This piece was performed at Beyond Baroque Literary Arts Center, part of the Lifestories series.
As a note: I never wanted to include, well I shouldn't say never, actually, I always wanted to include surfing into my written performances. The reason for my swaying is that surfing in America carries so many stereotypes. Through movies, surfers have been characterised as the surfer dude, the unresponsible, the stoner, the beach bum, none of which describe me. I'm not putting anyone down, just saying I've always been highly passionate about surfing and have surfed for over 29 years now, but at the same time, I've led a responsible life outside of surfing.
However, once I took a risk and performed this piece about my relationship, relating it through surfing, the audience loved it and thus the inclusion of surfing into my show, Loveswell, became
inevitable. People who never surfed came up to me to comment on how much the ocean and surfing make perfect backdrops to relationships. One wave being the perfect day with your love, a ride you never want to end. The next wave closing out on you reflecting those days when your love looks like the scariest wave you've ever seen. So here is one piece that really inspired me. See what you think...
Sitting out on my board, bobbing up and down, waiting, scanning the calm waters for a ripple. A ripple turning into a wave I’ll catch and surf back to the beach. Man, I love this.
Cool water on my hands as I wave them like flippers beneath the still water. I can see my dangling feet, my reflecting face, my thoughts. I look out and see water meeting sky, light blue meets dark forming a line, asking the sun to set. A pelican glides by so uniform, so perfect, waving its fingery feathers above the water, balancing the air. The rusty sea kelp washes and bends over my board and my leg, reminding me I am not alone, then disappears.
The ocean’s been my sanctuary since I was a kid helping me surf through boring summers, girlfriend heartbreaks, my father’s absence. I feel at one in my mother ocean. I feel perfect, because I have completely forgotten that this weekend I will be getting married for the rest of my life.
I’m not scared of getting married, just scared of getting through the marriage, because I’m marrying her. Christie, my long life friend, room mate, acting buddy, the drive me crazy then turn soulmate, love of my life. I had always dreamed of a fantasy someone, it just was never her. Don’t get me wrong, I am truly in love. Oh, excuse me.
Automatically my feet spin circles under the water as my eyes have caught the sight that makes me happy. A wave's coming. My body doesn't think, it moves. Hands pull through green water and I'm facing the beach. My chest lies down on my friend, my board. She knows all my waves good, bad, and foreign. I paddle, stroking each hand in front of me as hard as I can. Muscles strain as my breathe reaches out for the cool air. The wave rises toward the sky behind me as if it were to pounce on my back. It pulls me toward it, the water underneath my board dragging me backwards, until I'm nuzzled up right against it and then it happens. The wave that could seem menacing playfully pushes me. My hands no longer reach out to paddle, they lift out of the water, knowing their next job is to push me up. And they do, lightening fast, they hit the deck of my board, palms open, fingers spread, lifting my entire body up into a gymnasts maneuver. My legs swing underneath me and in an instant I'm standing. My eyes take in the beauty of the wave before me and as I drop in, gliding up and down it's face, I get to know the wave that will be part of my life now forever.
Whheehoooo!!! Look at this wave. Sometimes, you just want to stand there, feeling free, at one with this living thing you've caught. You don’t need or want to do any fancy tricks, you just want to remember the moment forever, love it.
Like when I stood there looking at Christie in Bed Bath and Beyond. She's in deep thought, dressed in her old t-shirt and overall shorts, looking at a blue colander. My face had this silly grin on it. She gets me. I feel free with her. I can be myself. I wanted to bask in the perfect moment forever. I wanted to be her man, to take care of her, to love her all at once. I wanted that blue colander to mean something to us. I wanted us to be making dinner with that colander together, forever.
But you see, I am scared because all I have ever known is divorce. My parents divorce’s. I mean just in between my parents there have been 7 marriages and 6 divorces. In between Christie’s parents there have been 5 marriages and 3 divorces. Between our parents 12 marriages and 9 divorces??? I worry about the reasons that my parents got divorced. I mean, as far as I know, it wasn’t because someone cheated or stole money or decided they were gay, it was for the plain, old, reliable, irreconcilable differences. We just can’t get along.
My mom, to this day, still says, I will always love your father, Johnny, but I just can’t live with him. I believe in true love, in someone that’s meant for me and I believe that someone is Christie. I couldn’t imagine it any other way. Oh, hold on.
Another wave approaches. I turn around, paddle as she lifts me up, playfully daring me to ride. I push up and stand, but this wave won't have me and as soon as I've dropped in, as soon as I've reached the bottom of the wave, she's decided it's over. She walls up, shouting her disapproval at me by breaking over my head, pushing me off my board, pushing me under, into the darkness. Water races around my face, my body, pulling my arms, my legs in different directions. Then just like an earthquake, the shaking is over. I relax and reach for the surface. My head bobs into the air and my lungs expand with new air.
It’s okay, it happens. Sometimes surfing is scary.
What if I fail her? What if I lost the true love of my life? I think my heart would melt, spiral into deep depression, standing alone in a corner for the rest of my life. Sometimes when Christie and I get into a fight, I get that same scary feeling and think, maybe I am not cut out for marriage.
What if I can’t handle it one day when Christie won’t take out the trash or we’re yelling and screaming in the middle of the night because it’s hot and I’ve got her elbow in my ear. Will you scoot over? No. Please? No. Christie! John, I’m sleeping! Or I swear, if I miss a turn off the freeway and she says one more time, Where are you going???!!! I am pulling over and walking because I’ll explode. And she will get mad that I got mad, and the whole thing will get blown out of proportion and we will end up in divorce because I missed the exit to the movies. OOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!
I have never quit surfing, falling, failing, frustrated in my learning, cursing my board, pulling my feet up because I swear I saw a shark, or the waves were big and broke my board in half. I never quit. Would I be a quitter if I left my marriage? Is it strength or weakness? For now, I choose to live in the remembrance of the kisses, the hugs, the laughs, the frozen pictures, thousands of pictures glued to the membranes of my mind bringing a smile to my face when I think of her. This is where I want to live, so like the wave that crashes me, I wait under the water until I feel it pass me by. I pull myself back up onto my board and turn back to the horizon, back toward the ocean I love and the next playful wave she'll cook up for me. Because I want to keep surfing. I love it too much to quit.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Loving Cloth Diapers
This was a letter to Celebrity Baby Blog that was posted about us using cloth diapers. Abby was just a week old, maybe two in the picture.
We first became aware of Happy Heinys while at the Boom Boom Room event in Hollywood where we met the owner and creator of Happy Heinys, Linda Byerline. There we were able to spend a lot of time with Linda discussing the pros and cons of cloth diapering. We went home and kept researching, looking online at reviews, and reading about how other parents did it. We went to www.diaperpin.com and saw that Happy Heinys were one of the highest reviewed products available. And thus we decided to make the leap and use Happy Heinys when our daughter Abby was born. We are so happy we did!
I called Linda and told her, "I want to be that person, because I believe and am passionate about not just the environment but our planet and the message we send to our kids and others through the choices we make. Although I have contributed in other ways through various charities, environmental causes, cleaning up beaches, etc ... there will never be a better opportunity to do one simple thing that will help make such a difference for our planet as using cloth diapers. When you think of all the plastic diapers, sitting all over the world, buried in our dirt, seeping into our waters ... waters we all enjoy ... you have to. When our children have babies and they face the same choice what will we tell them we did?"
And after using Happy Heinys for the first 6 ½ weeks of Abby's life, here are some thoughts that Christie and I have on using the diapers:
We all live in a world where brilliant minds have made things easier for us through technology, however in many cases, as we later find out, to the detriment of our health and our planet. Thankfully, we all are becoming more educated and aware about these issues. And, at the same time, that's when the rub happens.
We struggle with choices on how to make a difference in how we live, to live greener, but, we've all become accustomed to the ease and it's hard to step out and make a decision when many, even our friends and family, laugh at the idea, because they think it's impossible, or wasn't the way they did it, or that it doesn't make a difference.
Yet, it does come down to each one of us, individually, doing something, one thing, in different areas of our lives, doing what we can, that does make a difference, for the planet we all enjoy, and ultimately for us and our children.
Some of our debate about using cloth diapers was whether the handling and laundering would be overwhelming, considering our busy schedules. From day one, it's been nothing but easy. Once you change one dirty diaper, every parent finds out that the dirty doesn't bother you anymore. And 5 minutes, 5 minutes or less is all you need to get them in the washer. We argue, they're every bit as easy as using disposables.
Why do we really care? In our minds they just seemed healthy and clean, a nice choice over some plastic disposables that contain chemicals to absorb. And 500 Years!! Disposables made of plastics, sit in our earth, for 500 years. Christie and I both surf and are avid ocean and water lovers. We love the beaches and the beauty of the ocean. It so saddens us that after a rain storm it is advised that no one enter the water for at least 3 days because of the run off of pollution that the rain washes from our lands into the ocean. How does this effect the fish, the dolphins, the seals, the birds? How does it effect us? They warn us that you could get sick swimming in the water. We know many people who have.
Again it hit us; dirty diapers sitting in landfills for 500 years all over the United States, all over the world, being piled up on top of each other, day after day. Eventually, we have to believe, the waste will find it's way to water, our ocean, the water we drink. Using cloth diapers allows the waste to be disposed of the best way we all know how, through the sewer system where it belongs.
We have found tremendous fun, diapering our little girl in Happy Heinys. These bright, colorful diapers add great personality to her outfits. But we must say that we are most impressed with the care and quality with which Happy Heinys are made. Wash after wash they continue to look like new and easily work as well or better as any disposable diaper throughout the day and night. It's great to see brilliant minds like Linda Byerline and Happy Heinys coming up with and offering healthy alternatives that we can all feel good about.
