"With self-discipline most anything is possible." *

Being just after the holidays and twelve days into the New Year, I'm doing a belated set of resolutions -- not all of which started or will start this month.

"The Mighty" is doing #52SmallThings, or 52 weekly goals, which I'm going to try to follow. That said, as I've learned at different times in my life, Thomas Jefferson's quote in the title, nothing is impossible, but you really have to be committed.

One of the non-resolutions that I made at the beginning of the year was to stop drinking soda of any kind. The only soda allowed this year is ginger ale or Sprite for stomach bugs or in recovery after surgery. I had my last soda on December 31st at work. I did have ginger ale this past Tuesday, but it was to help with post-surgery nausea and dry mouth after my D&C.

It's been hard at times, especially at work, but I've been successful at fighting the cravings. Mostly because I haven't given up caffeine in addition to sodas. I drink plain water, Hint water, unsweet tea, or coffee with milk. The biggest thing was to avoid the empty calories of all that sugar, as well as the chemicals in diet sodas.

The other thing I've been reining in has been online shopping. It was meant to decrease drastically if not stop altogether. I've had some slips (I bought tennis shoes online tonight), and I've managed to spend a small fortune at a boutique coffee shop today, but I haven't been shopping online as much. I "shop", but don't fill baskets, carts, or whatnot, and I'm definitely slowing down on the "Click" option.

Pat offered me 100.00 to give up Facebook for a week. He didn't think I could do it. As it's my main form of entertainment and expression, it has been hard. Normally, before surgery, I would have requested prayers and good vibes from my friends and family. It makes me feel safe even if I have an almost superstitious fear of NOT having the thoughts of others to carry me through scary things. But I didn't log on to post, and I didn't have friends post for me. I let my mom and my best friend Rhonda know that I wouldn't be available on Facebook or Messenger, however. Mom and I have been talking on the phone more, and Rhonda and I have been doing more regular texting. I'll call her tomorrow, too.

As you might have noticed, I've also been posting in my blog a bit more (this is my third post today). I've also been writing letters. I do plan to go back to Facebook, but I'm going to try to curb my use of it to an hour a day instead of the many hours I was on in the evenings and on weekends. I may even limit it to three days a week for the time being.

For some of my #52SmallThings, I want to try a week without sugar and maybe make it two, and see how things go from there.

I want to start working out more in between my training sessions with Scott at LA Fitness, so I'm shooting for two trainings and two workouts on my own. I have a ton of sessions to use, but two a week will be good enough to start. That can't start until after the 23rd due to post-op restrictions, but it's a nice goal for the end of January.

I want to spend more time writing to my friends and encouraging them. Not just on facebook, but via cards and letters. This includes family, too. I didn't get Christmas cards out, but I want to take a week in February to write them all.

I also need to start the DASH diet that my cardiologist recommended for me. I have the cookbooks, but I haven't read them and they aren't in my kitchen where I could make better use of them. For that matter, since I am already trying to cook more at home rather than sending out for dinner so often, I need to spend a week or two where I actually make a meal plan, a shopping list, and actually cooking from the DASH books.

It will all take self-discipline. Motivation comes and goes, but I need to decide when to do things and just make myself do them.



* Thomas Jefferson

"The most practical kind of politics is the politics of decency." *

"Why do liberals think Trump supporters are stupid?"

The following is by Florida writer Adam-Troy Castro, shared by a friend on FB:

'An anguished question from a Trump supporter: "Why do liberals think Trump supporters are stupid?"

The serious answer: Here’s what we really think about Trump supporters - the rich, the poor, the malignant and the innocently well-meaning, the ones who think and the ones who don't...

That when you saw a man who had owned a fraudulent University, intent on scamming poor people, you thought "Fine."

That when you saw a man who had made it his business practice to stiff his creditors, you said, "Okay."

That when you heard him proudly brag about his own history of sexual abuse, you said, "No problem."

That when he made up stories about seeing muslim-Americans in the thousands cheering the destruction of the World Trade Center, you said, "Not an issue."

That when you saw him brag that he could shoot a man on Fifth Avenue and you wouldn't care, you chirped, "He sure knows me."

That when you heard him illustrate his own character by telling that cute story about the elderly guest bleeding on the floor at his country club, the story about how he turned his back and how it was all an imposition on him, you said, "That's cool!"

That when you saw him mock the disabled, you thought it was the funniest thing you ever saw.

That when you heard him brag that he doesn't read books, you said, "Well, who has time?"

That when the Central Park Five were compensated as innocent men convicted of a crime they didn't commit, and he angrily said that they should still be in prison, you said, "That makes sense."

That when you heard him tell his supporters to beat up protesters and that he would hire attorneys, you thought, "Yes!"

That when you heard him tell one rally to confiscate a man's coat before throwing him out into the freezing cold, you said, "What a great guy!"

That you have watched the parade of neo-Nazis and white supremacists with whom he curries favor, while refusing to condemn outright Nazis, and you have said, "Thumbs up!"

That you hear him unable to talk to foreign dignitaries without insulting their countries and demanding that they praise his electoral win, you said, "That's the way I want my President to be."

That you have watched him remove expertise from all layers of government in favor of people who make money off of eliminating protections in the industries they're supposed to be regulating and you have said, "What a genius!"

That you have heard him continue to profit from his businesses, in part by leveraging his position as President, to the point of overcharging the Secret Service for space in the properties he owns, and you have said, "That's smart!"

That you have heard him say that it was difficult to help Puerto Rico because it was the middle of water and you have said, "That makes sense."

That you have seen him start fights with every country from Canada to New Zealand while praising Russia and quote, "falling in love" with the dictator of North Korea, and you have said, "That's statesmanship!"

That Trump separated children from their families and put them in cages, managed to lose track of 1500 kids. has opened a tent city incarceration camp in the desert in Texas - he explains that they’re just “animals” - and you say, “well, ok then.”

That you have witnessed all the thousand and one other manifestations of corruption and low moral character and outright animalistic rudeness and contempt for you, the working American voter, and you still show up grinning and wearing your MAGA hats and threatening to beat up anybody who says otherwise.

What you don't get, Trump supporters in 2019, is that succumbing to frustration and thinking of you as stupid may be wrong and unhelpful, but it's also...hear me...charitable.

Because if you're NOT stupid, we must turn to other explanations, and most of them are less flattering.'

