WELL...I'VE DONE IT NOW.

I'm a sucker for "last one" scenarios, and my own worst enemy. I never know I need something until the fear I can't have it strikes. So I've dropped numerous hints regarding my desire for a tablet from Santa, but considering he's managed to tell me everything he's purchased and has asked virtually nothing about my electronic desires (play with that as you may...it's Friday and possibly the last one...ever), I started to panic.


I'd narrowed it down to the Kindle Fire HD 16gb thinking that would serve most of my needs (again...thoughts allowed). I decide as I pull into the drivethru for another "home-cooked meal" and spy the BestBuy sign, to just go in and "see."

Yeah right. First you should know the return policy for BestBuy is fairly liberal and as long as you don't remove the merchandise from the boxes, you will get a full refund, including any extended warranty purchased.

So I stand there, handling the same store display as several hundred others have during the day after picking their nose and god-knows-what-else with their grimy hands, checking out all the features. Yep, I'm certain this is what I want and when the sales clerk (my, they've upped the standard for hiring clerks because he is cuuute!) goes over all the options I decide I need to take an assertive step in securing my future.

This decision also possibly saves my husband from a miserable Christmas morning wherein I cry and accuse him of never listening to me, ignoring me as an important person in our marriage, only thinking of himself as he ogles the chrome steps I've bought for his new truck (yes NEW) because I listened to him, and ending with a melodramatic display where I possibly toss the Christmas casserole in the garbage and go so far as to question if he has a mistress—who got a Kindle Fire HD for Christmas. Yes…the stuff soap operas are famous for.

This decision is also cemented when it is discovered there is only one Kindle Fire HD 16bg left! I wrap my fingers tightly around the box, a deep feral growl rumbling in my throat at unsuspecting passersby who take note I have the last one in my possession. As we round the corner to the checkout stand, we pass the display holding an iPad Mini. A momentary discussion transpires on the pros and cons of both tablets, ending with the acknowledgement there is nowhere in the universe you can get an iPad Mini at the moment (even the Apple Store is out until after Christmas), confirming I've made the right choice.

Then the evil store manager who has overheard the conversation between me and my commission-earning-boy-toy leans in and announces they received six iPad Minis in the morning shipment and have 3 left. A woman who had no business interjecting into my private moment, overhears and immediately stakes claim for two of them. Do the math.

The Mayans have nothing on the whole asteroid theory, because my immediate universe exploded. One iPad Mini left! One! I didn't know I how desperately I needed an iPad Mini until this very moment!

The sparkle in my salesman eyes turned my bones spongy. He reads my thoughts, anticipates my next move, and swoops in (now imagined wearing a body-hugging, if not "enhancing" [can't there be a "Wonder Crotch" in men's underwear it we get them in our bras? It's only fair.] spandex superhero suit, complete with furling cape) heroically staking claim on my behalf of the last remaining iPad Mini. The store manager places the shiny white box on top of my Kindle Fire HD box in front of the throngs of customers who have circled, drooling and green with envy.

Of course where one brain is overworked in a man, the second one suffers blood loss, and my salesman who foolishly believes I'll relinquish custody of the Kindle now that I have the iPad Mini, makes the mistake of reaching for the box, still clenched in my numbing fingers.

His eyes how they twinkle, his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose…about to be bloodied. I clutch both boxes to my chest, which after all the chocolate consumed over years of writing and the holidays packing in more, the "sisters" have become a force unto their own to be reckoned with, daring him to remove it (of course it's buried pretty deep at this point and if he tried, could constitute a felony). The crowd gasps when they realize I'm going to buy both. My inner goddess faints after tallying the final price.

Again, I reaffirm the store's return policy, smile at the clerk who has returned to his normal attire in my head and is happy with my purchases for good cause, and walk out of the store. I pick up cheeseburgers and fries, slip into the garage and make up some lame excuse about traffic causing my delay.

Later I sneak out to the car, retrieve my precious gems and stow them under the bed. At Two A.M. I awake in a cold sweat, slither out of bed and onto my knees. I use my stupid smart phone (another blog in and of itself) as a flashlight, illuminating my extravagant purchase.

What the hell have I done? And how do I choose? Maybe I should keep both? My inner goddess is presently packing her bags because it's become clear I've truly lost my mind. My dilemma has developed complications. Santa may have a heart attack.

So my Christmas elves…thoughts? If you had the choice, which one would go back and which one would find a way into your stocking? Or…are you as evil as I am in deviant thinking and could possibly create a fathomable rationalization to keep both?

