Tag Archives: finding love

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…long ago…

Long ago in a far away land there was a girl.  She was a rather pretty girl, but she wasn’t so  sure about that.
Still, as time went by, she became more pretty to herself,
and things started paying off. 

Boys flocked for miles around, just for the chance to kneel at her feet and
buy her popcorn. 

Years went by.  Lots of years. 

Then one day, she realized she was old.  Not just older…. Old. 

She remembered those things she’d read, the ones about being an older woman, and how you suddenly become invisible to men.
So she decided to try it out. 

She’s at a bar.  She walks up and stands there.  And stands there. …
and stands some more……Hmmmmm
She raises her eyebrows as she lightly lifts her hand in the air…
(make it soft… non demanding… I know older women can be known as bitches to some).. . and she IS short, after all.   Maybe…..maybe their scans didn’t reach below 5’5…..  Hmm..nope.  Nothin…..
She leans on her elbow, mildly irritated, broadcasting a Toe Tappin’ – Hair Pullin sorta feeling…..
….a ‘bring that bad boy over to me Now’ sort of look …..nope, not the ticket.

Hair toss.  Tilt head and softly smile.     “Um….Helllloooo!?  Can I get a drink?”  ….   Twirl hair, wishing there was gum to pop right now….

How ‘Bout Lean Waaaay in, stick out arm and Grab the Barboy by
one of his appendages …..?

Am I here? she asks herself,  squinting in the mirror  through the bottles….

Hmmmm…guess so. … Guess they were right.  I can see me, but something has happened to those guys’ eyes….

Strange… it wasn’t that long ago that they tripped over eachother to
do her bidding.  It wasn’t that long that there would come knocks at the door with no warning…

Across the crowded room moments…. The Sparkletts water man going into trance over my face moments.   Oh yes, and the time some mysterious fellow  sent drinks over….. while sitting at the far end of the bar….. with his wife….!

What to do?  Not that I’m desperate, not nearly as much as I was when it was so easy.

But it would be nice to have someone to go to the movies with…..
…eat dinner with, cuddle with.
So what does this place offer for someone like me, at this point in life….

Senior Dating! That’s the ticket.  Oh ya… must be a ton of other oldies but goodies,

And I’m so damned clever, I’m bound to attract a few keepers….

So I’ll tell ya…. If nothing else, it’s good for some story telling. 

And so began this little blog of mine…. The one about the Ones that Got Away, Won’t Go away,  Got it Going, or  Wished they could.

 

 


by

…the waiting begins…

After we hung up the phone, I lay in trance momentarily, to come back into my body once more, left for what seemed like an eternity.  Where I had been had no relation to where my corporeal self floated, and there were other people out there in my living room.  Gather it together…..

My good friend D was looking super casual and uninterested… His suit of armor, worn habitually and defensively.  He and I had a long history which included much intimacy, yet he was one of those terrified of real intimacy, real love, and so a show of emotion was forbidden.  Even curiosity meant he might care, and that was one thing he didn’t want to do or show.  That was saved for the few he couldn’t reel in.

The classic Fear of Intimacy embodiment, and I must say I Wondered, as in Being in Wonder, at the Universe and Her sense of timing and humor, for D seldom came out and stayed with me, lovers or not, and to have Alcir call from Brasil on this day was pure and Brilliant Orchestration.

I re-entered my world, and shared a few of the best parts…. The Legion, of course…. And I remember his reaction at the poetry of his words:

“I Love You….and I always Deeed…. And I would not wan’ you to think something different.”  I said it with my best Brasilian accent.  When I got to:

“I’ve never forgotten….. It is not often that a man can find Peace…”,  D feigned falling backwards, stabbing himself in the heart. He absolutely Got it, and it was a most satisfying moment.   To make even more of this magical thing was something I could never have imagined, or even ask for.
D was such an enigma in my life, and for more years than I could have figured, and this was the whipped cream with a cherry on top, of an already overwhelmingly intoxicating dessert.

Many years passed, many phases gone through, so much belief  in that first year, that he would return to me.  I visualized being down at the wharf in a crowd…. smokey scene at the bar, some country western song playing, me behind my second pint, when there… across the room… that face… the voice… eyes locking on mine….

Or how ‘bout walking down Main Street midday, and suddenly from my right, a whistle…. Glance across the street… pause in mid glance… No…. Yes…. What?…. Blurrr……You get the idea.  It was always a movie with him, and by now I’m sure you understand why the movie romance fantasies lingered.  The magic in the timings, the comings and goings of him, of us.         It was an encounter unlike any other… Iconic characters in a dance through time.

