Day 205: What my Husband Hears

What my Husband Hears (aka: Why my Husband is a Saint)

Words I spoke today during our time together. Mostly on our walk through the forest. 

1. Do you think I look slutty? Are you sure? Do other women dress like this? Is this shirt too tight? I don’t think I should wear this shirt in public? Does it make me look fat? How do you know I don’t look slutty?

2. Look at my eye again. In the light. Can you see the pink in my eye? Does it look better? Are you sure? How do you know it is better? What if it gets worse. I think it feels better. Do you think my eye will be okay? Can you see the dry skin in the corner? What do you think it is? Look closer!

3. I am taking so many photos. Thank you for being patient. This is more of a leisure walk. We are stopping a lot. I’ll have to walk more later around the lake. I haven’t walked in two days. These shorts are too big. You are right. I should buy some new shorts today. I wonder if I am a size four yet. These are too baggy. Yes, they are too baggy.

4. Take a photo here. Oh, stop here. Oh, look there. Oh, look at that tree. Oh my, look at that. Oh, look, look! Look up. Look at the spider web. Look at the water. Take one of me from uphill. I look better if you stand uphill. Not so much of my chest. You are showing too much of my chest. How do I look? Do I look okay? Can you tell my eye is pink?

5. I ate too much caffeine. I had that tea, and chocolate bar, and the chocolate gluten-free cake. Feel my heartbeat. Is it beating too fast? Are you sure it’s not? I think it’s too fast. I’m okay, right? Feel here. I need to rest. I am tired. It’s so fast. I have to stop here and catch my breath. This walk is not enough to burn off all the calories from the cake.

6. Oh, we should go this way, and when we get to the fork in the path then we’ll need to go up and to the right; otherwise we will end up on the wrong street. These maps are not designed well. We are educated and intelligent people, and we can’t even figure these signs out! How are other people who aren’t as smart supposed to figure them out? I don’t mean that we are smarter than everyone. Well, you know what I mean. Maybe we should turn and go the other way. What do you think? …..I told you this was the wrong way!

7. Are you staring at my butt and smiling. I can feel you smiling behind me and staring at my butt. You are staring at my butt. And you are picturing grabbing it. I can see you. I am psychic, you know. This proves it. You are staring, aren’t you?

8. Oh, it’s a little Toto dog. How cute. Look at that Toto dog. Oh, he is so cute. Did you see that little dog?

9. I think I would like to have relations with a ninety year old man to give him his dying wish. Is that wrong to feel that way? To want to fulfill a man’s dying wish like that? It doesn’t feel wrong. But maybe it is.

10. You know if you cheated on me, I would forgive you. It would be okay. I know it would only be out of lust, because I know I am sweet and you will not find anyone as sweet and kind as me. So I know it would only be a physical thing. And by me saying this, it will probably make you less likely to cheat, because part of the reason men do cheat is because it is a no-no and forbidden, and you are not supposed to. So, really, since I’m giving you permission, it takes the danger element out of it. But if by me saying this to you makes you want to cheat more, then I take it back. You don’t want to cheat on me now because I said that, do you? Should I take it back?

11. So there are different types of men I am noticing. There are married men who stare and I think oh they are thinking they don’t want to be with their wife and are sad, and they wish they were with another woman. But then there are men who look, but love their wives, and want to be with their wives, but they cannot help but look at other women. You’re a man. All men look, right? And I understand if you have to look. All men look at other women, don’t they? You look, and that’s okay, but you do it in a sly careful way. Some men aren’t careful, and that would be hard. But if I was ever single, I would never meet the type of man I am attracted to. Because I’m not attracted to the men that stare in an obvious way. I’m attracted to the men who don’t look, or look really fast, and I would never know they were looking at me; so how would I ever know they liked me? You see it would be hard for me, because I like the shy guy who is a little insecure and doesn’t know he is handsome, and those are the type that would never approach me.

12. What’s your type of woman? Is that your type? How about her? You like women who are more like me, now, right? Before you liked tall and blonde. But not anymore. Do you know which of your friends I used to be most attracted to? Do you know why? No, not him. He is not my type at all.

13. If I die this is where I want you to spread my ashes. Right under this tree. Right here. Remember, okay. Here or Mt. Rainier. But this is much closer to home. Don’t you think? This would be a good place. This is just as pretty as Mt. Rainier and that is a wonderful tree.

14. I used to date the most handsome men, and it was so difficult. I would never do that again. They were handsome but not very smart, and I’d walk in a room and all eyes would be on them. And people would come up to me and say how handsome they were. And I knew those guys cheated. They had all theses chances. It’s no good dating a man like that. No good at all. Don’t you agree?

