A One Week Test

Going back to the time I was about 15 years old, I have felt what I would consider true love for several guys. True love is different when compared to infatuation. Infatuation is more a physical attractive. Infatuation is the work of hormones. Love is the work of the mind, of the psyche.

There are some people, guys specifically, that I will be in tune with, and some that I will not. I have never met anyone of any gender who is not capable of irritating me at least slightly from time to time.

There have been a few guys in my life that after several months in a relationship, after the lust and passion began to ebb, I nevertheless started wondering how I could live without them. These are the guys who are not overbearing, they are calming, and they are willing to listen to my silliness. My brain will give a guy extra points if he occasionally gives spontaneous back rubs or waits for me without complaint as I put on make-up. There are no two guys who have been in my life who I have felt the same level of fondness.

Last week Terry, my boyfriend, and I went on a little adventure into the Adirondacks. Time-wise, it was our first trip together of any length. I knew it was going to be a test, whether I thought of it that way or not. Terry has many characteristics that I cherish, but there are a few things about him that rub me the wrong way. One is that he tends to get a little macho on occasion. That is not my style.

On our trip, we stopped at a large, outdoor store. Terry wanted to make a purchase. Did he buy a gun? Did he buy some knife? The answer to both of those questions is no. He bought a pair of binoculars so he could help his girlfriend/bird watcher spot birds up in the trees.
  
Our trip is now over and if someone were to give me a multiple choice question asking to describe my feelings for Terry in a single word, I would select love over fondness or like. Truth is; I have recently wondered how I could live without him. I guess I can put up with a little bit of bravado, after all, he is putting up with a goofy bird watcher. I think we both passed the test.

Boston's "All Kinds"

Over the last ten years I have become civic-minded and have acquired a social consciousness. Once upon a time not too long ago but seemingly in another world, my worries were about grades, perhaps a boyfriend, and in some vague way, my future as an adult. For me as a person, a lot has changed since then.

One of the personal changes is this advent of social awareness. I have noticed it more recently with the local trials of Aaron Hernandez and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, especially Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. Once upon a time I would have known about these kind of important events but not followed them with interest. At least for me, to some degree my mental involvement in these sorts of things is not particularly healthy psychologically. Still, I can't help myself; I am taking an interest in the real world. Having said all of that, as sad and even as scary some things can seem, there are times when a person just has to laugh.

Yesterday my boyfriend, Terry, and I were eating at a Five Guys restaurant. There's nothing like a pitifully unhealthy cheeseburger and some death-defying fries to bring the world's troubles more into perspective. As I am chomping away at some high calorie food and contemplating how much time on an elliptical I'll have to spend to burn it off, Terry calmly informs me that he has discovered a new talent. With my mouth stuffed with salted, deep-fried french fries, I give him an inquisitive look.

"Hi Katie, how's the food?" he inquires in this almost creepy, high pitched voice.

"Did you see that?" he then asks in his normal voice.

I swallow the glob of french fries then said, "See what?"

"I talked without moving my lips," Terry replies with a note of actual pride. "I am a ventriloquist."

For about five seconds I just stared at his grinning face. "What?" I mumbled.

"I can do ventriloquism," he responded. "I can talk without moving my lips. I can even do it in a couple of different voices."

There are all kinds of people in the world, and in Massachusetts. On one end of the spectrum there are murderers, terrorists, etc., then at the other end of the spectrum there are those who become exciting because they can talk without moving their lips. If the evils of the world seem to be closing in on you, one little-known antidote is to have dinner with an amateur ventriloquist. He won't rid the world of evil people, but he'll certainly make them seem farther way.

Our Trip To Long Pasture

When I finished writing my last blog entry, the idiotic one about visiting vernal pools, I got to thinking about my mother. When I was about 9 years old I became interested, or more like fascinated in nature. I started reading all kinds of books and literature about the great outdoors. One of the things I read about was vernal pools and their micro ecosystem. But reading about vernal pools wasn't good enough. I wanted an expert to visit one with me so I could ask a million questions.

One Saturday there was going to be a guided program about vernal pools at the Long Pasture Wildlife Sanctuary. A few days before the program, I asked my father if he would take me. Apparently there was something he had to do (probably watch sports on TV), so he told me to ask my mother. My mom told me to ask my dad and when I told her I'd asked him first, she kind of rolled her eyes and nodded.

That Saturday I went off down a trail with a bunch of other nerds of all ages as we followed a naturalist to a vernal pool where we spent a couple of hours examining and analyzing that tiny, unique environment. I'm not sure what my mother did for those two hours but when I returned from the little expedition, she was there waiting. Sometimes I forget what my parents went through to raise a goofy girl.

Yesterday I talked to my mom and I was informed that today my father was to go to a medical clinic for a colonoscopy. He was going to be anesthetized and perhaps too groggy to speak with the doctor afterwards concerning the results, and he would definitely be unable to drive home. The post-procedure conference with the doctor, and the chauffeuring, would be a chore that would logically fall on my mom, but though my mother did not say anything, I know only too well that she is a little squeamish around such things. Anyway, that trip to Long Pasture came to mind. I told Mom that I'd take a day off work and drive Dad. She gave me a bit of an argument but I could tell by the tone of her voice that it was an argument that she wanted to lose. I proclaimed that I would not take no for an answer, much to my mother's relief, and at about 7:30 this morning I stopped by my parents' house to pick up my dad.

My mother met me at the door and she could not thank me enough. All I could think of was that this one good deed was not near enough to make up for everything she has done for me, her goofy little girl.