To this day, I know we will be together again, although I have let go of even the possibility of continuation in this life.  It will be another, and perhaps then we will have our timing just a little more on spot.  But the magnetic pull lingers, like the taste of bitter coffee, the cream coating tongue for the creamy softening, and to hold it there just a while longer.

By the time he had left the first time, the time when he sat in his truck and we stared so long… by that time I was catching every nuance in music I heard, learning about the role Brasil had played in World Beat and Jazz… falling in love with Djavan, Luis Bonfa, Nascimento, and of course Jobim.

Antonio Carlos Jobim, the untouchable, the delight of Brasil.  They named their International Airport for him.  The author of so many classics that have been heard for more than half a century… ones you would recognize after one phrase,  after three notes, ones heard in elevators, and frequently  background music even now, when the movie gets romantic and sexy.

He, Stan Getz and Joao Gilberto INVENTED the Bossa Nova back in the fifties.

So I was on a mission.  Grok Brasil.  Because I had never met a Brasilian before, and it wasn’t just about Him…. There was a wild and fierce spirit there that I knew I had to understand, because Brasil was something quite different from the world I’d known.  I added the fantasy of someday visiting Brasil, and being shown it by Him.
When we had said Goodbye on that telephone line, our Last words were:
“Maybe I’ll see you in Rio…my Crazy Brasilian!”……… and he answered:
“Maybe I’ll see you in the States, my Looney American!”

There were moments where I felt I was Getting It.  The Music of course was a big one.  When I was in the Brasilian Music Trance, I was touching him, feeling his core self.  My kids got so, whenever Brasilian music came on, they called it “Mom Music”.

But then things would happen…. Like when I was waitressing at a local place, where the Gualala River meets the Sea, with a wonderful view and interesting people.
I met people visiting the famous NorCal Coast, and the notorious Hwy 1, from all over the world.

And the staff always sent me out to deal with the tables full of ‘foreigners’.

I seemed to understand them more easily, as accents didn’t throw me, and sometimes I’d play with them, shooting the accents back.  It was fun, and part of the theater of waiting tables.

I went out to a table of three, up and out of the way in the back, two men and a woman, and quickly realized I was waiting on Brasilians  !!!  oh I was so excited!

The sound of that accent sent me into apoplectic bliss…  They were fun, playful, hilarious, and taught me how to order Beer in Brasil.

Later I realized they had the Carioca dialect…. That’s the name they call Brasilians from Rio …. Cariocas.  And so, there I was, practicing                              “Dois Mais Cervezas, por favor” with my new friends…
“…for when you visit Rio”… they told me.
Turns out, this is a Basic Survival Skill…. Brasil drinks more beer than Any Other Country…!  Ha!

An important part of Rio Portuguese, Carioca, is that you put sssshhhhh sounds in everywhere you can…. Doish maish cerveshas, pooor favooor …. Such a sensual and sexy language, that goes with the people… but in Rio they dial it up just a bit more, your tongue almost Tasting the sounds.

When they were leaving, they threw me a compliment that stayed with me always….

“We’ve beeen eeen the US… (they never say America…as Alcir said, We’re America too..)  “We’ve been in the US for seven months, and you’re the First person we’ve met who is Like a Brasilian!”

Couldn’t get any better than that….
I must be making progress in my quest…

 

 

by

…the cove….

When I think about the Glam House, I remember Good Times.  It was on the Ridge, part of what was called ‘The Banana Belt’ around that NorCal area.  Micro climates were common, and that area had better weather, warmer temps, happier gardens, and in general also had higher prices.  I felt privileged to live there, and so deeply wished I was in the position to buy.         But that was not to be the case.

I asked both my Brasilian, who had property in Tahoe, and also another long term friend, sometime lover, and business partner, and frankly if either had agreed to come up with the down…$50 thou… they could have turned it in five years and we all would have made a bundle…. Five years later it sold for a half Mill…. and later the whole banana.

The asking price at the time I lived there was under 200, more like180, but they needed a big down.  Just like my Point Arena ‘boat house’ creation.  Desperate times, for some reason.  Those who hung in there made a bundle later.
Those who used to sell cosmic crystals, then started studying Massage,
and then moved on to Real Estate…

So meanwhile, I just Loved the place to death.  And that Brasilian, although I must admit I didn’t see much of him, when I did, it was always The Best, and sort of like a movie…How much was Him….How much was Me?  and does it really even matter?

One day he was in town, and drove up in a new car.  He loved this new car, as it was a classic Big Fat Thunderbird…. What we referred to in the islands as a Huna Car… short for Kahuna…. Those powerful shaman of Polynesian persuasion.  Big and Cool and fun.