Stay tuned—I have four days to decide (or maybe not…).

Merry Christmas my friends!

The Best Is Yet To Come?

WE DIDN'T HAVE A CLUE!

"Grow old with me . . . the best is yet to come."

Tomorrow I celebrate 37 years of marriage to the boy who turned my life upside down in the most wonderful way. He borrowed my binoculars at a Doobie Brother's concert and two weeks later when he cleaned off the top of his chest-of-drawers, he found a telephone number scribbled on the back of the ticket. He braved the call, vaguely remembering the concert (the bottle of Black Velvet he and his roommate shared prior to the concert may have played a part) and confessed later, he couldn't remember what I looked like until he showed up at my front door. When I walked out to his truck, he said it all came back to him. "I remember you had a great ass!" Yep. Out of all the guys I dated who wooed me with roses and even written romantic prose, I picked him! Why? He made me laugh. Our life together has been every bit as unconventional and unpredictable as our chance meeting.





We thought we knew what the hell we were doing...both had great jobs, I just bought a new Camaro, he had an awesome 4-wheel drive truck, we moved into a fantastic apartment (had a gas fireplace!) and we were in lust. Not love. We believed we were, said the words and took the vows, but looking back, we were kids. We had no clue what constituted "true love," but we soon found out.  Yes, we had a couple of great years where our priorities centered solely on each other, but then our daughter was born, followed by the tag team, a miscarriage, and the oops child. It would be at least 25 years later, after a lot of tears, slammed doors, heated words, nights on the sofa, and even the threat of giving up by both of us at different times, before we realized we were truly soul mates. Until you've weathered the heartache of life changes that comes from raising children, economic issues, and health problems together, (and I consider watching the my svelte curves melt into a pear-shaped puddle a major health issue) and yet can still see the sparkle in your beloved's eyes -- set behind thick glasses -- do you really gain the understanding of "love."

GRAMPS HAS THE MAGIC TOUCH

Did I picture this in my head when I stared into hazel eyes as I swore my undying love before a room full of friends of family? Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I knew his teasing smile, the way it made his eyes crinkle, would look the same a hundred years later, and the gentle arms that cradled me when I cried after burning our first dinner, would still be my most favorite place on earth many decades later.

November 21, 1975 - I married my best friend. 

Thirty-seven years later . . . I'm still falling in love.

As we start the celebrations for the "season of thanks," hold tight to those things that bring joy in you life.

LETTER TO WHOMEVER . . .

  

 

     

     Dawn is about to break, the sky turning from lavender to apricot. A few clouds drift overhead, stretched into thin gauzy lines. If I were home, I'd be thinking about all the things I could do with the new day. Stupid stuff like hanging with friends, meeting up for a burger, or maybe load up my dirt bike and check out a new trail or race the old favorite. I'd probably call my girlfriend later, because that's what boyfriends do, and see if she wants to come over to my place, maybe rent a movie we'll halfway watch while we stretch out on my sofa and engage in serious lip lock. Maybe she'd spend the night and we'd have mind-blowing sex before falling into a deep sleep, wrapped in each others' arms…satisfied and in love. Or so we'd both want to believe.

     But I'm not home. I haven't fallen into a deep sleep for over a year, had a decent cheeseburger, or dared believe in the word "love," let alone feel it. The dust I'd taste from a hard motorcycle ride is the only thing that seems to be global, but here, it doesn't have the earthy flavor of the forest or a sunflower field covered in fresh dew. No, here, dust is laced with unmentionable, unforgettable horrors that settle at days end, waiting to be resurrected by a footstep, a gust of wind, or a simple gasp of air when stumbling upon a sight to be forever scored in your memory.

     The letters from home, a steady flow at the beginning, are sporadic. Mom writes, tells me what Dad says and keeps me abreast of family things. The girlfriend? Her words sounded different in the last letter. There's someone else, I sense it, and I'm sure the next letter, if there is one, will be the grand kiss off…"you're a really great guy…what we had was special…I've found someone…take care of yourself…be safe…" all the shit that says "goodbye forever."

