I'm about to head home from work but before I do, I am going to write into this goofball blog about my Sunday experience, as boring as it may seem to others.
My boyfriend, Terry has had a beard since we first met several months ago. Its color matches his slightly reddish hair except the beard has a little bit of gray at the chin. I don't know anything about beard styles so I just sort of think of it as a "controlled beard"; it has always looked like it is about a week's worth of growth. I like it but I'm not absolutely wild about it either. I would never ask him to shave it but if he wanted to shave it I would not beg him not to.
A few days ago he mentioned something about shaving off his beard. I discreetly told him my feelings; that I liked his beard but if he wanted to shave it, that was okay too. Terry nodded and said he was going to give it some thought. Well, Sunday afternoon he called me to inform me that he had decided to shave his beard that evening. He wanted to warn me, but I think he called mainly because he was a little traumatized by his decision. Apparently he has had the beard for ten years, which I did not know. I guess he considered it as something of an old friend. Believe it or not, I kind of get his thinking. I once decided to go to a different hairstyle that required my hair to be cut by about six inches. Watching my hair getting snipped off was actually an emotional experience.
Anyway, out of the blue I asked Terry if I could shave him. It was a spontaneous request. Terry chuckled. I giggled too but then insisted that I was serious. There was a few second of quiet and then Terry said that if I wanted to, it was okay with him.
I drove over to Terry's place Sunday evening. He was ready for me. He sat on a kitchen chair and gave me instructions, the first being to put a moist, warm towel on his beard to soften it up. I actually re-wet it with warm water and reapplied it a couple of times. I have to admit, I found it kind of exciting, in an odd sort of way. I think Terry was enjoying it too.
I applied the shaving soap, which Terry had purchased only an hour or so beforehand, and sort of rubbed it around his beard. When everything seemed ready, he handed me a safety razor. He told me that the blade was unused, but both the blade and the razor itself were a decade old. For some strange reason I thought I was going to be using a straight razor. I guess those are for real barbers and not for a nervous woman who has never shaved a man in her life.
I am actually familiar with the process of shaving. I do have legs, armpits and a few other areas that need attention from time to time.
I have to admit that I thought shaving Terry was entertaining, maybe even slightly erotic. And he seemed genuinely appreciative. I did nick him just slightly on the right side of his chin. I did not even know until I saw a speck of blood a minute or so later. Terry wanted a close shave, but not that close.
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Saturday, January 17, 2015
Meditating Away Anxiety and Depression
This is a first; two blog entries on the same day. This, the second of the two, came as something of an afterthought. Still, I want to write it while it is on my mind, and put it in my silly blog.
I suffer from clinical anxiety and depression, particularly clinical anxiety. This first hit me about ten years ago. These afflictions are not fun. Fact is; they are hellish. I cannot take medication for these conditions. Every medication I have tried has made me mildly ill physically. I will go on some medication and invariably it feels like I am coming down with the flu about 12 hours later. I have had to rely on cognitive therapy. As recommended by my therapist, I started to meditate regularly.
I meditate at least fifteen or twenty minutes a day. I try to meditate as early in the day as possible. If I can't meditate in the morning, I will hopefully find time to meditate during the afternoon. Sometimes my meditation session does not come until evening. A few people at work have caught me meditating by myself. I will stop, smile, and inform them what I am doing.
I find it rather humorous that I would be a person who mediates. I've always thought that it had a note of intellectual quackery to it. I am not into acupuncture. I am hardly a vegetarian. But meditation works for me. To that end, early this past week I posted a couple of flyers at work advertising that I would give a short, free, workplace seminar on meditation to anyone interested. The seminar was yesterday. A grand total of one person attended.
I will now pass on the gist of that "seminar" to any would-be reader...
Meditation takes practice. It's like exercising the body in that if you are new to it, it does not come easily. It might almost hurt at first. Meditation requires some conditioning; mental conditioning. It does not require sitting in a cross-legged position. It does not require any chanting. Just find a place where you won't be distracted, sit in any kind of comfortable position, close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing. Simply breath in and out and notice the inhales, and the exhales.
Your mind will wander. You might think of chores you need to do after work. Or your mind might wander as you contemplate an upcoming dentist appointment. Being distracted during meditation is normal. When you realize you are not focusing on your breathing, just gently redirect your attention to your breaths. Think of how your breaths feel as they enter and exit your body.