15. Oh, you are a good catch. As you get older, you out shine more and more of the men that are getting old like you. You are aging well, and they aren’t.

16. I’ve loved you through thick and thin. Mostly thick. Except for those two months you paid all that money to lose that weight. Other than that, mostly thick.

 I didn’t know my husband was taking the photo. The trunk of the tree was so lovely.

I took a photo of this trail. Then my husband did. His photo was much better. He won the contest between us. I told him my photo would be better. I was wrong. The photo below was not taken from uphill. Still not too bad. And you can’t tell I have a cold in my eye. Or can you?

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(This post was originally marked day 125….that’s my mistake…from a combo of after midnight, dyslexia, and too much caffeine. It’s day 205. No way am I going back 80 days!)

Day 195: Where I Stand Naked

One un-deep thought by Sam Craft: “I had such a good hair day yesterday, I just don’t know how I can live up to that today.”

And now the deep:

My fixations consume me. They bring me to a place that no one else can reach or touch. A place I feel safe and not vulnerable: a place of discovery, of grand interest, of dreams, of dynamite thoughts and imaginings, of newness and possibilities. My fixation is like a light switch to me. With my intense focus, I am able to turn off the rest of the world—particularly the problems and woes. I can at last breathe in and stop fretting.

For the most part, when I have an intense focus I feel alive and with purpose. There seems to be a reason for living. When I do not have a fixation, I feel lost and unprepared for the day. My special interest is like a backpack filled with vital life supplies for me.

Trouble is, eventually, about every three to five months, my fixation/special interest switches. Just out of the blue. Bam! I wake up, and the fixation is entirely gone. Wiped clean. Think window cleaner to bathroom mirror. One swipe and the toothpaste splatters that you’ve been staring at for ages are gone. And you wonder why you stared at those splatters for so long! Unless you are anal and wipe your mirror everyday…which is so not me.

With the clean wipe, every bit of desire and hunger to learn or study or explore the topic is gone. It’s like a thief in the night came and stole my impulse.

I’ve gotten to the point now that when a fixation starts, I can step back, outside myself, look at the calendar, and track pretty much exactly when the fixation will leave.

This tendency to fixate made relationships with men when I was younger rather difficult. I’d have a giant crush on someone. Hugely so. Bleed out poetry and breathe lust filled thoughts, and then wake up to discover (usually after winning a guy over) that I truly didn’t even like the person. Then the challenge began, as I was so desperate to not be alone, that I’d stay with the guy even though they now gave me the creeps. Nothing like kissing a guy who makes you cringe.

Since being married my fixations are typically not other men, which I’m sure my spouse is relieved to know.  However the fixations are still there, and strong as ever. I move through interests like one might move through fad diets. One month this, three months later that. The funny thing is, that each time a new fixation comes, I think: This is the one! This is what I’ve been waiting for. Kind of like I did with men.

Truth be told, my latest fixation was blogging. And wouldn’t you know it, about five months have passed, and I woke up yesterday with this void and lack of desire to post. A new fixation has taken over. That of walking and photography. And the old fixation, that of blogging, has ended up in a pile with some of my other past interests: Farmville, slickdeals.net. I’d like to add cleaning to the list…to put it in a pile, too. But cleaning has rarely been a fixation for more than a day, and that’s typically when the house is so dang messy, I have to clean to breathe.

Last year my fixations included reading over a hundred spiritual books, Buddhist studies and retreats, turning a room in our house into an office for my spiritual coaching business, planning retreats, and studying techniques for spiritual readings. I lived and breathed spirituality. Until I woke up in late May of last year and the fixation was entirely gone. Presto…Emptied of all desire. Then I switched to getting a degree in counseling. And that became my fixation. In my first college course, I read twice the required readings, and delved into every project, spending ten hours on an assignment, when clearly one hour would have been adequate. The counseling fixation ended in February. And then the door opened to blogging. Blogging was like a whirlpool that I gladly leaped into. And now I find myself, just coming up for air, and standing on the shoreline all sopping wet and confused.

I don’t want to blog anymore. The desire is gone. The fixation vanished. And I think my swimsuit is still in the whirlpool. So I stand naked, confused, and unaware of just where the heck I’ve been, or at least where my brain has been for the last four-plus months.

Odd sensation. I explain some of this feeling of emerging from a special interest in this well-read post

And so today, I am sharing where I stand naked—on this shore utterly perplexed and baffled, finding myself once again in awe of how I am consumed in something, and then seemingly spat out by the vortex and set back on my feet, only to wonder where the heck I’ve been.

The good news is, with my new current fixation of walking and photography, you are bound to see more photos of the great northwest than you ever signed up for. And, of course, photos of my good hair days!

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*** I am still going to blog…just not everyday.