He drove it up on the lawn, got out the hose, and proceeded to give it a bath, as I watched from upstairs, and put on Sade….

When I went to the Faire on the weekends, he came and watched my house. It was fun knowing he’d been there looking around and touching things, thinking of me.

One afternoon, Lil …then about 9….and I went down to the cove, about the time the divers came in… and believe me, there were women who showed up every afternoon just for that event.  I remember my son hearing about that, and about one particular one who came regularly, and he wondered if it was me, his mom, who was one of those women he’d heard about who waited to greet the divers, because they, indeed, were a special breed of man.…  But no, it wasn’t me, although it turned out to be someone rather close to the family…

Remember the reality show… ‘The Most Dangerous Catch”…?    Well, Alcir had done a couple seasons up there in the frozen seas….  Working the King Crab Boats.  He loved it, craved the excitement and the danger.

So one afternoon, Lil and I went down to the cove to have some fish and chips.  Now the cove was an experience in itself, and let me briefly describe the scene.  This place had been there forever, down a winding road leading to the cove, which is one of the oldest coves on the northern California coast… one of the few safe harbors for hundreds, maybe more, years… lots of history, lots of ghosts.

When friends came to visit, one place to take them was there, for that was the true old point arena.  It was a ramshackled place, run by an older Greek woman, with the numbers on her arm.  Sophie was tough, and could run out the biggest and the drunkest, all Four Foot Ten of her.  Late at night, if she was in the mood, and you were lucky, she’d put on a Greek tune on the box, get out her hanky, and do the dance with one of the locals.  What a show.

The regulars, unwashed and already into their cups, sliding off their barstools, the fishermen, telling tales, and into their cups, and the locals, who consisted of old hippies, descendants of old families, and spawn of combinations of all.  Always different, always the same…

So we are there ordering the fish and chips, which actually were quite good, and quite fresh… and along comes Mr Brasil… he’s all up from being out on his favorite location, and enduring adventures, and he briefly sits down, and does the jolly talkative nervous chatter.  I was feeling quite calm, quite yummy actually, and just did a lot of smiling.  He left rather quickly, and I felt sorta sad, realizing that he was nervous.                                     He didn’t quite know where he fit yet…

Then a while later, as we went out to view the view… so sweet, gotta tell ya…. Of the old pier and the rocks, the surf rolling softly along the shore… and there was big Alcir.

“So… would you like me to find you some deeener?”

How cute is that?  My warrior going out to catch our dinner….

So he did just that.  He sat me up on the hood of his big Huna Car, stereo pumping rock’n’roll thru the hood and into my netherplaces, whilst he put on his fins and mask, wet suit and knife, and proceeded to walk out into that frigid water and down into the deep.

The Primal Feels were enormous. He had a sort of floating basket, and I saw him come up, and go down…. Come up and go down.  It didn’t take him long to get his limit…

Soon he was done, and the warrior in his suit of armor marched up to show me his winnings.  Four Abalones and a couple Perch… which he called “Porch”….

“So”, he began…”I could come over later, and show you how we cook these theeeengs een my coentry”

“Oh, OK… great”  I answered, giving my best blase.

Another time, the divers had been out en mass, and there he was, displaying his wares, out in the parking lot, with the rest of the fellows…

I still felt shy, like some little Japanese girl with a fan or something, eyes downcast, smiling to myself, feeling that I’d gotten my own good catch…

And as he turned over the Abs and other fare, he began peeling off his wetsuit…. A sexual dance unto itself….and talking about his day.    I couldn’t help but be caught up in the display of not yet dead creatures.  I had never seen an abalone still alive, although I’d eaten my share.

As I stroked their smooth and undulating Snaily selves, still alive and glistening with colors and slime, I was feeling their sad surrender to their fate.           They were quite beautiful, and I said so…

“Oh, they’re so beautiful…” and tears almost welled up…

“What are you doing?  Hypnotizing them, before I Keeeel them?”  the word Keeel was emphasized with teeth and nuance.

“Yes, sort of…” I said, and he smiled his best Pirate grin.

It was odd.  I loved his Pirate, and he loved my Hippie.

 

 

by

…a few weeks of bliss…

Over the next few weeks, he would call every two or three days.  I liked that.  He wasn’t oppressive and demanding, nor was he showing insecurities, which I hate…. he left me space.  And he didn’t leave me hanging during these times… it was rather a perfect start.

And I might add, he never failed to deliver in that interpersonal realm, definitely making up a thousand times for that first funny “bad impression of Brasilians” … I had thought he was a bit boyish, and he was in ways… but believe me when I say he was one of the most wonderful and most Present lovers I’ve ever experienced.   And his skin was electric…  He told me that divers are the cleanest, because of all the salt water, and how many times they rinse off each day.  But it was more than that.  The energy coming off of him in those times was in big wide swaths, like he was on fire from the very center of his soul.