If you are lucky, the first mediation session may result in a brief instant or two of relaxation and an odd sense of tranquility. Over the next few sessions you may find that those gentle moments are coming a bit more often. Eventually those blissful periods will be strong enough and of long enough duration to have a continual positive effect on your mental state. You will become a more calm, serene person. Unfortunately, meditation will not make you smarter, I'm sorry to say.
I am not anxiety free, but I feel much better due to my meditation regiment. My mental disorders are now within my control. My life is good.
I suffer from clinical anxiety and depression, particularly clinical anxiety. This first hit me about ten years ago. These afflictions are not fun. Fact is; they are hellish. I cannot take medication for these conditions. Every medication I have tried has made me mildly ill physically. I will go on some medication and invariably it feels like I am coming down with the flu about 12 hours later. I have had to rely on cognitive therapy. As recommended by my therapist, I started to meditate regularly.
I meditate at least fifteen or twenty minutes a day. I try to meditate as early in the day as possible. If I can't meditate in the morning, I will hopefully find time to meditate during the afternoon. Sometimes my meditation session does not come until evening. A few people at work have caught me meditating by myself. I will stop, smile, and inform them what I am doing.
I find it rather humorous that I would be a person who mediates. I've always thought that it had a note of intellectual quackery to it. I am not into acupuncture. I am hardly a vegetarian. But meditation works for me. To that end, early this past week I posted a couple of flyers at work advertising that I would give a short, free, workplace seminar on meditation to anyone interested. The seminar was yesterday. A grand total of one person attended.
I will now pass on the gist of that "seminar" to any would-be reader...
Meditation takes practice. It's like exercising the body in that if you are new to it, it does not come easily. It might almost hurt at first. Meditation requires some conditioning; mental conditioning. It does not require sitting in a cross-legged position. It does not require any chanting. Just find a place where you won't be distracted, sit in any kind of comfortable position, close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing. Simply breath in and out and notice the inhales, and the exhales.
Your mind will wander. You might think of chores you need to do after work. Or your mind might wander as you contemplate an upcoming dentist appointment. Being distracted during meditation is normal. When you realize you are not focusing on your breathing, just gently redirect your attention to your breaths. Think of how your breaths feel as they enter and exit your body.
If you are lucky, the first mediation session may result in a brief instant or two of relaxation and an odd sense of tranquility. Over the next few sessions you may find that those gentle moments are coming a bit more often. Eventually those blissful periods will be strong enough and of long enough duration to have a continual positive effect on your mental state. You will become a more calm, serene person. Unfortunately, meditation will not make you smarter, I'm sorry to say.
I am not anxiety free, but I feel much better due to my meditation regiment. My mental disorders are now within my control. My life is good.
The Goofball Updating Her Blog
I might as well give an update on my relationship with Terry, not that anyone cares. But up to now it has been somewhat different when compared to my past relationships, so I might as well chronicle it to this point.
Terry and I have been seeing each other for nearly three months. That's not exactly a lifetime but it is long enough that to a certain extent the proverbial dust has kind of settle. For about two months we have been "exclusive" to each other, meaning we do not see anyone else romantically. One evening we both agreed that we had the potential for something special between us and so we made this vow to each other in a very casual, almost humorous manner, but yet in a completely honest manner. We see each other about three times a week on average. Sometimes it is four times a week, sometimes it is two. It probably averages to three. I don't see this figure changing anytime soon. It seems that both Terry and I like three times a week. This is less often than I have seen my other, past romantic interests, at a comparative point in those relationships.
Terry and I spend the night together at least two of those three night per week when we see each other. Usually the nights when we meet are Friday, Saturday, and then one evening, possibly two, during the week. Usually the non weekend day when we spent time together is either Monday or Wednesday. Sometimes it is both. When I see Terry on Monday, and then I do not see him again until Friday, I get excited and anxious for Friday to finally come. There is a clear heightening of emotion. I like it. I like the elevated anticipation of being with Terry. And I like having days of "me time". We generally do not spend our entire Saturdays or Sundays together. Terry has his interests and I have mine.
Most of those evenings when Terry and I are together we stay at my apartment, but perhaps once every few weeks I will stay at his condo. His place is nicer than mine but it is a bit more troublesome for me to stay at his place rather than the other way around. It's a "woman thing".