And music isn’t a fixation; it’s a way of life. So that shall always be, as my love for you!

Day 194: Treasured Images

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I took the images at the 625-acre Mima Mounds Natural Area Preserve in Washington, USA. Soils formed as glaciers melted about 11,000 years ago. This site protects native ecosystems and rare plants and animals. There are many theories about how the mounds of earth formed. My favorite is the giant gopher theory!

This is an interesting video about the mounds:

and laughing…here’s what it looks like MOST of the year:

Images 

I imagine your voice as the sea alive in the deep night
A rhythmic strength, a moonlight lullaby
I imagine your presence the solid branch set across clear stream
A place to cross over, a passageway to the other side
I imagine your taste the ripe fruit cleansed and divided whole
A sugar to tongue, a craving reborn
I imagine your chest the mossy grass of midsummer
A softness to palm, a tingle to my skin
I imagine your hands the breeze through the evergreen of cedar
A visiting ebb, a caress between limbs
I imagine your lips the cotton candy of youth
A melting satisfaction, a spiral of sweetness
I imagine your soul the wings of the monarch
A flawless design, a freedom to flight
I imagine your movement the rapids over boulder
A cleansing crush, a cool rush of nature
I imagine your image the reflection in still pond
A mirror to myself, a partner to my imagining

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Samantha Craft, August 2012

Day 192: A Walk with Light and Shadow

The Light

You make me young again

Twelve or twenty, or someplace in between

I want to run and skip and sing, and be so free

You are everything to me, my sunrise and my sunset

The prettiest ones

The very best ones

You are the stars I count on

You are the clouds I dream upon

You are the ducks dipping, the ferris wheel spinning

You are the lights strung upon the summer tree

You are all that makes me smile

And more, so much more

I can’t begin to explain

It would take a lifetime or two

Just to count all the reasons I adore you

Your hair, your eyes

Your nose so cute

I want to nibble you whole and in completion

Bite through your sexiness

I want to run my fingers through you

Every part

And dance on you like some worn out disco floor

I want to tap and spin

And glide on knees

Feel your smoothness beneath me

And eat your very soul

The Shadow

Release me bloody panther of the night

The one I spear, who keeps rising

With claws to chest

Carving name into my flesh

I run and you follow

My scent, your prisoner

You are naught but heavy stones in my pocket

Backpack on weary shoulders

Silver spikes beneath my feet

A broken time piece

Your face a façade

You are unwelcomed fever

The torture of still birth

A labor of death

You are the stripe of the honey bee

The symbol of nectar’s sting

I will not be your dance floor

Your river or mountain

I will be nothing you move upon

You feed me not, whittler of bones

And nor shall I be your prey

I turn you mystic muse

To the muds of moors

And make the howling hound your bed song

Cry for me now

This light slipped through your fingers

So I might collect your tears

And spit them at your shadow

I am blood-dry to your enchantment

Fed upon the last time

To me you are the stinging nettle of pain

The poison oak of itch

The jelly fish of sting

In leaving I shall paint the walls of you

With my echoed screams

So you may sit now

And hear the wing-clipped raven

Crying in the attic’s mind

It is your turn

Of empty ghost

Your turn to grasp

And find nothing but empty cloud of drought

I will be not your star

I will be not your sun

Instead I shall step dark upon your grave

And kick dirt at your memory

My laughter, your sorrow

My victory, your loss

My hope, your awakening

To the world without me

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By Sam Craft, July 2012

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The Walk

The following are photos from the bird sanctuary. There is a mile long platform that stretches across the wetlands and leads to the salt-water sound. There are hundreds of birds flying everywhere and adjacent nature trails.

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Day 173: My City by the Bay; Pacific Grove, California

My great-grandparents came to the Monterey Bay Area in Northern California in 1906. My Nana worked in the canneries my Nano was an Italian fisherman. They were Sicilian. Photos of some of my relatives can be found at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I consider the town of Monterey and Pacific Grove my home. I was raised here for many of my childhood years and graduated high school in this area. Here are some photos I took of Pacific Grove during my recent trip in July 2012. I was able to see a good friend and two of my aunts during the visit. I had a joyous time. Very healing. Thankful for photos, as I am all talked out, after staying up until about 1:30 am every night of my trip, chatting it up with relatives.

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We stayed in this 1915 house that has been converted into a hotel.



Along Lover’s Point


Very friendly and trusting gull


I walked all three days for an hour around the sea.


Sea lions basking in the fog.


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I like this photo of the seagull.


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Tree outside out hotel. How old, I wonder?

Pacific Grove 2012

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me taking a photo of me in the hotel room
Happy Face

And the song I cried to often when I had to leave Pacific Grove and move to the East Coast…..only to return some eight months later…had I only known…