just living my life the best way I know how, and pretty quietly at that. I do not rant and rave all over the house every day. I do not cry often, but sit and spend my time in thoughtful contemplation when big decisions need to be made. I am more quiet at home than any other place on earth. I live a simple life, spending time with my family, watching TV, taking walks, discussing the news of the day. My life in it's totality, in it's reality, is actually pretty tame. I am not one for, what my friend Jim refers to as "Barbie Drama", where a situation gets inflated beyond recognition, with a frenzied sense of urgency that is neither necessary or called for. I was a nurse for so long that I tend to want to breathe things in for a minute, no matter how critical, so I can make a solid decision. Panic is not in my repertoire. If you have a fever of 106, I will take your temperature twice, get ice to apply to your head and neck, call a doctor and follow the advice without so much as breaking a sweat myself. If you cut your finger off, I would put it into a bag of ice, bandage your hand and drive you to a hospital, going the speed limit and talking in low tones. If you get dumped after years of a long term relationship, I will offer you cheese cake, a shoulder to cry on and the softest tissues in the house with a "now what?" attitude to get you thinking about where you need to go from here. I am not good at panic, or extreme anything. I am not an extreme sports enthusiast, extreme makeover fan, or extremely good at very high highs or very lows. It is what makes Michael and I perfect for each other. Neither of us gets worked up at the same time. If he is unnerved, I am calm. If it is me who is upset, he is the one who ushers in the quiet. I am the exact opposite of an adrenaline junky. Even Michael with his ability to ski the steepest slopes, carefully plots out his course, before he starts down the hill. I was reading one of my favorite writers, Martha Beck. She was writing about the today's culture of being over inflated with the sense of "WOW!" Wow is nice, having the occasional toe-curler, I think is necessary, but real happiness comes from a peaceful place. Martha for me is like having a personal trainer for my brain. In her musings about happiness, I found myself confident that I was doing things in my personal life right. When Martha writes I am usually the reader who recognizes immediately how wrong I have been, but this time when she was writing about real happiness, what I recognized was how right Michael and I are together. Together we celebrate our life together with simple means. We notice a perfect weather day, or how a tree is waving to us in the wind, or how good something smells. Together we share meals, cooking together, one chopping while another sautes. We then sit at our table we bought together for just such occasions and talk, and eat, and sip, and laugh. I rinse the dishes, and he then loads them into the dishwasher. We walk hand in hand, taking in sights, smells, seasons. We rub each others feet while we watch the TV in the evening. We touch each others faces, as if to say, " I know this face. I love this face. This face makes me happy." Having these simple pleasures, this real happiness every day, is why I write blogs of extremity. I know if things do not somehow change I will not have this joy again for some time. Michael comes up behind me while I am cooking, he puts his arms around me, kisses my neck, says he loves me, purrs as if a contented feline. He nuzzles me, so completely connected are we, one to the other. He showers in the evening after working out and every night, as if on cue, I enter just after he has gotten out. I applaud his nudity, make suggestive remarks, tease him about being the "Man Candy" of the house. He dresses, his face crimson. He brushes his teeth as I stand behind him, my arms around his waist, kissing the back of his neck. It is our routine, our private boring little moments of a marriage that has lasted beyond a decade, beyond teenagers, college students, job changes, illness and moving. There is a quiet sweetness to our life together. What puts the sexy in sex for us is the connection, the acceptance, the appreciation. What others might find boring or even mundane is the very thing that keeps us content, connected and hot for each other. Martha wrote that most people do not take the time to find peaceful happiness in every day moments, but I know to my core, that Michael and I do that very thing. Big excitement is fine every once in a while, but we know enough at our age that the pendulum of excitement, adrenaline, and big comes down to swing the other way. We prefer simple, quiet, real, everyday. I know exactly what I will be missing when Michael's job takes him away. I will feel it to my bones every singe day and night. I know in excruciating detail every touch I will not feel, every kiss I will not receive, every smile I will not see. I know all of it, without exception. His having to move will prevent the big stuff like holidays together, but the worst part is the every day routine of our love, our joy, our quiet happiness. Tonight we are having southwestern pasta with chicken and capers, jalapenos, and a tomato cream sauce. We will have a salad, with a chocolate for dessert. We will laugh and talk, watch the news and discuss the events of the day, finish up, so we can do the dishes, all while brushing arms, holding hands, kissing necks, and playing footsies under the table. I am in the moment. I push so hard to live directly in the eye of the moment, quietly calculating how long until Michael will no longer be the at the physical center of my universe. He will always be in the center of my universe as a whole but just not within touching distance. What I feel for my husband is extreme. I may not live an extreme life, but I live in extreme love. As a writer, it is the one subject that is the most difficult to describe.

Censored

This is what my blog could look like if SOPA/PIPA gets through. Stop censorship of the web........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Enough said.