Thanks for letting us share with you all. It's only through all of us sharing our human experience that we are able to come together as communities and people, to help and inspire each other. We look forward to sharing with you all more in the future.
Here is a deal I'm happy to share with you that Happy Heinys included on CBB
In sharing our happiness, we also would love to pass along to other parents and or parents to be, one of the best discoveries in baby products that we have found, Happy Heinys cloth diapers.
Being conscious of the health of our baby and the environment, we had been discussing alternative ways to diaper our baby while Christie was pregnant. At the same time, part of our discussions were on how to make alternative diapering, like cloth diapers, work. We found ourselves facing many of the same worries I'm sure others have: What about washing and handling the diapers? How much time it would take to do so with our busy schedules? Where do you keep them until you wash them?
Being conscious of the health of our baby and the environment, we had been discussing alternative ways to diaper our baby while Christie was pregnant. At the same time, part of our discussions were on how to make alternative diapering, like cloth diapers, work. We found ourselves facing many of the same worries I'm sure others have: What about washing and handling the diapers? How much time it would take to do so with our busy schedules? Where do you keep them until you wash them?
We first became aware of Happy Heinys while at the Boom Boom Room event in Hollywood where we met the owner and creator of Happy Heinys, Linda Byerline. There we were able to spend a lot of time with Linda discussing the pros and cons of cloth diapering. We went home and kept researching, looking online at reviews, and reading about how other parents did it. We went to www.diaperpin.com and saw that Happy Heinys were one of the highest reviewed products available. And thus we decided to make the leap and use Happy Heinys when our daughter Abby was born. We are so happy we did!
I called Linda and told her, "I want to be that person, because I believe and am passionate about not just the environment but our planet and the message we send to our kids and others through the choices we make. Although I have contributed in other ways through various charities, environmental causes, cleaning up beaches, etc ... there will never be a better opportunity to do one simple thing that will help make such a difference for our planet as using cloth diapers. When you think of all the plastic diapers, sitting all over the world, buried in our dirt, seeping into our waters ... waters we all enjoy ... you have to. When our children have babies and they face the same choice what will we tell them we did?"
And after using Happy Heinys for the first 6 ½ weeks of Abby's life, here are some thoughts that Christie and I have on using the diapers:
What we have found in Happy Heinys is a wonderful complete system of cloth diapers that makes it very easy, affordable, and with all the color choices, fun.
We all live in a world where brilliant minds have made things easier for us through technology, however in many cases, as we later find out, to the detriment of our health and our planet. Thankfully, we all are becoming more educated and aware about these issues. And, at the same time, that's when the rub happens.
We struggle with choices on how to make a difference in how we live, to live greener, but, we've all become accustomed to the ease and it's hard to step out and make a decision when many, even our friends and family, laugh at the idea, because they think it's impossible, or wasn't the way they did it, or that it doesn't make a difference.
Yet, it does come down to each one of us, individually, doing something, one thing, in different areas of our lives, doing what we can, that does make a difference, for the planet we all enjoy, and ultimately for us and our children.
Some of our debate about using cloth diapers was whether the handling and laundering would be overwhelming, considering our busy schedules. From day one, it's been nothing but easy. Once you change one dirty diaper, every parent finds out that the dirty doesn't bother you anymore. And 5 minutes, 5 minutes or less is all you need to get them in the washer. We argue, they're every bit as easy as using disposables.
Why do we really care? In our minds they just seemed healthy and clean, a nice choice over some plastic disposables that contain chemicals to absorb. And 500 Years!! Disposables made of plastics, sit in our earth, for 500 years. Christie and I both surf and are avid ocean and water lovers. We love the beaches and the beauty of the ocean. It so saddens us that after a rain storm it is advised that no one enter the water for at least 3 days because of the run off of pollution that the rain washes from our lands into the ocean. How does this effect the fish, the dolphins, the seals, the birds? How does it effect us? They warn us that you could get sick swimming in the water. We know many people who have.
Again it hit us; dirty diapers sitting in landfills for 500 years all over the United States, all over the world, being piled up on top of each other, day after day. Eventually, we have to believe, the waste will find it's way to water, our ocean, the water we drink. Using cloth diapers allows the waste to be disposed of the best way we all know how, through the sewer system where it belongs.
We have found tremendous fun, diapering our little girl in Happy Heinys. These bright, colorful diapers add great personality to her outfits. But we must say that we are most impressed with the care and quality with which Happy Heinys are made. Wash after wash they continue to look like new and easily work as well or better as any disposable diaper throughout the day and night. It's great to see brilliant minds like Linda Byerline and Happy Heinys coming up with and offering healthy alternatives that we can all feel good about.
Thanks for letting us share with you all. It's only through all of us sharing our human experience that we are able to come together as communities and people, to help and inspire each other. We look forward to sharing with you all more in the future.
Here is a deal I'm happy to share with you that Happy Heinys included on CBB
CBB Deal: Use coupon code CBB to save 10% at www.happyheinystore.com
Having Our Baby...
From an article posted on Celebrity Baby Blog about the birth of our daughter, Abby Ryder
So many people have asked us about our daughter Abby being born that Christie and I wanted to share a little with you and all our friends out there as well as a few of our favorite pictures so far.
We have been truly blessed by the birth of our daughter Abby Ryder Fortson. Becoming parents is a magical time and you find every single cliché coming true whether you want it to or not. Your life will change. You'll fall in love. You won't sleep. You'll just stare at your baby for hours. Etc ... It's all true.
What amazes both of us is holding her in our arms and watching her study our faces. Mesmerized, she seems to be so wise as she stares calmly back at us. Then for whatever reason the most beautiful little smile grows on her face. Filled with happiness, her smile seems to say how much she loves us.
At that moment, no matter where we are, standing in a store, at the farmer's market, at the park, the rest of the world dissolves around us. It simply disappears and there we are papa and baby and or mama and baby, alone, smiling contented at each other, hearts filled with love and with the singular purpose of nurturing this little angel of a creation.
In that moment of love and light, the sleepless nights, the fussing, the crying, the emotions, the questions of doing it all right or wrong, the impact our imperfectness will have on her, the worrying; it all fades away. Our world balances perfectly.
Read the entire article: http://www.celebrity-babies.com/2008/05/introducing-abb.html
So many people have asked us about our daughter Abby being born that Christie and I wanted to share a little with you and all our friends out there as well as a few of our favorite pictures so far.
We have been truly blessed by the birth of our daughter Abby Ryder Fortson. Becoming parents is a magical time and you find every single cliché coming true whether you want it to or not. Your life will change. You'll fall in love. You won't sleep. You'll just stare at your baby for hours. Etc ... It's all true.
What amazes both of us is holding her in our arms and watching her study our faces. Mesmerized, she seems to be so wise as she stares calmly back at us. Then for whatever reason the most beautiful little smile grows on her face. Filled with happiness, her smile seems to say how much she loves us.
At that moment, no matter where we are, standing in a store, at the farmer's market, at the park, the rest of the world dissolves around us. It simply disappears and there we are papa and baby and or mama and baby, alone, smiling contented at each other, hearts filled with love and with the singular purpose of nurturing this little angel of a creation.
In that moment of love and light, the sleepless nights, the fussing, the crying, the emotions, the questions of doing it all right or wrong, the impact our imperfectness will have on her, the worrying; it all fades away. Our world balances perfectly.
Read the entire article: http://www.celebrity-babies.com/2008/05/introducing-abb.html
And so she wants to crawl
My baby wants to crawl. Five months old, Abby has now discovered rolling. Well she's been rolling over for sometime and being a new parent it really is something. I mean I could watch her all day just, pulling one arm around, leaning her little head over, and twisting her legs until yes she's landed on her back from her stomach or visa versa. It's like watching the Olympics. Watching an athlete moving precisely to get from one place to another. I could do it so easily and really I never roll around on the floor, that it seems so foreign to me. Watching her is like watching a master make something you've never seen before. I'm fascinated.
It was just 9 or so years ago when a friend had called me to say that her son had rolled over and I said, "Well roll him back over." Big deal I thought. But as soon as Abby did it. Big deal, I thought!! I threw my arms up in the air in triumphant victory over physics. She got a perfect 10, as if in the Olympics. And I praised her and praised her and she just smiled completely unaware of what just happened and a little upset I think.
So here five months later, I'm watching her twist her body all around and so quickly, rolling over is nothing to her anymore. I don't congratulate her like I did, I have to say, I just more stand in amazement. It used to be that I'd lie Abby down on the floor in her room, give her a toy, say I'll be right back, and head off to finish my breakfast, or get the diapers, or something. I'd come back and there she'd be, right there, yes, she hadn't moved, not an inch, just licking her plastic ball. But now, I lie her down, give her a toy or her book she can squish and eat, walk out, come back and there she is, on the other side of the room, up against the wall, pulling on the drapes?!
It's as if there were magic happening in my house. I mean real magic, like poltergeist the movie. You leave the room, turn back around and there the dining room chairs are all up on the table. For a moment, scary. I stand there with half a smile on my face, perplexed. "How'd you get over there," I ask? She ignores me and sucks on the curtain. Or she smiles at me as if, you'll never know.
But now, oh, she's just not satisfied with rolling herself around. No, no. Just as I'm just not happy with this old cellphone and I keep eyeing that IPhone everyone has, she's not wanting to roll. She wants to crawl. Oh, that toy in the box today sitting in the living room that we hadn't given her yet was looking good. Completely board with her Mozart playing - safari animal play mat with hanging monkey, bird, and giraffe, she looked over, saw the colorful box and turned her body right for it. She was off. Here she comes. Reaching, stretching, groaning, kicking and she moved nada, not one inch. For ten minutes. Well she might of moved an inch. Simply by shear desire and maybe the reaching, but really she got no where.