The phone rang.

“Hello..?”

“Heellooo…”  deep voice… I know that voice…….“So…… how Are you?”

“Oh… the wind is making me Restless and Bored …”

“Reeelly?  Can I come over an take advantage of that?”

(soft snickers on both ends…)

“oh I suppose…”

“gooooood.  I’ll be there…”

…..and he’d hop on his bicycle and peddle the short half mile along the ridge road to my house.   He was camping at a friend’s house just up the road.

How cute, I thought.  This manly man, this worldly cultured man, hoping on a bicycle to come visit me.  He was quite winsome.

Once I looked out to see him surfing the top of his buddy’s white van as it drove in.  Surfing it all along the bumpy and unkempt little road from the street to my front door, past the little pond, past the cabin where my son lived, and up the drive to be delivered at my door…. Like fresh milk, or the daily news or the most delicious meal, cooked to perfection and just for me.

Our times alone were pure magic.  Years later, he would tell me he was mesmerized.  Great word, mesmerized.  It comes from a magician, or hypnotist or something,  named Mesmer, I’m pretty sure….

And I… I was swept away.  He pleased my eye so, this artist was enchanted by beauty, intrigued by his wit, and searching for the truth of just who this being could be.

He loved Opus and Bill the Cat.  He said he was voting for Opus for President.  He would sit reading the paper, and mumble to himself about the news from home.

“Stupid fucking Brasilians” he would curse.  “ they deserve everything they get”.   He was furious, the way they dealt with the rainforest, the Indigenous tribes, the natural resources of that most gorgeous country.

He loved “Monthy Pyton”, and I would laugh and gently correct him.  He always had a hard time with that difference, the T and the Th.  But it was endearing, and sometimes I’d tease him, calling out “Lucy….. I’m Home!….”.

Then came a time where I hadn’t seen or heard from him in days, which was unusual.  I had his number in Tahoe, and one night with great trepidation, I dialed the number.

A woman answered … the one he called “the woman who lives in my house”…

“Is Alcir there?”

She called him to the phone.

“Oh, you’ve made a woman here very unhappy” he scolded.

“Oh I’m so sorry.  I shouldn’t have called.”

“No no, it’s alright.  I’m just going to be here for a while…”

Short and sweet, uncomfortable and strange… I hung up.

I had known he had someone in Tahoe.  Not much else.  I justified everything by the notion that he couldn’t be That happy there, if what was going on here was going on…

I remember the second or third time we were together, when we came back down to earth, and he sat up abruptly, and said “Oh noooo, I cannt Dooo theeees.  I leeeve weeth someone. “

“I know”,  I replied.  “Are you in love with her?”

“I don know….…I don know” he trailed off.

“Well, you’re here now” and I shrugged.  He looked long and hard at me.

And then he dressed and left to dive.

And right around that same time, early on, and I’m not counting that first time when he snuck into my bed like the bandido he was, …. As was our way, we went into another reality, our world where there was no time, no ground, no division between us.  It was truly mystical… and then he sat up quickly.

“Oh Nooo”….. he shook his head, his hands like they were holding it on.

“I deeed not know eet would bee like theees…” his voice soft and a bit lost, his head slowly moving from side to side.

“I did” I replied. “that’s why I kept you away for that week”

“Reeeely?”

“Yes….”    For from the first, I knew that once I stepped off that cliff, it would never be the same for me.

When he came to retrieve his things once more, and it was funny, for he always seemed to leave something to come back for….I walked into my studio and as I began to ascend the ladder, I asked how he was doing…

“Oh much better now” he grinned, looking up, and as I glanced back, I understood the wicked pleasure in his smile.

Once when we were making love, and he was above me, staring into my eyes as he so often did, his body stroking mine in every way possible, words came from his lips in a soft dark voice…

“Oh, yooo’re a Gooooood Wooooman………. What am I going to doooo weeth you?”

”You’ll think of something…” I whispered.

I loved my house.  It was my hippie haven, with little rooms here and there, places to sit outside, decks and landings.  Handmade, pieced together, I didn’t care.  I truly loved it.  It was a sculpture that took form over many years with many owners, and it resonnated with my lifestyle.  There came a time, as often did in my renter’s life, that the owner wanted, needed to sell.   It had been on the market for many months, but nothing had really taken shape.  Now the owner took charge, and as it turned out, took charge of my Life.  There was one time that I Really hated my status as a single self employed mother, and wished there was a Man behind me when I spoke with the owner man guy.