I Came Out

I was asked not too long ago why I had more gay friends than straight ones. My response was to sit in front that person completely puzzled. "What?" I asked. This person a younger female then looked at me almost embarrassed and said, "It just seems as though you have more gay friends than straight ones." I watched this young one's face carefully. I wondered to myself why that question was even a question, and why it mattered to her or anyone who my friends might be. "I don't think I do, but to be completely honest with you, I have never sat down and looked at the numbers." Although my first instinct was to get insulted, to take this question personally, I thought it might better serve me to stop and think about why she thought she needed to ask the question in the first place. I get touchy about any prejudice toward my gay friends, so I knew I was being pissy with her. I called my closest friend and asked if he had noticed if I had more gay friends than straight ones. "I think, Kellie, you gravitate towards people who are thoughtful and self reflective. Gay people need to be self reflective in order to survive. Maybe it's not so much a matter of numbers or a ratio of how many versus straight, but rather that you go for friends who are accepting. "Ahh, that makes so much sense, now that you put it that way.I know I have gay friends, but I also have straight ones. The common denominator is that they are all so accepting and giving.When she asked it just reminded me when I asked if I were gay way back when." My friend paused and sighed, "I remember that time.Everyone wanted you all figured out. When you came out as a straight person, I think the people who questioned your sexuality were relieved that you had openly picked a side." Back when I was in high school and college I found myself being questioned about my sexuality. What exactly was I? For me the answer was self evident, I was straight all the way to my bones. My gay friends seemed to know who they were as well. My problem was I didn't look the part of the stereo typical straight girl to some. I seemed to be a quandary to some. I loved flannel shirts, wearing baseball caps, power tools and high top tennis shoes. I also liked people of all types so I could not be type cast in the friend department. In college I went long stretches of time without a boyfriend. I liked sports but wasn't particularly good at them. I liked boys, but I felt myself being pulled away from it because of my extremely bad taste in boyfriends. I became a little asexual, putting aside my sexuality until I had things more figured out for myself about what kind of person I wanted. I remember when a woman, a beautiful, tall, blond "Miss America" type showed an interest in me. I thought or at the very least assumed that everybody knew I was straight, so I thought she wanted to be friends. She had asked me out for drinks. This gorgeous woman, smart, funny, so well put together sat across from me and acted as though I were fascinating. I was embarrassed by the attention. She then did something very unexpected and made her intentions known to me. We were on a date, only I did not know it. Once I found out she thought I was gay, I had to tell her I was straight. Dumbfounded, she looked at me mouth agape and uttered, "You are kidding! I never saw that coming. I was certain you were gay." I wasn't shocked. I probably should have been since I had never even considered women as possible partners. What I did feel was a little remorseful that I was straight. I looked into her eyes and said wistfully, "I am not even bi-curious. It's almost sad." She laughed at that. My straightness was then clear to her and she found the whole situation hilarious. I was so completely complimented that she thought enough of me to ask me out. In my mind she could have had anybody, and she chose me. It was such a lovely moment for me to have someone so beautiful, so smart, so incredibly generous think enough of me to want to get to know me better. It's one of those rare, sweet moments I continue to remind myself of when I am having a "I hate everything about me" days. After our "date" she looked at me, leaned over and kissed me so softly and said, "If you ever change teams, let me know." and with that she smiled this big brilliant smile, all sparkling, white toothiness smile. As she drove away in her very cool car, I thought, "Damn! I wish I were at least bi." Over the years, when I was single, I have had people pull me aside and ask what I was. Almost bored I responded, "I'm straight." Since I have remarried no one asks anymore. The wedding rings, blog and book have answered those questions. I do have lots of gay friends. I don't think of them as gay, they are just who they are. I find that the people they fall in love with are people I tend to like very much. What are they? I don't really care about all that, and never have. My sexuality has been one part of my life. I am made up of many parts, as are my friends. My straight friends are non-judgmental, as well, so what they are is never as important as who they. Curious to see if I really do have more of one than the other I did the math. Turns out I do have more close friends who are gay than straight. It isn't all that lopsided, and in the end, it doesn't matter to me. It doesn't matter to them either. They accept for exactly who I am without apology or exception. I never have to explain why I am, I just talk, being completely me. My gay friends all have these magnificent coming out stories. Some are gut wrenching, some tragic, some are even glorious. They all had to come out to family and friends and say who they were. Being faced with that, I think they are more insightful than some. They have had to come to terms with those who would not accept who they were. In some ways, on a very tiny scale I can relate. There have been times when I have lost friends for being me. Maybe I was too liberal, too conventional, not tall enough, not blond enough, not whatever they had thought I was enough. Not too long ago I had walked into a room of lesbian friends. We were all laughing because we had all worn very similar clothes. One friend looked over at me and said, "We should make you an honorary lesbian." Gleefully, I clapped my hands and took the honor bestowed on me with great pride. I was surrounded by some of the nicest, most sincere, genuine and loving women I know, so being included in their group made me so happy. I came out as a straight woman years ago, but it's nice to know I still have my honorary gay status still intact.