* Thomas Jefferson

** With thanks to my husband for sharing this with me.

*

"Hair is a beautiful form of self-expression." *

Back in August, I shaved my head bald as part of a fundraiser for a coworker whose daughter has leukemia. Three male coworkers also shaved their heads, though not all the way bald. We raised a total of $10,000 for the cause. Because the little girl, Emma, couldn't grow her hair back right away, I kept shaving my head for the next two months. The last day I shaved was Halloween, and I went to work dressed as Mr. Clean.

Since November 1, my hair has grown out a little more than an inch. Everywhere I go, I get compliments on the sticky-up, natural color head of hair that I have. It's mostly dark brown with a whole lot of silver highlights (God's graffiti?). 

Today, even my psychiatrist commented on it, telling me that this hairstyle really suits me and she suggested -- as I have already been thinking -- that I should keep it this way.

So that's what I've decided to do. Keep it super short. i went to Great Clips today to get trimmed around my ears and the back of my neck. I used styling putty for the first time today to make it super spiky. 

Never in my life did I think I would have hair this short (much less be completely bald for two months), but I like the freedom it offers. Getting ready for work is a breeze, and speaking of breezes, I can drive with my windows down because my hair doesn't get in my face. I like how the grays are coming in across the top of my head and at my temples - it makes things kind of sparkly. 

For freedom and self-expression ("Hey, I can defy cultural norms," "Hey, I'm a free spirit!"), you can't beat short, short hair.


* Carolyn Aronson

“It has turned out to be an annus horribilis.” *

I have to say that 2018 has been a particular rough year for my family. So much bad stuff has happened that I can hardly believed we're all still living through it with as much grace as we can.

For myself, I have sprained an ankle, sprained a knee, been taken to the ER by ambulance twice (once for pulmonary effusion and once for unrelenting chest pain for which I ended up having a heart catheterization). All my meds are under review because hypertension, blood sugar, and bipolar symptoms have all been exceedingly high.

For my daughter, she fell and sprained her ankle badly. When that healed, she was hit by a speeding uninsured driver who flipped and spun her car with Emily and her friend Misty in it. Rescue crews don't know how they survived the accident. The other driver was doing about 100 mph on the highway in the Jaguar he didn't see fit to insure. Emily's trunk ended up resting against the front seat. Both girls were examined thoroughly at the ER with numerous tests done to make sure they were alright. Em is still having unresolved shoulder pain, still suffering from the whiplash, and having hallucinations and flashbacks as well as unrelenting crying spells and rages.

My mom fell and broke her arm on June 19th, was in the hospital when she flatlined for 20 seconds, had a pacemaker inserted, got pneumonia, MRSA, was put on life support twice, and is only getting out of the hospital this coming Monday or Tuesday. She's been doing lots of PT, probably is facing a surgery to free the nerve from bone where it broke, and will be undergoing PT for months and months to come.

Pat and I have been dealing with some family business which is unsavory and is based on faulty information. In addition, he had to leave ADP and take a contracting job nearby which put him on third shift. We hardly get to spend any time together and it's taking a toll on both of us.

There is, of course, good news among all of this.

My family has an extended network of friends and family who are diligent in their prayers for us and have been very encouraging. Our families support us in the things we are facing as a couple. Emily is alive and with counseling and medical help will be able to function again -- she did not die and suffered no severe bodily injury that will incapacitate her for life. She is not a vegetable; she is still as passionate about the things that matter to her as she's always been. Mom has come through everything in ways we dared not even hope for on the worst days. She will be going home in a few days, is still a big prayer warrior for those she loves, and my Dad has been by her side every step of the day.

My brothers and sisters-in-law have all stepped up to help and we've stayed in touch with all of this going on in spite of different schedules and different levels of proximity to Mom and Dad.

While the hurricanes impacted the Carolinas and Florida, Georgia only suffered a bit and where we are didn't get hit at all.

I have much for which I'm grateful, but I'll also be glad when loose ends are tied up and things can get back to normal.

* Queen Elizabeth

"I'm working at trying to be a Christian, and that's serious business." *

For the past few months, I've been going through a time of introspection. Rather haphazardly, in fits and starts more than any seriously dedicated time. It's as if I light on something, but get scared of dealing with it further, so I turn on some music, check facebook, or find something else to distract me from my uncomfortable musings.

Being comfortable in uncomfortable thoughts isn't easy, but I have to believe that true inner growth won't come unless I face those pesky, questionable, and uncomfortable thoughts and learn what I can from them.

Today, the thoughts were about what kind of Christian I am.

How I perceive Christianity has changed so much since I first became a believer in Christ.

At a very young age, things were fairly simple. It was told to me that Jesus was God's son in human form. He was born at Christmas and grew up with Mary and Joseph. He loved us very much. I believed that without question, without thinking that anything would be expected of me because of that belief. I was told that Jesus would be how I went to heaven and that I needed to be good.

Later I was told I needed to believe all the right things about Jesus to be "saved". Virgin birth, baptized, never sinned, died, rose again, was drawn up into heaven.

Still later, I was told that I needed to believe all the things good Christians believed to be saved.

I learned, and espoused, many things that people interpreted the Bible to say: Democrats are misguided at best and evil at worst. Santa Claus is a sin. Christmas trees are pagan. Voting is our religious duty. Voting Republican is the only way to have a godly government. Divorced people are sinning if they remarry. Homosexuals are bad. Hate the sin, love the sinner. Christians don't drink or smoke. Drug addicts are evil, and if there is a term for infinitely more than evil, then drug dealers are that. Gang members are worthless, etc.

I was in an emotionally abusive marriage to a man who used the Bible to admonish me and his version of Christianity was the one I was faced with every day.

I left the church a long number of years ago because I couldn't live up to the ideals of Christianity as I was dealing with them in my marriage. I was also going to a very conservative church in an extremely conservative town and my questions about right and wrong and what was and wasn't required to be a "good Christian" didn't sit well with the "in crowd." So I left. For a myriad of other reasons, too, which I won't go into now.

For some time, I've been thinking about Jesus...and wanting to get to know what HE says about all of these things. I've decided to "read the red" -- the words attributed to Jesus in the gospels, and the gospels, bit by bit, to see what Jesus is REALLY all about. I've been listening to the Jesus Christ Superstar, Live soundtrack a lot lately and have come to realize anew that I don't know much about Christ -- just what others have told me about him. We shall see where this leads.

