C'mon Spring

It has been a hard winter. Last winter seemed pretty mild, if I remember correctly, but this winter was pretty tough. As an outdoorsy kind of person, I will still go out from time to time even in a brutal winter. I’ll put on two or three layers top to bottom, slip into my heavy coat with a hood, and go out the door. When it is bitterly cold I am not out for a long time. Maybe a half hour tops. But I like the winter stillness and quiet, and I actually do not mind the early darkness, at least for a few months.

Still, there’s no doubt about it; I like spring better. And aside from the extra daylight we’re getting with every passing day, the first signs of spring are already here. I think one of the first signs of spring is the cardinal chortling from the top of a tree. In fact, in the past few weeks when the sun has been out and the wind has not been howling, the male cardinals have been singing, at least a few of them have.

Any time now a few of the heartier flowers will appear. Crocuses are generally one of the first. They seem very anxious for spring. Sometimes they will make their way up between little packs of snow. For my money they are just about the prettiest flowers, but then I love the purple and orange combination. Red bud trees have pretty pinkish blossoms. They can often be seen along the side of country roads. My favorite color of blossom on a shrub is the flowering quince. I love the soft peach tone.

Sometime soon, when we have a couple of consecutive warm days, I’ll be outside and an insect or two will go buzzing by my head. All through the summer insects will fill the air and I won’t think a thing about it, but when the first few bugs motor by my face in late winter or early spring, I smile and take note.

In a month or perhaps a little less the first tree frogs will chirp. The grey tree frog does more than hibernate through winter; he freezes solid. No respiration, no pulse. He then thaws out in the spring as if the winter never happened and continues about his business. Winter is not my favorite time of year, but I would not want to become frozen and miss it entirely.  

In about a month the first wave of migrating birds will pass through heading north. There will be indigo buntings, black and white warblers, and scarlet tanagers. I’ll go out with my binoculars a couple of times a week to see what winged friends I can find. Pretty soon I’ll have to take my hummingbird feeder off the shelf and ready it for the summer. Those little guys will be hungry when they arrive from their long trip and I’ve got to be ready.

When I was about 11 or 12 years old a couple of mourning doves made a low nest in our backyard tree. It was mid-March or so. They had a couple of eggs and one night there was a late winter snowstorm. The next morning I went out to examine the nest, and there was the dove on the nest, completely buried in snow up to the neck. Only her head was visible. But despite the snow, she seemed none the worse for wear, and remained true to her nesting instincts. By midday the snow had melted, a few days later the eggs hatched, and within a few weeks the chicks had fledged.

According to Marty, his 11 year-old daughter, Melissa, seems to hold some admiration for me, god only knows why. Maybe I can get her into the outdoors and make a nature-lover out of her. It’s happened before to girls. I am exhibit #1. And there’s no better time of the year to begin than early spring.             

The Guys Lost... and the One Who Was Found

Last year I dated a guy named Dan. I met him at a 4^th of July celebration. We really got along well. I thought we had a real chemistry. I always looked forward to seeing him. I had this thought that he was going to be my permanent guy. I had had one “permanent” guy before. His name was Mike. He was permanent for four years. I really enjoyed the feeling of having one special guy in my life. It seems to suit me.

But Dan never got into the relationship like I did. He kept part of himself out of it. I sensed that very thing all along. He finally ended the relationship. I sometimes wonder if he ended it for my sake; as though he did not have the heart to lead me on any longer.

I was crushed when it ended. Though the relationship was not exactly a long-running one going on for years, I was devastated when Dan said it was over. For a few days I was just kind of numb. But of course I finally began to feel better, more like my old self. I said to myself the old axiom, the one about there being a lot of fish in the sea. And I told myself that the fish right for me would eventually swim by.

When I first saw the little photo of Marty there next to his comment below one of my blog posts, I did not think much of it. I figured it was just some guy who happened along, saw my blog, and decided to leave a few words. But the comment led to a response from me, which led to another comment from Marty, and before I knew it, we had talked on the phone.

I soon found myself in this strange emotional paradox where I did not want to get my hopes up, but yet I was excited. On the first date Marty and I hit it off. It did not matter that he was ten years older than me. In fact, nothing mattered other than the fact that when we were together something special seemed to be going on. Not only did I feel it, but I could tell that Marty felt it too.

Now some months have passed and a few small changes have taken place. I am no longer “Katie”, I am “Spec”, Marty’s nickname for me. He jokes about my ugly, gnarly toenails, my fondness of popcorn and wine, and my odd love of my microwave oven. I, in turn, joke to Marty about his ample midsection, his seeming contempt for exercise, and his occasional snorts when sleeping. Other things have changed too. The ratio of hugs and/or kisses leading to sex is not the same as it once was. This is partly due to our having sex a bit less often, but mostly due to Marty and I giving each other those non-lustful, but very loving, hugs and kisses more often.

I can say with utter certainty that not only are there a lot of fish in the sea, but the right one is bound to swim by, given time and patience. Of course none of it will do any good if the line isn't in the water. I don’t know much about fishing, but I do know that much.

 For the blurring guy.