Pass It On

I was at work making people cry which I have to tell you is not uncommon for me since I spent over 20 years as a nurse. As a nurse, I was used to making people cry over injections, diagnoses, prognoses, and sometimes about just taking a shower. I am used to seeing people burst into tears when I have bad news. It still effects me, but I have learned over the years how to keep the calm and respect their tears without falling apart myself. I worked as a hospice nurse where I literally had to call people in and tell them their parent had died. What could be worse than that? Not much, I am sure. Maybe if I were a pediatric nurse who had to deliver that news to parents about their child, maybe that is worse. I make people cry for other reasons now. It isn't about their health, it's usually about their hopes and dreams. Working in financial aid, there are times when I am a dream crusher. One day last week I made five people cry, nearly in a row. I bought a box of tissues and leave them at my seat for just such occasions. I hate when I have to look someone in the eye and tell them that all their hopes and dreams will have to be put on hold or changed completely, and they will have to find another way to get where they need to go. I know there are those who think these situations aren't a big deal, but in one case the girl's brother was shot in the head and she had to help take care of him, leaving her school work behind. Another case a woman left her very abusive husband with her children and lived in a shelter for months, moving back to Houston to be with family only to find out we could not help her now, not never, just not now. Do you see why I am the dream killer? I have to point out all the red tape, the guidelines, the things that need to be secured in order for them to get any help. Do they deserve help? Sure they do, I think they do, and if it were up to me they would get it, but it's not. If it were up to my boss, my dean the people all around student services they would get what they need, but it's not. We do what we can. I am the face, in a way, of the department, the first person in a long list of people who touch their files. I try really hard to see each and every one of them, to not view them as a number, but to remember that I was them once a long time ago. I guess, that is why I like my job so much, this twisting and turning of guidelines and number crunching that helps people live up to a potential greater than most ever thought they could achieve. In some ways, I am living proof that great things can happen after tragedy, that good people, nice people do not always finish last, but learn and pass on whatever knowledge they have gained. Years ago when I was on my own with my kids, our finances hanging in the balance, I was in school, working two jobs and just doing whatever I could to hang on. One really bad month, a friend of mine, my supervisor at the time, told me to meet her in the parking lot. She popped her trunk and inside was food, a whole car load of food, paper towels, cookies, a week's worth of groceries to help us out. "I can't take this," I protested. "I am not dragging all this back home," she said smiling at me. Embarrassed, I put all the groceries in my car. Crying openly, I fell into her arms as she hugged me and said this, "You will be O.K. One day, when someone else needs a hand up, pass this on. We have to be here for each other, we have to help each other. It's how we will all survive." It was not the only time she helped me, not with money, but Ma Carol helped me with problems, giving advice, sharing a cup of coffee, making me laugh. To this day we still keep in contact and I try my level best to live in a way that would make her proud. I try my level best to pass it on, in whatever way I can. I love my job, I do. Not everyday is filled with tragedy, just some. Those are the days I remember from whence I came. I was single mother. I had really tragic times. When Danny died I had to take finals the very next week. I failed every one. I had to repeat the whole semester. I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out, but I survived because Ma Carol put her hand out and helped lift me out. She didn't coddle me, she helped me help myself. I love when I get to help people get the assistance they need, so they can go to school and pass this on. I reiterate to them, when I can, that is the bigger picture for them and for me. One day they will be O.K. One day when they are doing well, they will be able to help someone else who is having a really hard time. One day in the not so far future they will be able to pass it on.

Dear Kellie - Monday, January 09, 2012 - Copyright 2007 Ourtribune.com

Dear Kellie - Monday, January 09, 2012 - Copyright 2007 Ourtribune.com


First column of new year.

Hi Kellie

Deep in a dark, dank room, down the stairs in a church basement, there is a room filled with people. In the outside world they appear normal, but here one can see the dark circles, the worn clothes, the oppressed nature of the beast that has a hold of them. I find myself one of them now, a place I could not have imagined when I first had kids, or even the dream of kids so many years ago. "Hi, my name is Kellie and I am a parent." Group looks over, "Hi, Kellie," they say in unison in a bland, monotone voice. "I am finding myself having difficulty letting go. I admit I have screwed some things up pretty bad, but look, I thought I was just hurting myself, you know, just affecting me, but now I see this is a bigger problem than I had originally anticipated. Oh, God, I really think I need help." The group leader gets up and moves to a chair directly in front of me. Leader-"At what point did you really start to notice the problem?" Me-"Oh, I don't know..." Leader-"Really think now, Kellie, when did this get out of control?" Me-"O.K., O.K., I think it was back in '06, but I had my reasons, the stress of their SAT's, college entrance exams, prom,...I had a handle on things, I did, but then, the first one moved out and I could not stop myself. I always told myself I would quit when the right time came, but then..." Leader-"But then what?" Me-"But then there were always reasons to visit the campus, to call her, to check on her and how she was doing, plus there were other ones still in high school. Look, there was no way to go cold turkey because of the other ones." I buried my head in my hands. Leader-"Was there ever a right time with the other children? Have you ever stopped long enough to let your recovery really take hold?" Me-"No! Are you happy? I have never once since all this began let go long enough for anything in my life to take hold! I can't stop, it's too hard. I can't stop..." The group all nod in unison. In the distance, in the back of the crowd I here an older woman's voice, "Been there, done that." Leader-"At what exact point did you know you had bottomed out and needed help? Share with us, Kellie, this is a safe place." Me-"Well,..." I look down ashamed,"I was in the superduper market, you know, just picking up household items, when I was drawn to the ...I can't. I am too ashamed." Leader-"Kellie, you can do this, please go on. I promise you just saying it out loud will bring you some relief." Me-"I was in the baby isle." An audible gasp from the crowd can be heard as I lower my head and tears run down my face."I was touching the baby clothes, looking at car seats, then I found the booties. It was all over then. I knew I needed help." Leader-"I admit, you are one of the more severe cases, but you can overcome this. Having four kids in four years, well, someone should have seen this coming, but not everyone is affected the same." Me-"It's just that I am not useful anymore. They don't need me so much anymore.I shouldn't have gone in the baby stuff, I know how far I have fallen, but I miss it. I miss it everyday." The crowd, still nodding with understanding, this group of middle aged and above, men and women, who have been in the battle of their lives. Leader-"Look, this is why we are here gathered to support one another. You an do this, you can live like a real grown up without all the worry and anxiety of parenting.It's time for you to move on, to let go and let God, one day at a time." Me-"Will I ever feel normal again? Is it possible to not be a mom after all these years?" Leader-"Kellie, You are looking at this all wrong, you will always have this situation of being a mother, but it's how you decide to handle it that will determine whether or not you ever find yourself sobbing in the baby isle again." Me-"I never thought I'd be this person, you know the one who cannot get passed all of this? One minute I am living the dream, and the next I am spit washing my husband. Once, on date, back when I was a single mother I actually fixed my dates tie and combed his hair." "Poor dear, she's got it bad." I could hear again from the crowd. Leader-"We meet twice a week for our more severe cases, and once a week for those who merely want to maintain their recovery. In the times when you are not at a meeting, we will assign you a sponsor to help. Margie, I think would be a good a fit for you. She's a grandmother now and has all kinds of outside activities. She only baby sits when she wants to. She even went on a vacation recently and was gone for two whole weeks. Me-"That's possible?" Leader-"Oh, my yes! We have many parents who have recovered and have gone on to seek personal interests, and grow their romantic relationships. Help is here if you want it. You can go on to live a very fulfilling life." I pondered the idea of not cutting anyone's meat, not checking on someone's finances, not calling with reminders, not shopping for, thinking of, planning for all that time. For the first time in 25 years I felt like there might be life after parenting. Me-"I will try, with all your help." The crowd burst into applause, said the parenting prayer and pledged to do something normal for the week ahead.

