Month: May 2008

Except for when I was younger, I’ve always had a lot of female friends.  Never dated much, and never dated any of those friends.  There were times over the course of my adult life that I wanted to, but I never did, and those girls (women) that I was interested in eventually ended up in the friends “bucket,” as Lorana calls it.  Which, while disappointing from a dating point of view, is not bad at all from a friends one.  And as some of you know, one of those situations not working out is what’s chiefly responsible for changing my life, and getting me here today.

I never really thought to ask myself why I seemed to associate mostly with women, but rather just accepted it as the way my life was going to be.  Before your minds start whirring away, no, it isn’t because I’m a secret member of the Rainbow Coalition.  Never swung that way, in spite of a lot of jokes, and my admitted fondness for musical theater.  I think now what it mostly came down to was fear.  Spending time with women was safe, or safer, anyway.  I would get the benefits of hanging out with the opposite sex (such as interesting conversations–which was hard to get from guys–and I like to talk.  And also the things I liked to do weren’t always the type of things men enjoyed.), without much of the drama that would inevitably occur when dating someone.

And really, the dating experiences I’d had were not good, to say the least.  I had one sort of long term relationship that was born out of loneliness on both our parts, and of course ended when it became obvious we weren’t actually dating at all, but just enjoying each other’s “company.”  She was divorced, and several  years older than me.  The end came one evening when her 5 year old son asked “are you going to marry my Mommy?”

No, I was not. 

My other two situations were both sojourns into what I thought was love, but both ended with me getting hurt.  The first was because I was afraid to say what I felt, and it cost me the only healthy relationship I ever had to that point.  The second was completely my own fault.  I persevered in that situation despite really good advice from a really good friend, and it not only cost me the relationship, but also my best guy friend at the time.

Which reinforced my tendency to not have a lot of guy friends.  And the thing about that is that God has been working on that aspect of my life ever since.  I’ve gotten beau coup healing in that particular area, and had a lot of the lies I’d gone a lifetime believing brought into the light of God’s truth.

Most of these had been so ingrained into my psyche, and my heart, that they seemed completely like truth.  Because I’d been hurt by my brother growing up, I knew that I could not trust men, and I knew they would hurt me if I did (lie #1).  Along these same lines, because I’d always been told no one wanted me (parents, family, friends….), and no one ever would, I believed this, too (lie #2).  And it made sense to not try, because I’d be hurt eventually anyway….

After Ben died, this made the most sense of all.  And there was a period of my life where I had no friends, male OR female, because I simply could not bear to be hurt anymore by anyone, regardless of who they were.  So I withdrew as far as I possibly could, without climbing into the Bell Jar.

Of course, eventually I was able to climb mostly out of this particular abyss, and I began to have friends again, and eventually very good friends.  And then came my second crash.  When that second relationship I mentioned a little while ago ended, along with a decade-long friendship, I knew that my first instinct about guys was correct, and I shouldn’t be close to them.  I’d been hurt again by a person that felt more like a brother to me than my own brother ever had.

Not that long after that, I tried again, and began to forge a friendship with a guy one of my female friends was dating.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.  He went to my church, seemed to be strong in the Lord, and the type of friend it would be good for me to have.  Then his relationship ended with my friend, and with me as well.  He never really understood my friendship with her, and our own friendship was not able to overcome it.  And because of my own issues and brokenness, I told myself that he had only pursued a friendship with me because of my friend.  He had not been interested in my friendship at all.  This was a lie, of course, but it felt like truth….

I haven’t really even tried to date anyone since then.  Only had a couple of opportunities, but I was grateful when they didn’t pan out because it meant I would not have to put anything out there, and if I didn’t do that, then I couldn’t be hurt again.  It made sense to me.

 I have not put myself out there at all.  I haven’t. 