A Few Unpleasant Memories From Marty

Well, before I hit the PUBLISH button I'm going to say that I have had a little trouble putting this into my blog/diary. It’s taken me a little time; an hour or so.

First; yesterday Marty and I were watching a movie at my apartment when things became a bit amorous between us. I have been still feeling the lingering effects of my appendectomy and intimacy has been kind of tricky. In fact, it has been so tricky that the intimacy has been non-existent. We tried a few days ago and at one point early on things got a little uncomfortable and I kind of let out a little yelp. That ended that. I told Marty I was willing to continue but my little yowl made him a bit too hesitant. I told him I could satisfy him in other ways but he declined. I think he prefers that we both be capable of full participation.  

Last night I was able to fully participate. We paused the movie and went at it right there on my sofa. I think I can safely say that we were both pretty horny. In fact, we were both pretty horny twice in fairly rapid order.

Afterwards we lay there together under a comforter with me kind of wrapped in Marty’s arms, and somehow we got to talking about our parents. Marty’s father is 69 years old. Marty says he likes his father but that was not always the case. Marty stated that when he was a boy his father was “a hitter”. He did not hit Marty’s mother, but he struck Marty quite often. He did not hit Marty hard enough make a bruise or welt, but Marty said that between the ages of 7 or 8 to about 15, he was hit a few times a week on average. Marty recalled that one day he was hit for leaving his bicycle in the back yard, the next day he was hit for parking it on the driveway, and the following day he was hit for putting his bike in the garage. After that he left his bike with a neighbor boy. He said that during those years he really grew to hate his father.

One day when Marty was 15 years old, he was going to take some girl to a movie and he decided to gargle with an ounce or so of mouthwash. As Marty was gargling, his father came up to him and hit him and barked at him to “quit making that awful gurgle sound”. Marty said that the adrenaline just surged through him. He spit out the mouthwash, turned around and slapped his father across the face with the back of his hand. He then told his father that he was to never hit him ever again.

As Marty was telling this, he became very emotional; a combination of anger and sadness. He said his father was shocked at being slapped. Marty's father did not say a word and just kind of hurried away. Marty said that his father never again hit him. These days Marty says that he and his father have become friends, but he says that it is something of a tragedy that there was a long period when he absolutely hated his father.

I did not know how to respond to Marty’s remembrances, but I’m glad he told me, and I think Marty felt better for talking about it. The only response I had was to say that my father never once hit me and that these days he has become a friend, yes, but I still think of him more as I did 20 years ago; as my dad.

In about a half hour Marty and I will be headed out for Thai. My stomach is growling.          

A Mortal Girl On a Chilly Day

I am pretty much over my appendectomy. I still have to take it easy for another week or so but I’m getting near 100%. I'd estimate that I'm at 80% or so. I probably should have gone to work today but I just was not quite in the mood. Tomorrow for sure.

Today I drove over to Coldspring Park; about a five minute drive from my apartment. I could have walked to the park but I’m just not quite up to it yet. I bundled up with the intent of doing a little hiking around. I took my binoculars in hopes of seeing some birds, maybe even an early spring arrival.

There aren't many people enjoying the outdoors on a cold weekday afternoon. The park was very quiet. Actually, it seemed kind of a lonely place. As I was walking along, I got to thinking about what one of the doctors said when I was in recovery from my appendectomy an hour or so after my surgery. He said that if I had waited a few more hours to come into the hospital, I could have been in big trouble. I think “big trouble” really meant “dead”. That triggered other thoughts, thoughts I've occasionally had before. As I meandered along, I got to thinking about how it has been over ten years since high school. I can vividly remember conversations I had with my friends while in high school. I can recall facial expressions during the conversations and everything. It is as if that silly yakking took place yesterday. The fact that it took place ten years ago is just a little bit scary. Such thoughts make me aware of my own mortality; that I have only so much time on planet Earth.

I have heard said that a person should consider his or her future, but always appreciate the day because tomorrow is promised to no one. It’s when I start having somewhat morose, almost creepy thoughts that I realize such philosophies have merit. Paradoxically, if I think about my own mortality too much, it hurts my appreciation of the day. 

I spotted either a Cooper’s hawk or a sharp-shinned hawk, I’m not sure which. They look a lot alike from a distance. It was good seeing him, whatever he was.        

It Had To Be Something

I've been having too much good luck lately. I said exactly that in this silly blog. Last Monday morning I had a mild abdominal cramp and so I decided to stay home from work and watch the Olympics on TV. Later, if I felt better, I was planning to go shopping, or visit some park and experience a chilly day outdoors marching through the snow. I think it was about noon when I began having a more stabbing pain and it was in my lower right abdominal area. For a while I dismissed the whole thing as too much popcorn ingested the night before without sufficient chewing. But over the next hour or so the pain just got worse. It went through some mild burning stage and into more of a throbbing pain. By about 4 in the afternoon I knew something was going on, something not good.

For just a few minutes I thought about driving myself to the emergency room. Then I decided that was not such a good idea so I decided to call Marty and have him take me. I was directed to voice mail, which is a bit annoying normally, highly annoying when in pain.