Keeping the Lucky Penny

Some love stories are epic tales, or in this case epic tails. This blog is dedicated to just such a story of a man and his dog, a simple, tried and true love story that changed the world for the better in the most unexpected ways. Penny, the beautiful girl seen above, left a legacy of love, compassion and opened me up to a world I had thought I never wanted to be within. Brady, the man, is a disc jockey. That title seems small when describing him. He is so much more than a record spinner. An ex military guy, he is strong, really smart, and incredibly funny. I met Brady a million years ago when I was a tiny child. He is a few years older than I am and back then he was infatuated with my sister. He was a boy from our neighborhood, a boy who was a bit of a ring leader, who had this way of getting us into just enough trouble without risking our lives. He was also the guy who covered everybody's butt if things got out of hand. We all sort just did what he told us. I have no idea what made us trust him so easily back then, maybe it was the innocence of youth, maybe it was that we were just dumb, or maybe we all knew he would never do anything to really hurt us, but if he got to laugh at us all the better. No one was more committed to comedy than Brady. I learned years ago there was no way for anyone to make you feel embarrassed if you were truly committed to the bit. It took me a lot of years to learn that, when my dear friend Brady intrinsically knew it from the time he was very young and still in school. If he was going to do something silly, you could bet your life he was totally committed to the bit. He never felt embarrassed, if anything he was able to gain followers who admired his ability to stay loyal to the outcome. Thinking about this trait in him, this loyalty, it did not take much to connect the dots and realize he was as committed to everything in his life. Brady has this way of whittling a situation down to find the heart of the matter, whether it be in humor or another emotion. It's really quite remarkable the way he takes a block of information and chips away at it to find a truth buried beneath all the outer rings. He does it with big social topics, he does it with music, and he does it with pop culture, which is where he makes me laugh the hardest. He is very punny. This past month, I was privileged enough to see via social media, him and his beautiful wife go through something heartbreaking. Publicly, he never wavered from being the strong, smart, funny guy, but for those of us who are honored enough to be in his friends list, he showed honestly, his heartbreak of taking care of his beloved Penny. It was all there, his heart open and mourning her illness. He told us how they had taken her hours away for help, hoping beyond hope that someone could save her. His brutal honesty was in every word, on each post, and we all were standing by waiting for a Christmas miracle that would save one of the loves of his life. There was the power of the throng, wanting, praying, wishing them their miracle. When so many other times we see people gather in large groups that end in destruction, here we all were pulling so hard for something beyond ourselves, pulling for this family to become whole. Brady, knowing we were all in this with him, graciously took time out to update Penny's condition. In the end, even the best veterinary medicine in Oklahoma could not save his beloved Penny. Ultimately, they took her home where she wandered in the yard, wagged her tail and in the night, surrounded by those she loved and who dearly loved her, she let go. I have no doubt she knew exactly how much she was loved. If it was so apparent over the internet, I am certain in person, face to face, it had the power that could light up even the darkest night sky. My friend, lost one of the loves of his life just before Christmas. His family, in mourning, put to rest the girl, who loved them in a way no one else could. They did not have a Christmas tree, forgetting about the holiday because they were so focused on their girl. The holiday passed quietly for his family as they faced the new year without the beautiful girl who impacted their lives and changed them forever. I believe we are made up of mostly soul with a few spare parts to keep out the cold. It is the soul in us that creates our beauty, develops our hearts and allows us to feel things so deeply we think our heart might burst. I believe all animals and humans are born with the capacity for love, some delving deep into the work of expanding mind, body and soul, and some who just sort of give up. Having had animals all my life, they are each so individual, so unique, that no generalizations can really be used with any accuracy. These furry souls, these little dependent, trusting, loyal to the end souls wait for us to help them develop their own hearts and minds. It is truly in the way they are treated that they are able to become something more ethereal. We all have the ability to choose for ourselves how we want to impact the world. Because of what Penny was taught and what she ultimately taught Brady, their souls have risen to another mark. They both, with the love and loyalty of each other raised each other up to the heavens, a little closer to God. Recently, my friend, Brady posted this: "Losing Penny has taught me one thing: no matter how hard I try, there are just some things that I can't control or fix. For me, that's a hard thing to come to terms with....but I'm trying. Maybe I'll have just a little bit less stress in my life going forward. Thanks, big pup." There it is, the result of an epic love story that changed the world for the better. I had been witness to this epic love story, when a dog who I would never have tried to help before, because of my fear of pit bulls, showed up at my door. My initial response was wishing poor, sweet Percy gone, but here is the caveat: I had literally just been a part of something so heart wrenching between Brady and his beloved Penny, that I could not allow my fear to sway me away from helping Percy. It was my singular thought, that some man was out looking for his beloved dog and I was responsible for helping him. What help I could not offer my friend, I could offer this man here, in my hometown. Had I not been aware of the love story of my friend and his Penny, maybe Percy would not be happy at home with his owner, today. Penny's soul, her light from within is what saved a sweet dog here, and turned my heart, changing my perception of what I thought I knew about pit bulls. Once again, the world became a little brighter, trying to reach the same brightness, to match the glow of Penny's light that continues to shine.