*Maya Angelou

"...a person's teenage years (last) well into their fifties.” *

I was just thinking a bit ago, as I told Pat that something was "cool", that there are times my voice sounds like that of a 12- or 14-year-old. It's always been higher pitched, unless I've deliberately made it lower - as when I was working in radio or when I answered phones in the offices I've worked in. Once, when I was in my twenties and newly married, a commander of my Army husband's called the house. When I answered the phone, he asked if my father were home. As someone feeling rather grown-up as a newlywed, I was quite miffed at the time.

But it isn't just my voice that sounds young. There are times I still feel young. As if I were still 16 or 17.

Music can trigger all kinds of memories about different stages in my life. Not just because the music was popular when I was that age, either. Sure, music from the 1970s - especially disco - reminds me of junior high and high school to a large extent. But other songs from different eras, which I discovered at other ages, reminds me of the person I was when I was first hearing them for myself.

For instance, when my daughter was a toddler, some 27 years ago, we heard the song "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree (With Anyone Else But Me)" together for the first time. When I hear it now, I don't think of the 1940s as much as I think of the mid-1980s when I was a young twenty-something.

I know that I am more mature in my behavior than I was in my teens and twenties, but there is something in me - maybe in all people - that doesn't believe that I'm as old as I am. I think I should have the energy I had back then. I should be able to stay up late and get up early and be okay for an 18 hour day. But that's not the case now. More often than not, I'm in bed by 9:30 or 10:00 and sleeping in until 6:30 and hoping that's enough for the next 15 hours.

I make better decisions...based on research and reasoning...than I did in my teens and twenties. But the desire to be rash, to be impetuous, is still there.

Sometimes, I wonder how much of this just how everyone is. The immortal thinking we have as youngsters and young adults doesn't give way so easily as long as our bodies are working well. Knowing that the "spirit is willing but the flesh is weak" is a hard concession to time and age that I'm beginning to struggle with.

But sometimes, too, I wonder how much this dichotomy of feeling has to do with my bipolar. Sure, I'm ready for bed at an earlier time and I'm getting more sleep. But is it because my body needs it or my emotional well-being needs it? I've started taking my psychiatric meds earlier because they make me more able to sleep. By taking them earlier, I can get in a full 8-10 hours of sleep, which is what my mind needs to feel rested and not go to racing thoughts on a regular basis. It's what I need to avoid hypo/mania and the behavior that borders on immature. Definitely it can be impetuous and have some repercussions that come with impromptu, unconsidered decisions and expenditures.

That feeling of invincibility -- that I am impervious to pain, consequences, sickness -- happens when I am hypo/manic. I *can* go without sleep, I *can* be ultra creative, but not without the threat of a drop in emotions as I become exhausted both physically and mentally. Hypo/mania rarely ends up reverting to a balanced emotional state, but instead drops into a depressive state. It's as if all the good endorphins become depleted and I have to recuperate.

I'm sure that is true to some extent, though I haven't studied it myself.

And maybe that euphoric feeling - which I associate with being a teenager or a twenty-something -- triggers that sense of being younger than I am because when I was those ages, I was already bipolar, but not diagnosed. I used to go days and days with a few hours sleep and maybe catnaps during the day. Sometimes, I would go 48-72 hours without sleep. Wildly creative, talkative, impulsive, and sometimes even more productive. That was hypo/mania. Argumentative, agitated...that was often there, too.

Stability has been hard won. It's taken medication, new habits, an amazing support system, and a lot of effort on my own to curb my whims. I'm not always successful.

Whether it's because of maturity or just being tired of the rollercoaster of emotions, I try to stay on top of things now. And so far...so good.

But I'm still going to keep saying things are cool.


*Derek Landy, Mortal Coil

"If you come home as happy as you leave, you have had a good vacation." *

Pat and I just took a vacation to Texas over the past week. It was one we greatly looked forward to, in spite of both of us having an anxiety disorder. It was a time to reconnect with family and friends, and we did everything we set out to do except hit 6th Street in Austin for the night scene. True, though, we also did a few things we hadn't planned to do that were happy events.

We had good flights all around - no turbulence, no long layovers and yet no rushes to make the next flights, and gorgeous weather. I had some pretty hefty anxiety on the flight home, so I took a Klonopin to calm down. Klonopin at full dose works *extremely* well at 38,000 feet and I finally learned why people take anxiolytics recreationally. If I need one on a flight again, I'm not likely to take a full dose.

We arrived in Wichita Falls in the mid-afternoon of Friday the 13th, picked up our rental car, loaded up, and headed to my parents house. Dad and Pat went to Willie's Place to get bbq for us all and we enjoyed some slightly salty ribs. Emily and Chris came over when she got off work and we all enjoyed some good conversation and catching up.

Saturday morning brought some more visiting with Mom and Dad, then Emily came to get me for our tattoo appointments. On the way over, she suggested that we each get the word "journey" on our forearms, with each written in one another's handwriting. So I have a printed word in her hand, while she has a cursive word in mine. I then started getting the bee that I originally came for and ended up with the violets that I had been considering, too. The bee represents Emily because her first name - Deborah - means the bee. The violets represent the three babies I lost to miscarriage - Katie, Corrie, and David. The tattoo is beautiful and I would recommend Elia at Classic Tattoo in Wichita Falls to anyone who wants a meaningful work of permanent art. She is still an apprentice, but she is an artist, too, and it shows.

Saturday evening, Pat and I went to Emily's apartment to visit with her and Chris. Em colored my hair for me -- a nice deep red (ruby, by L'Oreal) while we all watched "Crazy, Stupid Love" with Steve Carrell and ate pizza. It was a good visit with them.

Saturday night we spent with Mom and Dad. We were preparing for an early Thanksgiving dinner on Sunday, so Dad cooked the giblets and I made the cranberry sauce. Mom told me that her secret to it was adding cinnamon, so I did and now I know what the missing ingredient has been to my version all this time!

Sunday, my brother Jay, sister-in-law Tina, niece Briella, niece Amanda and great-nephew Tucker, Emily, and Chris came over for turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Tina made sweet potato casserole from scratch, while I made green bean casserole, the stuffing, and poured the Heinz gravy into a pot to cook. We had so much food left over! Alas, Pat and I left town the next morning so missed out on turkey sandwiches and reheated dressing. Sigh!

Sunday night, my great friend Rhonda Saenz came over to visit for a a few hours and we all had an enjoyable time laughing, chatting, and catching up on the latest in each other's lives. It was sooooo good to see her as  I miss her greatly.

