Most likely you followed the link from my first, second or third page of Random Thoughts stories. Here are some more, and I hope these are just as amusing and thought provoking. And, as always, your comments are appreciated.
From what I read in the FF@ list, most fly fisher people spend the winter tying flies for the next year. You need a variety of flies when you go out to fish. One of my friends, who is an expert fisherman, goes out with no less than 800 flies in his boxes. Knowing him, they are all different, too. It is much cheaper to tie your own flies, too. So I've done a bit of research into it, trying to decide if this is something I want to pursue.
Let me try and explain what a fly is. Unlike people who fish with spinning rods, who use bait to catch fish, fly fishers are a different breed. Most people would say we are snobby. We go out there to a stream, and have all this gear and all these gadgets hanging on our vests, and study our little boxes of flies before selecting one to tie on the end of the tippet. Flies come in different sizes, shapes and purposes. There are big colorful ones for salt water fishing. Small ones for streams. Even smaller ones for smaller streams. Wet ones. Dry ones. Ones that imitate terrestrials. Sound confusing?? It is. Flies are bits and pieces of hair and feather and some other stuff that are put on a hook, to fool a fish, primarily trout, into thinking it's something the trout wants to eat. Some people even tie flies that resemble trout chow. Yes, there is such a thing.
It's not enough to have an expensive rod and reel. Or found a spot where there are trout and they are rising for insects. You have to think like a fish to catch trout. You have to be a bug expert. Remember the scene in A River Runs Through It where Norman hits the back of his neck, and checks his hand to see what was biting him. Then he ties on a fly like that hopper, and catches a big trout. Well, that's one way to do it. Or study entomology for a few years, and learn all about duns and nymphs and emergers. The idea is find a fly that closely resembles what is on the river at that time. Whether it's a mayfly, stone fly or dragonfly. We won't talk about wet flies, which are made to represent the bugs that sit on the bottom of rivers.
I remember when Evelyn and I decided to start fly fishing, and we would go and look at the flies at different fly shops. They are arranged by sizes and types. We had no clue what we were doing, but we decided we had to buy some flies at this one shop. We picked out a dozen of the cutest ones they had. She looked at one, and said, isn't this one pretty, so we got one of those. The man who sold us the flies looked at us more than just a little strangely, but said nothing. Most of those flies are still in my box, as they are no good where I've done most of my fishing. But they are cute.
Anyway, back to tying. It's an art form. You take this little hook, wrap a bunch of yarn around it, stick some feathers or fur on, wrap them on, and maybe glue on some little eyes. Sounds easy, doesn't it? Till you start talking about the tools you need to do this. Hackle pliers, bodkin, whip finisher and hair stacker. HUH? You have to have a vise to hold the hook steady. Ok, I know what that is. But then you lose me. I've had several of my friends from the FF@ list send me recommendations on what kind of equipment I should get. One even sent me a book, and some of the flies he tied. But I am a visual learner, and need to see someone actually do this. Think of how much trouble I could get into with a whip finisher.
I read the book I was sent, then bought two other books. They all have nice pictures and show a finger near this tiny fly, and explain in great detail how to make a wooly bugger. Or a caddisfly. But I can't make any sense out of it. So next I looked into classes on fly tying. First of all, they're expensive. At the local fly shop, they only offered beginners salt water fly tying. I don't fish in salt water. You need a different rod and reel than what I have. But it would teach me the basics of tying. At LL Bean, they have tying classes, but they are spread out over too long a time. And I know how expensive it would be to go to their store every week. I'm thinking about those options, though.
I also am notorious for not finishing what I start. I once started a needlepoint picture, and it took me eight years to finish it, It was only about 8 inches by 4 inches. Not very big. I also didn't work on it for years at a time. But my point is, crafts are not my thing. So I hate to go out and buy all this stuff and then look at it, and put it away. I'm worried that these things are too darn small for me to make. That I'll lose interest in it. My "big brother" Allan is making me promise to go to a clave this summer, and learn from some of the people there. I probably will do that, as several of the women I know from the list go to one that isn't too far from me. I guess it would be pretty exciting to catch a fish on a fly I personally made. It's just not going to happen for a while.