With Open Arms and an Open Heart, Thank You.

I have manners, I do. My parents being of the very socially conscious mindset spent hours teaching me which fork to use, where to stash my napkin, what a good hand shake feels like and most of all, to say "Thank you" when it is deemed appropriate. I am nothing short of a trained poodle, when social occasions arise, no offense, Mom. I have met very important people, self important people and folks like me who I find fascinating, but maybe do not have as much street cred as the previous groups. I can sit a very fancy restaurant and use all the utensils correctly. Yeah, that's right, you heard it, I said it, all of them! I can be at a professional dinner party and keep my elbows off the table the entire duration. I ain't no hooker, Yo, from "Pretty Woman", I know what escargot is and have eaten it without event. I will confess, though, that when I am at a dinner party of close, valuable friends, I tend to lean in on my elbows completely locked and loaded in the conversation. It is my state of engagement, my leaning my face on my folded hands. Albeit somewhat impolite, it means I am riveted by you and want to be as close as possible to your voice. I was a debutante. Ha! bet you never saw that one coming, did you? Well, smarty pants, I was, and I did not embarrass my parents or myself even once the entire evening. I did embarrass my mom briefly at a rehearsal with my dad, but he started it. After the face melting glare of her angry eyes, we both decided it was best if we went back to playing it straight. I will tell you, I felt slightly uncomfortable in those circumstances with all the hoopla, the rigamarole, and such. I was a senior in high school, very active in my school in the dorkiest groups that ever existed. I was a band geek, a choir nerd, in the musicals, etc. Not exactly a popularity power play. But I did it for the love the work that was involved. I would gladly do it the exact same way if I got the chance. My activities were all about the work, much like sports. Unlike sports, no one was going to vote us Homecoming Queen or King. This white gowned, polite, super conservative, waltzing show of prestige, well, I am sure by now you can see where I might have struggled. I just showed up with a gown my mom made which I will tell you was rocking hot, and did my own thing, dancing into the night with my very best friend. I love those pictures. My mom got her dream of her little grungy daughter dressing up to the nines, wearing white, dancing with her father, not belching in public, and I got to be me, only cleaner, wearing make up, with my hair done. Jim, my best friend since I was 9 years old, and I danced to every song until we nearly fell over. Looking back I can't imagine taking anyone else. It was one of those epic nights in my memory, where manners were of the utmost importance. I had accomplished what would have been akin to a game winning touchdown for my parents. "Look, Ma, no hands, no feet, no bad manners." The pictures of the a fore mentioned debutante ball is my proof that yes, since a young age, I have manners. I noticed something about myself when I was performing this past fall in the play. During rehearsals, our director would shoot out where she wanted us, how she wanted us and when we did good, she was the first person to compliment us. During this I took in her compliments and used them as fuel to try and get where she needed me to go. I never thought, "Oh look how good I am." I just thought, "Oh thank God I didn't screw that up." I have so much respect for this director. I love her. She has been honing her theater craft for decades and it shows. Any thoughts or questions I had she knew the exact thing to tell me. Being a complete novice, I had no idea how to do theater without singing my way through it. I had never done a play before. Never once did my dear director give up on me, not during pneumonia, not during my confusion about the blocking, never. She merely guided me with her words to help me through the rough patches. Which for the students who were experienced, yeah, well, I am sorry for all that. My point here is, I took in her compliments, but when it came to our performances and others saying nice things to me, I muttered "Thank you for coming" and stared at my feet. I am the world's worst compliment taker/acceptor, bar none. There I was receiving the most genuine, heart felt, kind words I had ever received and for the life of me I could not take it in. This wasn't about ego, it was about neurosis, ya know, the thing I am trying to get rid of this year? I stood as people said the nicest things I have ever heard, whether they felt like they had to or just did it anyway is irrelevant, it was the fact that I got so embarrassed, I could not look them in the face. That just ain't right. I am proud that I did not do my "go to" move of trying to convince people how wrong they were and list every mistake I made. I used to spend so much time convincing people why their compliment was way off base. I believe the word for that is "asshole". I was being a complete asshole. Here, I had people trying to encourage me with words from the heart and I was going out of my way to show them how wrong they were. O.K., so since I am older I stopped being such an asshole. I did not have one singular asshole moment in the receiving lines after our performances. That is progress, in it's own right, but I think I am still too far away from where I should be. Performing for me has nothing to do with ego. It is the act, the performance the opportunity, the immediate response in the moment that thrills me. It is, and always has been about the work. I have never performed a perfect show, ever! In all the years and all the performances, whether singing, playing, acting or doing stand-up, at no point did I walk off the stage and think, "Good enough!" That is what I mean by I have no ego in performing. Well, that and I always worry at some point I will just fall apart and pee my pants. I have worried about that since I was 9 years old, doing a talent show with my sister. This year, I would like to spend more time taking in the good stuff that people say. I do not want to be taken in by compliments, but to absorb the kindness of others without making them regret it. Having manners, I say "Thank you", but what I thinking is "Oh God please make them stop. This is embarrassing and if they had any idea, they would never even acknowledge me." It is in my body language, my down cast eyes, my inability to be grateful for any talent or God given gifts I possess. It shows in my self deprecating humor, where I constantly make fun of me, which I will not be giving up because some of it is pretty darn funny. It shows in my lack of confidence when I have a run in with another asshole who is out to say or do destructive things. Now, that big ball crap I internalize. I mentioned "Pretty Woman" and the one line I love and will repeat myself with, so bear with me is, "Why is it, the bad stuff is easier to believe." That line hit me like a truck. I hear and talk with women and men who have had incredible compliments thrown their way, but the bad stuff is what sticks. This year is about making the compliments stick like tar. It's about helping others hear the compliments they get, too. It amazes me when the most talented people, or incredibly smart, funny, compassionate women around me can not take in compliments, even after having worked so hard to receive them. This year when someone says I look nice, I plan to look them square inn the eye and say, "Thank you", and mean it. I have always felt they were too kind, but now I want to believe they are being just kind enough. When someone takes the time to say something nice to me about something I have done well, I want to absorb it, swallow it whole and let it fill me instead of dismissing it as if they have had a mental break down and need to seek professional help. I do not want to do this to feed my own ego, but rather to honor their words and feelings. I also want to honor my beautiful brain, and this body of mine that kept me going all these years. So, here's to you and your resolutions or journey for the year. You look fabulous, by the way. I just thought you should know.

