Not Yet, Maybe Later

One of my favorite authors is coming out with a new book.

It’s called Scary Close by Donald Miller.

Apparently it’s about intimacy.

I find that comical. Don is single, or was. He recently married at 42. And his book is about what it’s like to live with another person after so many years of being a self-proclaimed hermit. Well, writers are hermits. That’s part of their DNA. You can’t write while you’re carrying on at a party, or watching a movie, or attending church. You can’t write while having a conversation with your spouse either.

I’ll bet his wife is an extrovert dragging him into public places with friends and family and ruining his writing time.

I think he should have waited at least 7 years to write it. He’s still in the honeymoon stage of married life. Nothing he says now is going to be true later. But it’s too late. He didn’t consult me.
Jacqueline Osborn

I loved his Author’s Note:

“Somebody told me we will never feel loved until we drop the act, until we’re willing to show our true selves to the people around us.

“When I heard that I knew it was true. I’d spent a good bit of my life as an actor, getting people to clap—but the applause only made me want more applause. I didn’t act in a theater or anything. I’m talking about real life.

“The thought of not acting pressed on me like a terror. Can we really trust people to love us just as we are?

“Nobody steps onto a stage and gets a standing ovation for being human. You have to sing or dance or something.

“I think that’s the difference between being loved and making people clap, though. Love can’t be earned, it can only be given. And it can only be exchanged by people who are completely true with each other. I shouldn’t pretend to be an expert, though. I didn’t get married until I was forty-two, which is how long it took me to risk being myself with another human being.

“Here are two things I found taking the long road, though:

“Applause is a quick fix. And love is an acquired taste.”

Calvin says, “Oh no, why can’t he leave well enough alone. Intimacy is a well loved bone by the fire.”beagle

 

 

V Day

Today is Valentine’s Day and on my way to work on Market Street I passed by a flower stall spilling over with every flower imaginable – roses, tulips, orchids, daisies, baby’s breath, calla lilies, carnations, delphiniums, iris, narcissus, snapdragons, peonies and sunflowers. I took a million pictures and sent them to wish my friends and co-workers a Happy V Day. What a lovely way to start my Friday morning. When I got to the office everyone it seemed brought in candy, balloons, chocolates, donuts, and cookies. My willpower is zilch so I ended up on a sugar high within minutes. Tulips2

I’m convinced Valentine’s Day was proposed by a fiendish marketer who grew flowers and needed a reason to sell them in large quantities. Enter Cupid with his dimples and arrows who was more than willing to act the part on the stage of American business. It seems the day is as big as Christmas minus the push for toys and trips. Cupid’s done a good job.

Even Noah’s bagels got into the spirit. They made heart shaped bagels today. Unfortunately they looked like stools.

Alf handed me a bouquet of red roses yesterday when I got home. He one-upped me. I had nothing to give him except a big hug and kiss. Today I bought him a dozen oatmeal and raisin cookies from his favorite store in the city. We don’t dare go out to a restaurant tonight. The feeding frenzy at eateries is not a pretty sight, and the food tends to be mass produced in order to get people in and out quickly. We’re staying home and watching our favorite British mystery on PBS.

Calvin says, “Oh good. Are you making red popcorn?” beagle

Very Rare

“I told Paul last night, ‘I can’t sleep your sleep, think your thoughts, or eat your food. Marriage is such an impossible state of being. It demands a oneness when all you really want is to be left alone.'” Sabrina said this as she sipped her champagne cocktail. We were having brunch outdoors in her favorite restaurant. She had called me and said she needed to talk. Sabrina rarely did anything unless there was food involved. The last time we met, it was for dinner in a new bistro. She needed an excuse to eat and talk.

“So how did Paul respond?” I asked. I poured some Pelegrino into my glass.

“Not well. He said I sounded like I wanted out of the marriage, which wasn’t what I meant at all, I was just voicing an insight I had, and needed to get it out in the open,” she said.

“And you explained that to Paul,” I said.

“Oh yes, but it left him with the doubt. Now he’s brooding over the whole incident.”

The waiter arrived with our salads and french fries and placed them in front of us. “Will that be all?” he said.

“Bring me a steak. Very rare,” she said. Then she turned to me and said, “I need to chew on some flesh. I feel angry. Every time I try to be real with Paul it backfires. I end up feeling guilty. Then I wish I never opened my mouth.”

I pierced a cherry tomato and it squirted onto my blouse. I rubbed the stain with my napkin. That smudged it even more and turned it pink. At least it matched my lipstick and earrings.

“Give Paul a few days. He’ll come out of it,” I said.

“Maybe. I swear, I’m not going to expose what I’m thinking to him any more. He clearly can’t handle it,” Sabrina said.

The waiter arrived with a very large steak on a white plate and put it down in front of her. “Will that be all?” he said.

Sabrina waved him off and dug in. Blood oozed out in all directions. She cut the entire thing into bite size pieces and then put her knife and fork down.

“That was better than therapy,” she said finishing off her drink. “Let’s get out of here.”

Calvin says, “What a tragedy! At least ask for a doggie bag!”

Conversations on the Run3

“There’s something cool about donating blood,” one woman said to another.

“Yes, it goes into somebody else,” the other said.

“And then it makes you look intently at people’s eyes on the street to see if you recognize them,” said the first.

 

“It’s a shame paramedics don’t work on commission.”

 

“Do they use real blood in the movies?”

“Yea, just head into the truck that’s parked on the lot.”

“Is it a Red Cross truck?”

“No, a Paramount truck.”

 

“I couldn’t paint yesterday. The moon wasn’t in the right place.”

 

A friend asked a recent immigrant what his first words in English were. “Paper or plastic?” he said.

 

“I’ve outgrown my hair.

 

“It’s sad that the best compliments I get are from a fortune cookie.”

 

“I sunburned my plums.”

 

“I’m the third generation of wandering souls. I’m real good at leaving.”

 

“She’s in love and she hasn’t met him yet.”

Center Stage

People don’t want to be fixed. They want to be loved. They want somebody to listen to them. They long for the spotlight. To be the center of the universe, even if the universe is a family, a club, or an office. There are some who demand a larger stage. They become actors and politicians. Where do these people go when time catches up to them? They write memoirs, of course. They believe their audience still cares. Like Tony Blair. I bought the book. I read four chapters. Yawn. It proves once again that nothing interests people so much as themselves.

Calvin says, “That’s why a dog is still a man’s best friend. We keep the illusion going.”