© 12 December, 1997I am looking through my old emails. I've been online for a little over 3 years, and in that time, i've chatted and corresponded with many people, male and female, from all over the world. At one time i had email pals in Iceland, Tasmania and South Africa. Most were friends, people who i found interesting by virture of their location, the similarity of our situations or they were just interesting. A few i still write to, most i have lost touch with due to no particular reason.
My friend Jim in England made me start thinking about all this. Used to be we would email each other daily. We met over 2 years ago, and he even made me a sound wav of his voice. He gave me my first *award* for my web site, and designed my award. When i wrote to him the other day, i apologized for not having written in so long, and rhetorically asked why we don't write each other every day. He said it was sort of like falling in love. Where you have to get to know everything about the other person, and then after a while you get comfortable with the silences. I know if i were to email him with a problem, he would reply right after he read it. But he doesn't worry if i don't answer him for a week, for our relationship has grown familiar and we are secure in our friendship.
I found an email that contained a story i had written with a man online. I wrote the first part, he the second, me the third, and then he decided not to continue. I re-read the story today. It's not one of my better works; i have grown in my writing, i think. But when i read his part, i could see the genuine feelings this man had for me, no matter how he tried to deny them. Or hide them. When it was my birthday, he sent me several email cards, which proved to me his feelings. I knew we could never actually experience those feelings, but he was more than a special friend. I idolized this man, would have done anything for him. I have every word he ever wrote to me, but i have never seen him and never will. I wish i could, just to look into his eyes and confirm what i know. None of his emails ever said i love you, not in those exact words. But i know he did,and it comforts me.
There have been other men i've been involved with online. And you sit and wait for the mail. Nothing like when you had to wait for the once a day visit from the mailman. Email comes to you as quickly as you choose to retrieve it. I have my email set to be automatically retrieved every 20 minutes when i'm online. A sound wav of Homer Simpson announces my mail. Sometimes, if i'm busy, i don't stop what i'm doing to look at what came in, because most of the time, like your real mail, it's junk. However, when i am expecting something, something special and hopefully wonderful, i have been known to check it every few minutes.
I keep my so-called love letters in a separate mail box. I have, to name a few, one for friends, family, for Bluedog, for the fly fishing list, for the women of the fly fishing list, and one for ex- lovers. Every so often, i go back and read them, and most often, delete them. I can't remember all of them. Some of these so called relationships lasted a week, some over months. Some have ended happily, some sadly. Most of them i never met or spoke to on the phone. Some who thought something more might come out of this have turned out to be great friends. And some who expected more, went away. If i tried to think of all their names, i probably couldn't. Just like i was in high school, it took a special male to keep my interest.
I have started talking to one of those special men recently. He's funny, makes me laugh. He's intelligent and caring. He listens. He calls me to see how i'm doing. I got my first email from him the other day. I actually printed it out, something i almost never do with emails. He is in Europe on vacation, and not near his computer. I miss him terribly. Even though i know we will never meet, he is very important to me. It doesn't seem right not to talk to him every day. We share everything, and i can see him being a long time friend. In his letter he doesn't mention love either, but i know it's there.
I wonder if people in love actually write letters anymore. Perfumed, on fancy stationary. SWAK written on the back. I have in a box, love letters from various boys in high school and college. You can tell they were hastily written, no big deal to them. But more than 30 years later, i can look at Frank's handwriting and smile. Remembering our senior year romance. I doubt i will ever get the same feeling from looking at the letter from my friend. Not because we won't ever meet. You just don't put the same care and thought into an email as you do when you sit in front of paper. At least i dont think so. It's too easy on the computer to delete a word, sentence or entire paragraph. I'm not complaining. A love letter is still a love letter, and most are still special to me. I better go check my email... just in case.