What Goes Up, Must Come Down.

So here we are in 2012. Congratulations for making it into another year.
Yesterday the whole family and a few friends got together at our house and shared food, great gobs of thick, rich Polish food. It's the best hangover cure ever. Unfortunately, the electricity went out and folks left early. In some ways it seemed apropos, the quiet, the many candles with their dancing light and the fireplace glow, with Asti lying in front of it on her pillow. It was warm and cozy, like being inside a giant, fuzzy blanket. We didn't have a storm, or weather related problems, so I am not exactly sure why the electricity went out, but in the end, it all worked out as things usually do.

I have to finish my resolution list today. Today it goes from conceptual thinking to black and white print. I have so many things to do this year. I have a whole new set of goals for myself, and for my little family. So tell me, do you have lofty goals for yourself? ............................Well, I am waiting.............................
Surely you could have come up with something.
O.K., O.K., I'll stop pressuring you. Geeze, relax would ya?

In writing down what I want, what I need, what I aspire, it occurred to me that was goes up, must come down.
Let's start with the obvious, I have gotten fluffier, not fatter mind you, I weigh less than I did a year ago, by more than a whopping ten pounds, but my couch time when I was sick turned my generally firm muscles into flowing jelly rolls. The good news is there is always room for jello. Since I am a shape shifter, I need to get a handle on that. I have no want to be the one who refuses to walk to get the mail because the 40 feet is just too far.

Next up is Christmas and holiday stuff. It takes me days, alone to put up all of our "stuff". I have a few days now to get it all to fit back in their containers. It's no easy fete to accomplish this. I have no idea what happens but the original stuff never fits quite right back into the boxes making me huff, puff and squeeze things in ways that nature fights against. I'll do the outside first so the neighbors think I am organized as I take the next week and a half to shove everything else.

Next is expectations, mine, theirs, and maybe even yours. I have found myself more than once thinking things should be one way, when clearly the universe, God or some one who just doesn't agree with me, thinks things should go another way. Ultimately, I am faced with choices of being pissed, compliant, easy going or hurt. The good news is I get decide which one reaction happens. I am thinking this year, maybe I will wait for as much information as possible before I expect anything. There is some truth to never being disappointed if there are no expectations to impede the progress.

I need sleep. Real, relaxed, cover my eyes with one of those Lone Ranger masks without the eye hole, sleep. I haven't had a good night's sleep in years. Did you hear me? I said YEARS. Some it is hormones, thank you, Mother Nature, and some if it is kids, and some of it is habit. Since I have been up for years, it definitely time for me to come down. I have hatched a plan to help. I will not be available to anyone during the week after 8:00 PM. It's my own version of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell". Don't ask me for anything during my bedtime ritual, and I won't tell you what to do with your request.