What am I trying to say with this post?  A couple things.  One is that I think God has been working on my heart for a really long time now, preparing it for something.   In the way of friendship, the ones I have with my closest female friends have changed and matured, I think.  Perhaps we are not quite as close as in the past, but in a healthy way.   The way those relationships should be, I think.  I feel good about all three of them.  I think the Lord brought these women into my life for a reason, and I’m going to go out on a limb and say they are all extraordinary friends, and add a great deal to my life.  Their candor, lack of pretension, and sometimes very tough love has been what’s helped me continue to grow, I think.  Both as a follower of Christ and as a man.

As far as guy friends go, I think God knew what he was doing all along, and I can see that now.  I needed to heal a lot my personal wounding before I could pursue healthy and fulfilling friendships with men.  One of the best things that happened to me over the past year, I think, was reconciling (after a fashion) with the guy friend that had been involved in love foray #2.  We both said what we needed to say, and it was good.  I doubt we can recover what we lost, but there was forgiveness and healing done, and that’s all I can ask.  It’s probably better that we don’t go back to where we were, because when I look at it now, that was a dangerous friendship for me in a lot of ways.

But God opened another door for me when he brought Merrill into my life.  He’s been a blessing.  A man I can trust, an elder in my church, and someone I know will not bullshit me about myself.  Our friendship probably leans more toward the mentor/”mentee” side, but that’s what I think I need in a lot of ways–never had it before.

The Lord has also brought me a little distance and perspective in a few other female friendships I’d had over the past couple years, and that’s been healthy as well.  In short, I found out who my real friends were.  Things are getting better, though.  Just recently I met Lorana’s Chris, and he is a really awesome guy.  I think if they lived in the SD, or I lived in ATL, we’d probably become pretty good friends.  I hope we still will. 

I have to say that I’ve also come to like Krysco’s b-law a great deal, and I look forward to getting to know him a little better as well.  What’s my point with all that?  Well, it’s that God is stitching up the rents in my heart.  I’m doing my best to be the man he wants me to be, and to develop healthy relationships with my brothers in Christ.  It’ll take a while, but I’m willing to put in the time.

To that end, I’m probably going to be doing a men’s group with another older gentleman (older than me) in the single’s ministry–it should be good. 

The other thing is that I feel God has been preparing my heart all this time for the person he intends for me to meet.  I don’t know who she is yet, but I’m gonna do the best I can to stop hiding from her.  Can’t meet someone if your head is buried in the freaking sand.  I don’t know exactly how I’m going to do it yet, but I’m going to try and listen when God gives me direction.  And we’ll see.

The last thing for now (since I’ve been meandering like a bastard) is that I can feel myself being strengthened in the spirit daily.  I think the parts of my life that I used to feel were lacking were because I was not yet ready to experience what Jesus had for me in those areas.  Not that I’m totally arrived there yet, but I believe I’m on the way.

I better go–I have about thirty subpoenas next to my keyboard giving me the stinkeye..

a brief postscript.  Been working on restoring my friendship with the guy my friend used to be involved with, too.  I forgot to mention that.  He’s part of the Healing Prayer ministry that has gone a long way toward changing my life.  It will take a while, but Jesus will be there, and I think we’ll end up where He wants us in the end….

There’s a line in the Stephen King novella The Body (the movie version was called Stand By Me) that I think is absolutely true, at least from a boy’s point of view.  It comes toward the end of the story when the narrator is giving a post-script about the lives of his friends.  He says “I never had any friends later on in life, like the ones I had when I was 12.  Jesus, does anyone?”

The guys I grew up with were amazing–these two little blond-haired and blue eyed boys named Ravi and Paavo Laird.  Their mother was a dyed-in-the-wool hippy named Tracye, and the house they lived in was this messed up whirlwind of clothes, musical instruments, and records (yes, records) all over the floor, and piled on every availabale surface.  They had a yardful of animals, and only organic and unfiltered products in the refrigerator (and that stuff was a lot harder to get in the seventies).