Monday, as I said, we headed out of town to Austin. I made Pat take the "back way" down there so we could stop at the Koffee Kup restaurant in Hico. Famous for its pies, its regular food leaves a lot to be desired. I should have stuck with the BLT I normally get, but I opted for Chicken Fried Steak since I can't get it here in the 'burbs of Atlanta. It was awful, much to my dismay, but the pie did not disappoint. Pat had Key lime and I had a piece of Doctor's Office. Then we bought a blueberry banana one to take to his sister Chris in Kerrville.

After lunch, we journeyed on to Austin, where we spent two days in the nicest bed and breakfast I have ever been in. The room was appointed with wooden doors all nicely stained, with medallions in the upper corners. There were skylights and beautiful wooden floors. There was a working fireplace, a tiny but full kitchen, and all kinds of nooks and crannies to explore. It was right in the middle of downtown in an historical neighborhood and we weren't far from the shopping district or Sixth Street.

That evening, we went to meet and visit with "Mike TV" and his girlfriend Katy as Mike recorded an hour-long concert. He is doing 40 concert podcasts in 40 days and we were lucky to be in on the 3rd or 4th one. Afterwards, we visited for an hour or so, discovering that we have much in common, and Katy added me to her facebook friends which is great since I was just about to ask if I could add her to mine. :)

Tuesday we puttered around downtown Austin after having a leisurely morning in the B&B. Pat and I spent a good hour or so in Toy Joy - a fun and opulently unique toy store on 2nd Street (also known as Willie Nelson Boulevard). We picked up some Harry Potter candies and treats for Emily, a coloring book for our friend Ami, and a toy duck for my great-nephew. I have a sense of deja vu that he may already have one, but a kid can never have too many rubber ducks, can he?

Then we headed to the Laramie restaurant on 2nd which serves some of the finest brisket I have ever had in my life! The crust was perfect and not too salty, the meat was fork tender but not falling apart, and the marbling was spot on. For a side, I had macaroni and cheese. But the most fun were the appetizers! We had deviled eggs with caviar, along with miniature peppers of some kind that were crisp, crunchy, and looked like little green olives on stems.

Back to the B&B for a long nap for me and some reading for Pat, then we went out to meet his brother Mike for dinner. Mike was in Austin from Oregon for a conference and it was nice to spend a couple of hours with him. This is the third occasion we've been able to spend time with Mike and I've enjoyed every minute of it.

Wednesday morning we headed to Kerrville where Pat's sister Chris and her husband Clark live. We spent all of the late morning into the mid-evening with her just chatting and laughing. She prepared a veritable feast of salads for us to enjoy including a green salad, chicken and tuna salads, a carrot salad, and an apple salad. There may have been more, but it was all delicious and I need her recipes for them all! (She's promised me a recipe for green bean casserole in time for Thanksgiving here in Georgia that I'm looking forward to.) I was able to get the scoop on a couple of things Pat did as a wee lad, and I had a good laugh with them both about how someone could "ruin (his) happy day!"

We went back to Chris's and Clark's the next morning for a couple of hours before we headed back to Wichita Falls. Then Emily joined us for dinner at the Jalapeno Tree, which is my favorite restaurant in all of Wichita Falls and has the best spinach enchiladas anywhere.

On the trip, we saw a family of deer in Chris's neighborhood, a buck with a huge rack of antlers on the road north to Wichita Falls, and a wild turkey that almost hit our car when it flew across the road.

All in all, we had a most enjoyable trip. We looked forward to spending time with the people we love and we were able to do just that. It was low-key, which we had also been looking forward to. And we came home as happy as when we left. There are still two days left on our vacation before we return to work for a three day work week. Still more low-key and just relaxing. It's been an especially enjoyable week.



* Unknown

"Two souls, one heart." *

I wish Pat were writing this post, and maybe he will write a rejoinder, because he knows how he meant for the story to go, and all I can tell you is how it went.

Back story:

Pat came up behind me on Monday evening and told me to be thinking of some place to go for dinner on Friday night. "Pick some place we haven't been before, or some place that you particularly like, and we'll go out. My treat." When he treats, it's guaranteed that it won't be Burger King which may be what you end up with me treating, depending on what bills I've got to pay in a given week. So, off and on throughout the week, I thought about where we might go.

It was a rough week for me with pulling some extra hours, still being behind in my work, and dealing with a lot of the bipolar symptoms which had been decreasing but acted up again. Wednesday, Pat was going to take me out to dinner when we went for a ride, but I had so been looking forward to Friday that I asked him not to. I made dinner at home and we had a nice long, lovely ride.

Thursday started out with a moderate depression and some intrusive thoughts, and I considered going in to see my counselor as a walk-in that afternoon. As it worked out, however, the mood started improving around lunch time, and by the time I got home I was back to normal.

All that to say that it had been a bumpy week for me emotionally, but throughout it all, I was just very much looking forward to going out on Friday because Pat had been so sweet about it.

Thursday evening, I still didn't have a place in mind, so I went to a website that offered the top 30 restaurants in nearby Roswell. There were a large number that we hadn't ever been to, nor had I ever heard of, so I decided to make a game of it. I picked four that sounded intriguing and asked Pat to check the page and do the same.

It was funny to me how we picked the restaurants. I picked some edgy ones that were only moderately priced. Pat was picking some really pricy places. One we've been to before and it's excellent, really, but I laughed and reminded him that we have a wedding to budget for and turned him down.

We both did pick a crazily named place, The Swallow at the Hollow, an upscale barbecue joint. So we opted for that. After all the overtime I'd put in the last three weeks, I was really looking forward to going somewhere nice but not too dressy and just enjoying some good food and conversation with Pat.

Friday turned out to be a good day for me. I started off with some hypomania, so work went well, my mood was up, and I was looking forward to going out with Pat even more than I had earlier in the week. Things were looking up and I figured dinner would just be a nice way to end the week.

The restaurant was crowded when we got there that night, but the patio was open, so we opted to eat outside. The weather was warm, but not overly so. There was a large bunch of reed grass surrounding the corner of the porch we were on, so there was the lovely sound of a breeze through the tall reeds. Nearby trees hosted a small symphony of cicadas and crickets. There were a few other patrons outside with us and the whole atmosphere was total relaxation.

We each ordered ribs, macaroni and cheese, and another side. It's the best barbecue I've had in Georgia so far! We both enjoyed our meal heartily, and even ordered dessert. Pat had the chocolate chip banana pudding and I had cherry pie. Yum!