©24 October, 1998Love is a powerful aphrodisiac. Think of some of the famous lovers throughout history and what was has given up for the other. Antony and Cleopatra. Tristan and Isolde. There is nothing in the world like the way a person feels when they are beginning to fall in love. It's almost indescribable. The way you smile at the world. Everything is wonderful.
And boy, I wish I could find a way to bottle it. Would I ever be rich!?!
I remember how I felt when when I had my first crush, back in elementary school. All the girls thought Dennis was the best looking boy, maybe because he was blond. I had the biggest crush on Brett, who was taller, darker and in my opinion, more handsome. He at least was taller than me, because at 12, I was one of the tallest girls. He had a crew cut and was the most wonderful boy in 6th grade. He never looked at me as a girl. What did I expect? I saw him again when I was 16 and visiting Chicago. He didn't see me, and I didn't think he was that cute anymore. I had outgrown him.
During my junior and senior high school days, I used to have crushes all the time. There was one boy I liked all through those six years of school. I sat next to him in 7th grade English. I probably wasn't too subtle in keeping my feelings a secret. I would sit and stare. While he was a long standing crush, there were many, many boys that caught my eye. I figured eventually one of them might like me back. In 10th grade, I had a huge crush on this senior boy. I would drag my girlfriends with me, and we would follow him and his friends around the school. It wasn't until much later I realized how foolish I must have seemed to him. But at the time, nothing mattered but seeing him walk down the halls. Some of my crushes were very short lived. I think I had a crush on this one boy for about 3 hours. He looked good to me in math, but by history, forget it.
Finally, in the 11th grade I got smart. I stopped having crushes on unobtainable boys. I had my first real boyfriend the summer after 11th grade. I was in LOVE!. Ken was not one of the popular boys, not an athlete, not very good looking. Well, in my eyes he was. He had been in my chemistry class, and I finally realized he was interested in me, and so we started dating. I think we were together almost every day that summer and every evening too. I later realized my best friend Ellen had pushed us together, because she had a crush on Ken's best friend, Alex. And if I was dating Ken, she rationalized, maybe Alex would date her. And eventually he did and we all went out together.
In our senior year, Ken wanted to date other girls. Well, fine. So I started dating Frank. Frank was a much better kisser than Ken was. Because of Frank, I fell in love with classical music. I could sit and listen to him practice the piano for hours. Because of Frank, I found a way to be able to afford going to Berkeley. The summer after graduation was filled with Frank. Then he went off to Cal, and I stayed in Van Nuys, and before my transfer to Cal was approved, we had broken up. I saw him now and then at Berkeley, but our love was definitely over.
It was when I was working at the college radio station I met John and also my future former husband. How could I not have fallen in love with John? His radio name was BW Hippie. He was tall, sort of good looking in a geeky sort of way. He had a perverse sense of humor. So I eventually moved in with him in a big old house in Oakland, where several of the radio people lived, including my ex. He was the first man I ever slept with, and I remember our first night together. It had been raining, and we were walking back from campus to my apartment. I had recently gone to student health services to go on the pill, and we were pretty sure it was safe. I remember kissing and holding hands and walking in the rain, and barely drying off before we fell into bed.
That of course, didn't last. My girl friend Lynn took him away from me. It was the day after Valentine's Day. John had bought me this beautiful and delicious chocolate heart shaped cake. My first incination was to push his face into it. It's one of my few regrets. The next day he dumped me. There to console me was Fred. I had skipped a lot of my classes, so I was forced to drop out rather than flunk out. I was going to have to move back to Los Angeles since I wasn't going to school. It was inevitable that we would start living together, I guess.
The only other times I have felt such a strong feeling of love was when my children were born. After 26 hours of labor, I looked at Evelyn, barely 5 minutes old, and knew there was nothing I wouldn't do for her. It was an unconditional love like I had never experienced. And have only felt two other times.