Over the last three or four weeks Terry and I have not been "intimate" every single night we have been together. There has been two or three scattered evenings when our bedroom activity has been nothing but sleep. I bring this up because I actually mentioned this to Terry yesterday evening while we were watching TV (the Celtics losing, specifically) and he said that he was aware of it but that it was not something that concerned him if it was not something that concerned me. I told him that it did not concern me one bit and that I saw it as a sign that our relationship had more than one source of appeal. Terry had much the same viewpoint and he expressed it very sweetly. Ironically, he was so sweet and the sentiments were so reassuring that a short time later I requested that we forgo the end of the Celtic game to pursue other "activities". Every now and then something comes over me and this goofball becomes the aggressor.
Terry and I have been seeing each other for nearly three months. That's not exactly a lifetime but it is long enough that to a certain extent the proverbial dust has kind of settle. For about two months we have been "exclusive" to each other, meaning we do not see anyone else romantically. One evening we both agreed that we had the potential for something special between us and so we made this vow to each other in a very casual, almost humorous manner, but yet in a completely honest manner. We see each other about three times a week on average. Sometimes it is four times a week, sometimes it is two. It probably averages to three. I don't see this figure changing anytime soon. It seems that both Terry and I like three times a week. This is less often than I have seen my other, past romantic interests, at a comparative point in those relationships.
Terry and I spend the night together at least two of those three night per week when we see each other. Usually the nights when we meet are Friday, Saturday, and then one evening, possibly two, during the week. Usually the non weekend day when we spent time together is either Monday or Wednesday. Sometimes it is both. When I see Terry on Monday, and then I do not see him again until Friday, I get excited and anxious for Friday to finally come. There is a clear heightening of emotion. I like it. I like the elevated anticipation of being with Terry. And I like having days of "me time". We generally do not spend our entire Saturdays or Sundays together. Terry has his interests and I have mine.
Most of those evenings when Terry and I are together we stay at my apartment, but perhaps once every few weeks I will stay at his condo. His place is nicer than mine but it is a bit more troublesome for me to stay at his place rather than the other way around. It's a "woman thing".
Over the last three or four weeks Terry and I have not been "intimate" every single night we have been together. There has been two or three scattered evenings when our bedroom activity has been nothing but sleep. I bring this up because I actually mentioned this to Terry yesterday evening while we were watching TV (the Celtics losing, specifically) and he said that he was aware of it but that it was not something that concerned him if it was not something that concerned me. I told him that it did not concern me one bit and that I saw it as a sign that our relationship had more than one source of appeal. Terry had much the same viewpoint and he expressed it very sweetly. Ironically, he was so sweet and the sentiments were so reassuring that a short time later I requested that we forgo the end of the Celtic game to pursue other "activities". Every now and then something comes over me and this goofball becomes the aggressor.
Thursday, January 15, 2015
High Noon at 8 PM
Last night I visited my parents. I figured I'd update them on my ever-advancing relationship with Terry, but I really had no actual reason for the visit. My mother has taken up playing bridge and when I arrived, she was just leaving to go play somewhere. In fact, I had to go right back out the door to move my car out from behind her car in the driveway.
My dad was on the sofa sitting in front of the TV. He asked me if I wanted a beer and I told him I could go for a glass of red wine. That was not the first time my father has asked me if I wanted a beer, but I still can't get used to it. I'm his little girl, after all. Anyway he told me that they did not have any wine, but I knew that they did. I brought over a bottle a month or so ago, just for my consumption.
I poured a glass and then sat in a chair next to my father on the sofa. That afternoon he had bought a DVD of the old movie High Noon. He had intended to watch it by himself since he knew my mother would be gone. But my dad knows that I am not my mother. I don't need a chick flick or a movie with super heroes. I will watch mysteries, historical dramas, and old westerns. If the movie is good, I will usually stay interested and ultimately get something out of it.
Before the movie even started my father casually informed me that he had seen High Noon when he was a little kid. He said that he had seen it on TV sometime around 1960 when he was 9 or 10. His mother, my grandmother, had told him that it was a good movie and he ought to sit there and watch it. "It'll be good for you," my dad recollected his mother saying.
