So, cigars…

So, for something completely different:

My new bf smokes cigars occasionally.  He is very respectful of people’s preferences – in or out doors, not at all, whatever.  He’ll accommodate who he’s with.

Even though I know smoking is unhealthy and stinky to some, I can’t help that, having grown up with grandparents who smoked, when I smell it, it’s comforting to me.  I don’t make any big deal about people who want to smoke in my house, especially cigars.  That would definitely be different if I had kids at home, but, he let me take a puff once.  I kind of liked it.

Then he bought me a coffee infused cigar.  I used to describe coffee as one of my “vices.”  Coffee, wine, gin, Diet Coke.  He said those are not “vices,” those are “beverages.”  Bravo.  I need to take a spin class, and I don’t mean bicycling.  It’s all in how something is put, or presented, isn’t it?

That coffee infused cigar was sweet on the outside and



I want to do it again.  I was a little queasy the next day, but it was worth it.

It really doesn’t fit the “good girl” image I think is (mostly) accurate, but I’ll take that class on spin, and make it so there will be no way around it:  a woman’s gotta smoke a cigar once in a while.

Moving on


In my bed now


Shhh…he’s in my bed now.  I’m up and on my way to work in 40 minutes – he works in 10 hours.  He needs his beauty sleep.  He is beautiful.

He’s sweet and thoughtful and says wonderfully warming things.  Thank you to whoever, whatever brought him to me.  He’s just what I wanted…

Thoughts about the ring. Oh, and healing stitches.

The diamond is embedded and surrounded by white gold.  When it was my engagement ring, it stood tall on a platinum throne.  Now that it’s my family ring, it’s nestled in the middle — one of three family members.  The garnets are not flush.  Hmmm…I have spent a lot of time deciding if this is ok…that the garnets are little mesas, and the diamond is a little inset, like a clear pool of water.  I think I’ve decided it’s ok.  I had a crisis over the weekend that the ring was too gaudy — too much a shelf of shine — but I got over that, too.


Apparently I’m VERY big on symbolism.  I knew that, but this “get used to the new ring” weekend has really highlighted that fact.

On another note, I was lying in bed next to my new friend , awake about 4:30 am, as usual for me.  I was thinking about how our new relationship has been like getting stitched up.  It doesn’t hurt.  It’s not some Emergency Room drama scene.  It is a process of healing hurts and issues from way back.  Way, way, back.  The thread brings the wound together, and he smooths over the track of stitches with salve, promising that closure and healing is, at last, imminent.


I wept silently and deeply as I fleshed out this image, trying not to make his back wet where I was burying my weary mind.  Somehow I feel like I must thank my recently departed dad for this miracle.  After all, some of the issues that are closing and healing are issues I  shared with him.  If that’s all this new friend of mine is slated to do for me in this life, well, that’s just about damn near everything, to have these old wounds attended to.  Thank you new friend and Dad.  I’m just going to go ahead and give you both credit.

Moving on

Stupid Spiders and Reordering the Past to Start a Future

Stupid spiders.  They’re everywhere.  They have a place in the ecosystem blah blah but stay out of my house!


I don’t fall out of your laundry basket onto your bed.  That’s totally UN-cool Arachnid Nation.

On another note, now that my daughter is successfully tucked into college, my goal for the summer, I’m sort of at a loss on what to write about. The X has mercifully stopped trying to get us on the same team by reaching out on every little thing.  Sweet silence for now.

There is that idea that some people are like tofu (origin FS – thank you). I have to explore that, but I’ve exhausted my portfolio of poetry, too.

Time to really move on, I guess, not just reorder the past in light of my new reality.


My friend’s dad passed away yesterday.  Now she has no parents and a son at home still to raise.  She’s usually one tough bitch, but when she allowed me to bring her son dinner last night, I knew her defenses were down.  I was glad she could accept this little gesture of “help.”  Her eyes were swollen and her nose was stuffed.  She had a very difficult relationship with her father, but now he’s gone.  That sucker punches even a toughened woman who searched for her dad’s love for over 50 years.


I have to do her work today, and my work to do today, and help get my daughter ready to go to college tomorrow, and remember who I am, too.

I’m trepedatious and yet aware that it’s a blessing to have these first world “problems.”  I have a job and a daughter going to college and a parent still here and a new life to forge.  Trepedatious and humbled.

Come here, world…let’s be friends.

Moving on

You’ve come a medium way, baby…

5/5/15 post:

One step forward is thinking about the present moment and future and better moments.
Two steps back are nasty texting and nasty emailing to him.  And his girlfriend.  And sometimes his girlfriend’s husband.  And yes, sometimes as an expedient inclusive group.

One step forward is regularly seeing your therapist, your doctor, your friends, your “team.”
Two steps back are saying you want to end it all just to pull some emotion out of the bastard and withdrawing your petition for divorce because he asked you to “because she can’t go to college if I lose my job and have no money.”

One step forward is going to the grocery store you like, not the one he liked and you didn’t.
Two steps back are getting drunk and impulsively driving to his apartment, checking if her car door was locked, and then writing FUCK YOU in the dew on her windshield.  THEN knocking on the door and asking to see her and THEN flashing your lights at his window several times for good measure before you finally drive off.  (One incident, more than two backward steps.)

One step forward is setting up a Facebook page after a dictate of no “internet presence.”
Two steps back are friending people from the past you didn’t care to keep in touch with for 25 years anyway and calling old boyfriends who are old boyfriends for good reasons.

The good news is that you will eventually end up somewhere in the future and away from your pain.  The bad news is that this weird square dance-esque cadence piles on more pain to get away from.


Here I am somewhere in the future.  I have taken one step after another away from a lot of pain.  Very few things are clear yet, but I have faith that there’s a path out of this forest.  This is cliché, but truly, if I can do it, you can too.  Believe it.  Let me know if you need help.

XX Moving on

Day trip to Fenway! Woot Woot!

red sox th

Today I go to a Red Sox-Orioles game at Fenway!  I lived in Boston from 1987 or so until 1991 and then again in 1996 or so, and I have lived in the Northeast since then.  This is my first Fenway experience.

That’s just wrong.

It is a birthday present for my daughter’s boyfriend.  She and he, my son, and I are going and then I leave my son and daughter in Boston.  My daughter starts her camp counselor job and my son goes on to a wedding in Philadelphia.

Hello empty nest…you terrify me and please me all at the same time, which all good things in life do!

Moving on bitches(too much?)…No. Wire. Parentheses!!

Ahem…Moving on…