My biggie this year is stress. Our stress level has been maxed out for all of 2011. Now that the new year is here, it is time for us to kick back, let it be and allow us to slowly descend from the heightened awareness we have been suffering from. Michael and I have aged exponentially, since last year at this time. I had a conversation recently with a "friend". This supposed friend said, "You are just not yourself lately." She was right, I haven't. We were and are faced with life altering decisions and I went through a health scare that I thought might kill me, so my usual laid back jolly self had crawled into the fetal position to take cover. Not to worry, my old usual self is on the rise as the old decrepit, sickly self is disappearing. Oh, and thanks for the heads up. Your keen awareness of my state of mind has been invaluable. Alright, maybe my sarcasm level should come down, too.

My teeter totter, is on it's gentle decline to the ground this year. Last year I was trapped up by the fat kid, waving my arms, suffering cherry bumps, screaming to be let down. With the bully under control, I am now able to find my way to solid ground.
I realize this is day 2 and we have many more to go, but I know what optimism does. I know that my glass half full is a much better way for me to view things than my glass shattered and on the floor in pieces. I believe my half glass is on the rise also. I believe I will gain contents of unimagined joy.

I have so much already. Really, with all of our stuff, clothes, a home, a family, friends who love me even when I am in a bad place, I have so much. This journey, this year isn't about gaining stuff, I want nothing tangible. It isn't about a quest for friendships, although I have never turned one down. This year is about gaining insight, compassion, understanding, and knowledge. It's about reading, doing, dreaming, writing, painting, sculpting, trying things I never thought I would ever be able to do. This year is about allowing the meager dreams I have, fall away so that greater things can happen. I believe God dreams bigger things for you than you can ever dream for yourself, so this year is about letting down my guard, my need for control, to see what God has in store for me. I have never felt so free, or so naked. If Kellie's neurosis falls in the woods, with no one else around and she doesn't blog about it, will anyone hear it?

Change Will Do Us Good

Ladies and Gentlemen I would like to introduce Percy. Percy came to us quite by accident because he had wandered away from his loyal owner, jumping his fence and taking off. Tom was outside when Percy came up to him with tail wagging and seemed very tired. He was wearing a harness, was well groomed and obviously very loved by someone. Tom, being my Dr. Doolittle petted Percy showing him kindness and love. Percy followed Tom over into our yard and into our courtyard. Tom gave him food, water and a pillow to sleep on. Percy, being a lost stray, was tired and I believe a little scared until he came upon my Tom. Percy is a full blooded pit bull.

I woke up and got my coffee, heading out to the courtyard, like I do every morning. Tom stopped me briefly and said, "There is a pit bull on our porch. He is lost and we need to find his owner." Seeing the abject terror on my face the minute he said pit bull, Tom quickly told me how nice the dog was and I needn't be scared. But I was scared, I am terrified of certain breeds of dogs. I have read enough stories of horror in our own small town papers, to know that certain owners of certain breeds, breeds disaster. Tom kept talking as I wandered out to see this mammoth headed dog laying on the wiener's outdoor cushion. "Oh, Tom, I don't know..." I began. "Mom, we need to help him. He is so sweet."
I walked out to be greeted by a sweet tempered, docile but imposing dog. It was his structure, his large boned body, square head and small eyes that was imposing. Percy, himself was just happy that someone had showed him some kindness. He walked over as I sat on the bench and laid his giant head on my lap. I petted his head, rubbed his face and began talking softly to him. "Who are you, boy? Where is your home?" This imposing dog merely wagged his tail and moved in for more love.