His situation was desperate I guess, and so much so that he and his family came out from Colorado and asked me to leave while they Lived there (yes!…can you believe it?) and proceeded to sell it themselves.  It was Terrible.

My girls and my animals and I all had to camp around during that week, I couldn’t get any work done in my studio, and I was Sure he wouldn’t sell it…….. but he did.  It was devastating.  He and his family really never acknowledged what they put me through, and after that, I had a month to move out.

Rentals were hard to find, especially for a single woman with children and animals, and self employed to top it off.  I was part timing at St Orres, a glamorous inn and restaurant on a hill of Hwy 1.  with panoramic ocean views and the best food… but still, I lived precariously.

To add even more stress, it was Renaissance Faire time, and right now I have no idea how I managed to accomplish it all.  The Faire means Three Months of weekends, building a booth, studying Renaissance lingo and costumes…they kept changing the rules every year…. and Making Stuff to Sell.  It tires me just remembering …  but somehow I found a Wonderful, but very different house, and the owner was a woman…. a single woman!  Yeah!… and she decided she’d let me rent it.  I remember arriving at my faire booth and calling out to my faire partner….”I got it!  I got my house!”  and we did a happy dance.

And What a house.  I called it my Glam House.  Somehow I knew I wouldn’t be there a long time, but I decided I would enjoy it while I could.

Get this:  Five Levels.  Two master bedrooms with bath.  Three smaller bedrooms… and they left me a Huge couch that wrapped around one corner of the level with windows and a big screen TV… big for then anyway.  The entire house was wall to wall carpets… Shelves for books, window views, Two Acres which had a lot of woods, and even a large …no Super large aluminum shed/workshop thing that could have eventually been rented out to someone as well.  The kitchen was super, and the lower deck… there were several… had a hot tub that could easily handle a party of twelve.   Oh yes, and an attached single car garage to use as a studio.  All for $600 a month… unbelievable, No?  …..this was 1986.

I was sad to leave my little boat house, that had cradled and nourished and protected me for three years, and the last day crept quickly near.  Then it was the last night.  I recall a thought blurting out from my brain, erupting without hindrance… oh if only I had someone here to share my last night with.  If only He was here.  But it seemed too much to ask.

He’d been gone for several weeks, and I can’t remember if it was because of the urchin season… they had breaks that they had to abide by… or his business in Tahoe, which I never really understood… something about a snow cleaning business….but anyway, he was gone.

My girls and I were in the far end, the bedroom with bath that had been my oldest daughters room, before she left for college.  We were watching TV, I was on the floor enveloped in a bean bag chair, the same sucking me in to the netherlands of the floor, sinking me down, cradling me in soft surrender….and very mellow from eats and wine…

A knock came…

Piney went to the door, and then rushed back to me.

“Mom! Mom!! Oh my god mom…. You’ll never guess who’s here!  Get up, Get up!”  and I remember groaning and slowly rolling off that beanbag world, wishing I could just stay there forever, I was so tired.

I literally crawled to the doorway, with a clear view to the entry way.  And who stood there, hands on hips, in his bright green BARBADOS SWIM TEAM sweatshirt, Varnet sunglasses and a big fat grin…

I swear, I was awake and up and over to him, and I began punching his  shoulder, yelling…

“I don’t know whether to kiss you or kill you”, …..and then falling into his arms.

It was always like that.  The joy always overcame the frustrating and unpredictable side of him that drove me mad.

He walked to the open door, hung off the railing and called to his diving buddy in the van….

“See?  She’s happy to see me!  Jest looook at dat smile…” and drew me close.  We were both grinning from ear to ear…

The next day, knowing I was moving, he left to dive, and said he’d be back to help.  And he was.  Along with several friends with trucks and hands, we managed to cart out almost everything of mine, and drop it into the next house.

When he saw the new house, he took a deep breath.

“You do VooDoo?  How deeed you fine this house?   You dooo voodoo for meee…. I wan a meeelion doelars… eeets worth ten pearcent, an a month in Montecarlo”

“OK…!  I can do some visualizations…”

“It’s a good thing you showed up when you did…. you wouldn’t have known where I was!” I chided…

“Naaaaa…. I’d have found you” he scoffed, and it pleased me to no end, the way his confidence created confidence.

Long time later, when I reminded him of his offer, he laughed out loud and told me…

“Ha! Ten Pearcent?  No way!!  I might as well just maaaarry you…”

The next couple days, I settled in, and he came over to help get that hot tub started.  Oh, he couldn’t wait.  He walked out onto the deck, which had to be 5 feet off the ground, took hold of top of the over 3 feet tall railing, and in one perfect movement, went over it, landing on the ground below… like a cat.  He looked up briefly, just to make sure I had been watching, then proceeded to check everything, reset the motor, and get it going.