Even though it is not spring, love seems to be in the air. It's almost contagious. It gives you hope that maybe you will be next. Like the song goes, all you need is love... love is all you need. I feel like some of this positive feeling that is floating around will eventually land near or even on me. You have to be open to the possibility. Just in case. L'amour, l'amour.
© 9 December, 1997Over the years, I have met many people. Most are passing acquaintances, who you know well enough to say hello to in the grocery store. Only a few of them become what I consider friends, and even a more select group have become close friends. Then those are the ones I think of as my best friends. Back when was I was a kid, you were only allowed one best friend. But I think that is a silly non rule. I have added several people to this category over time.
When I was growing up in Chicago, I didn't have any friends. It was because of my brother getting polio that most parents wouldn't let their children play with me. After the Salk vaccine came out, I was allowed to play with the neighborhood kids. It was hard on me not having anyone to play with as a child, but I made a few friends in elementary school. But not many. Certainly not a best friend.
It was after I moved to California and began junior high school that things changed. For one thing, I started in the 7th grade new, as did everyone else. I think there were at least 5 or 6 elementary schools that fed into my junior high. The first friend I made was in my first period class. It was a home ec class, and the teacher asked up to line up alphabetically. So all the girls had to go around and introduce themselves. I met Debbi, and we both had the same last name, and I had my first friend in California. She was a good friend all through school.
Ellen was my first best friend. I practically lived at her house. I used to go to her home after school more often than I went to my own. She had several things in her favor. The most important being her older brother, who I was madly in love with for many years. And even though he wasn't interested in me, he had lots of his friends over to their house. Ellen was the only daughter, so I was included in lots of her family events. I went on vacations with them. Even now, Ellen is my best friend, and I could count on her to help me without any questions.
While I was in college, I became friends with Lorraine. She lived on the same floor in the dorm as me, down at the end. I'm not sure what it was that brought us together, but soon we were doing things together, and close friends. She dropped out of college to get married, and I was a bridesmaid in her wedding. I even went to Hawaii to stay with her and her husband there one summer. I just got a letter from Lorraine the other day, and she called me her old-friend-for-life. Our paths may not cross all that often, but when we talk on the phone or write, it's like we just talked the other day.
I also consider Susan a best friend. And Helen, Roberta and Linda. I once heard a speaker say most people only have 3 real friends. That you are lucky to have those three. When I heard her, I started thinking about my friends. I had many more than three, so I guess that makes me luckier than most.
What makes a person become someone you consider a best friend? It's more than just getting along and having similar interests. There is some sort of invisible bond that keeps you connected over time, distance and circumstances. You would do things for a best friend you wouldn't even consider doing for anyone else, and never expect anything in return. They seem to know how you are feeling without asking. There have lots of movies about best friends and the complex relationship involved. But until you have a best friend, you will never fully understand the importance they are in your life.
© 7 December, 1997It is one week to Christmas. The day that has come to mean you've proven your love to someone by how much junk is piled under the Christmas tree. I know that is not the real meaning of the holiday, but that is what society and consumerism has turned it into. A reason to go into debt and buy the toy of the season.
I had to go to the Maine Mall yesterday. It is the only mall in the Portland area, with many smaller shopping centers around it. Don't get me wrong. I love to shop, it's in my blood. But the way towns build up the areas around malls is almost like the spreading of cancer. It just keeps growing and doesn't seem to stop. I went mid afternoon, and just had to get two things. The stores I wanted to go to are no where else in town. Downtown Portland, which is walking distance, has no traditional shopping area. Not like I was used to in Chicago and Minneapolis. So I had no choice but to go to the mall.
I was lucky and found a parking place very close in. Always a good sign. Part of my getting older and more forgetful is I tend to park in the same section of the mall's lot. My first mistake was to wear my jacket inside. Malls forget that most people do, so it was too warm. I decided I would walk the whole mall for fun. See what was going on.