     "Forever" isn't something I can afford to believe in anymore, just as I can't hold onto a fantasy life where the girl waits, her heart and body solely yours, and nothing changes. Yeah, some things will be etched in stone, if… —the look of worry always constant in my mother's eyes; my older sister's meddling in my life; the pressure to be a good example for my younger brother; and Dad's expression, words, undecided—neither accepting nor condemning. Maybe after this hell is over, if "ever," there'll be a tone of approval, even pride in the son who vacated the house in a huff at eighteen, slamming the front door hard enough to rattle the windows. A bad night…sad memory—one that haunts my half-awake nights. If I could change anything, it would be that moment. Too bad life doesn't give us "do-overs," only tomorrows filled with regret and the hope for something better.

     "Hope." Another feeling locked in a heart chamber. A dangerous emotion if freed, along with "faith." Empty promises.

     A spider crawls across my leg and I flip it with my fingers, gauging how many feet I propelled the injured arachnid. Six feet is my furthest target. Depends on size and if I've got time to even care. Sometimes a mere brush off works, but most of the time, it's a slam—instant death
.

     "Death." The stench of it reeks in the air. At first, the metallic smell of blood crashed into me like a freight train, bile constantly licking the back of my throat. But now, it's a familiar scent, along with sweat, decay, and other acrid aromas blending into the air filling my lungs, day in…day out. My clothes and skin are stained with the remnants of other lives that no longer exist.

     "Exhausted." I'm always on high alert, every muscle tensed to the point of hot pain by days end, teeth ground down and sensitive from always being clenched, dirt crusted in my ears and around the edges of my nose, the corners of my eyes, and rimming my lips. I learned quickly not to lick my lips. After a day of pushing the nervous system to extreme limits, sometimes, breathing, but most the time not, your mouth is dry, lips cracked and caked with the world around you. Nothing savory, trust me.

     The sun pops over the hills in the distance, a beacon—announcement that the day has begun, the game in play. All things making noise are in motion, the smell of fuel mixing with the faint aroma of weak coffee. Dust curls around me as bodies move through the dirt, shuffling to the required destinations. My back aches from sleeping at odd angles, my elbow raw from leaning on small rocks while I write this—a necessary discomfort.

     Something in my gut tells me I need written proof of my existence today—that I woke, urinated, and consumed my morning rations before swinging my armor clad body into the seat I'll occupy for today's tour. Someone else sat here yesterday. I didn't see them at breakfast.

     The tank starts its slow crawl, the power oozing through each metal screw, rivet, and around the bullet dents, proof the design of the iron shield worked at the moment. Beneath me, I feel the rumble of the enormous treads mashing the ground and the remains of yesterday into the pasty pallid earth. I have to hurry and finish these last words. I can already hear the ear piercing whistles of missiles in the distant, the burnt scent of innocent, and not-so-innocent, lives terminated wafting up my nostrils.

     To my lost girlfriend…be happy. That's all I ever want for you.

     To my sister…love your kids unconditionally. Hug and kiss them everyday, once for me, and tell them how terrific they are, even if you feel like strangling them.

     To my little brother…I don't know if you won the state championship in basketball, but know that the victory isn't what matters. It's the journey in getting there where you'll learn about yourself—what you're made of. Don't let anything anyone says to you ever define you, got that? Praise swells your head, criticism drains your self worth. Be true to yourself and whatever the hell you become, give it your all. I'll kick your ass, otherwise. And be nice to Mom and Dad. They're saints and love you…all of us.

     Mom, you're my first and only true love. You hold my heart and because of you, I have the strength to face today. Thanks for loving me, despite my efforts to change your mind.

     Lastly, Dad…sorry for being such a screw-up those last weeks. I was scared—still am. I've crapped my pants and cried more than when I was an infant. I want to make you proud. I want to be everything you've hung your hopes on…I want to be like you.

     A plume of black smoke blinds me, turning daylight to the darkest night in an instant. My cue to fold this paper into a tiny square and tuck it in the pocket over my heart. Hopefully, tonight I can burn it in the "Dear John" can we ceremoniously turn all the bad shit to ash. 

     If not…

Take a moment during your day, the one filled with all the things you get a choice in doing, and remember those who, while fighting for our freedom, don't have the luxury of choosing how their day may end. Granted, none of us do, but those overseas...far from home, family, and all the things we enjoy at this moment are more likely to find a grim reaper around the corner than you or me. Say a prayer, wish on a star, send a message of hope into the universe that those who lost the battles of old, will stand watch over those fighting the new ones. And to those who have lost loved ones, know that this author is grateful for the sacrifice and will never take for granted the freedoms I have in my life through the loss of theirs.  

Blessed Veteran's Day to all deserving of the title and those who love them.