I found it intriguing and in its own way comforting that my dad could not only remember that brief talk all these years later, but he was sort of telling me the same basic thing about the movie. It played into my sense of nostalgia, perhaps heightened by a red wine. You know a movie is going to be good when it speaks to you personally even before it appears on the screen.
My dad was on the sofa sitting in front of the TV. He asked me if I wanted a beer and I told him I could go for a glass of red wine. That was not the first time my father has asked me if I wanted a beer, but I still can't get used to it. I'm his little girl, after all. Anyway he told me that they did not have any wine, but I knew that they did. I brought over a bottle a month or so ago, just for my consumption.
I poured a glass and then sat in a chair next to my father on the sofa. That afternoon he had bought a DVD of the old movie High Noon. He had intended to watch it by himself since he knew my mother would be gone. But my dad knows that I am not my mother. I don't need a chick flick or a movie with super heroes. I will watch mysteries, historical dramas, and old westerns. If the movie is good, I will usually stay interested and ultimately get something out of it.
Before the movie even started my father casually informed me that he had seen High Noon when he was a little kid. He said that he had seen it on TV sometime around 1960 when he was 9 or 10. His mother, my grandmother, had told him that it was a good movie and he ought to sit there and watch it. "It'll be good for you," my dad recollected his mother saying.
I found it intriguing and in its own way comforting that my dad could not only remember that brief talk all these years later, but he was sort of telling me the same basic thing about the movie. It played into my sense of nostalgia, perhaps heightened by a red wine. You know a movie is going to be good when it speaks to you personally even before it appears on the screen.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Terry Takes Root
I'm always thinking, and analyzing, the guy in my life, or at least the perspective guy in my life; what I want of him, and why I have those wants.
The number one thing is for the man to be friendly and personable. I love a guy who is self-effacing. I like intelligence too or perhaps more accurately, a guy who thinks and is at least somewhat philosophical. There's nothing like a man whose thoughts go beyond the surface of some given subject. Of course the biggest thing is that we can just talk to each other and we will not only listen to the other person, but know what that person is talking about.
Okay, I must admit that I do not mind if the guy is good-looking and well-built. I can't deny that when it comes to men, I am more attracted to muscular arms when compared to lanky arms. I admit that somewhat self-consciously because it seems sort of shallow, but it is the simple truth. On the other hand, I don't too much worry about a guy's income or his employment.
Two days ago I received a voice message at work while away at lunch. It was from an old friend, Ruth Ann. I have known Ruth Ann for about ten years. We met while birding one spring afternoon. We get together once every month or so either for dinner, or if the weather is good, birding. Ruth Ann is an older woman of about 60. She is divorced and works part time. Last year her mother died and it was very hard on her.
Anyway, in her message, Ruth Ann apologize for calling me at work, but she just felt like talking to someone. She then said that her dog, Sprinkle, had died last week. Sprinkle was like her special little friend. Even her Christmas cards said, "Merry Christmas from Ruth Ann and Sprinkle." In her message when she mentioned Sprinkle, her voice would crack and she was barely able to keep it together. But at the end of her message she said that she had decided to get another dog, and the day before picked up a medium-size, mixed breed dog named Archie. Ruth Ann then asked me to call her back when I had time.
It was an emotional message that had me almost in tears. For a few seconds I did not do anything but sit there. Finally I called Terry. The fact I called Terry was telling in itself. I asked him if he had time to talk for a minute, and he said he did. I told him about Ruth Ann's message.
Terry told me that I should call Ruth Ann and ask to speak to Archie. I told Terry that apparently he did not realize that Archie was a dog. He kind of chuckled and said that he knew who Archie was. "Just call your friend, say 'hello', then ask to speak to Archie," Terry insisted. He said that it would help give the new dog his own little place in Ruth Ann's life, and that's what both the dog, and Ruth Ann need.
A few minutes later I called Ruth Ann. I said hello and then immediately asked to speak to Archie. I cannot tell you how well that simple idea worked. It seemed Archie was getting telephone calls and becoming part of the family. Before I said good bye I had this distinct feeling that next holiday season Archie's name will be on Christmas cards.
When I called Terry, he could have told me he was busy. I would have accepted that. Or, he could have just listened to me and sympathized. I would have been overjoyed with that. But he listened and then made a rather odd, but ultimately wonderful suggestion.