Right outside of Macy's, about 4 stores down, there was a tasteful Chanukah display. That's a pretty rare sight. Even though Chanukah is always around December 25 (give or take a week or so), I can't recall ever seeing a display other than for Christmas. Of course, by then I had purchased my items, and should have left. I didn't.
I went into the Hallmark store, to see if they had any of the Holiday Barbie ornaments left. Some years you can't find one the day after they are put on the shelf. They had lots left, so I decided that was an after Christmas day purchase. By then I noticed how many kids were in the mall. It was after school, so it made sense. They tend to hang out in large groups that make navigating the mall more difficult.
I also noticed most people were not buying. Stores have already marked most things down, but not too many people had even one shopping bag. Maybe they had someone sitting on a bench guarding all their purchases. In the olden days (when my children were smaller), I used to go nuts at Christmas time. I wanted the day to be special, and would literally spend months looking for presents. When I was a kid, one of the traditional gifts was pajamas. So the kids each got a pair of pj's. A few years we had gone up to Winnipeg in October or Novemeber, and I would buy the boys hockey pajamas. But they had to wait until Christmas to get them. That started a pattern that got very hard to break. The "each one has to have the same number of presents" syndrome. If I found something I particularly liked for Evelyn, then I had to buy something else for the boys. And how did I pay for all this? Same as most Americans. With a credit card. I was always in for a big shock come January, when the bills came in. It adds up quickly with 3 children.
Two years ago, I decided enough was enough. My kids had pretty much everything they needed. No one has everything they want. They couldn't have tv's in their rooms. We had also started doing a lot of volunteering. Mostly Evelyn and me, but we had included the boys both at the Boys and Girls Club and when we were Care Partners. That was the year we all spent our Christmas in the hospital with Chris and Barb. We had brought them a plastic tree, and we made ornaments. Chris couldn't have too much in her room because of the bone marrow transplant. So we made do, and it was one of the best Christmases we ever had. Also, that was the first year we started giving to charity instead of buying gifts for ourselves. Thinking about it now, it was the last Christmas we spent as a family. Last year my ex took the kids out to California. And this year....
No mall would be complete without a Santa. The Maine Mall had one. He didn't look too much a Santa to me. I think my kids had their picture taken with Santa only once. It was at a smaller mall in Minneapolis, in a rather unique neighborhood. The picture with Santa was free. I can't believe parents feel it is so important to have their children take a picture with a total stranger every year. Nothing like taking a toddler to the mall all dressed up and making them wait in line for this treat. Since it's a money maker, most malls now have Easter bunnies who are there for the sole purpose of getting parents to spend money on a picture. Is the required picture with the Thanksgiving turkey coming next??
Yes, I guess I am sort of a Scrooge. I wish people would just relax, enjoy this time of the year, instead of working themselves into a frenzy. Maybe it is because of where I am in my life, but should the main focus be on how hard it is to get the toy of the year? I don't think so. But then again, I'm usually in the minority. I'm looking forward to enjoying being with my children, and just being content with their love.
© 20 December, 1997Today is a sweater day. Once fall arrives, most days are sweater days. I have the heat on, but it's snowy and windy and with a sweater on, I can keep the apartment a little cooler and still be comfortable. And hopefully save some money. I wore a different sweater earlier, when I went out to the store. It was a cotton denim blue cardigan. It was warm enough under my coat, but when I got back here, I needed something a bit warmer. I love sweaters. Always have, because they make me feel like I'm getting a big hug. Something to wrap around you, make you feel safe and secure.
I bought this sweater at the LLBean outlet store in Freeport. I had gone up there to do a little shopping. Outlet stores have seemed to pop up around the whole area. The main LL Bean store is a half block up the street. Most of the things in outlet stores really aren't great bargains. You have to know prices to make sure you are really getting a bargain. I wandered over to the sweaters, and found this one. I almost didn't buy it. It's wool, and for the most part, wool is too warm for me. I did like the color and style. It's mostly oatmeal colored, with dark grey pattern across the front. It's cabled, and long. The reason I bought it, was that it cost $27.00. Marked down from almost $150. The wool had to be worth that much. I figured if I didn't like it when I got it home, Evelyn would *borrow* it from me. She's gotten in the habit a lot, lately.