Finally, we were waiting for the check which was a little slow in coming.

Pat looked at me and smiled.

"It's been a really great day," he said.

"Yes, it has," I agreed.

"Work was good; you're in a good mood; we've had a great dinner; it's a beautiful evening. Only one thing would make tonight perfect," he continued.

"If we were on the bike?" I asked (I'd turned down a chance to ride it earlier in the evening).

"Well, that would make it better," he said. "But no."

Then he repeated, "Only one thing would make the evening perfect."

"If we had music?" I asked.

He stopped, looked at me, and made a kissing motion toward me.

"Oh!" I thought. "He wants some cuddling later tonight."

But before I could say anything, he said it again: "Only one thing would make tonight perfect." And he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small jewelry box, and slid it across the table to me.

It was the engagement/wedding set he bought for me that wasn't supposed to get here until late August!

I quietly squealed -- like the girl I am -- and just said, "Oh, Pat! Now?"

And he asked me quietly, "Will you marry me?"

And I, of course, said yes. Because it would be silly to say "no" when we were already planning a wedding on November 21st.

Pat teases me that I kept interrupting him, but to be honest, I misunderstood him. When he would say, "Only one thing would make this night perfect," I thought he was asking for input.

I've got to learn to listen better.

Anyway, folks, that's the story of our engagement. And yes, two souls are sharing one euphemistic heart.

* French proverb

“You can't patch a wounded soul with a Band-Aid.” *

I've been through some pretty awful things in my life. Some due to other people. Some due to my own choices. A lot due to undiagnosed mental illness in both my spouse at the time and myself. Some of it is worse than what others have gone through in their marriages; a lot of it is far better than some people have gone through. We all have our own private hells, I think.

My personal hellish relationships were over five and fifteen years ago in a matter of two divorces. Though the longer one continued past the divorce because we share a child in common and therefore had interactions with each other for a much longer time.

The shorter marriage - the one over for only five years - still involved a four year period of separation, so we were technically only together for four years. It was loud and obnoxious and fraught with arguments, but the hell more due to my as yet undiagnosed bipolar disorder and severe anxiety than anything he was putting me through.

My first husband, though. Wow. I was very young when I married him, and did so against everybody's better judgment, including mine. I had been asked if I loved him after he proposed and I honestly said, "Not yet, but I will." Because I thought the flutterings I had were love in the making and would be the stuff of which great marriages were made.

They weren't.

There was a lot of verbal and emotional abuse in that marriage. And because it wasn't physical, I didn't think of it as abuse. But the constant put downs and neglect took a heavy toll on me and there are still things that I'm working through even now.

"You can't put a bandaid on it" is true.

I came through the relationship and left it in the past, I thought. But I never dealt with the abuse. Never grieved the person I'd been at the beginning that got lost in 16 years. I took my wounds and scars and heavy scabs out of the relationship and into another marriage, then carried them out past that marriage and into a single life that was insulated within my family and a few close friends. There was no need of tending to wounds that weren't constantly being inflicted anymore...or so I thought.

Long story short, I've been working with a counselor that is alternately good for me and not worth much, but he is what my insurance affords me and he is available and means well, so we are working together. He's wanted me to write about the abuse and the relationship. I've resisted because I saw no need to revisit anything.

But I finally put pen to paper...all of twice...and the results have been scary.

The first entry in my journal left me angry and agitated. I cried some, and shared the entry with Pat so he would know what was going on, but it was the residual anger that developed into barely contained rage the next day that surprised me. It was as if I'd opened the lid to a cauldron and now it was boiling over. I was mad at me. I was mad at my ex. I was mad at the situations he put me in. I was mad over the loss of trust I'd experienced. And I was trying to work, too. I ended up angry with Pat over something relatively minor, though I didn't take it out on him, and we talked for a long time about where the anger was coming from. It helped to diffuse it. He's better than a journal for diffusion.

The second entry was in response to a video I watched. It was an apology to women who have been married to sex/porn addicts from a man who is a recovering addict. Everything he said rang true with me. I tried to write that day and got only a paragraph in before I through the journal and pen away from me and went to the security of my bathtub where I ran hot water and sobbed deep and long for all the anger, rejection, hurt, and shame I'd felt when with my ex-husband.

Apparently, all those wounds had been covered with mere bandaids. Because I wasn't being hurt any more, I thought they'd gone away. I'd known that some of the pain had been coming to me in flashbacks since I started dating Pat, which made no sense to me as Pat treats me the polar opposite of either of my exes. But he would do something wonderful, tender, and sweet, and I would flash back to something awful, cruel, and mean that my first husband had done or said.

The counselor recognized that I needed to pull off the bandaids and let the purulence out. It's a slow process, because I can't handle more than a bit at a time, and I don't know that I'd survive ripping all the bandages off all at once. I'd be a raw mess, I know.

But I'm working on it.


* Michael Connelly

Saturday Morning Musings

I'm reading a book by Rachel Held Evans called "searching for sunday: loving, leaving, and finding the church." It's about a "millennial" raised in evangelical churches who left because there wasn't room to be found inside one for her doubts and true concerns that beset her since they went against the stands of the church.

I left church for other reasons, and haven't gone back for still more, but it isn't that I don't want to. It's because I'm still scared of what I will find.

Before I get into what I've been thinking about, I want to post this quote from Brennan Manning that Evans uses in the middle of her book:

"When I am honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty, I am trusting and suspicious, I am honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer."

I don't even have to get down and dirty honest with myself to realize those things anymore. I do feel bad about feeling good. Pat says I would be a great Catholic with the amount of guilt I feel about being in a healthy relationship and having a good time in my life.  And yes, when I find myself NOT feeling guilty, I worry that something is inherently wrong with me that I don't.

I have left behind a life time of legalism, found even in evangelical churches and non-denominational churches, but especially in a plain Mennonite church. For the most legalistic of all, if they knew anything about me now, they would all be aghast with how far gone I am on the road to hell. I cut my hair, I wear jewelry and makeup, I've been divorced then remarried then divorced again, and now I am living with a man and enjoying what the world calls a healthy relationship -- all without the benefit of marriage at all (even though they would not recognize it even if I had legal documentation).

The fact of the matter is, if I am going to hell, I'm pretty sure it would be because of things that happened or didn't happen when I was a loyal-every-Sunday-morning-and-Wednesday-night-and-daily-prayer-and-worship practicing Christian.

