String O’ Tears

puppeteerFor a friend….

A message, a song, prose of awareness to carry to your fair-weather friend

That really great one who utterly love-bombs you, repeatedly – if not ceaselessly
Bombards you hard enough to make you forget your own fugging mind
The mind that used to have instincts that automatically waved red flags
Those inner stirrings of wariness that led you right from wrong
When you weren’t the puppet you became in order to earn more ear candy
Those sweets that plump your heart and keenly sink into your under-nourished psyche

Enough sugar to make you think you are the brightest, funniest, loveliest star ever found
And he will always assert with that add-on: …“and I have known many a crispy star”
And so he enlists you to spy, cajole, and/or keep an eye out for reporting purposes
Ah, soon we learn a puppeteer’s affinity with clowns runs far more extensively than skin deep…
He uses you to mark his territory, share his dirty deeds; you’re his unique ‘love in crime’
& if reports are interesting enough, he will even step out from behind his shield of breasts
To poke his nose out gingerly, which counts as brave for this completely scar-less ‘warrior’

You do it because, sigh, someone has finally or fully seen how really special you are
And, no real harm, just a bit of fun, just messing a little with idiots & low-lifes after all
‘Cause beneath it all, he’s a nice guy, so alone & a little scared, mostly misunderstood
Your maternal instinct will fill in all the excuses he hints at to make you both feel better
In gratitude, he’ll toss you more necklaces hand-beaded with extra-honeyed accolades

He’ll gift you amusing anecdotes and witticisms du jour and you’ll both laugh and laugh
Or he’ll wax on spiritual depth, prophet-like and it’ll be like you’ve bathed in enlightenment
So many days in a year, so many appropriated lines to unveil, so many toys available for play
Oh, to be free of those strings, to dance around and around a stage, firm and stable
Where the feelings and thoughts and words fed to your soul are unfeigned

Oh, to live, only where love is real and the only strings attached are honestly heart to heart

RL


For the interested, here’s a quick review of the process these personalities engage in, in real life:  But, He’s a ‘SoulMate’  Why Narcissists Disappear  (Hint: It’s not just the silent treatment)

Ever Been Properly in Love?

During his first year on CNN, TV Host Piers Morgan always asked his guests, “Have you ever been properly in love”?  Of course that always got his guests wondering or reminiscing, and so, I did too.  Forgive me a few moments of sentimentality. It is Valentine’s season after all.

Valentines-Wallpaper- whiteI realize as I’ve got older that I have been properly in love many, many times.  Hey, keep calm and read on, it wasn’t all hormones.  I don’t mean just in the romantic sense that Piers was inquiring about, but with all the wonderful friends that I have known over the years. They may have come and gone, or come and stayed, but I am forever changed by the genuine love grown between us.

It’s the kind of love that inspired countless shared hours of deep laughs, light fun, brilliant thinking and inspiring ideas, and so many fabulous occasions. It is the kind that offers a solid place to lean on while navigating troubles and sorrows.

It’s the kindness of love that draws us to each other maybe for only moments in shared interests and similar stories, or for a quick friendly review of talent or taste.  Of course it has also taken my hand and flipped me flat out on the threshold of deep resonating romance, and then even permanently tied me to the indescribable heart-song of my child.

Love is a song made of infinite notes; it’s a never-ending tune that rises and fades like all dynamics of life.  There are no real endings because even after we’ve moved on, we left the trail of what we gave.

And so,  after all of this, yes, I would get to answer that question, yes. I have been properly in love, many times, maybe always. And, actually, isn’t that really the truth of us all?

Happy Love Day!

RL

Party Prep is Not For the Weak, And Friends Lie

maxine tip 2

A simple click on the pic will let you see them.

Hell hath no fury like the eyes of a host expecting guests.  They see EVER-Y-THING EVER-Y-WHERE.  They flood the entire house with the damning light of the unclean.  Condemned is the rosy glow of procrastination that normally allows one to see cobwebs as merely billowing indoor clouds – just a step closer to communing with nature really.

I am acutely struck by those evil eyes mostly on an annual basis, when I host a gathering in the New Year.  I love finally being able to get together with many friends and bask in their good humor and kinship. They are wonderful, wonderful people, but they LIE.  They LIE like my (dog hair-covered) front door rug.

maxine dusting hintNormally, my day-to-day entails apologizing for my clutter, and my other typical landfill mounds.  In reply, my friends say things like, “Oh we never have time to clean either, or who cares about a clean house, there’s so much more to life that is far more important”.  A credo I actually believe in; a credo that I know I honestly uphold – alone.

All these able members of the Liars Club have homes ready for a photo shoot in B H and G at the drop of a paper towel.   Pop in on them, regardless of the time of day or day of the week, and you’ll be invited in to have a chat and sit on pristine seats atop the shiniest floors in the universe. These are the real shining lights in the sky at night. 

Maxine Super Bowl tipI cringe at every realization that I could rarely, to never, reciprocate that invitation.  I am the queen of doorstep conversation.  “Hey, how’d you like to have a seat on that outside chair right there, on the outside of the house, and I’ll get us a drink for here, outside”.  I wonder if they notice?   Of course they do.  Then they go home and re-shine their floors just to spite me.

So, while the thought floats gently through my screams dreams that it really could be interesting to hold a front yard party in early January Canada, I grudgingly accept that I‘d never get the grass raked in time.  Thus, I rush to appease these eyes of damnation.  I fly from one end of the house to the other with cleanser and polish to head off any possible ugh! moment for a guest. 

As I work through all that anticipatory contact, I spy something odd, even for me. Wait…is that… plum pudding on the blinds??!!  But, but we didn’t have plum pudding this year.  Oh my God.  OK kids, new goal:  Clean all the dirt that guests might recognize from last year!

While we’re scrambling to meet new achievements, I picture my friends discussing their impending visit to my mess O’ horrors: 

  • “Um, so, Robyn’s invitation has arrived again…. And?  Well, she is our friend so let’s try our best to enjoy this as much as possible while looking only directly into each other’s eyes”.
  •  “Well, this year I’m putting the hazmat suit on under my clothes.  There is no way I’ll be able to smile this year while I feel a glob of plum pudding stuck to my thigh”.
  • “OK, let’s re-do our plan from last year to drink as much as possible to get through the mess evening and maybe even to…. forget”.
  • “Hey, maybe we can invite her out next year”.

Hey!  I’ve been invited out three times this year.  Was that…. ?  Stop it! Go test the martini potency, and then get back to work!

Somehow, in the midst of these mental meanderings and the frantic efforts of Thing 1 and Thing 2  (me and child), the house started to resemble something like the original intentions of the architect.

Maxine-On-CleaningEventually we got to an understanding.  Actually, more like simple resignation – what will be, will be. Whatever else we may spy gets a quick kick under the couch.  The rest of the prep plan is fairly simple – take off the apron, smooth down the hair, and do a sock check for dog hair on the baseboards. Last, but not least, turn down the lights and light up the candles.  Nothing says, what spot on the wall? like mood lighting. 

Then I will employ the ultimate mood lightener  – martinis.  I’ll take their coats with one hand, and plop a glass in their hand in one smooth motion.  I’ll keep the pitcher handy and refill often. Non-drinkers will get over-stuffed with plenty of fresh plum pudding. Even if they do notice a spot on the wall at some point, the odds are pretty good that they won’t care.  At least not until next year’s invitation arrives.  

Cheers to livin’ la vida loca 2014.

RL