She used to borrow her dad's sweaters, until he forget he had them. She likes getting sweaters and most of her other clothes from resale shops. First she took a dark green one of his, and finally he gave up, and let her keep it. Then there was a navy one, followed by a maroon patterned one, but she gave that back to him when it got a hole. She was too lazy to sew it up. I let her know my sweaters were off limits, although I occasionally shared the light yellow Eddie Bauer one with her. She didn't want one of her own at the time. Maybe now, that we are 1500 miles apart, she wishes she had that sweater. Or maybe she does. When she came home, I made sure she took it off and I got it back. Unlike most girls her age, she didn't want her sweaters skin tight. Big and baggy was what Evelyn liked. You could tell there was a girl under it if you looked carefully enough. At least she had a feminine hairstyle and face.
I wouldn't really need any more sweaters, except that most of mine are back in boxes. Back in Minneapolis. Along with just about everything else. There I have dozens of sweaters, both wool and cotton. And a few cashmere. All sorts of colors, styles and types. Cardigans, v-necks, crew necks, and vests. So when I bought this sweater, I figured since I didn't have too many sweaters with me, I could certainly use this one. I tried it on in the store, liked the way it fit, and bought it. I love how it keeps me warm. The fit is good and it is certainly well made. Maybe we'll be lucky and you can find something like it at the LL Bean outlet. Or at one of the dozens of other stores in Freeport or Kittery. We'll hit the after Christmas sales when you are here, and I'm sure you will find a few things you love. I am going to have to hide this when you are here, to make sure you don't hide it in your suitcase and take it with you. I know when Evelyn sees it, she will want it, but sorry. This one is mine
© 14 November, 1997I love calendars. I think I bought at least 6 for this year. Even though it is the first day of the year, most stores now have them half price. I have been very tempted to buy a few more, but so far, have managed to control my impulses. To me, calendars are more than keeping track of important dates. Much more. To me, they are the story of my life, year after year.
Of course, the first thing you do with a new calendar, is add birthdays and other important dates. It can depressing, because I also add the person's age. Is it really possilbe next year my baby boy will be 13? And I will be 47? And that I no longer have to add my mother's birthday, my wedding anniversary. Yes, all these are true. Things change, whether you want them to or not. I add in my friend's birthdays, even though I am usually very bad in remembering to send them birthday wishes. I think of them and my intentions are good. And they should know that, even without a call or card from me.
I keep my calendars even after the year is up. I have calendars that go back to my high school days. There are dates with Frank. My high school graduation. My first day of college. It was in college I started thinking of calendars as more than a year's worth of squares. It was when I ordered the Flair pen one. Each month had a rather bizarre picture you could color in, with flair pens, of course. When recently, I looked at the entries in that calendar, I couldn't quite remember what or who I was talking about. Part of it is due to time. It's been over 25 years. But I can't blame it all on time. I can partly blame it on the times, too.
Then I started buying calenders because of what pictures they had. I have over 20 years of Charles Wysocki calendars. Several Joan Walsh Anglund. Various artists and period art calendars. Some Winnie the Pooh ones. Mary Engelbreit. Lots of calendars with birds, beautiful scenery and flowers. Is there a cheaper way to collect works of arts?? I only use one calendar to keep track of dates and appointments, so all the other ones are for decoration.
I guess part of this comes from my love of collecting. I have the little Hallmark calendars the stores give away every year. I keep calendars from different businesses. The ones the kids made in school. Those kind of calendars don't cost me anything, but I still like having them. It's the having of them that is important to me.