I always doubted. I always feared. I often felt great love from God, but not always within the church, and always with tentativeness.

The great hymns spoke to me of God's majesty, Christ's sacrifice.

But Margaret Becker and Rich Mullins spoke to me of the possibility of God loving me in spite of all my doubts and many sins.

For they are many.

I have always struggled with being judgmental. It is my single biggest failing.

But in the past, I was judgmental about things that "Good Christians" were allowed to be judgmental about: homosexuality, liberalism, sexual sins, etc.

Now I'm more judgmental about people with unaccepting, close-minded attitudes. I am more angry about people bashing Caitlyn Jenner and hurting animals than I am about homosexuals asking for equal marriage rights. I'm less concerned about Martin Scorcese than I am about Joel Osteen. I'm less inclined to be forgiving to Jimmy Swaggart and Jim Bakker knowing what I know about how they were just the tip of the iceberg. I'm less worried about wearing the right clothes and being modest (though yes, I still dress pretty conservatively for a woman in 2015) than I am about people thinking my friends and relatives who are gay have a legitimate reason to say they are -- because they were born that way. Not chose that way (too many of them have said "who would choose this" - meaning "in the world's present climate" and not "because the idea repulses me but I can't help it"); not made to become that way, but - gasp - the possibility is strong that even God knew and still made them. Because what a person does with his or her body is not as important to him as what they do with their hearts.

I never knew Jesus.

There, I said it.

I learned about him. I read stories about him. I prayed to him, but never felt comfortable doing so.

I think we got it wrong so many times.

Even Jesus said to pray to God. And pointed to him as our father.

So that I could do and that I did.

But having a relationship with Jesus eluded me.

I think I would like to get to know him. But I want to know the one who hung out with sinners...since I am the biggest one I know. I want to know the one people say loves me enough to love me the way I am...but too much to let me stay that way...and doesn't withhold anything while I'm trying to come along.

I think God loves me where I am at. I think he's disappointed with me for some of my choices. Maybe even the one that has brought me the most happiness I've ever had in my life.

I don't know if that's true...it's just what I feel should be true.

Because when it comes down to it...I don't feel good enough for him.

You know what I like about myself? A lot more than I used to. I like my feet, and how I write, and how I love words, and how I laugh, and how I love people, and how I am open to new things.

But what I don't like is how I doubt so many things.

That isn't to say that it was easier when I was so sure about things, because it wasn't. When I believed everything about the Bible the way it was presented to me, it was less brain-intensive, but not wholly satisfying. I think when I've struggled and fought to know what I believe, it will be more meaningful to me.

Anyway. I'm struggling. And wanting to not struggle. But I know I need to struggle more.

It's like my weight. I lost weight. And I want to be at my ideal weight. But I'm tired of trying. And I know I need to lose more.

Nothing worth having comes easily.

It's going to be a while, I know.

“It is never too late to be who you might have been.” *

I can remember, when I was young, that I saw the world stretching out in front of me, and I had no idea who or what I would one day become. Every day was a chance at something new, and I followed a path that I set for myself.

There came a time, though, when the only thing I saw stretching out in front of me was time. I saw nothing to challenge me...nothing to do more than to draw me from one day to the next. I saw no possibility of change...of adventure...of becoming more than someone who went to work and came home, only to restart the process again the next day.

I was asked yesterday how it was I came to find the courage, the willingness, the chutzpah even, to resurrect my life and make the drastic changes I made.

It was a challenge that put it all in to motion.

"Kim," I was asked, "what is your passion in life?" A pause while I thought...and found no answer. "Or do you even have passion anymore?"

And I had to admit to the friend who had gently asked me the question that no, I no longer had passion. I had been going through the motions. I had been taking one step after another on a long familiar road that only led from one day to the next. I had no deviation, no experience outside of work and home, no plans that were not made for me to follow.

I thought about that question and remembered that my passion used to be words. I had been a newspaper editor and reporter. I made my living investigating stories, attending meetings, writing about the events in our town in a way that people who had not been able to attend would understand them. I had a column. I wrote humorous insights into daily events. I wrote inspirational columns because I thought deep thoughts and still could. I read every day...all kinds of books. I spent my free time writing to friends and communicating with others.

So I took that question...that challenge...and took a step off the path I'd been on. I decided, at age 45, to go back to school and get my degree before I was 50. At 46, I started school. Almost every day for the next four years, I poured myself into writing and did receive my degree in Creative Writing and English one month after turning 50.

It wasn't enough to get my degree, though. With the confidence I'd built in doing well in school, it was time to step out of my safe job as a cashier in a retail/restaurant establishment, and start doing something that made a difference.

Just before my 50th birthday, I became a Peer Provider at a mental health facility in my hometown in Texas. It was now my job to share my story of depression, bipolar, panic and anxiety...and how I'd come to live beyond my diagnosis and become my own person again. It was a step I'd never dreamed I would take...but rekindling my passion, pursuing my education, and deciding that the status quo was no longer satisfactory made taking that step not only possible, but necessary.

Now I'm 51. I have decided to enter into a relationship with my long-time friend, Pat. We've BOTH made a conscious decision to stop thinking we had to be alone the rest of our lives, and started entertaining the possibility of being part of a couple. We are 51 and 55 and I for one don't feel old. I feel rejuvenated...rekindled again...resurrected as my client mentioned yesterday.

Who will I be in five years? I will be strong, confident, and sure in what I'm doing. I don't know what that is yet, but I will know it when I see it. Until then, I will be strong and confident and sure of what I do and do not want. I will be bold in going after the things that I feel passionate about and not be afraid to think outside the box or be held back because I'm a woman of a "certain age".

It's not too late. It's never too late. And I will still be exactly who I might have been. :)


* George Eliot

"No one can grow in the shade." *

I've been in three major relationships in my life.

I married a man at 20. I divorced him and later married another man in my 30s. We divorced in my mid-40s. And at 50, I entered in to the relationship I am in now.

At 20, there were a myriad of reasons that I chose to get married. None of them were good enough to base a life-time commitment on. I barely knew the man, who was older than me...who had been out in the world...who had embarked on a career. I was young, had never seriously dated anyone before, had never worked out a compromise in a relationship, and had only worked the typical high school/college jobs. I had no clue about how a relationship was supposed to work, so I decided to take his word for How Things Were Supposed to Be and tried to submit to his ideal of What A Wife Should Be.