But the best thing about them is that they were always there for me when I was growing up.  When I felt like I had to flee my own house (which happened fairly frequently), or when I really felt like I needed to be with people who got me, and seemed to like me without condition or expectation, that was where I went.  It was just the three of us from the first grade until junior high school, when a fourth boy joined our group–a tall, skinny kid named Ben Wise.  That was when our group really began to gel together, and go deeper into things, or at least as deep as you could get for a boy.

A word or two about that.  It’s different with boys than girls, I’d imagine.  We are not so “touchy-feely.”  I am now, of course, but when I was younger, I was pretty much your typical boy in what I liked to do, certainly more so than any other time of my life.  

 And it was a different time, to be sure.  We did play video games, but in arcades, rather then holed up in rooms.  We would ride our bikes or hike around Santee.  We’d watch movies (lots of them), and we’d play football or basketball.  The older we got, it tended to be the latter a lot more frequently than the former.  I’ve never really been much of an athlete, though I did (and do) like sports.  But the time from late elementary school through high school was the closest I ever came to actually being in shape.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget those endless days, afternoons, and evenings with the guys.  Not always playing sperts, but just spending time together, talking about girls, and movies, and music, and life.  We did take those conversations onto the courts and fields, too, and I think those were the best times for me.  Talking, laughing, sweating, swearing.  It was awesome. 

And we also got each other into things we might not have otherwise done.  I never thought about singing, but Ravi got me into choir, and men’s chorus.  Ben, too.  I broke my arm in P.E. in the 9th grade, and ending up taking drama instead of typing because my arm was in a cast–I got both of the Laird brothers into that.  It got to the point where it almost seemed like we could read each other’s minds, or at least that’s what some of the parents speculated.

My father died from a heart attack when I was 16, almost at the end of my sophomore year in high school.  It happened on a Thursday, I think.   But maybe it was Friday, because there wasn’t school the next day. Anyway, when I got off the school bus, and my sister was waiting to take me to the hospital.  I ended up not getting in to see him before he died, and it was pretty tough.  My father and I did not have a close, loving relationship, but he was still my father, and I loved him as best I could. 

I got home from the hospital, and rather than call my friends and tell them what was going on, I just went to my room and listened to music.   I didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t want to hear the inevitable platitudes from people.  I fell asleep with headphones on, listening to Bruce Springsteen’s The River.

 My bedroom window was right next to the front door, and at a little before 7 the next morning, I heard a knock at the door.  I peeked out my window, and saw my three friends standing in the doorway, with Ben holding a basketball in his hands.

What the hell? It was freaking early…

I quickly dressed and went to the door.   I just stood there for a couple of seconds, kind of glaring out at them.

“Thought you might want to shoot some hoops,” Ben said.

I didn’t want to, I didn’t want to do anything, really, but I nonetheless found myself walking the half mile or so down Prospect Avenue to my old junior high school, and the basketball courts.  I walked in front with Ben, and the Laird brothers followed behind.  I found out later that the three of them had had a feeling something was wrong, and that the brothers had prayed about it.  Then they collectively decided the best thing to do was come over.  They were right.

We got to the school, and just stood around in the key for a few minutes, no one talking.  And then I just said it.

“My dad died.”

They all said they were sorry, and it felt good to hear them say it without any of the awkward things attached people always say when someone dies.  Then Ravi took the ball from Ben and loped up to the hoop for a quick lay-up. 

“Let’s play,” he said.

We played two-on-two that day, and we played our asses off.  To my surprise, I was almost good that day.  It felt good to not think about anything but running, passing, and shooting.  I hardly thought about my dad at all, and to the guys’ credit, they never said anything when I started to cry.  We just kept playing.

I never told them, but I think it was that morning that I first really felt love for anyone besides my family.  I loved those three idiots, though I would have died myself before telling them that.  I wasn’t a chick, for heaven’s sake.  I think now that friendship is the truest, most pure form of love.  And there is nothing later in life like the friendship you experience as a boy.  Your friends really are closer than your brothers in most cases, certainly in mine.