"Abby why don't you just roll. You are so good at it," I thought. No, she leaned side to side, growling at the box, roaring at the box. Was she upset? Was she frustrated? Was she crying? It was hard to tell, she had moments of rest, then jumped right back into it and still got no closer really. But I loved watching her, she's pushing herself up and putting her head down and kicking her legs and I guess it's just this whole first time puzzle of the human brain and body that's so fascinating to me. She's growing and growing up, almost five months now. Where did the months go?
It's like she's been here for years and yet, it was just this year, a few months ago, she was inside her mama's tummy. Crawl, baby, crawl. I move her legs and push them forward and help her or hold my hand near her feet so she can push forward, not really crawling but scooting toward the box. I want her to get it and then I hear, "keep her down as long as possible." "I'm telling you, man, as soon as she can walk, that's it, having a sit down anything is over, your life is over," some people say. I don't know though, I'm excited. I can't wait for her to hold my hand and walk on the beach together letting the water hit our feet and drawing pictures in the sand.
I know we need to baby proof, but her walking out of her room, rubbing her eyes, and stepping up into my arms for a hug will just about crush me. So crawl baby, crawl. You can do it.
It was just 9 or so years ago when a friend had called me to say that her son had rolled over and I said, "Well roll him back over." Big deal I thought. But as soon as Abby did it. Big deal, I thought!! I threw my arms up in the air in triumphant victory over physics. She got a perfect 10, as if in the Olympics. And I praised her and praised her and she just smiled completely unaware of what just happened and a little upset I think.
So here five months later, I'm watching her twist her body all around and so quickly, rolling over is nothing to her anymore. I don't congratulate her like I did, I have to say, I just more stand in amazement. It used to be that I'd lie Abby down on the floor in her room, give her a toy, say I'll be right back, and head off to finish my breakfast, or get the diapers, or something. I'd come back and there she'd be, right there, yes, she hadn't moved, not an inch, just licking her plastic ball. But now, I lie her down, give her a toy or her book she can squish and eat, walk out, come back and there she is, on the other side of the room, up against the wall, pulling on the drapes?!
It's as if there were magic happening in my house. I mean real magic, like poltergeist the movie. You leave the room, turn back around and there the dining room chairs are all up on the table. For a moment, scary. I stand there with half a smile on my face, perplexed. "How'd you get over there," I ask? She ignores me and sucks on the curtain. Or she smiles at me as if, you'll never know.
But now, oh, she's just not satisfied with rolling herself around. No, no. Just as I'm just not happy with this old cellphone and I keep eyeing that IPhone everyone has, she's not wanting to roll. She wants to crawl. Oh, that toy in the box today sitting in the living room that we hadn't given her yet was looking good. Completely board with her Mozart playing - safari animal play mat with hanging monkey, bird, and giraffe, she looked over, saw the colorful box and turned her body right for it. She was off. Here she comes. Reaching, stretching, groaning, kicking and she moved nada, not one inch. For ten minutes. Well she might of moved an inch. Simply by shear desire and maybe the reaching, but really she got no where.
"Abby why don't you just roll. You are so good at it," I thought. No, she leaned side to side, growling at the box, roaring at the box. Was she upset? Was she frustrated? Was she crying? It was hard to tell, she had moments of rest, then jumped right back into it and still got no closer really. But I loved watching her, she's pushing herself up and putting her head down and kicking her legs and I guess it's just this whole first time puzzle of the human brain and body that's so fascinating to me. She's growing and growing up, almost five months now. Where did the months go?
It's like she's been here for years and yet, it was just this year, a few months ago, she was inside her mama's tummy. Crawl, baby, crawl. I move her legs and push them forward and help her or hold my hand near her feet so she can push forward, not really crawling but scooting toward the box. I want her to get it and then I hear, "keep her down as long as possible." "I'm telling you, man, as soon as she can walk, that's it, having a sit down anything is over, your life is over," some people say. I don't know though, I'm excited. I can't wait for her to hold my hand and walk on the beach together letting the water hit our feet and drawing pictures in the sand.
I know we need to baby proof, but her walking out of her room, rubbing her eyes, and stepping up into my arms for a hug will just about crush me. So crawl baby, crawl. You can do it.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Director Terrie Silverman Coming Back On Board
Hi all. I'm excited to say that my director, Terrie Silverman, was happy to come back on board to direct the second installment of LOVESWELL, my critically acclaimed and audience loved one person 
show.
Director Terrie Silverman is an amazing artist, storyteller, teacher and director. Writing, play writing, performance art, she is an extremely dedicated visionary who works intimately and intricately to bring out every pearl of a story. She's able to bring humor and see the big picture as a director, always putting the show first, the journey of the audience. I so look forward to working together again. You can find out more about Terrie and what she does at http://www.creativerites.com/
This time Loveswell will be put up in Hollywood and we are currently looking for just the right theatre in which to do this. And we are looking at putting the show up sometime toward the end of March 2009. So lots of fun work to do.
Again Loveswell will dedicate all earnings and work to raise awareness for charitable causes. Last time we raised awareness to thousands of people for The Surfrider Foundation and The Roy and Patricia Disney Cancer Center in Burbank, California.
Again I look forward to working with The Surfrider Foundation. They work so hard not just for surfers and the waves, but for all our beaches around the world and the health of our oceans and everyone who loves the ocean.
The second charity I'll be teaming up with hasn't been decided yet, but I'll let you know as we'll make an announcement as the show gets closer.
Loveswell was a great success with over 400 people coming to enjoy the show during it's run. The greatest thing was that it truly sparked conversation about what relationships are all about, what it takes to maintain one, and what people would put up with, not put up with, and how they deal with each other. That was my greatest satisfaction.
What will you say? I can't wait to hear what you will say when you see Loveswell. Here I'll be posting reviews, quotes, and conversations about Loveswell and the run. So come to the show, support a great cause and let's hear what you have to say.
Loveswell is about man's view of how to make his relationship work through all the ups and downs of marriage as seen through the eyes of a surfer. It's hilariously, nakedly, honest. Is that a word, nakedly - it is now. If you've ever been in a relationship and who hasn't then you'll love the show.
It's exciting for me and scary at the same time, just as it was the first run, just as it was the first day I sat down to write, Loveswell, just as it was walking into Terrie's workshop for the first time, as it was calling Terrie and announcing my intentions. But a year and a half after that phone call I was on stage in a critically acclaimed show that I had written and in which I was starring. So I set out tonight on this journey again, knowing that if there is a degree of fear I'm heading in the right direction.
Find out more at http://www.loveswell.com/ and the site is constantly being updated so hang in there if the info reflects the first run.
Best John
show.Director Terrie Silverman is an amazing artist, storyteller, teacher and director. Writing, play writing, performance art, she is an extremely dedicated visionary who works intimately and intricately to bring out every pearl of a story. She's able to bring humor and see the big picture as a director, always putting the show first, the journey of the audience. I so look forward to working together again. You can find out more about Terrie and what she does at http://www.creativerites.com/
This time Loveswell will be put up in Hollywood and we are currently looking for just the right theatre in which to do this. And we are looking at putting the show up sometime toward the end of March 2009. So lots of fun work to do.
Again Loveswell will dedicate all earnings and work to raise awareness for charitable causes. Last time we raised awareness to thousands of people for The Surfrider Foundation and The Roy and Patricia Disney Cancer Center in Burbank, California.
Again I look forward to working with The Surfrider Foundation. They work so hard not just for surfers and the waves, but for all our beaches around the world and the health of our oceans and everyone who loves the ocean.
The second charity I'll be teaming up with hasn't been decided yet, but I'll let you know as we'll make an announcement as the show gets closer.
Loveswell was a great success with over 400 people coming to enjoy the show during it's run. The greatest thing was that it truly sparked conversation about what relationships are all about, what it takes to maintain one, and what people would put up with, not put up with, and how they deal with each other. That was my greatest satisfaction.
What will you say? I can't wait to hear what you will say when you see Loveswell. Here I'll be posting reviews, quotes, and conversations about Loveswell and the run. So come to the show, support a great cause and let's hear what you have to say.
Loveswell is about man's view of how to make his relationship work through all the ups and downs of marriage as seen through the eyes of a surfer. It's hilariously, nakedly, honest. Is that a word, nakedly - it is now. If you've ever been in a relationship and who hasn't then you'll love the show.
It's exciting for me and scary at the same time, just as it was the first run, just as it was the first day I sat down to write, Loveswell, just as it was walking into Terrie's workshop for the first time, as it was calling Terrie and announcing my intentions. But a year and a half after that phone call I was on stage in a critically acclaimed show that I had written and in which I was starring. So I set out tonight on this journey again, knowing that if there is a degree of fear I'm heading in the right direction.
Find out more at http://www.loveswell.com/ and the site is constantly being updated so hang in there if the info reflects the first run.
Best John
Thursday, August 7, 2008
My Baby Is Not Mine
My baby Abby. How easy it is for me to say, "my baby." And she is isn't she. Four and a half months old. I go in pick her up at 2:30 in the morning, exhausted, change her, bring her in for mama to feed. Abby smiles at me, happy to see me. Lovingly I smile back at her. She is mine. I hold her and feel her little body against mine. Her tiny arms and hands wrapping around my shoulders, her head nestled into my neck. I love it and her.
In the morning, I'm so happy to see her, to lie next to her on the floor and hold her up over my head and see her laugh and smile back at me. My baby is mine. Abby is mine. My daughter, my sweet little daughter. Our eyes are locked. Her beautiful grey blues staring into my browns melting my heart. Our smiles mirror. And then, she looks away.
She's bored with me. What's she looking at? What's more important than her Papa? A light, the wall, a picture, her dresser, the floor? Abby I'm here, here, here I am, I think. Look at me. But she doesn't. Her face glides by me to look at the light shimmering in, peeking in from beneath the blind, then up at the ceiling fan.