The hunt began early to try and find Percy's home or if that could not be accomplished, at least find a safe place for him to stay until we found someone to take him. I began posting things on our neighborhood website. There amongst the other news were lots of postings for lost or found dogs. I found out, thanks to "friends" on the site, that if we took him to nearly any shelter he would be automatically put down. As a pit bull, it was procedure to euthanize the strays. Mike and I could not bear the idea that someone's family pet put down for no reason other than his breed. Percy proved himself to be anything but vicious. As a matter of fact, he would wag his tail at everyone who came to the gait. "Not much of a guard dog, are you?" I laughed as I rubbed his belly. We put Percy in the car and drove around our neighborhood looking for clues of who might be missing their beloved dog. No one had seen or knew of anything, so back to the house we went. We collectively decided with New Years coming fast, Percy needed to be indoors. Fireworks and gun shots are overwhelming here at midnight. I did not want poor Percy to be outside panicked as the great booming sounds surrounded us. Tom began hunting for some place for Percy to stay.
I was on the phone with my girlfriend when Tom much later that afternoon, came rushing in. "I found Percy's home!" Our community is about 75,000 people. It was a needle in a hay stack for us to find Percy's home, but we had each taken a turn to try and help. At one point, earlier in the morning as sweet Percy slept, I prayed for him. "Please, help him find his home. Spare his life. Help us do the right thing." It took all day, and many miles of travel before we were able to find the man who was sorely missing his beloved dog. Tom found out that Percy was a rescue. The man who owned Percy had rescued him as he wandered in the woods, badly wounded and scarred from being forced into dog fights. He had been a puppy and the man took Percy in, loving him dearly. Had we taken him to a shelter, he would certainly been put down. This wasn't just a happy ending, it was a glorious one. I felt like it was a sign of things to come for the new year. Sometimes happy endings do happen and everyone really is the better for it.
Later that evening I was getting ready to go out with my darling Michael. Everything I touched turned to crap. I was having a real girl moment when what I planned to wear was not going to do in the balmy, humid weather, my shoes did not match anything else and my hair was taking on a life of it's own. "Oh geeze!" I kept saying loudly. Michael could hear my huffing and puffing as my frustration grew. A man who has been married long enough realizes the exact moment when a girlie woman goes from frustrated to locking herself in her closet not wanting to go out. The response of this man takes the precision of a surgeon. One false move, one off handed comment and the night would go up in smoke. Michael carefully traveled around the emotional landmines I had set up in my hurried, furious, frustrated state with the grace of an Olympic athlete. Thirty minutes later we were out the door. My hair had been pinned up, my outfit changed and the shoes, well, they were basic black. I had tried to put as much lipstick on the pig of the night as I could. Dressing to the last moment, I had to carry my mom purse because no time was left to change bags. I did my best to salvage my attitude, trying desperately not to punish the man who actually wanted to spend time with me.
Once at the restaurant, we took our seats. I had carefully made sure of time, place, and menu. We did not want a big new year's extravaganza. We wanted to go out to grab a light meal, sip some wine and enjoy each others company. They handed us their "special" New year's menu, an extravagant, expensive, over the top, we could not possibly eat that much food, menu that had both Mike and I looking at each other as if we had been duped. I saw the frustration return but this time it was Mike who was feeling the pain. The waiter came over asking to help us, when I asked for a few minutes to try and figure out what we were going to do. "It's $200 by the time we get drinks and gratuity," Mike whispered across the table. I had put on my readers and was looking at the menu, it was not anything I cared for, and I was growing angrier at the woman who had reserved our table for us. "I asked about all this, She said their regular menu was available. This is upsetting," I whispered back. We looked at each other, I could see Michael not wanting to pay for something we did not want, but feeling torn he would ruin our New Year's evening. I looked at his face, smiling I said, "Baby we do not have to do this. I was lied to. This is not what either of us wants. We can just leave. We do not have to sit here and pay for stuff we do not want." My sweet husband, my boyfriend, looked at me with wide open eyes, asking, "Are you sure?" the love he has for me, the way he protects my feelings, the want to do whatever I want, it was all there in my boy's face. "Hell yeah, I'm sure. Let's bounce." Just as quickly as we had been seated we got up and headed for the door. I stopped at the hostess desk to let her know her table was once again available. "There seems to be a misunderstanding," I spoke in a low voice to the young girl at the desk, "I called and was assured we did not have to order form a special menu. Since that is not the case we will be leaving." She told me then the waiter would have given us a regular menu. "That's alright, dear, this has turned into brain surgery, and all we wanted was a light supper. Happy New Year." And with that we left. On our way to the car Mike and I talked about the possible extortion that had just nearly happened. They did not give us the regular menu, I would have had to ask for it, and to be perfectly honest, I would not have known to do that. It was clear they wanted us to spend way too much on their menu to increase their profits. I specifically asked for something, and that is what I should have gotten, without having to beg a waiter for it. I am not at all fond of people doing slimy business tactics and this smacked of exactly that. In the end we were back in our car with the evening hanging in the balance, again. "Go to the grocery store," I told Mike, "I have an idea." I said nothing more wanting him to be surprised and maybe hang onto what evening we had left. Mike pulled into the parking lot and we barely made it in before they closed. I headed for the meat counter to see what was left. Mike tugged on my now determined sleeve, "Baby, you do not have to cook tonight. It's O.K. we will figure something out." "I know," I said while looking at my impeccably dressed handsome husband, "trust me, I think I am on to something."
I grabbed the last rack of lamb, some fresh greens for salad, and a bottle of wine. We headed to the register, and my husband gently kissed me, as we waited to check out. "I love you, Kel." "I know, and you sir, will be having a magnificent dinner for two at Chez Gregg." As we checked out, the bill came to $36.00. "We will dine on superb food, sip this lovely crisp wine and all for the low, low price of $36. Now that is a steal!" I giggled as we grabbed our bags and headed home.

Mike and I had a lovely garlic and rosemary crusted lamb chop, with asiago mashed potatoes, gently broiled to crisp the edges and a fresh green salad. We sipped wine, watched New Yorkers standing in the cold as Celo Green sang, "Imagine". We kissed at the east coast stroke of midnight and again an hour later when Houston finally celebrated 2012. We took our time eating, drinking and laughing, as Michael complimented every morsel I had made. We took our wine to the living room and watched Asti sleep soundly in front of the gas fireplace, with the twinkle lights gleaming in the background. It was not the new Year's Eve we had planned, it was better. Instead of wincing at an over bloated check , we had a lovely meal planned just exclusively for us. It was warm and loving, this new New Year, each of us so willing to sacrifice for the other. Had I wanted to stay at the restaurant, Michael would have paid that bill. We wanted us to be happy, to be together, to enjoy the quiet of each others company and that is precisely what we got.
I have a feeling about this upcoming year, with Michael and I together, and Percy safe in his loving home, the signs all point to a very good year.