Seen and not heard. Maybe not seen at all.

He preferred attending military functions, which typically included the spouse, on his own. He preferred shopping different parts of the store than me when we were out.

Shy. Submissive. Subjugated.

Which I'm not. Which I tried to be. Which I became.

And what growth I managed to do in the shade of his attempted control turned out to be rather stunted.

So in my 30s, when I was manic, and I married again, I made sure not to marry a controller.

Instead, he wanted me to be in charge of everything...and he wanted to be close. All the time. Overwhelmingly close.

I couldn't leave the house without being called every few minutes to "see how you're doing." I couldn't talk to my friends or family without him interrupting me to make jokes or ask questions that could very well have waited. I couldn't leave the room without him asking where I was going.

And in the shade of his clinginess and smothering, I did not grow at all.

I was also very unhealthy at that time -- in the throes of a bipolar roller coaster, not yet diagnosed, and desperately needing help.

When I got help...when I started to get healthy...when I tried to take back some of the strength I had gained when I was on my own...the marriage (always shaky) quickly died and we separated, then divorced.

I became strong. I began to grow.

Slowly, and with the help of family and friends who did not try to control me or smother, but always encouraged me and supported me as I began to take steps to set my future in place.

Now, in this third relationship, I started out healthy and strong on my own. My friend and I met on equal footing, in a long-term supportive friendship, and built on that. We talk...about everything. We discuss important things and chat about silly things. We celebrate both our similarities and our differences. We explore each other's thoughts, dreams, likes and dislikes, discovery ways to interact and connect. We support each other in the decisions we have to make. More than a girlfriend...more than a lover...he wants a partner. He doesn't want me to be anyone but me. He doesn't want me to put myself under his control...he wants me on equal footing. He doesn't want me to be his mother or his constant-every-minute-of-every-day-touchstone...he wants me to be his companion. He wants us to have our own interests independent of each other, as well as things we enjoy and do together.

It is the healthiest relationship I have ever known.

I had to grow and get healthy to find it.

I could not grow in the shade...but in the nourishment of family and friends whose love was unconditional.

* Leo Buscaglia

“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” *

For My Love:

You said tonight that we are desperate. Then you clarified and said that you are, because you are old.

I do not see you as old, my love. We are late coming to each other as lovers...but we've long been friends...and I think we came to love each other at just the right time in our lives.

I would agree that we had both come to a place where we thought nothing would ever change. That as far in the future as we could see, things would never really change in us and for us. Maybe some things would change externally – like homes, jobs, neighbors, and even a few friends. But I think we were both set in our hearts...or at least our minds...that we ourselves were unchanging, and just going along with life as life came to us.

Then we rediscovered each other as friends...and allowed our curiousity to be aroused as to what else might be possible for us. We each made, at first, a small...internal...but all-important change inside ourselves...that allowed us to dream and hope for something more than just the status quo in our lives. Tentatively at first. With a lot of maybes qualifying even the smallest of future plans. We are worriers and our anxiety...and perhaps our complacency with how things had always been for us...kept us from being too self-assured in the “what can be” department, and we danced still awhile longer in the “well...it would be nice if” realm. So many ifs.

But we grew bolder...independently and jointly. And our maybes became “can be” and now we are working on “will be”. Will be. We'll be.

You're 55. I am 51.

But we are not old, my love. We are mature. We are seasoned by life and practicality. We are wise to the ways of the world in many respects. We know that time passes...too quickly...and that we won't have it forever. We know that things happen suddenly and all that is external can change in an instant. We don't deny that there will be an end to all things...even ourselves.

But we are not “old” in the sense that we have nothing left to live for, strive for, learn, give, receive. We have not given up on life in the least.

We gave up...not even unwillingly...the idea that life was all planned out for us as far as we could see. We took a chance that there was more out there for us...and more inside us than we'd dreamed...and we found a partner with whom we can share all that we are discovering.

We are constantly finding new things to enjoy independently and together. We've had so many “firsts”. So many. You drove 2000 miles and more to prove I existed...that I'm real...that my feelings for you are true in person and not just online. I rode a motorcycle and experienced a freedom in movement and feeling that I'd never known before. We explore each other's mind and body and discover nuances in ourselves and one another that we'd only suspected before...if we'd ever suspected them at all. We met in Salt Lake for our first Nerdtacular. My first DragonCon and your first with a companion from start to finish each day. (I think, love of my life, that when we dress up next year, we should go as a Doctor and one of the companions.) You shared your bed for the first time in your new home and had someone live with you for a week. You've opened your heart more widely than I think even you dreamed you could...and I've found a true friend and passionate lover such as I had only imagined in my finest, highest thoughts.

We let go of the life that had been...and would be...and we are making a new life together...finding what life has in store for us...waiting for us for how long now?

There are infinite infinities to call to mind the first movie we saw together. And whether it is five years, fifteen, or another thirty...I would rather spend all of those years...days...with you...than how I have been spending the last fifteen, twenty, thirty.

I'm no longer content to let life just happen to me. I don't think you are, either.

We may be 55 and 51...we may have bodies that need a little helping along in different areas...but our hearts and minds are young. Because we are learning and discovering and enjoying and anticipating and exploring this new life as children do: whole-heartedly and openly. And we're doing it together.

There is so much waiting for us, Pat. So very much.

Don't feel desperate. Embrace the passion we've found for life and for each other. Whatever time we have will be all the time we were meant to have. We don't have to be desperate to enjoy it. We just have to experience it gratefully and joyfully. As we have been.

* E. M. Forster

“Anger always comes from frustrated expectations” *

Tonight, I spent far too much time being angry.

That it was based on frustrated expectations I was well aware. That I was choosing to be angry over a perceived slight was also clear to me. Yet I wasted some precious time and a lot of energy being angry at someone I love deeply and with whom I celebrate many things every day.

Because of assumptions about what certain phrases mean to him because they mean something clearcut to me, I let myself get angry when I felt I was being left out of his evening plans or being blown off for something else.

What was his heinous crime? Something atrocious. He made plans with me for tonight, had a slight chance in plans this morning, and didn't tell me that things were going to go a little differently than originally thought. So here I was, ready for one thing, only to find out something else entirely was going on. He meant to tell me that we were still on for the evening...that things were only temporarily delayed...but didn't know that my understanding was that this was all going to take all evening and I may as well find a good book, read, and nurse my wounded pride and hurt feelings until I felt like being civil again.