There are another couple of lines in The Body  that also applies to me.  Gordie is talking about the other two people that went on the hike/journey to the body with him and he talks about friends passing in and out of his life like busboys in a restaurant.  That’s so true.  But I believe that the ones that mean the most stay with you in some way.

Later, Gordie is crying over the sudden death of Chris, the boy he was closest to.  He writes: “although I hadn’t seen him in more than ten years, I know I’ll miss him forever.”

I can understand that, and I pretty much feel the same way about the guys.  Although we started to scatter during my senior year of high school.  One day in January, the same day the shuttle Challenger exploded, we found out Ben–who had graduated a semester early so he could join the Marines–had taken his own life.  As a group, we never really recovered from that, and I have to admit his loss colors my life to this day.  So we began to do our own things.  Ravi and Paavo began playing music, and continue to this day (Ravi plays in a local jam/fusion band called Tapwater). 

I see Ravi play occasional, and sometimes Paavo will be there, too.  We have a good time talking and catching up, but then it’s time to go.  And that’s OK.  I’m not the same person I was 20 plus years ago, obviously.  But when I think about them, the picture I see is those three assholes standing on my doorstep after my dad died.  I think about basketball.  I remember how much they meant to me.  And I think with immeasurable gratitude of the friends I have now, who I also love.

www.tapwater.net

check them out sometime….

 I hear that’s the catch-phrase for this monstrosity.  I can see why.  I have a friend that swears by this ride, that it’s one of the best ever, if not the  best ever.  I’m not too sure about that.  I can tell you one thing, though. It scared the crap out of me.  Of course, obviously, the damn elevator is going to really drop you.  But when you get whisked up to the top, and it goes all freaking dark, I nearly shat myself (I just now created that word).  Then drop, up, drop, up, drop….AAAAGGGHHH!   And the worst part is, there’s no way to prepare yourself! It’s different every time!  I felt like my stomach stayed up, and the darn elevator had to go up to catch it again, and just when I was shoving it back in, DROP again….

man, that is an intense freaking ride….

This one’s from a while ago, but soon the battle will begin anew:

Until today, our battle for survival had been fought without the use of much in the way of deadly force. The ants would force their way into the house by whatever means they could; through gaps between window screens, through badly closed doors, and God only knows how many other ways. They would form a line of battle down the wall, across the table or floor, and overrun everything in their path. Until today, they were the locusts of San Carlos. They were the aliens from Independence Day, simply devouring everything in sight and retiring fat and happy to their ant living rooms and easy chairs, secure in the knowledge that all we had to combat them was Windex. That’s right, Windex.

At a glance, it appeared to work. It seemed to kill the 6 legged menace. We’d spray them and they’d lie there, seemingly dead. But if not disposed of immediately, the dead would arise and begin their scourging anew (well, either that or the ants were the insectile version of Army Rangers–“no one gets left behind”).

Why Windex? I’ll tell you why. Deanna, it seems, has a profound sensitivity to chemical odors of any sort, and a pronounced horror of anything other than a sponge and tepid water coming into contact with the blessed sanctity of the house’s “cooking surfaces” and countertops (sometimes hard going when they are littered with pine nuts and little bits of Martian lettuce). So we spray Windex on the ants and they laugh at us.

Today, however, was different. Today I vowed to purchase a non-chemical based weapon of mass destruction–the new, plant-based Raid. No way could she deny us this, I thought. As I stood in line at Wal-Mart to pay for our wonderful deliverance, I heard the middle-aged woman at the register to my right cry out at something skittering by on the ground near a cooler full of soda. “Oh, look,” she said. “He a alligator! He a baby alligator!”

I looked and saw a gray-green streak about 5 or 6 inches long run past me into the garden center like Quasimodo running for the Notre Dame cathedral. No, I thought. He a garden variety lizard.