And oh my, did we enjoy that hot tub.  It was simply amazing, under the stars, slow swims across, melting together in the middle of nothing but us, nothing but our breath, our bodies…..and our hearts.

 

 

by

…the night …

I remember that night, the one I’ve promised to tell you about, like the movie that it was.  How many times I replayed it, I cannot tell, but it was truly one worth re-viewing.

So, you remember it was the Fourth of July, 1985.  We had briefly seen eachother along the parade route, Main Street Point Arena.  He had given me the Latin Stare across the small town road, and I’d invited him with the gesture of a lighter needed.   Later, up at Bower Park, I was singing with a Blues Band, along with Gary Bloom and Barry Bastian (then known as Abdul), and John Scott on base.  I was good that day, and felt in my element, very hot, and really enjoying the crowd of my beloved locals who always looked forward to the yearly happening.
Interestingly enough to me later… I did a solo of a Sade tune….
“Smooth Operator”…… and sometimes it felt pretty right on, Mr Souza.

I always worked the Oyster Bar with John Scott, my long time buddy, and had been given the title of Oyster Brother, one not easily won for a girl, amongst the boys… I dined on oysters, drank micro brew beers, and felt so at home with my neighbors.  Absolutely delightful and blissed out.

I remember seeing him once or twice, amongst the crowd that meandered around the woods and open lands of the park, and even once when I was dancing.  He was always in the background, fleetingly, and  always watching.

That evening, I took my two girls Piney and Lily, then 13 and 9, down to Schooner Gulch, and as we sat on that big log watching the smoke and sparks rise into the sky and blend with the stars…. and as the fireworks shot out over the ocean, blending with the sparks and the stars…..you might remember that that voice came over my left shoulder, that fellow from Brasil joined us on the log, and he revealed the sadness that would capture my imagination, and later my heart.

What is it about the sad hero, the gladiator who realizes he’s not quite received as the hero he thought he’d be as a boy?  This man had grown up reading all the classics, and his heart was one who knew he could send himself forward, sword in hand, capture the maiden, tame the beast, and arrive safely at a home where rewards and repast reassured him that he, indeed, had done the right thing, followed the path that he alone was meant to walk, and in the end it would lead to Everafter.   He was Built for it, blessed with the talents and physical blessings that would enable him to fulfill his Destiny.

Ah… but not so for every hero, or even for a few, not so for every brave gladiator.  Not so for the brave and beautiful, for LIFE has a way of stepping in and letting us know that it is not Simple but Complex…. it is not Foretold, but proceeds on its own path, and none can predict the outcome of the life we lead.

So…. on to what you are all waiting for, I’m sure.  The WHAT ?… after I suggested that he come over… after I put the girls to sleep…. oh you wonder, do you?   Hmmmm?….. And so did I….

I only remember the thrill, the terror, the excitement.  I put the girls down, probably changed into something yummy, although now I do not remember just what.  And I waited…. but not for long.

And then he was there, at the door.  What can I say about his energy…?  He was like no one I’ve ever met, before or since.  His energy field was large, full of sound and furry, and definitely signifying stuff that I’d never known, but wanted to know, to understand.  I didn’t know how much of the longing I felt was because he was from another world… Brasil… and how much was because the life he’d lead was so completely different from the one I’d chosen, and it was very much Opposites Attracting from both sides…. and yet, we truly met on so many levels of understanding and taste.

I know we were both high from chemistry, from drink, and from the greenery we shared.  We never got to the upstairs loft of my bed, at least not for the first meeting.  I only remember the complete and utter surrender I felt, and the swept away feeling that overcame all fear, all doubt, and time itself.  Yes, time became meaningless, and the Fourth of July was omnipresent inside and out.   Skyrockets is putting it mildly.   I remember laughing as we tumbled off the couch onto the rug….

Somehow we woke up in the loft, he leaving at dawn to go dive for urchins.   He sat up quickly, as that was the way he awoke in those days.  Startled awake, no pause for the re-entry, ready for the challenges of the day.   I have no recollection of what was said, I only know that my mind was completely burned, swirling, confused and delighted, all at the same time.  He left, and I was glad, for there was no way we could look directly at what had just occurred.  He was off to conquer the sea and plunder its treasures.