And I get it. I see it, clearly. She is not mine. She is the worlds. I know in this moment that I don't own her. I can't control her. She is the worlds and I am here to only guide her. To get her on her feet so she can fly by herself. She doesn't and will never belong to me. She is her own person even at just four months old.
Wow. There's a selfish feeling squirming around inside me and I have to say it out loud. I'm jealous? I'm sad? What is it, I'm both. I'm aware and that's good, I guess all my self help therapy would tell me. I recognize that I'm just the father.
I can't help but to think of my father and what he thinks of us, our relationship. Who are we? I feel sad. I could cry. My daughter will up and move out, move to the other side of the world and through 2 misscarriages with my wife, and three years of trying and stopping and talking and crying and biting our teeth, she'll move away. Just like that.
She'll be looking at the light creeping into her room. The light of a college in New York, Europe, a boyfriend, a calling, a passion, a something calling her to pick up and be her own person. I see it already and through the insecurity, through the selfish thoughts, I am amazed at the power of life. I'm blown away by the power of spirit and our humaness. The basic life driving makeup we all share, to be our own person.
Today part of the piping in my house needed to be replaced. The main pipe that leads out of the house towards the sewer. I got it done, had someone come out, but still, I had to call my Dad. I had to call him and tell him the details, looking for a, you did good son or something. To share life with him. No matter what we've been through either apart or together and no matter my feelings toward him whether good or bad, I've never been able to say these weren't my parents.
Sometimes I wonder why can't they just be regular people that I can just forget? I've not lived with both of them for so many years now. My eyes focused on the light of a career and and life in California and on traveling and on surfing and on my wife and now my baby. I am all these things. A Dad isn't an end to end all for my child, the world is there for her to explore for a reason I guess. I know I enjoy it in my life. My Dad did it, I did it, and I know she'll do it. I have to give her to the world.
Now she's turned her head back to me and is smiling at me again. She holds her stare again and gazes deep into my eyes. I try not to count the seconds before she turns away again. I try and just breathe her in and enjoy our moment however long. Her silence speaks wisdom to me as if she could hear the words writing in my head. As if she could hear my insecurities. And her calmness, her stillness, her unflinching stare seems to say, You are okay, Papa, she says. You are okay. Then she looks away.
Looking forward to blogging
I've been missing writing, constantly working on my feature script, Loveswell of late. So I am writing, but not the daily bloggy stuff I set this up to do. Having a baby four months ago has added to that as well.
Life seems to be such a tear. I would be so happy just being with my baby and my wife if there weren't this whole making money and even worse freedom to work towards a passion and career that I want to work toward. Because that's what I've got reeling in the back of my head everyday. I need to write, I have to get my new reel together, I have to submit headshots, I have to go for a run, I need to work out, I have to put in new sprinklers, I have to put the gutters up on the house, I have to get my office together, I have to make phone calls, I have to go to work.
These things seem to run up my spine and make my body tremble with angst as I hear my baby cry again and I sigh having to get in there to pick her up. Then I look into that little beautiful face of light smiling up at me and I want feel pulled away from it all. I envision lying on a hammock near the beach...forever...with her and my wife, just living...just living.
The indians did it, you know, hang with your wife and baby all day, plant a crop, eat, live, but no I gotta be anything. They thought, we need to find more buffalo, or it's time to migrate to warmer climates or not, or let's go hunting, but not a daily 21st century grind of modern gadgets and made up careers eating away at their being.
I'm up at 1am writing this, home from work, the house is quiet, and it's the only time I have. I feel like I should give up sleeping all together then I would have tons of time to get everything done. But I can't do it. I can for a few days but I start feeling on edge. I get fiesty and angry over stupid things. I just look at the pile of dishes in the sink and could easily just angrily throw them all away, smashing them into the garbage can, as I could clean them. Get it out of me, get out this angst, this modern world and just let me be.
When I'm done here, I'll collapse into bed, but this blog is really just a deterence to not write the real blog I've been thinking about. And I'll find many other things to do to block writing it so that I'll just continue with the angst. No I'll do it. Now that this one is done.
Life seems to be such a tear. I would be so happy just being with my baby and my wife if there weren't this whole making money and even worse freedom to work towards a passion and career that I want to work toward. Because that's what I've got reeling in the back of my head everyday. I need to write, I have to get my new reel together, I have to submit headshots, I have to go for a run, I need to work out, I have to put in new sprinklers, I have to put the gutters up on the house, I have to get my office together, I have to make phone calls, I have to go to work.
These things seem to run up my spine and make my body tremble with angst as I hear my baby cry again and I sigh having to get in there to pick her up. Then I look into that little beautiful face of light smiling up at me and I want feel pulled away from it all. I envision lying on a hammock near the beach...forever...with her and my wife, just living...just living.
The indians did it, you know, hang with your wife and baby all day, plant a crop, eat, live, but no I gotta be anything. They thought, we need to find more buffalo, or it's time to migrate to warmer climates or not, or let's go hunting, but not a daily 21st century grind of modern gadgets and made up careers eating away at their being.
I'm up at 1am writing this, home from work, the house is quiet, and it's the only time I have. I feel like I should give up sleeping all together then I would have tons of time to get everything done. But I can't do it. I can for a few days but I start feeling on edge. I get fiesty and angry over stupid things. I just look at the pile of dishes in the sink and could easily just angrily throw them all away, smashing them into the garbage can, as I could clean them. Get it out of me, get out this angst, this modern world and just let me be.
When I'm done here, I'll collapse into bed, but this blog is really just a deterence to not write the real blog I've been thinking about. And I'll find many other things to do to block writing it so that I'll just continue with the angst. No I'll do it. Now that this one is done.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Love Warriors
Walking along in our neighborhood, her at the end of a half hour walk with our new little baby, me at the end of my half hour run, I felt the weight on my shoulders. I lifted them up to say the weight wasn't there. I hate the weight. I stretched for freedom. Freedom from arguments, from harsh looks, from harsh labels and declarations, from misunderstandings and miscommunication. I need to be free. Tomorrow is our 10 year wedding anniversary. Crazy, amazing, awesome, and really something. I'm proud of us.
I feel like a love warrior. We are love warriors.
On top of the weight, walking next to her, I felt scars, I felt bruises and gashes, I felt tears, and pounding fists, I felt ego and hurt feelings. I felt our life together. It's ironic that on the eve of our big anniversary, we've felt nothing but overwhelming frustration with each other and I'm straining to even remember what it's all about. That's the crazy thing, what are we upset about?!
"Just listen to me!" "Stop interrupting me!" "I can't talk to you." "Great, walk away." "Lower your voice in front of the baby." " Whatever." "Don't you ever say whatever to me, again. That's disrespectful."
We have a baby, now and so it seems that time has flown out the window. Our time to get things done has become so limited because now we have to and WANT to take care of, love, and teach our new little person in our lives. Our daughter was born March 14th, 2008 and is now a little over 3 months old.
It wasn't that bad during the first month. Sure it was tough, but I set my entire life aside. Took off of work for a month. Christie, my wife set her career on the side as well and we just coasted. Just time to take in this new little creation in front of us. We could get lost for hours looking into her little face and beaming smile. Nothing to fight about. Nothing really had to get done except meals, and dishes and diapers.
Then it crept back in, our careers. After the month was over, I went back to work. After 6 weeks she wanted to audition again. Now 3 months later, I'm working and auditioning, writing and planning, she's auditioning and suddenly we are low on food, the diapers haven't been washed, and we are juggling our lives in a way we have never had to do before.
I can see why people fall apart, why marriages don't make it. It's brutally hard to balance your life with a baby while working on a career, while being in a place where it's just the two of you, no nannies, no mothers, no other help, just you two. Wow.
So fifty feet from our house, walking side by side. I felt the bruises, still sore from this morning's talk. Then I felt her hand in mine. Or did I reach for hers. It doesn't matter. There we were, in step, hands swinging, her warm little frail hand wrapping around my fingers, squeezing my fingers as if her hand wanted to be there. I squeezed back, because I wanted to be there as well. We turned to each other and looked deep into each other's eyes. There was no doubt we loved each other, that we belonged together. We couldn't help but smile and feel our lips pull together. They had missed each other too long.
"I think we are love warriors," I said. "Love warriors," she said, "I like that."
I feel like a love warrior. We are love warriors.
On top of the weight, walking next to her, I felt scars, I felt bruises and gashes, I felt tears, and pounding fists, I felt ego and hurt feelings. I felt our life together. It's ironic that on the eve of our big anniversary, we've felt nothing but overwhelming frustration with each other and I'm straining to even remember what it's all about. That's the crazy thing, what are we upset about?!
"Just listen to me!" "Stop interrupting me!" "I can't talk to you." "Great, walk away." "Lower your voice in front of the baby." " Whatever." "Don't you ever say whatever to me, again. That's disrespectful."
We have a baby, now and so it seems that time has flown out the window. Our time to get things done has become so limited because now we have to and WANT to take care of, love, and teach our new little person in our lives. Our daughter was born March 14th, 2008 and is now a little over 3 months old.
It wasn't that bad during the first month. Sure it was tough, but I set my entire life aside. Took off of work for a month. Christie, my wife set her career on the side as well and we just coasted. Just time to take in this new little creation in front of us. We could get lost for hours looking into her little face and beaming smile. Nothing to fight about. Nothing really had to get done except meals, and dishes and diapers.
Then it crept back in, our careers. After the month was over, I went back to work. After 6 weeks she wanted to audition again. Now 3 months later, I'm working and auditioning, writing and planning, she's auditioning and suddenly we are low on food, the diapers haven't been washed, and we are juggling our lives in a way we have never had to do before.