He came home, all happy to see me, ready to talk, and I was icy.

"I'm glad you're home. I'm upset and not talking to anybody. Maybe we can talk later this week."

(Put me off, will you? I will put YOU off and you can see how it feels.)

But he hadn't put me off...only run into a slight delay in our plans...and through no fault of his own did not know he hadn't communicated adequately with me.

Poor guy didn't know what he'd done.

And what he'd done was no big deal. And I was already kicking myself because I know I was being mean and stubborn about my hurt feelings and anger. I know I was choosing to disregard the thousands of ways he shows he loves me and focused on one thing that made me think I didn't matter much.

Irrational.

I knew it.

And I became angry then at myself. Frustrated because I was letting expectations...frustrated though they might have appeared...bring me down.

This is the second time it's happened. A miscommunication. A misunderstanding. My mind going to dark places it has no business going...no reason to seek out.

And both times he has been concerned about my well-being. Has apologized without accepting blame for my own actions but acknowledging his part in the misunderstanding. And neither time did he get angry back.

I don't think he's incapable of getting angry, because we've had a falling out before in the distant past that we eventually worked through. But I find I have great difficulty in accepting that he can work with me through a difficulty without first getting angry back at me and demanding an accounting.

I apologize readily when I know I'm wrong. Hell, I apologize readily for things that have nothing to do with my own actions or emotions. I spent years figuring out how bad things were my fault and accepting blame for many things I had no influence or control over. I spent years trying to unlearn those ingrained behaviors and deferences.

My first husband took advantage of my willingness to believe everything was my fault. If I dared raise questions or get high emotions of hurt or anger, he always turned things around and called me neurotic for expressing emotions or concerns. I was quick to believe then that he was right...and I was right...and any discord was completely my fault.

Pat, while acknowledging where I've screwed up and not making excuses for my leaping to conclusions or making false assumptions, never blames me or tries to make me feel guilty for being a very flawed human working through a new relationship. He doesn't yell at me. He doesn't get angry with me. He doesn't make excuses for me, but he always tries to understand what happened.

It's scary being that accepted.

It's unnerving to be forgiven when I feel I should be held accountable and made to make amends somehow.

He holds nothing over my head. He lords nothing over me. His equanimity is generous and so far, boundless.

I don't get it.

But it has the aroma of grace.

And I am humbled at the manner in which he bestows it.

I only hope, when the tables are turned and I've inadvertently wounded him and he thinks to lash out, that I will be as simply loving and gracious as he has been with me.

This is a relationship in which I am learning many new things and striving to unlearn old thought patterns and behaviors.

Wish him well, for he will need patience.

And wish me well, for I will need to learn to accept...acceptance.


* Elliott Larson

“Our first gift is us…” *

For a romantic evening with my boyfriend last weekend, my friend Rhonda loaned me a beautiful cheese plate and cheese knife so I would have something prettier than a dinner plate upon which to serve baked brie. It was a lovely presentation and Pat and I thoroughly enjoyed our meal, at which the brie was the main course.

This morning, I realized that I had not yet returned the plate and mentioned that I would do so when she returns after her trip this weekend.

“Not to worry,” she said. “It’s a gift. I bought it and never used it and you two will enjoy it. It’s yours.”

I thanked her, then texted Pat a short message about the plate telling him it was a gift…”our first couple gift.”

He texted back and said, “Second. But the first from someone else.”

I started racking my brain. I couldn’t think of another gift we had been given as a couple…or that we’d bought for ourselves as a gift. I didn’t think he was considering a couple of games we’d bought for the house. Backgammon and cribbage are nice games and all, and we plan to enjoy them, but that couldn’t be it. I wondered if he meant our trip to the Wichita Mountains in Oklahoma.

Feeling like the world’s worst girlfriend, for not having a clue what he was talking about, I had to ask, “What was our first gift to us as a couple?”

He rapidly replied, “Each other. Our first gift is us, from us.”

Sweet, sweet man.

But he is right. As he often is.

We chose to be in a relationship together and we made ourselves open and available one to the other in order for that to happen. We have had to talk through some serious issues which has required sometimes scary honesty and we’ve had to be willing to be completely open and trust one another.

That giving ourselves…that willingness to be important to one another…is the first gift we gave to ourselves as a couple.

And indeed, it should be for any relationship that the giving of two people is the first…best…gift.

*Patrick Wolfe

“The history of your happiness is the history of your feeling connected.” *

Tonight, when we were each finally home from work and able to chat, Pat and I spent some time inquiring about each other's day...how it went...how we were. A simple thing, "How was work today?" "How are you feeling now?" We were each able to share some good things and each good thing was not only acknowledged by the other, but jointly celebrated. On other nights, when one or the other of us has had a bad day, we've been able to hear the other one out, offer support and encouragement, and be available for as long as necessary one for the other.

It's a way of coming together after another day apart and reconnecting. It's something I have always craved in a relationship, and while I have often asked how my partner's day has been, there has never been the same type of give and take and the same type of connection that Pat and I have been able to create with one another. 

It is that feeling of being connected that we seek in one another that creates our happiness together.

I was married once for sixteen years. Even excusing the last six of that union as a time of illness, there were still ten years of relative youth in which we should have been happy. 

But we weren't.

Because there was seldom any connection.

I can count on one hand the times when the two of us were truly happy and purely able to enjoy any time together. Each of those rare moments happened when both of us were truly present and available emotionally. It never worked if only one of us showed up.

Another time, I was married briefly, and there was a similar pattern of disconnectedness. Again, I can count the times we were happy with each other. Which is a shame given the many days that make up a year and the years that made up the relationship.

Whatever my motivations for marriage in the past...in my youth and in a time of similarly discordant choices in my life...I tried to make connections where none existed. 

Maybe because I finally became my own person...maybe because we are older and wiser...maybe because we started out as friends first...maybe because stability and recovery have become more ingrained in our psyches...Pat and I have always been able to connect in more than just a cursory manner.

We have been friends for ten years. As our relationship has changed and grown, I can count the times when we have seemed not to connect...but I cannot count the number of times that we have met each other intimately on an emotional or intellectual level. There have been myriads of moments when like met like, when we learned something new about the other in which we can delight.

My history with him...and the history we are making...is already one of abiding happiness...in ways I could only before imagine. Because we know how to connect with each other...and we make a choice to do so every day.

*Vironika Tugaleva, The Love Mindset