In the last several years, the most important calendars I had were the ones I carried with me. I started keeping a daily agenda when I lived in Memphis. The kids were busy with activities, I had my volunteer work and other social appointments to keep track of. But an event wasn't official, until I had entered it in both my agenda and the wall calendar in the kitchen. Once a week, I would check to make sure both calendars had the same meetings, activities and appointments written down. For too many years, I was over committed in my volunteer work and if I didn't keep my meetings carefully recorded, I would forget meetings.
This year I have a Mary Engelbreit calendar in my bedroom. A fly fishing calendar that I am keeping track of my appointments, hanging in the living room. The Charles Wysocki calendar in the kitchen. I have a calendar of hand tied flies that was autographed by the tyer of the pictured flies in the bedroom too. There is a calendar of New Hampshire views I haven't decided where to hang. I have another Mary Engelbreit day by day calendar near my computer. I finally got a refill for my agenda, even though I no longer have lots of meetings to enter. Right now, only birthdays are entered in the two calendars I write in, plus a doctor's appointment. That leaves me a whole year open, to fill with whatever I choose. I have no idea what kind of activities and events will fill up 1998, but I know when I look back on it, in the years to come, memories will flood back and I will be able to remember the good and bad times of this year. And get ready again to start new calendars.
© 1 January, 1998I'm back home. Even thought I have only lived in Maine for 6 months, it feels like home. I know I am thinking about moving, but I guess what really makes it feel like home, is my own little apartment. It's all mine. There's not much in it, as far as furniture or things, but I don't care. I have what I need and I'm content. This is my home.
I've never lived alone before. I lived with my mother, then in college dorms and then with my husband. I've lived in houses, a dorm, lots of apartments and even an abandoned gas station that had been turned into a house of sorts. Where I live now, is the second floor of an older house. This is an older neighborhood of Portland. One of the unique things in my apartment is the staircase going up to the attic. The attic is shut off, so I use the stairs for shelves. I have my books and a few knick knacks on it. My cat sometimes sits up there and perches. Otherwise, it's a fairly normal apartment.
I just came back from Minneapolis and my former home. As we were driving there from the airport, I was surprised I didn't feel the panic I had felt at Thanksgiving. I didn't feel the dread, the sick to my stomach feeling. Time had finally distanced me from that house, where I had lived almost 9 years. I don't have a key anymore, and I don't live there anymore. I wouldn't have been back there except for Greg.
It was pretty much the same as when I'd left back in August. There were still lots of my boxes there, and the furniture I eventually want, when I figure out where I'm going. I didn't remember where certain things were kept anymore. I used the main bathroom, not the one of the master bedroom. I sat at the same place at the dining room table where I had always sat. I really went back in time, sitting at the old computer downstairs. My computer desk sat empty in the bedroom. Bookcases were empty of my books. It wasn't my home anymore. I was a guest, not necessarily a welcome one, but a guest none the less.
As soon as it was determined Greg could take care of himself during the day, I made plans to leave. I had seen some of my friends while there, gone to some familiar places. Greg and I spent a few hours wandering around the Mall of America. That was the only time we spent alone together. That, and a few hours in the hospital. He wanted to be with his friends, which is normal for a kid. I didn't mind being there when he needed me, but I knew that it was time for me to leave.
I left on Tuesday. I kissed Lowell goodbye, and watched him walk off to get the bus, as I had done so many times before. I had arranged to go out to breakfast with a girlfriend and have her drop me off at the airport, rather than have my ex take me to there. I know Greg was disappointed, because he would have gone with, and I would have gotten to spend more time with him. I hate goodbyes. I thought this was easier on both of us. When we drove away, I didn't look back. I was looking forward, to getting back to Portland, and the new life I am making for myself. I was going home. I knew I might have reasons to go back to Minnesota, but it was just another place i had once lived. Like Chicago and Memphis and Van Nuys. I know now, where I am, is home, and I am so glad to be here.
© 14 February, 1998There are more stories I have written to read. Please remember these are my original stories and thoughts, and to copy or otherwise use them without my permission is a copyright violation. I would love to hear your random thoughts on any of these stories.