I can see why people fall apart, why marriages don't make it. It's brutally hard to balance your life with a baby while working on a career, while being in a place where it's just the two of you, no nannies, no mothers, no other help, just you two. Wow.
So fifty feet from our house, walking side by side. I felt the bruises, still sore from this morning's talk. Then I felt her hand in mine. Or did I reach for hers. It doesn't matter. There we were, in step, hands swinging, her warm little frail hand wrapping around my fingers, squeezing my fingers as if her hand wanted to be there. I squeezed back, because I wanted to be there as well. We turned to each other and looked deep into each other's eyes. There was no doubt we loved each other, that we belonged together. We couldn't help but smile and feel our lips pull together. They had missed each other too long.
"I think we are love warriors," I said. "Love warriors," she said, "I like that."
Monday, May 5, 2008
Driving in Australia
I have learned that when I’m not in love, it’s miserable. For our sixth year anniversary, we flew to Australia for three weeks. Through Sydney and over to Adelaide, where we caught a little two prop plane to our first official stop, Kangaroo Island. All the while we held hands, smiled at each other, and pointed out the windows. We were going to see Kangaroos, Wallabies, seals and if we were lucky, penguins in the wild, mate. Mate! Everybody talks like this, mate! G’day, mate! So cool! This was going to be our dream trip, a fantastic, romantic, adventure of a lifetime.
And my biggest worry, driving in a car built backwards, on the other side of the road was turning out to be a piece of cake. Kangaroo Island wasn’t very populated. All the roads were two-lanes surrounded by nothing but shrubbery. I was focused and as always Christie became my little navigator; looking at maps, pointing out signs and feeding me snacks. We were this great happy, happy team. This was love.
We first drove to seal beach where we stood next to thousand pound seals sunning themselves after a morning swim. Awesome. It was like actually being in one of those Discovery Channel shows. The guide taught us things like, the seal can swim for 17 minutes without coming up for air and can dive as deep as a mile for food. That they would charge out through the waves toward Antarctica trying to escape the greatest of all predators, the
Great White Shark.
Christie and I stood against the railing overlooking the ocean wrapped up in each other’s arms. We looked at each other with deep admiration, thinking, “I love you.” “Thanks for making this happen.” I’d say, “Christie, you want your jacket honey? You cold? Here you go, let me zip that for you.” “You want a picture with that seal?” She set her love filled eyes on me with a smile that wouldn’t stop. Hand in hand we walked back to the car, ready for our next adventure.
I’m driving along the empty roads toward the exit of the seal sanctuary when Christie says, “Ohhh, look John, we have some cookies. You want some of my cookie? Huh? You want some of this?” I think, “I’m driving 25 miles per hour. No one around us. No one on the road. The long road lined each way with only shrubs. Shrubbery everywhere. Sure, I’ll have some of your cookie.” I nibble at her fingers as I drive. I look at the road, look at the cookie, look at her, then back to the road. Nibble some more. I think, “this is fun, this is love, this is living!” And as I am nibbling the chocolate off her finger tips, I make a left turn onto another empty road, into the wrong lane.
“John what’re you doing?! You’re on the wrong side of the road,” she yells. “Okay, okay,” I say. My hands casually spin the wheel into the long empty lane to our left. “O-kay, Christie, we’ll just get back over here.” I smile over to her, “I mean there is no one around for miles, so it’s okay.” My smile drops. “John you could of killed us! Aren’t you watching where we’re going?! You have to stay on the right side of the road! I mean what if someone else was coming,” she says.
“What?! What, Christie, what?! What is the risk? What is the big deal, What am I going to do drive into a shrub,” I ask.
But on she goes, “John you have to get this! I mean we are going to be driving in the city. Maybe we shouldn’t drive. Maybe we shouldn’t of rented this car. Maybe this is a big mistake, John. This was a bad idea! I mean do you even think what could of happened?!”
All I can think where is the love? It’s like all the love’s getting sucked, phoomp, out the window. It’s like she’s hitting my head and hitting my head and hitting my head with her words. Boom! Boom! Boom! You’re wrong! You’re wrong! Wrong! Hitting me down. She’s taking my head and just rubbing my face in it. It’s like I’m that one seal that charges out through the waves and runs right into a mouthful of huge white teeth and blood and chomping. And chomping! Chomping!! She’s completely changed. One second she’s feeding me cookies, it’s this romantic trip and the next second, I look ... and she’s the great white shark. AAAhh!!
That’s when my wall goes right up. I think, “You don’t want happiness? Fine. I’m not going to talk, not going to turn on the radio. I’m just going to drive. I’ll be the perfect driver for the next three weeks. No fun. Not going to sing, not going to smile, or look for animals, or make cute voices. I’m not going to think anything. I’ll just be the perfect driver for the next three weeks our romantic anniversary trip.” I hate this feeling. Why do I turn into this pulsing, frustrated, angry man? I could just take this steering wheel and just bend it right in half. I could get out, rip out the seat, take the car and throw it off a cliff. But... I don’t.
I try to hold on, because this has happened before. I used to clench my fists and sometimes hit my leg. Then she’d say, “Oh, what are you doing, John? You want to hit me? Is that what you want to do? Am I your leg you’re hitting?” “No,” I say, “I don’t want to hit you, Christie. I am not a wife abuser. I am just angry at the situation, Christie, can’t you see?” So, I just get quiet and don’t say anything. I just breathe.
She says, “Oh, okay you are just going to be quiet and not say anything? You just do that, don’t talk to me.” And that stupid last word tennis match starts. “I won’t.” “Fine.” “Okay.” “Good.” And this is our trip. I feel so ugly. In the silence my brain the questions pour in. Racing through my head in an instant. “Am I really in love with this woman? Is this going to happen for the rest of my life?” This mood feels permanent, like being tortured in hell. That scares me. I just want to be happy with her, nibbling at her fingers, like I was one minute ago. One minute ago! Feeling inside like I can’t wait to be with her. Like when I get home from work and see her standing in the door with her cute smile and hug. I’ll just want to eat her face up, gobble up her cute little lips and cheeks and hair and all of her and that’s love. That’s where I want to be.
Instead, all I can see is myself getting out of the car saying, “you drive. No? Well, that’s it. I’m going back to LA and you can stay here with the seals.” I think, “Where is that Australian girl from the airport? She’s cute with that accent. It would be fun to get to know her. She wouldn’t complain about my driving. She’d think I was doing good for an American. No, she’ll probably complain about something. Everyone has something. Everyone has something.”
I think, “Okay, I must be doing something wrong. How could I have dealt with this better?” I hear another man speaking through me. My perfect man in his perfectly calm voice, saying, “Okay honey, yes drive on this side of the road. Thanks for reminding me, little navigator. No, I won’t kill us, you little jokester. I was eating your cookie and nibbling at your sweet fingers. Can you blame me, really? We can’t be doing that anymore. Yes, I was bad, bad, bad.”
And she could say what ever she wanted. And I would just smile unaffected. I’d be like a porous sponge. It would soak into me, but at the same time, it would just go right out of me and it wouldn’t mean anything, because I know she’s acting this way because of her own fears or something.
But, unfortunately, I’m like a big net that catches all her comments, tones, and feelings; trapping them inside. They glow red like lava and want to explode out like a volcano. That scares me. That volcano could ruin everything. I could ruin this marriage. So... I sit... in silence... breathe.
A couple of hours go by, sometimes more, sometimes less. It seems like days and months. It feels like a dessert waiting for rain. No life around, only hot steamy air that’s suffocating, and dry-hot sand to crawl on, and no relief. Where’s the rain? Where’s my relief?
Then, finally, the clouds break. A laugh, or an accidental touching of elbows, a look at her cute lips, or a touch of a hand pulls me away from my wall of angry solitude. I get to the end of my cycle remembering, falling over what really makes me happy. Her gift of love, encouragement, a team mate, a playmate through life, for life. Kisses and closeness and sharing. Our relationship, our six years. How I can’t imagine it any other way.
I let go and see clearly what love is. It’s not me leaving or the other girl. It’s me, not hitting my leg or raising my voice. It’s me wanting to be better, to grow, to evolve so that we do live in the happiness, in the love, more and more. And then I know... I do love this woman.
And my biggest worry, driving in a car built backwards, on the other side of the road was turning out to be a piece of cake. Kangaroo Island wasn’t very populated. All the roads were two-lanes surrounded by nothing but shrubbery. I was focused and as always Christie became my little navigator; looking at maps, pointing out signs and feeding me snacks. We were this great happy, happy team. This was love.
We first drove to seal beach where we stood next to thousand pound seals sunning themselves after a morning swim. Awesome. It was like actually being in one of those Discovery Channel shows. The guide taught us things like, the seal can swim for 17 minutes without coming up for air and can dive as deep as a mile for food. That they would charge out through the waves toward Antarctica trying to escape the greatest of all predators, the
Great White Shark.
Christie and I stood against the railing overlooking the ocean wrapped up in each other’s arms. We looked at each other with deep admiration, thinking, “I love you.” “Thanks for making this happen.” I’d say, “Christie, you want your jacket honey? You cold? Here you go, let me zip that for you.” “You want a picture with that seal?” She set her love filled eyes on me with a smile that wouldn’t stop. Hand in hand we walked back to the car, ready for our next adventure.
I’m driving along the empty roads toward the exit of the seal sanctuary when Christie says, “Ohhh, look John, we have some cookies. You want some of my cookie? Huh? You want some of this?” I think, “I’m driving 25 miles per hour. No one around us. No one on the road. The long road lined each way with only shrubs. Shrubbery everywhere. Sure, I’ll have some of your cookie.” I nibble at her fingers as I drive. I look at the road, look at the cookie, look at her, then back to the road. Nibble some more. I think, “this is fun, this is love, this is living!” And as I am nibbling the chocolate off her finger tips, I make a left turn onto another empty road, into the wrong lane.