I called my parents and my mother answered. I told her I was having severe abdominal pain. She asked me if it was more in the right side. I told her it was and in a moderately frantic voice, she informed me that I likely had appendicitis. Actually, I had sort of guessed as much.

About ten minutes later my father arrived. I was ready and before he could climb out of his car, I was walking out gingerly, a bit sweaty, and bent over in pain. My mother did not come because she is a little too wired. My father, on the other hand, is just about the opposite. He jokingly told me that the pain better not be just gas because he had gone home for his lunch hour and was watching something on TV, and had just poured a beer.

When I arrived at the emergency room they did not mess around. I was quickly evaluated, fixed with an I.V., and within about ten minutes I was being wheeled down a corridor. Apparently appendicitis can become an ugly situation if there is too much delay. Just about the next thing I remember is waking up in a groggy state in a bed with blue curtains drawn around me and a machine keeping track of my pulse.

The surgery went routinely. The next day, which was Tuesday, I pretty much laid in a hospital bed, getting up for restroom trips and mandated, painful strolls down the hallway. Wednesday morning there was no fever or any other negative signs so I was given my release. Marty drove me home. Apparently the thinking was that I was to lie on the sofa and not exert myself. At least that was Marty’s take on the situation. But I had this yearning for some split pea soup, and though Marty could have handled the task, I wanted to do it. While the soup was simmering, I decided to run the vacuum. Meanwhile, Marty sat back and watched some Olympics on TV, raising his feet just enough to allow me to vacuum the floor below them. At least one of us was getting some rest.

I still do not feel 100%, but in about a half hour we are going out for pizza. I definitely feel good enough to do that. Tomorrow I think I’ll visit the fitness center and do some gentle work on a treadmill or elliptical. I will not push myself but I feel like I have to do something. Sometime next week I might think about looking in at work and see how they’re doing without me. I have this feeling that they are probably surviving just fine.              

A Romantic Dinner and a Visit From Teddy

Well, the Valentine Day ordeal is now over. On Thursday I asked my guy, Marty, what he wanted for dinner. It was to be my Valentine's gift to him. Though I am a microwaver, I was prepared to try my hand at any dish he came up with. Fortunately he requested lasagna; something I have made a few times before. I did try a few experimental touches such as including pepperoni bits, and dash of refried beans. For dessert I made heart-shaped cupcakes with pink icing. I bought a decent red wine for the occasion. There were red, heart-adorned napkins, and red candles in silver, heart-shaped holders provided the romantic lighting.

After dinner Marty presented his Valentine's gift to me. It was in a small box with shiny, foil paper adorned with red hearts and wrapped in a pink ribbon. Just looking at the box, I had this odd feeling I knew what it was. It turned out I was right.

When I opened the box I could not help but grin and shake my head. I removed the tiny garment from the box and held it up in front of my eyes, I know that my grin widened and my head continued to shake as I stared at it. Marty could barely hold in a chuckle. It was a sheer purple teddy with white lace. It was very pretty but there was so little to it, light could pass through it. It was not designed for warmth. Marty said that he decided to swallow his dignity and go into a store and look at the merchandise. When he was shown this particular teddy, he knew it was the one he wanted.

He asked me if I would model it for him later and I told him I would. Despite it being almost a non-existent article of clothing, it was not all that easy to slip into and adjust into its proper location. Taking it off proved to be easier. Marty did most of the work. He went at it very slowly and methodically, which proved to be very stimulating for both of us. Heck, maybe this teddy was design for warmth after all.          

Parental Instruction Continues

Yesterday evening I was over at my parents’ house watching the Olympics with my mom and dad. I’m not much of an Olympic fan but yesterday evening I got kind of caught-up in the women’s skiing. There was one woman fairly early in the final runs who had put in a strong effort and had taken the lead. Her name was Dominique Gisin and she is from Sweden. According to the TV commentators, she has won no World Championships and zero Olympic medals. What’s more, over the course of her skiing career she has had nine knee operations... nine.

Anyway, she was the early leader and as long as her time was the best, she would sit in front of the cameras at the bottom of the hill and wait while the other competitors came down the hill on their runs.

One by one the other skiers flew down the course, and each time their times were slower than Dominique Gisin’s time. Finally the last skier took her position on the top of the hill, preparing to make her final run. Her name was Tina Maze. In her home country of Slovenia she is like a rock star. She is a fashion model and has sung on a top-selling recording. Not only is she beautiful, but she has already won two Olympic medals. NBC did about a five minute piece highlighting her beauty and her many accomplishments both on and off the slopes.

When the piece had concluded and the cameras focused on her at the starting line, almost without thinking I uttered, “Well, it’s hard not to root for someone like her.”

Very casually my father mumbled something like, “Personally, I think I’m pulling for the girl who has gone through nine knee operations and has no Olympic medals. She has come this far, I’d just as soon see her win, given the choice.”

In the approximately 90 seconds it took Tina to arrive at the bottom of the hill, I had had enough time to ponder my father’s sentiments, and I too was pulling for Dominique Gisin. 

Sometimes I think I get swept up in glitter and temporarily misplace my sympathetic side. Fortunately I have a dad who is free of such lapses.