Later that day, in the early afternoon, he appeared at my door to retrieve his wallet.   Aaaaahh! The moment was brief and charged with sparks across the ethers.   He said he’d call me….   and of course I had gone through his wallet, you silly.  Wouldn’t you?   Alcir bla bla bla de Souza.  born February 14th, Rio de Janeiro.  (oh great… Valentine’s Day….) …several cards from those he’d met.  Not much of anything else, not much money.  But nice wallet.    It was funny, because the first time he’d left his beloved divers’ watch, and now his wallet….

“When you leave things, it just means you want to come back”,  I told him later…..

It was the next day that he called and he returned, and from then on  he called pretty much every other day.  We seldom talked about US.   We were each equally swept away, and for those times, there was nothing to say about the experience that this clash of souls had created.

It quickly became the center of my universe…..

 

 

by

…..the youngers…..

So, a while back, I was exploring the whole issue of age, as it relates to women, and relationships in general.  As you likely have heard more than once, I have ‘dated’ younger men for long long time now, and have always felt more appropriately matched with guys who are not only cuter and more fun, but just endowed with more energy, and are in general more flexible and hip.

I know…. Men my age have commented that they “know why you like younger guys”, and well, yes, they are healthier and more virile, more spontaneous in lots of enjoyable ways, but believe it or not that’s not actually the primary reason.  It helps, but the number one reason is…. They challenge me.  They lighten me up, make me laugh, they are Fun…. and frequently very good dancers!  They are just a little ahead of me in some ways, in those ways that the youngers have, so in some ways they are in the lead.  Of course I have my wisdom and experience, and although sometimes that can be a big heavy drag, in general the balances have been great.

Pan down a few years.  Back in 2005-2006, I spent time in Brasil, living with this fellow who I had met in 1987….i know, crazy huh?  At that time, it was the Gold Rush on the coast for Urchins.  People told me Urchin Divers were the wildest most dare devil guys, and so I wanted to meet one.  This one was brought to my house by a friend, and the rest is a book.

Well he was wild, and I was crazy, and somehow it reappeared in my life all these years later, thanks to the internet (there we go again), and off I went to Brasil, some place I had wanted to see for a long long time.  And not Just because of Alcir, who was undeniably The most outrageous, crazy, brilliant, funny and gorgeous wild man, but also because the spirit of those people as expressed in their varied music, as well as Carnaval…have you Ever Really seen Brasilian Carnaval?  It will Melt your Mind….  Brasilians are wild, primal, animal, funny… they dance with abandonment, and live life to its fullest.

Well Brasil just captured my heart and soul.  And so as we frequently do, I created this opportunity to see the place with a native, and hang with this devastating fellow once again.   Lucky for me, he had fallen for me big time too, as the chemistry was instant and insane.

Oh, just the accent, his voice on the phone, and I was on my way.  If you combine the sexy suave of Antonio Banderos with the dark depth of edginess of Benicio del Toro, and throw in some warm and charming Javier Bardem, embellished with that Brasilian accent, which is likely the sexiest language on the planet, well, you have some idea of what I was dealing with.  Really….            It was bad.

So after the two years of back and forth, fortunes on the phone, ups and downs nonstop… did I mention he was bi polar, ADHD with a gigantic IQ, a heavy drinker heading towards alcoholism, with a history of being a Revolutionary in the seventies, sailing around the horn by himself on a 30 ft boat to escape prison, because of his Revolutionary acts, and…. Joining the French Foreign Legion after we’d first met, and parted back in the eighties… no, Really…..

He was a member of the most exclusive group in the Legion,  2nd Regiment, the High Altitude Parachutists…  they drop in so high they wear oxygen masks…. And perform secret ops missions.  He told me once that one of their missions was for his group of six to drop in on Baghdad, and take out someone very high up.  They knew at that moment, exactly where he was, and they got within 200 yards of him…. when the mission was called off.   Who did he almost kill?  Because he would have been the one to finalize… he was known for the perfect shot.  It was Saddam Hussein.  No, Really….  He was very disappointed.

So I digress.  He was bigger than life, completely brilliant and completely mad.  I came home, and since then have not been with anyone.  I just couldn’t do the Alcir thing anymore, as he was a full time job.  Lots of excitement, lots of laughs, and lots of Tsouris.  That’s Yiddish for Trouble.  Unbelievable what he could get himself into.      One night he was out for maybe 12 hours…. This was a regular occurance, his leaving for hours and leaving me locked in at home.  “I’ll be back”  he’d say.  Well, it is Rio, and I have blue eyes and don’t speak Portuguese much.  But, it’s a man’s world there, and they all go to the bars and drink.  A Lot.