“John what’re you doing?! You’re on the wrong side of the road,” she yells. “Okay, okay,” I say. My hands casually spin the wheel into the long empty lane to our left. “O-kay, Christie, we’ll just get back over here.” I smile over to her, “I mean there is no one around for miles, so it’s okay.” My smile drops. “John you could of killed us! Aren’t you watching where we’re going?! You have to stay on the right side of the road! I mean what if someone else was coming,” she says.
“What?! What, Christie, what?! What is the risk? What is the big deal, What am I going to do drive into a shrub,” I ask.
But on she goes, “John you have to get this! I mean we are going to be driving in the city. Maybe we shouldn’t drive. Maybe we shouldn’t of rented this car. Maybe this is a big mistake, John. This was a bad idea! I mean do you even think what could of happened?!”
All I can think where is the love? It’s like all the love’s getting sucked, phoomp, out the window. It’s like she’s hitting my head and hitting my head and hitting my head with her words. Boom! Boom! Boom! You’re wrong! You’re wrong! Wrong! Hitting me down. She’s taking my head and just rubbing my face in it. It’s like I’m that one seal that charges out through the waves and runs right into a mouthful of huge white teeth and blood and chomping. And chomping! Chomping!! She’s completely changed. One second she’s feeding me cookies, it’s this romantic trip and the next second, I look ... and she’s the great white shark. AAAhh!!
That’s when my wall goes right up. I think, “You don’t want happiness? Fine. I’m not going to talk, not going to turn on the radio. I’m just going to drive. I’ll be the perfect driver for the next three weeks. No fun. Not going to sing, not going to smile, or look for animals, or make cute voices. I’m not going to think anything. I’ll just be the perfect driver for the next three weeks our romantic anniversary trip.” I hate this feeling. Why do I turn into this pulsing, frustrated, angry man? I could just take this steering wheel and just bend it right in half. I could get out, rip out the seat, take the car and throw it off a cliff. But... I don’t.
I try to hold on, because this has happened before. I used to clench my fists and sometimes hit my leg. Then she’d say, “Oh, what are you doing, John? You want to hit me? Is that what you want to do? Am I your leg you’re hitting?” “No,” I say, “I don’t want to hit you, Christie. I am not a wife abuser. I am just angry at the situation, Christie, can’t you see?” So, I just get quiet and don’t say anything. I just breathe.
She says, “Oh, okay you are just going to be quiet and not say anything? You just do that, don’t talk to me.” And that stupid last word tennis match starts. “I won’t.” “Fine.” “Okay.” “Good.” And this is our trip. I feel so ugly. In the silence my brain the questions pour in. Racing through my head in an instant. “Am I really in love with this woman? Is this going to happen for the rest of my life?” This mood feels permanent, like being tortured in hell. That scares me. I just want to be happy with her, nibbling at her fingers, like I was one minute ago. One minute ago! Feeling inside like I can’t wait to be with her. Like when I get home from work and see her standing in the door with her cute smile and hug. I’ll just want to eat her face up, gobble up her cute little lips and cheeks and hair and all of her and that’s love. That’s where I want to be.
Instead, all I can see is myself getting out of the car saying, “you drive. No? Well, that’s it. I’m going back to LA and you can stay here with the seals.” I think, “Where is that Australian girl from the airport? She’s cute with that accent. It would be fun to get to know her. She wouldn’t complain about my driving. She’d think I was doing good for an American. No, she’ll probably complain about something. Everyone has something. Everyone has something.”
I think, “Okay, I must be doing something wrong. How could I have dealt with this better?” I hear another man speaking through me. My perfect man in his perfectly calm voice, saying, “Okay honey, yes drive on this side of the road. Thanks for reminding me, little navigator. No, I won’t kill us, you little jokester. I was eating your cookie and nibbling at your sweet fingers. Can you blame me, really? We can’t be doing that anymore. Yes, I was bad, bad, bad.”
And she could say what ever she wanted. And I would just smile unaffected. I’d be like a porous sponge. It would soak into me, but at the same time, it would just go right out of me and it wouldn’t mean anything, because I know she’s acting this way because of her own fears or something.
But, unfortunately, I’m like a big net that catches all her comments, tones, and feelings; trapping them inside. They glow red like lava and want to explode out like a volcano. That scares me. That volcano could ruin everything. I could ruin this marriage. So... I sit... in silence... breathe.
A couple of hours go by, sometimes more, sometimes less. It seems like days and months. It feels like a dessert waiting for rain. No life around, only hot steamy air that’s suffocating, and dry-hot sand to crawl on, and no relief. Where’s the rain? Where’s my relief?
Then, finally, the clouds break. A laugh, or an accidental touching of elbows, a look at her cute lips, or a touch of a hand pulls me away from my wall of angry solitude. I get to the end of my cycle remembering, falling over what really makes me happy. Her gift of love, encouragement, a team mate, a playmate through life, for life. Kisses and closeness and sharing. Our relationship, our six years. How I can’t imagine it any other way.
I let go and see clearly what love is. It’s not me leaving or the other girl. It’s me, not hitting my leg or raising my voice. It’s me wanting to be better, to grow, to evolve so that we do live in the happiness, in the love, more and more. And then I know... I do love this woman.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Scary Lips and Killer Spiders
Sometimes I just look at my wife and wonder, “How long she could possibly talk.” I mean, after a while I’m really not listening to what she is saying. I just look at her and in my mind I think, “Look at her lips, aren't they getting tired? Could she get a cramp in her tongue, her cheek, both cheeks, her lips? What would happen if she got a cramp? Would her mouth pucker up like she bit a lemon? Would she say, “owwwwththth,” and then try to keep talking through the whole cramping? Would it make her cry?”
Lips are funny when they just keep moving and changing shapes to make sounds. I see them transforming and morphing, moving so fast, vibrating, like the wings of a hummingbird. You can’t fix your eyes on them for a second. They blur. They go from looking like lips, to looking like slugs on her lips, to no lips, to lines of pinkness, to monkey tails, to fat worms wiggling up and down right under her nose. They dance. They do a rain dance celebrating all the new ideas that will come out of the hole of knowledge. They celebrate every word, loving every vibration. Her lips just keep moving, open, close, open, close, a little open on one side, a little more, then close and ooopen on the other side, then aaallll open and aaallll closed. I am amazed, transfixed, and hypnotized sometimes by just her lips and how they dance in front of me on her pink stage of a face.
More amazing is how she just keeps going, one subject flowing smoothly to the next having nothing to do with the one before, but joining it as if one long, long, long, long sentence that never ever ends. She even asks questions in the middle of the talking, but there is never any time to answer. And it doesn't matter where she is; in the kitchen, outside in the backyard, the bedroom, the back of a store at the mall. I hear her voice roaming and flying into my ears calling my name and asking questions. In the middle of it all she’ll throw a pop quiz. “Are you listening,” she asks? Staring into her face, at her lips, I say, “Yes, I hear you.”
She continues, “I am so tired, John. Why do you think I am so tired? I slept last night, except I was thinking of the birds in the backyard and about the clothes I bought. I couldn't get out of my shopping bag. I can't look at my clothes before I go to bed. I was hungry last night. Were you hungry? I didn't eat anything before I went to bed. I should eat toast, but then I worry I’ll just get into the habit of eating toast and then I'll eat it when I am not hungry. I should take a nap today. What are you doing? I am going to my friend Heather's she is having a birthday party for her baby, Jackson. Do you think what I got him was alright? Ohhh, my spine hurts. That spot in my spine. What do you think it is? Will you feel it? Will you just look at it? I just hope it's nothing serious, like c...” Finally, I speak, replying, “Don't say something silly. I don't want you wishing something on your...” “It just hurts,” she says. “Why don't you go to the doctor? Make an appoint...,” I try to input. But she cuts me off again with, “I know what he is going to say and do. I know, I know. Are you hungry? I am hungry. I am going to get a bowl of cereal. Do you think that green top would be good for pictures? I think I need to go buy one that is a different shade.....” And it goes on and on and on.
I wonder if there is no filter for her thoughts. Do they just run straight out of her brain to her mouth? Then I wonder, “What is wrong with me? Why don't I have anything to say? Is there something wrong with my brain that keeps it moving so slow, like Jello eking out of a faucet? Like one thought at a time, just one thought, so slow, like Jello. I have nothing to say, nothing to say, like a big slug! I am a big slug of Jello just sitting here with nothing to say! All her talking takes my breath away. Where is my voice? Where has it gone? My mind is a white eraser board and there is nothing written on it. A chalkboard without chalk searching for its’ own relevance. I think of nothing when I open my mouth, these little things that contain my day are just that, little things. I try. I say, “I am going to write today and try to workout and I slept pretty good today, I mean last night. I don't remember what I dreamt about, but I didn't think about my clothes. Sometimes I think about what I need to get done the next day and I can't fall asleep.” Then she looks at me with that, “I know what you are doing,” look and says, “Stop it you are being annoying.” And I just, well, I am amazed and my jaw drops and I just look at her as she gets up walking away to get her breakfast. I am just different and will never understand.
Like when we watch a documentary on TV. You know one of those ones that talks about animals? Like last night we watched one on Killer Spiders. I sit down to join her on the couch. Now shows like this are meant to explain things to you about things you might not know so much about, like Killer Spiders. But she must think I am an expert at everything, like I wrote the show and studied spiders, because while we are supposedly watching the show all she does is ask me questions and I just get frustrated. She says, “Why does it...” The announcer is saying, “It builds a web like that so it can....” And she continues, “…build a web like that?”
