eaglesnest

sigh

sigh

sigh

Wonder what I am doing? Listening to the original cast recording of Camelot (the movie, not Broadway) and being melancholy — “never let it be forgot, for one brief shining moment” — always chokes me up. Maybe it’s how damned young Richard Harris was & how absolutely handsome he was.

Of course, it is also because it is a love story, and tonight (as happens a few nights here & there) I’d really like a love story again.

And as I am googling stuff and following tangents I found my way from Richard Harris to Richard Bach and I get angry and disappointed.

I, as so many of his {& Leslie’s} readers, was devastatedly heartbroken when they split. And however unfair (or not) we blamed Richard. And right now, tonight I am ticked at him again. What the frick is this ? Maybe I am exhausted and emotional, but c’mon — I can NOT get this to do anything.

Why were we all so angry & hurt? If you do not know I will simply tell you — theirs was a love story we told ourselves was unlike any other. Soul Mates . Beyond. Something we dreamed of attaining and damn if Richard with all his flaws (he laid them bare to us) could still manage to make it work with the wonderful Leslie, well, we the common folk had a chance for true love , too. There was hope.

I learned of the dissolution of the Bach - Parrish marriage just after a crushing end of my own relationship with the one I believed was “the One.” I was already in a low spot about true love and all that “crap” and to have seen a new book by Richard {from which it was immediately evident there was another woman in his life} had put me over an edge I had until then managed to avoid falling off of.

I remember sitting at my desk, in an office with an ocean view, reading his website and having it confirmed. I had been spending my days alone trying to find a place (not just to live, but to exist - a job, a niche, anything) for myself back here in Encinitas and my nights alone crying.

Then I had no longings for a new love story. I had no desire to ever allow myself to be heartbroken or destroyed. Many many things changed in the next few months. Among them was a tentative new relationship that I kept at arm’s length and my mother’s need to be cared for.

Fast forward and here I am - having just found a place (in all the ways - home, work, friends) for myself and I am alone again. That tentative relationship had softened me, had caused me to open up again, and it had withered and faded.

I am alone again. I do not want to ever be destroyed or be at the end of anything I believed so strongly in as I had “the One” (or to be very very honest - any of the very few I had believed were potentially the One). But I do want, I long to be open to another opportunity. I want another love story. And I have learned something which does put a huge lump in my throat as I type and tears in my eyes, but it is a truth and I have sadly and wisely learned it. They ARE love stories. And the really really perfect ones are like the ones in Camelot, and Richard {bless his mess anyway} & Leslie — they are heartbroken tales of love which can not survive forever. The only spot for “happily ever aftering” is in our souls.

I swear it feels like it’s the 82nd time I have tried to find the best way for things here at the townhouse — today I moved my home office BACK up to my bedroom (where I had it for half a day when we finally did get our internet installed).

At some point tomorrow when the roomie notices, I will very calmly & clearly explain — I HAVE to work. I tried to do that downstairs, but the 4 days a week she & her son are home, I spend more time dealing with disturbances than working. I can not put in enough hours on the 3 days they are not home. I need to be able to work first thing in the morning and as late at night as I can stay awake for some deadlines. I have to be able to work without stopping to calm the dog back down after he gets woken up and hyped up. I have to be able to make phone calls next to my computer to write articles , not try to hide in my bedroom and take written notes (my handwriting has completely devolved beyond hieroglyphics ).

If she really has a problem with this, I don’t know what else to do. I have tried & it isn’t working for my office space to be in the center of the living areas. PERIOD.

err, mayhap not so much vino as beers…. but yeah, in answer to a question this week put to me by a non-writer — “were you guys drinking ?”

“we ARE writers, dude. Do beers grow on trees ? oh, they don’t, eh? They f-in’ should. but c’mon wherever two or more of us congregate , in the name of Papa , there damn well best be beers.” and in deedily-doo there are beers AND bubbly, by the by, at our weekly ‘bring out yer dead’, err, I mean, ‘

Once a week the famous Ed, the infamous db & lil ol’ me knock back a few as we knock out the kinks in our writing, well, mostly theirs.

An’ every other week, should I be so blessed, I head to the O’side writers and good ol’ Hey-Hey gets me a Chronic as soon as she sees me walk in.

Mind you — we don’t neeed a nice little brew, but it sure makes being a writer easier.

and if the song is right that “in heaven there is no beer,” well, hell we gotta drink it here

Sidetracking on a tangential train of thought — I watched Juno last night, alone, while I designed a baby shower gift. It affected me enough that I logged on to my on-line mama community to locate whatever discussion about the movie I had missed. I didn’t search our database far enough back in time & was bewildered to not find quite the flaming thread.

The women who are part of this community live in various walks of life, in many states & provinces, and even overseas. They are single mamas , coupled mamas, married mamas, divorced mamas, gay mamas, yo mamas. They are mamas who have had abortions, who are adopted, who are adopting , who are birth mothers with contact to the adoptive families of their children & who are in contact with the birth mamas of children they have/are adopting.

These women make me proud on a high frequency — proud of how they mother, proud to be part of their circle of friends & family, and proud of the next generation as is being raised by these women.

These women surely have wonderful thoughts & issues about this movie & its treatment of teen pregnancy & adoption. And I wanted them all awake & engaged in it with me at 2 a.m. pdt.

I had to settle for writing a little “placeholder” of thoughts and go to bed. When I got up this morning, one mama had kindly linked me to the months old thread. I had enough time in my hectic day {of last minute prep for the baby shower I am co-hostessing tomorrow for a young irl mama friend who is having her second child in 5 weeks} to read thru most of it.

Because we are sisters, I talk to some of these mamas on a regular, if not daily basis, so I was able to discuss the movie, the characters, the quick basics briefly before running out to “use too much of the daylight” as my son said. It was good for the moment to voice some thoughts & hear others, to begin processing. Yet, I am still unsettled.

Having been born to a teen mother who had a very very different environment & decision making process than Juno gives me one perspective to the movie & its topic. Being a mother to 3 teen daughters adds some other unusual prism angles to my pov.

Plus, I had been introspective and delving into some serious issues in my life that were brought about due to having had a teen mother who was pressured into marrying an abusive man just before I watched Juno. To admit to crying during the movie is forgone. To say I was disturbed is an underwhelm, as DK says.

I tried to talk to my nearly 18 year old daughter about the movie. She had seen it before & was desperate to see it again. I asked her today, why or what she liked about it.

I will broach topics,  feel her out for how far we need to talk shit out. Mostly, I find she is not emotionally mature enough to handle some heavy duty talks. Having attempted before, at great length, to do so over some touchy topics between us — she is Pro-Life to a fault & I am Pro-Choice - I pretty much know when not to exert myself too much.

I was still vulnerable from the things I thought about last night (per previous blog) and when she gave a standard teen answer “it was funny,” I only took one more step to discussion. The reply - “I was glad, of course, she didn’t get an abortion.”  No mother/daughter dialogue today.

PSHEW!!!

 After not much of anything about it, I am not far from where I stood last night as I turned off the lights & went to stand, thinking, beneath the hot shower.

At least, I am not crying tonight.