Terry is the guy.
The number one thing is for the man to be friendly and personable. I love a guy who is self-effacing. I like intelligence too or perhaps more accurately, a guy who thinks and is at least somewhat philosophical. There's nothing like a man whose thoughts go beyond the surface of some given subject. Of course the biggest thing is that we can just talk to each other and we will not only listen to the other person, but know what that person is talking about.
Okay, I must admit that I do not mind if the guy is good-looking and well-built. I can't deny that when it comes to men, I am more attracted to muscular arms when compared to lanky arms. I admit that somewhat self-consciously because it seems sort of shallow, but it is the simple truth. On the other hand, I don't too much worry about a guy's income or his employment.
Two days ago I received a voice message at work while away at lunch. It was from an old friend, Ruth Ann. I have known Ruth Ann for about ten years. We met while birding one spring afternoon. We get together once every month or so either for dinner, or if the weather is good, birding. Ruth Ann is an older woman of about 60. She is divorced and works part time. Last year her mother died and it was very hard on her.
Anyway, in her message, Ruth Ann apologize for calling me at work, but she just felt like talking to someone. She then said that her dog, Sprinkle, had died last week. Sprinkle was like her special little friend. Even her Christmas cards said, "Merry Christmas from Ruth Ann and Sprinkle." In her message when she mentioned Sprinkle, her voice would crack and she was barely able to keep it together. But at the end of her message she said that she had decided to get another dog, and the day before picked up a medium-size, mixed breed dog named Archie. Ruth Ann then asked me to call her back when I had time.
It was an emotional message that had me almost in tears. For a few seconds I did not do anything but sit there. Finally I called Terry. The fact I called Terry was telling in itself. I asked him if he had time to talk for a minute, and he said he did. I told him about Ruth Ann's message.
Terry told me that I should call Ruth Ann and ask to speak to Archie. I told Terry that apparently he did not realize that Archie was a dog. He kind of chuckled and said that he knew who Archie was. "Just call your friend, say 'hello', then ask to speak to Archie," Terry insisted. He said that it would help give the new dog his own little place in Ruth Ann's life, and that's what both the dog, and Ruth Ann need.
A few minutes later I called Ruth Ann. I said hello and then immediately asked to speak to Archie. I cannot tell you how well that simple idea worked. It seemed Archie was getting telephone calls and becoming part of the family. Before I said good bye I had this distinct feeling that next holiday season Archie's name will be on Christmas cards.
When I called Terry, he could have told me he was busy. I would have accepted that. Or, he could have just listened to me and sympathized. I would have been overjoyed with that. But he listened and then made a rather odd, but ultimately wonderful suggestion.
Terry is the guy.
Monday, January 5, 2015
A Recollection In Honor of National Bird Day
I am about to leave work for the day but before I do I thought I would throw in a particularly boring blog entry.
I have recently been informed that it is National Bird Day. I am a birder, but I did not know anything about National Bird Day. There isn't much in the way of birds out there in the Boston area this time of year. On unfrozen lakes and ponds inland there are some mallards, Canada Geese, and even a few northern shovelers. The trees have some cardinals and black-capped chickadees, but really, nothing out of the ordinary. But that does not mean birding can't have some moments of excitement.
One evening after dark, about this time of year seven years ago, my then-boyfriend, Mike, and I drove into a little ravine to call in some screech owls. This is done by using a recording of a screech owl call to attract any area screech owls. I had done this before with only moderate success. I think I heard the return call of a screech owl in the distance. I did not expect anything surprising this time around either.
Well, if I remember correctly, we had played the recorded call on my Mike's smartphone for about ten seconds when all of the sudden a screech owl dove out of the darkness, right by our heads. It was so surprising that Mike dropped his phone into the grass and until he was able to grab it and shut it off, the screech owl just kept attacking.
Screech owls are highly territorial, but until that moment I had no idea that they would fight to the death. Also, I have always heard that owl wings, particularly their feathers, are constructed in a way that makes them almost silent in flight. Well, I can assure you that when a screech owl buzzes six inches from your head, you can hear their wings.
Maybe tonight I can talk Terry into going out into some little woodlot on a screech owl search. He thinks birding is some boring activity for nerds and old ladies. Maybe I can show him that an agitated screech owl can give the hobby a few moments of excitement.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)