All I hear is, “Why doekdnkdlkghakdufmkmjglkjldkjj,” and turn to her to say, “What?” Then she asks, “Why does he build a web like that?” So I turn back to the TV to see why, because my first impulse is to answer her question. I pause for a second while the announcer is talking about webs. So she asks again, “Why does he build a web like that?” In the meantime, I am focusing on the TV. She says, “Did you hear me?” I say, “Yeah, just a second.” She asks, “Why would it go into...” At the same time, the announcer is saying, “They go into people’s homes to...” She continues, “…into peoples homes like that?” And I turn, and my head is turning back and forth from the TV to her, from her to the TV, and my brain is trying to still answer, “Why the web is built like that?”
And then the announcer says, “The most incredible thing about these creatures is that they...” And I am freezing up. My brain feels like it is actually turning to stone as she asks, “So why would it get into someone's bathroom?” And again I hear right after the most incredible thing, “Makjdlkjfalkjdlj.” And I am flipping back and forth and finally loudly say, “Just watch the program and they will tell you everything. That's what it is, that’s what they do, Christie!” And then I feel bad. I yelled and she looks at me as if I am some parental figure, some, “old, trying to be a father figure,” guy, and like she just wants to get away from me. And now we feel like we are miles apart on the same couch. I feel like I can't ever talk again or I will hear, “I thought you didn't want to talk now.” I don't understand, we are just different and these differences are what broke up my parents. “I love your father, Johnny, but I just can't live with him.” I have heard both my mother and father say this and so I am scared.
Lips are funny when they just keep moving and changing shapes to make sounds. I see them transforming and morphing, moving so fast, vibrating, like the wings of a hummingbird. You can’t fix your eyes on them for a second. They blur. They go from looking like lips, to looking like slugs on her lips, to no lips, to lines of pinkness, to monkey tails, to fat worms wiggling up and down right under her nose. They dance. They do a rain dance celebrating all the new ideas that will come out of the hole of knowledge. They celebrate every word, loving every vibration. Her lips just keep moving, open, close, open, close, a little open on one side, a little more, then close and ooopen on the other side, then aaallll open and aaallll closed. I am amazed, transfixed, and hypnotized sometimes by just her lips and how they dance in front of me on her pink stage of a face.
More amazing is how she just keeps going, one subject flowing smoothly to the next having nothing to do with the one before, but joining it as if one long, long, long, long sentence that never ever ends. She even asks questions in the middle of the talking, but there is never any time to answer. And it doesn't matter where she is; in the kitchen, outside in the backyard, the bedroom, the back of a store at the mall. I hear her voice roaming and flying into my ears calling my name and asking questions. In the middle of it all she’ll throw a pop quiz. “Are you listening,” she asks? Staring into her face, at her lips, I say, “Yes, I hear you.”
She continues, “I am so tired, John. Why do you think I am so tired? I slept last night, except I was thinking of the birds in the backyard and about the clothes I bought. I couldn't get out of my shopping bag. I can't look at my clothes before I go to bed. I was hungry last night. Were you hungry? I didn't eat anything before I went to bed. I should eat toast, but then I worry I’ll just get into the habit of eating toast and then I'll eat it when I am not hungry. I should take a nap today. What are you doing? I am going to my friend Heather's she is having a birthday party for her baby, Jackson. Do you think what I got him was alright? Ohhh, my spine hurts. That spot in my spine. What do you think it is? Will you feel it? Will you just look at it? I just hope it's nothing serious, like c...” Finally, I speak, replying, “Don't say something silly. I don't want you wishing something on your...” “It just hurts,” she says. “Why don't you go to the doctor? Make an appoint...,” I try to input. But she cuts me off again with, “I know what he is going to say and do. I know, I know. Are you hungry? I am hungry. I am going to get a bowl of cereal. Do you think that green top would be good for pictures? I think I need to go buy one that is a different shade.....” And it goes on and on and on.
I wonder if there is no filter for her thoughts. Do they just run straight out of her brain to her mouth? Then I wonder, “What is wrong with me? Why don't I have anything to say? Is there something wrong with my brain that keeps it moving so slow, like Jello eking out of a faucet? Like one thought at a time, just one thought, so slow, like Jello. I have nothing to say, nothing to say, like a big slug! I am a big slug of Jello just sitting here with nothing to say! All her talking takes my breath away. Where is my voice? Where has it gone? My mind is a white eraser board and there is nothing written on it. A chalkboard without chalk searching for its’ own relevance. I think of nothing when I open my mouth, these little things that contain my day are just that, little things. I try. I say, “I am going to write today and try to workout and I slept pretty good today, I mean last night. I don't remember what I dreamt about, but I didn't think about my clothes. Sometimes I think about what I need to get done the next day and I can't fall asleep.” Then she looks at me with that, “I know what you are doing,” look and says, “Stop it you are being annoying.” And I just, well, I am amazed and my jaw drops and I just look at her as she gets up walking away to get her breakfast. I am just different and will never understand.
Like when we watch a documentary on TV. You know one of those ones that talks about animals? Like last night we watched one on Killer Spiders. I sit down to join her on the couch. Now shows like this are meant to explain things to you about things you might not know so much about, like Killer Spiders. But she must think I am an expert at everything, like I wrote the show and studied spiders, because while we are supposedly watching the show all she does is ask me questions and I just get frustrated. She says, “Why does it...” The announcer is saying, “It builds a web like that so it can....” And she continues, “…build a web like that?”
All I hear is, “Why doekdnkdlkghakdufmkmjglkjldkjj,” and turn to her to say, “What?” Then she asks, “Why does he build a web like that?” So I turn back to the TV to see why, because my first impulse is to answer her question. I pause for a second while the announcer is talking about webs. So she asks again, “Why does he build a web like that?” In the meantime, I am focusing on the TV. She says, “Did you hear me?” I say, “Yeah, just a second.” She asks, “Why would it go into...” At the same time, the announcer is saying, “They go into people’s homes to...” She continues, “…into peoples homes like that?” And I turn, and my head is turning back and forth from the TV to her, from her to the TV, and my brain is trying to still answer, “Why the web is built like that?”
And then the announcer says, “The most incredible thing about these creatures is that they...” And I am freezing up. My brain feels like it is actually turning to stone as she asks, “So why would it get into someone's bathroom?” And again I hear right after the most incredible thing, “Makjdlkjfalkjdlj.” And I am flipping back and forth and finally loudly say, “Just watch the program and they will tell you everything. That's what it is, that’s what they do, Christie!” And then I feel bad. I yelled and she looks at me as if I am some parental figure, some, “old, trying to be a father figure,” guy, and like she just wants to get away from me. And now we feel like we are miles apart on the same couch. I feel like I can't ever talk again or I will hear, “I thought you didn't want to talk now.” I don't understand, we are just different and these differences are what broke up my parents. “I love your father, Johnny, but I just can't live with him.” I have heard both my mother and father say this and so I am scared.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Pet Me
Pet Me: As Performed for the Comedy Cetral Show Sit n' Spin created by Jill Soloway and Maggie Rowe at the Hudson Theatre in Los Angeles
I know what my wife wants. She wants to be petted. “Pet me. Pet me, pet me to sleep,” she asks. “I can’t sleep.” I open up my right arm as she lifts her pillow up and onto my chest. My arm runs under her pillow bending up at my elbow, then over with my hand to gently pet her forehead. I know how she likes it, because she has told me. “No not like that, not the eyebrows,” she says. “No that’s too fast, this isn’t a race. Soft, don’t rub my skin off. That’s it, that’s right, nice and soft right on my forehead, yes, soft strokes up toward the hair.” My hand strokes and pets her soft skin as quiet hits and she lies there looking foreword to the sleep coming her way.
Does petting work? Yes, and I have found that it actually does feel good on the three occasions she has petted me. Once when I was sick, once when I was trying to nap on the couch, and once when, well, I just give it to her that it has happened one other time. Actually, I don’t know why I don’t get petted more, except that maybe it’s like Valentine’s Day when she gets gifts and dinners and I get her saying, “It’s a girl’s holiday.” Sometimes, I’ll lay next to her, place her hand on my head and move it up and down myself, as if she was one of those wooden back scratchers. When I do, wow, her cool fingers brushing my forehead puts me into a kind of trance. A happy trance where tranquil surrounds my head and all is right and, yes I think I could fall asleep. So I can understand why she wants it, and I don’t mind. I am happy to do it when I am awake and feeling loving, but really I’ve found it to be just a horrible trap.
See, in one scenario, I softly pet her when she is tired, over and over. My arm and hand petting fifty, sixty, seventy times in a row, quietly getting burnt out when all of a sudden I hear loud breathing. Is she asleep, I wonder? That sounds like asleep. So I gently and carefully slow my pettings down until I am just barely touching her head, then I delicately lift up my hand and wait. Is she asleep? She is still breathing hard and hasn’t said anything. But my arm is trapped under her and my hand is frozen in a type of, well, “curling back toward me, suspended in mid air,” position. Not comfortable right? No, not at all and even worse. I know that as soon as I try to just let my arm fall to the bed, which I do as quietly as possible without making any squuking, rubbing sounds like a pillow can make, as soon as it hits the bed, her head will move and “mmmmhhhmmmmmm?” There it was. She said it. “Mmmmmhhmmmm?” Like a whining puppy.
