Music and love

Feels like I am revisiting things I talked about in my initial post, so to continue the theme, tonight is all about music. As I type, the iPod classic is playing Joe Jackson, who I discovered thru a friend while we were in graduate school. I try to be open about all the music in the world, and I am happy to say that my tastes are all over the map. Mr. Jackson keeps company with Linda Ronstadt, The Pixies, Sia, Lucinda Williams, Eminem, Schubert, Deadmau5, Beethoven, The Gin Blossoms, Miguel Bose, Ana Tijoux, Sting, and many others. Spotify has been my best musical friend lately, with my Discover and Release Radar playlists leading me to new artists. My disavowal of country music was thrown out the window not long after my young man and I got together. He loves this genre a lot, and while there are still songs or artists I keep at arm's length, I would be lying if I did not say I enjoy some it. Dwight Yoakum makes me happy, even though he seems to cry in a lot of his songs. Lucinda Williams made me cry at her concert almost two years ago when she sang "Unsuffer Me." This past February in Oakland, we got to see what we think was Merle Haggard's last concert; I even bought a Western shirt so I would not feel out of place. I love to slow dance with my young man when his friends play twangy love songs; my cute cowboy boots make me just the right height for looking into his beautiful blue eyes. I have seen Yo-Yo Ma once and Joshua Bell twice, and wish I had the smallest bit of their talent. I still perform with the community band, but I cannot play the way I played my first year of college. Nonetheless, to be able to be a part of a group that makes music makes me happy. Whether it's Christmas music I know from muscle memory after thirty years or a challenging piece where the page is black with notes, Theodore, my clarinet, and I will play with heart. I have friends all over the country, some of whom I have known since I was fourteen years old, because of our love of music. I've played on muddy football fields, beautiful concert halls, Grant's Grove in Sequoia National Forest, my high school amphitheater, and in the open air with the Grand Tetons as the backdrop. I can never be grateful enough for those experiences and the incredible fun I had with my fellow musicians, whether we were at music camp in Stockton, on tour with the marching band, or putting on black to play a formal concert. Playing, listening to, discovering, dancing to, singing music that moves me--that makes my life so much richer. Music is love.

Missed Saturday

Make-up post to come tonight. 

(not) running

I have been a runner off and on since I was sixteen. I have run two whole marathons, five or six half marathons, a few 5Ks, and I think just one 10K. Running had always brought me solace, relief, pride, and an escape where I could just focus on breathing and my footfall. People have always commented that they cannot run, they hate running, and they think I'm crazy. I can assuredly say that it had not been for the first two half marathons I would have lost my mind during my divorce. Being able to set goals and achieve them gave me confidence and boosted my self-esteem. Not to mention a great ass and legs ;) Lately, though, since the last marathon a year ago, I have lost the passion. I do not know where it went, why I don't feel the same happiness when I lace up my shoes. I just bought a new pair of pink Asics in the hopes that inspiration and desire will occur via osmosis: magic will happen when the soles of my feet meet the insoles of the shoes. I feel frustrated and angry with myself, as I want to feel like I used to when I would hit the trail or run the hills in the park. I promised myself that I will train for the half in the spring and then aim for what will probably be my last marathon a year from now. Fifty will be old enough to be somewhat impressive but young enough so that I hopefully do not die on the course. I don't want to let myself down. I am envious of people who never waiver in their commitment to running, who have that build that I thought I would have, even just last year. Running is never easy. At the height of my training there were days where I did not want to get out of bed or just wanted to stop in the middle of a training run and take a taxi back. But I persevered, and so I guess I need to dig deeper now so I can find my inner runner girl. She needs to lace up her shoes and get out there.

Always the mom

I ran into one of my child's friends tonight while out at Art Hop. She is an effusive person, a point proven when she gave me an enormous, enveloping hug as if she had not seen me in years. She always tugs at my heart, as I know she has no semblance of a good relationship with her father, mush less her mother. She knows she is always welcome in my home, and I hope now more than ever she takes me up on coming over. The man I saw her with is a musician who I know through my boyfriend, and they, meaning he and my boyfriend, are about the same age. If you read the description of my blog and you figure that my young man is a little bit older than me, you will see why I am writing. I find this "man's" troll-like behavior despicable and see him as a leering creep preying on vulnerable girls. No one can convince me that he can get anything out of this "relationship" other than things I do not want to imagine. As I write, the professional part of my brain is going places where I don't venture with people i know socially. I do not diagnose friends, I do not piece together in my mind the broken bits of the people I care about because those are theirs to share only if they wish. I purposefully keep at bay the curiosity that helps me as a social worker because I will become emotionally exhausted, and it's just not right. What this beautiful girl needs is a mom, someone to tell her she has no need to be a vessel for anyone, that she is strong, talented, kind, and most of all, valuable. I wanted to take her home in my car and simultaneously hug her while yelling at her for making such a poor choice. Maybe she really does not know any better and feels this is what she deserves. I have no place to tell her she is making a mistake; I am not her mother nor anyone to whom she needs to answer. I am just someone who cares what happens to her, and I hope her heart hears me.

CUBS!

Tired, but needed to post about the Cubs winning the World Series. Who would have thought?? Good for them. I normally write more, but this will do for now. Hope I write a better post tomorrow.

NaBloPoMo

App keeps crashing, so this is all I am writing tonight. Grr!

Adult(ish) relationships

I have pictures of my very good looking young man on my work computer which I sometimes use as desktop backgrounds. Some of them include me, some don't, and my girlfriends tease me by saying that I am like a moony adolescent who probably also doodles his name in the margins of my notes. While that may or may not be true, I am enjoying this phase of our relationship.

Eight months in, I like that I still get butterflies and feel amazed by how gorgeous he is. And that he likes me back! I love how he kisses me and puts his arm around me. We talk a lot and listen to music together, and I always learn something. But just because I swoon when I see him walk, that does not mean that I am oblivious to how much work we both have to do to keep this relationship good.

I was a wife for a long time, and the erosion of small courtesies, sweet nothings, and just-because bijoux is part of what killed the marriage. I am a firm believer in not taking my partner for granted, and I expect the same treatment.

A recent revelation for me has been that people show love in different ways. I am very physically affectionate, lavishing those I love with hugs, kisses, pats, hair ruffles, and playful swats on the butt. My man also gets kisses of all kinds, and we hold hands a lot. He is loving in that he responds to my affection in kind; on his own he buys me little gifts, opens the car door for me, and won't let me pay for my beer.

What's most important is that we let us be ourselves. We accept one another's flaws and do not try to mold the other into what we think s/he needs to be. I was so young when I met my ex-husband, and I thought I was supposed to change him. Don't ask why I thought that, but I sure as hell learned my lesson. My geek flag flies free with my new partner, and he makes no bones about loving country music and disliking vegetables.

I am learning how to make this work, as I want it to last for a long, long time. This adulting business is tough, but I have a good man beside me who wants the same. In the end, that's what counts, right?