So one night at 2 in the morning, he’s scratching at the door, drunk off his ass….. it’s summer, and the barred windows are open, and I yell something angry at him while he’s being winsome and pitiful…all six foot kick ass of him, and whining “noooo…. Baaaby… noooo…. Let me eeeenn….. noooo, reeeeeally…nooo… you don understan….. I got run over by a busss…..  I called him Desi sometimes…..”Luuucyyyyy… i’m Hooooome…”

All I could do was shake my head, starting to laugh because he was sooo funny, let him in of course, and listen while he tells me the whole story … the car broke down…. He borrowed a bike….. and somehow a bus knocked over the bike with him on it and, strattling him, went all the way over him.

He had some bangs and bruises for a week…. the borrowed bike was toast.

This sort of thing happened all the time.  He loved it.  He craved it.   What can you do after the Legion?

Women called him all the time.  Angry Brasilian women can be very scarey….  “Haalllooo?  Eeees Alceeeerrr…”(that rrr has a sound at the end like you’re clearing your throat of phlem… and she did it with angry emphasis)  “…there?“

He used to tell me that I’d Never find anyone like him.  Oh yes, I know, I’d say.

“You’ll be sorry,’  he’d say.  ‘you’ll be just like them, calling me and begging…”

“Never..”  I said.  And I didn’t.  I just said NO, can’t come back, and left.

So what’s this all to do with now?   Well, somehow I want to get back on the train, and can’t.  I have somehow passed over the line here, and younger men, at least so far, seem to have moved on to younger women, not older.

It was funny, but I was enjoying the whole Demi and Ashton thing for a long time….

See?  I’d say to myself.  It Can work…. Susan Sarandon worked it out with Tim Robbins, and it lasted a long time, even had kids.  And there have been others.  How bout how Yoko made John get his shit together?  To all of our benefit… They had at least a 10 year spread.  They each brought something different to the table that the other one needed.   Granted they are the exception, but they do exist.

So now the great Demi and Ashton are history.  And Why?  Look at her… she’s great.  She’s thin and beautiful, ageless, works on herself, bought him acting lessons, and he made her happy…. They laughed a lot, and looked great together…

What happened?  He grew into his own, and then…. The Options hit.  He’s now in his prime, the girls must be Throwing themselves at him, he has this new TV contract, and may actually be taken seriously at last… and I bet he has More Options than he can deal with.

I read an article a while back and it really illustrates the Cultural Bias that has existed, and still exists within our world.  If you top that with what they are calling statistics, well seems that the older men get, they younger they go for…. Their Options increase, and well, lots of women are looking for someone to take care of them, adore them, give them stability after being with crazy young men, and goodness knows there are tons of older guys out there, tossed out of marriages everywhere.

That’s what my Brasilian did.  After years of telling me we were made for eachother, that he would be alone if I left him, that I needed to stay and help him get it together…. What did he do within oh, maybe 3 months?  He got together with a very young, blonde and beautiful Norweigan woman who was part of the crew of the 300 foot ship he was Captaining….. and they left for Norway, where I’m sure she was rich, and certainly madly in love with this most charming, disarming man.  A year later he was writing sad poetry ….. Ah, but I digress once again….

This site I was on for 6 months…. Full of sad and lonely older men.   Those considerably older men were all over me… I really believe men of that generation think that is The Way it’s Supposed to be…. No matter what their condition is in this moment.

I don’t think they Think they are looking for someone to take care of them, but in the end that is how it ends up.  And there were more interesting ones, ones that still looked like they were healthy and interesting fellows, but as I discovered, they weren’t interested in older women, even ones that were still healthy and attractive….like me?  They were looking for younger and younger ones, as time went by for them.  Many of them will start over with new families, and then kick it, and those young wives will be set for life.

One of the statistics noted that these types of marriages didn’t end a lot in divorce…. Well?  Likely that’s because the guy died… and they even noted that near the end of the article that I angrily analyzed.

Unfortunately for these fabulous women in our world, the ones who’ve taken care of themselves, their children and their husbands while they all were growing up… while he tested out his appeal at the office or the club…. While he engrossed himself mindlessly in his work or obsessions… ignoring family, love life and learning to relate…. She was there doing the chick stuff, and possibly even earning money too, as I did for both my marriages…. So what happens when she’s had enough, and kicks his sorry ass out?

Just like Ashton, he moves out, and into Options that he will have til he dies.

Men as they age, get “Distinguished”.  They are more stable, the testosterone is diminishing, they become more tender, full of regret at the things they did and didn’t do while they were busy being boys, and start anew, each decade going for younger and younger girls.

Yes, statistics folks…..

Next time, I’ll share some of those statistics with you, and also what my opinion is of just Why this is.  Ah yes, it’s an interesting world…. Don’t you just Love that word?