So I put my hand back to work petting her forehead until I hear the breathing start up again, then I slowly stop. With my arm frozen, straight up in the air, trying not to move, I start to think. What can I do? How can I let her sleep and rescue my arm? I think, I’ll just let my arm hang there like a tree until I fall asleep and then I won’t hear the, “mmmmmhhhmmmmm?” and it won’t matter, but I don’t fall asleep at all. Just my arm falls asleep and it hurts as it turns numb. I twist it to wake it up and her head turns and, “mmmmmhhmmmm?” I pet her again and while I send her to dreamtime, I strategize about the next pet-stop. I try to scoot my arm out from underneath the pillow while I am petting her so it will be easy to pull away when she falls asleep. She breathes hard and I slowly stop and as I carefully pull my hand away from the wall, “mmmmmmhmmmmm?” I say, “Christie I can’t pet you anymore, you keep falling asleep, and…” “No I don’t,” she says. “Yes you did,” I say. “I have petted you three different times and you keep falling asleep.” “John, I haven’t fallen asleep,” she barks. “Christie you’re snoring,” I reply. “How can you not be asleep?” She doesn’t answer, then, “mm…” “Honey my arm is going to fall off. I can’t pet you anymore, please get off me!”
I feel bad. I want so bad to fall asleep next to her in some sweet, “movie bed”, laying position, all spooned and smiling, but let’s face it, that’s for the movies. It’s hot, and my arm, I wish I could take it off and throw it on the floor next to my shirt, only to put it back on when I wake up. It’s always in the way. Her hair is tickling and poking my face as I cuddle on her. Then she’ll say, “Get your arm off me.” “What does it weigh? Is it a gorilla arm?” Apparently, all my body parts weigh the same as a gorilla, because they all almost kill her. Oh, except my head. “John, get your head off me,” she’ll say. “What is it a bowling ball head?” So I lay Egyptian style, arms crossed, looking straight up, as if in a coffin. She lies next to me and we try not to touch.
And the other petting situation gone bad is worse than the first. Petting her over and over, stroke, stroke, stroke and sweetly, nicely, quietly heavy breaths are heard as I, yes, I have to fallen asleep and left my heavy gorilla hand sweating up her forehead. My eyes are hitting REM and colors and images are beginning to form as I happily drift off into lala land, “mmmmmhhmmm?” “John, you fell asleep,” she says. Quickly I am pulled back out of the light of dreamland and into reality of her voice. “Pet me, you fell asleep,” she asks. My hand moves up and then down. My eyes shut and my mouth opens and peace covers my face as I begin to breathe hard, falling to sweet sleep. “mmmmmhhhmmmm?” “Huh,” I mutter? I feel her head begging for petting on my chest, like a cat rubbing against your leg, and, “enough,” I think, pushing her over to her side of the bed. “Christie, I am falling asleep and can’t take this anymore,” I say. “Okay, okay,” she says. I lay back down try to reclaim my sleep, but of course now I can’t. I just get to listen to her instantly fall asleep, while I lay there feeling as restless as the undead.
Another petting problem is when I sit on the couch and I really want to take care of her because she isn’t feeling well. I rest her head on my lap and softly pet her. I look down at her sweet, restful face. Quiet, her closed eyes are still and she looks so calm. She’s asleep. I look outside at the birds; I look to the TV, then to the TV remote, but the noise. I look at the magazine….just out of reach. I look back to her head and think, how I could move it without her knowing. But I just can’t. I am bored stiff, she is asleep, and I am trapped sitting on the couch.
You see, these petting traps have made me a more aware man, a man who thinks ahead, who is more patient, a man who can say NO, sometimes. I mean, I always want to make her feel good, but if I am tired, she ain’t getting petted. If I’m falling asleep, I’m sorry honey you can, “mmmmhhmmmm?” all you want, but I’m going to sleep. I now ask myself how tired I am, then decide whether I can pet or not. If that’s what she wants and I feel good, then bring it on. I will pet her like my little lion cub, but if not, she is going to have to count sheep and bring visions of sugarplums dancing into her own head.
I know what my wife wants. She wants to be petted. “Pet me. Pet me, pet me to sleep,” she asks. “I can’t sleep.” I open up my right arm as she lifts her pillow up and onto my chest. My arm runs under her pillow bending up at my elbow, then over with my hand to gently pet her forehead. I know how she likes it, because she has told me. “No not like that, not the eyebrows,” she says. “No that’s too fast, this isn’t a race. Soft, don’t rub my skin off. That’s it, that’s right, nice and soft right on my forehead, yes, soft strokes up toward the hair.” My hand strokes and pets her soft skin as quiet hits and she lies there looking foreword to the sleep coming her way.
Does petting work? Yes, and I have found that it actually does feel good on the three occasions she has petted me. Once when I was sick, once when I was trying to nap on the couch, and once when, well, I just give it to her that it has happened one other time. Actually, I don’t know why I don’t get petted more, except that maybe it’s like Valentine’s Day when she gets gifts and dinners and I get her saying, “It’s a girl’s holiday.” Sometimes, I’ll lay next to her, place her hand on my head and move it up and down myself, as if she was one of those wooden back scratchers. When I do, wow, her cool fingers brushing my forehead puts me into a kind of trance. A happy trance where tranquil surrounds my head and all is right and, yes I think I could fall asleep. So I can understand why she wants it, and I don’t mind. I am happy to do it when I am awake and feeling loving, but really I’ve found it to be just a horrible trap.
See, in one scenario, I softly pet her when she is tired, over and over. My arm and hand petting fifty, sixty, seventy times in a row, quietly getting burnt out when all of a sudden I hear loud breathing. Is she asleep, I wonder? That sounds like asleep. So I gently and carefully slow my pettings down until I am just barely touching her head, then I delicately lift up my hand and wait. Is she asleep? She is still breathing hard and hasn’t said anything. But my arm is trapped under her and my hand is frozen in a type of, well, “curling back toward me, suspended in mid air,” position. Not comfortable right? No, not at all and even worse. I know that as soon as I try to just let my arm fall to the bed, which I do as quietly as possible without making any squuking, rubbing sounds like a pillow can make, as soon as it hits the bed, her head will move and “mmmmhhhmmmmmm?” There it was. She said it. “Mmmmmhhmmmm?” Like a whining puppy.
So I put my hand back to work petting her forehead until I hear the breathing start up again, then I slowly stop. With my arm frozen, straight up in the air, trying not to move, I start to think. What can I do? How can I let her sleep and rescue my arm? I think, I’ll just let my arm hang there like a tree until I fall asleep and then I won’t hear the, “mmmmmhhhmmmmm?” and it won’t matter, but I don’t fall asleep at all. Just my arm falls asleep and it hurts as it turns numb. I twist it to wake it up and her head turns and, “mmmmmhhmmmm?” I pet her again and while I send her to dreamtime, I strategize about the next pet-stop. I try to scoot my arm out from underneath the pillow while I am petting her so it will be easy to pull away when she falls asleep. She breathes hard and I slowly stop and as I carefully pull my hand away from the wall, “mmmmmmhmmmmm?” I say, “Christie I can’t pet you anymore, you keep falling asleep, and…” “No I don’t,” she says. “Yes you did,” I say. “I have petted you three different times and you keep falling asleep.” “John, I haven’t fallen asleep,” she barks. “Christie you’re snoring,” I reply. “How can you not be asleep?” She doesn’t answer, then, “mm…” “Honey my arm is going to fall off. I can’t pet you anymore, please get off me!”
I feel bad. I want so bad to fall asleep next to her in some sweet, “movie bed”, laying position, all spooned and smiling, but let’s face it, that’s for the movies. It’s hot, and my arm, I wish I could take it off and throw it on the floor next to my shirt, only to put it back on when I wake up. It’s always in the way. Her hair is tickling and poking my face as I cuddle on her. Then she’ll say, “Get your arm off me.” “What does it weigh? Is it a gorilla arm?” Apparently, all my body parts weigh the same as a gorilla, because they all almost kill her. Oh, except my head. “John, get your head off me,” she’ll say. “What is it a bowling ball head?” So I lay Egyptian style, arms crossed, looking straight up, as if in a coffin. She lies next to me and we try not to touch.
And the other petting situation gone bad is worse than the first. Petting her over and over, stroke, stroke, stroke and sweetly, nicely, quietly heavy breaths are heard as I, yes, I have to fallen asleep and left my heavy gorilla hand sweating up her forehead. My eyes are hitting REM and colors and images are beginning to form as I happily drift off into lala land, “mmmmmhhmmm?” “John, you fell asleep,” she says. Quickly I am pulled back out of the light of dreamland and into reality of her voice. “Pet me, you fell asleep,” she asks. My hand moves up and then down. My eyes shut and my mouth opens and peace covers my face as I begin to breathe hard, falling to sweet sleep. “mmmmmhhhmmmm?” “Huh,” I mutter? I feel her head begging for petting on my chest, like a cat rubbing against your leg, and, “enough,” I think, pushing her over to her side of the bed. “Christie, I am falling asleep and can’t take this anymore,” I say. “Okay, okay,” she says. I lay back down try to reclaim my sleep, but of course now I can’t. I just get to listen to her instantly fall asleep, while I lay there feeling as restless as the undead.
Another petting problem is when I sit on the couch and I really want to take care of her because she isn’t feeling well. I rest her head on my lap and softly pet her. I look down at her sweet, restful face. Quiet, her closed eyes are still and she looks so calm. She’s asleep. I look outside at the birds; I look to the TV, then to the TV remote, but the noise. I look at the magazine….just out of reach. I look back to her head and think, how I could move it without her knowing. But I just can’t. I am bored stiff, she is asleep, and I am trapped sitting on the couch.
You see, these petting traps have made me a more aware man, a man who thinks ahead, who is more patient, a man who can say NO, sometimes. I mean, I always want to make her feel good, but if I am tired, she ain’t getting petted. If I’m falling asleep, I’m sorry honey you can, “mmmmhhmmmm?” all you want, but I’m going to sleep. I now ask myself how tired I am, then decide whether I can pet or not. If that’s what she wants and I feel good, then bring it on. I will pet her like my little lion cub, but if not, she is going to have to count sheep and bring visions of sugarplums dancing into her own head.
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