“Baby got no tail,” she said to the lizard’s retreating, tail-less back. “He need one o’ them handicap signs. Little man in the wheelchair?  Mmm Hm.”

I was tempted to try out my Raid on the lizard, but he reached the refuge of a large BBQ and disappeared. I put the escaped alligator out of my mind and paid for the Raid, ecstatic at the thought of our soon to be ant-free existance.

I arrived home with trembling hands, barely able to take the beautiful can from the bag. “Hey, Deanna,” I said. “Plant based Raid. Now we can kill the ants without fear of reprisal, after they retreat to the sanctuary of our cooking surfaces and countertops.”

“Plant based?” she asked. “Must be from blahdeblahblah.”

She picked up the can and examined it carefully. “No,” she said. “It’s from flahdeflahflah. I wouldn’t have thought that.”

Apparently not. Deanna, it seems, in addition to a degrees in plant husbandry and the equine arts, has also studied extensively in plant-based insect killing. Regardless, she pointed the can at a single ant and pressed the button. A small jet of blessed death reduced the ant to a withered, 6-legged corpse, but before she could move on to the next, a problem arose. “I just know this is going to give me a headache,” she said.

Don’t spray it then, I thought. Silly woman. Go look at horsies on the internet and leave the killing to me. “I’ll do it,” I said, and took the can.

I lifted my weapon and began to rain death on those little bastards. I was the Grim Reaper of the insect world, harvesting with my plant-based scythe and all fell before me. When the blood lust abated a bit, I saw there hadn’t really been that many ants in the kitchen and dining area. I had come upon a small expeditionary force. My cat sat in the den and looked at me with a stoned look on her face and began to eat Bella’s food. After polishing off much of that, she moved on to the cupboards and began looking for potato chips. I decided to open a few doors.

The ants in the kitchen and dining area that survived will not forget me. And I’d like to think their fallen brothers, when they reach their little ant Valhalla, will hoist a mug in my honor for defeating them honorably on the field of battle. And when their kinsmen arrive seeking vengeance, my plant-based sword and I will be ready.

From 2005, but  Deanna hasn’t changed any–neither has the pantry

I saw this really horrible movie with Patrick Swayze once, and it was completely unbelievable. He was this doctor in India, in the really tore up part. It was Bombay, or Calcutta, or some f****ing place where they have tons of lepers and houses made out of aluminum siding and cardboard and crap like that. I think it was called City of Joy. Those wacky Indians.

Anyway, there’s this one scene where Dr Patrick is standing in the street and it’s raining (it rains more in India than Seattle, apparently. They get monsoons like a motherf***** in Calcutta). The camera pulls back and you get this wide shot of this Calcutta hillside and it looks like an Oklahoma trailer park that a tornado just ripped through.

Until last night, that was the messiest, most chaotic thing I’d ever seen. Well, Kris and I were putting away all the bagged crap from the fumigation last night (no one else was, and we had been back since TUESDAY), and we got down to Deanna’s stuff. Zeus’s BEARD, was it ever the mother of all CRAPHEAPS. Try to imagine, if you will, that a trailer park, a 99c store, Trader Joe’s, and the Nestle Quik bunny all got together and had a foursome. Then, the Nestle Quik bunny got knocked up and exploded from the shame and horror of mating with an overrated store and a double-wide. What would be left after the conflagration is what Deanna’s pantry shelf looked like. Little bags of dried up, unidentifiable things. BIG bags of IDENTIFIABLE things (somehow worse). And literally ALL THE TEA IN F****ING CHINA!!!! Why, in the name of all that’s holy, does a person need 5,000 bags of freaking tea? And weird ass tea, too. The kind of tea that people drink when they want to lose 50 pounds overnight–the stuff that makes your ass explode. And really, really old stuff, too. A jar of preserves from 2001, for instance. But GOD FORBID it should be thrown away!!! Hold on, I think I just had an aneurysm…..crap, I think my brain just came out of my eye socket….