Category Archives: Dating & Sex

Kite Therapy

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There is nothing more therapeutic than flying a kite.

This surprises me. You wouldn’t think such a simple pursuit would bring much joy. All you’re doing is standing there, holding onto a string. The wind does all the work for you. Sure, you have to tug on it occasionally and make an adjustment or two to ensure that the whole thing doesn’t plummet to earth, but otherwise you’re pretty much just standing still with your neck craned skyward. And yet, there is undeniable joy in the act. A sense of freedom and adventure that is unparalleled.

This past weekend, Tara and I took a trip to the Oregon coast. Saturday was Cinco de Mayo, and Lincoln City was advertising a fish taco cook-off. This sounded like something fun to do and a perfect excuse for a romantic getaway, so we booked a room in a cheapish motel on the edge of a cliff and headed out early in the morning. We stopped to visit briefly with my aunt on the way, and then continued on to Lincoln City, arriving at the Culinary Center (which also doubles as the fourth floor of the local library) a few minutes past noon. Perfect timing. Tacos were $1 each and there were six teams competing, so we bought enough tickets to try all six. There was a good mix of fish – three cod, one tilapia, one salmon, and one blackened mako shark – and beer to wash them all down. Then, with several hours to kill before it was time to check into our room, we drove south along the coast, holding hands and rocking out to music. Just north of Newport we stopped at Beverly Beach. Before our trip Tara decided she wanted to fly a kite on the beach, and I thought this was a wonderful idea, as neither of us had ever done so. She picked up a couple of cheap kites from Target – $2.98 on clearance – and we were good to go!

We walked to the beach and tore open the packaging, quickly assembling our kites. The Oregon coast is always windy, so we weren’t afraid of catching a good breeze. It took a try or two to get them in the air, but before long we had unspooled the full 75′ length of string and our kites were dancing in the sky, weaving and bobbing, buffeted by the gusty winds. And for the next half hour I lost myself in the experience.

I’m not even sure how or why it happened, but I gotta say, it was pure joy. I hadn’t flown a kite in many years, the last time being when my kids were very young, and on those previous rare occasions I was never able to keep it in the air for long. Saturday afternoon, along the coast, this was not a problem. I stood there mesmerized, watching my kite fly with the constant sound of the crashing surf as my backdrop, and I felt the weight of the world simply melt away, all my cares scattered in the wind until they dissolved. I thought of my previous trips to the beach, how I longed for somebody to share my adventures with, and was overcome with elation because this time, finally, I had somebody very special with me. She was a few dozen yards away, flying her own kite, and looked every bit as happy as I did. This warmed my heart.

I love her so much.

And then I was running down the beach, my kite chasing me from seventy-five feet in the air, the sand beneath my toes and the Pacific Ocean lapping at my ankles. Giddy like a child. Free like a bird. I had found happiness at the end of a string.

If you’re ever feeling stressed out in life, go fly a kite. Your worries will melt away. I guarantee this.

The rest of the weekend was bliss. We checked into our room that evening and enjoyed Bloody Marys on our ocean view deck before heading out to dinner. The food was delicious: coconut shrimp for me, a sauteed seafood sampler for Tara, and some of the best clam chowder we had ever tried. We arrived back at the beach just in time to catch a fantastic sunset, and fell asleep that night to the sound of the ocean. Sunday we wanted to take the long way home, so we meandered up the coast, all the way from Lincoln City to Astoria, and had to drive across the bridge because, well, the Astoria-Megler Bridge is awesome and whisks you across the mouth of the Columbia River to Washington. We stopped at the Astoria Column and I convinced Tara to climb the 164 steps to the top for a breathtaking view of…well, everything. You can see for miles and miles in all directions, and the sky was cloudless and blue. Afterwards, we stopped for dinner at a former cannery that had been transformed into a brewhouse and then took the final leg back home. With all the stops we made it took us over nine hours from the time we set out, but it was a fantastic day and a wonderful weekend.

I couldn’t be happier.

Fish tacos in Lincoln City. Happy Cinco de Mayo!

The Oregon Coast at Cape Foulweather.

My lovely girlfriend.

The Yaquina Bay Bridge in Newport.

I had a whale of a good time.

One amazing sunset.

View from the top of the Astoria Column.

Go fly a kite. Cheapest therapy ever.

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Boxes And Boxes (And More Boxes)

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Saturday evening, I watched my countdown clock tick down to the final seconds of Tara’s arrival. Sure enough, just a few minutes later she showed up outside, thirteen hours after setting out from Ely. Our estimate proved to be pretty spot on, as she got here at 7:15 PM.

Her dad was right behind, pulling a trailer filled with all her worldly possessions. When I saw the trailer, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was smaller than I’d expected – only about 10′ long, shorter than a U-Haul. My relief was short-lived, however; when he opened the lift gate, I saw what a fantastic job he had done of packing the thing. It was crammed, floor to ceiling, with boxes and boxes (and more boxes). And furniture. And other items.

“Holy crap, honey,” I exclaimed to Tara as I surveyed the very-full trailer. “You sure have a lot of shit.” And with those sweet words, our auspicious beginning commenced.

Really, though, I wasn’t complaining. How could I? The woman I love was here, at long last, moving in with me. A lot of shit or not, the important thing was, we were beginning a great and exciting chapter in our lives! The aching muscles, sore back and fatigue I developed from moving all that shit into the garage, and then subsequently moving most of that shit into the house, are a small price to pay for starting a life together. After unloading the trailer and pickup truck, we kicked back in the dining room with booze and pizza. I’d met Randy, her dad, on my Christmas trip to Ely, but had never really gotten a chance to bond with him one-on-one as we were always surrounded by a crowd of people. At least this afforded us the opportunity to get to know one another much better, even if he did leave at the crack of dawn on Sunday morning for the return trip home. He’s a nice guy. I feel fortunate that Tara’s family – and friends – have all accepted me so readily.

After a lot of work unpacking and sorting through things on Sunday, we kicked back with guacamole, margaritas and tacos, and put a movie on. It was Horrible Bosses, and fortunately we had both seen it before, because we basically passed out on the couch due to sheer exhaustion. We ended up heading upstairs for bed pretty early – I don’t think it was even 9:00 yet – and slept soundly the entire night.

Exhausted or not, we have still found plenty of time to…umm…well….

:)

I failed to point out earlier that this last stretch apart – 33 days – was the second-longest break we had to endure during our entire long-distance relationship. And that, I am convinced, is the key to our success. LDRs are challenging, but if you make the effort to actually see each other without too much time passing, they can work. Tara and I are proof of that. We never went so long that it didn’t feel like we were “together” or a couple, and yet enough time passed that we missed each other desperately whenever we were apart. As a result, we treasured every second we spent with each other when we were together, and never took our relationship for granted.

Oh, and Skype helped.

Boy oh boy, did Skype help. I haven’t written about that especially fun three-hour Skype session we had a few weeks ago, but let’s just say thank god for technology and leave it at that.

And living together? I know it’s been less than 48 hours so far, but it just feels so completely natural and right to me. It has added a new depth to our relationship that wasn’t there before. We were at Lowe’s yesterday buying a drill bit set and the cashier asked how We were doing and how Our day was going, and though she didn’t actually emphasize those words the way I did, it felt like it in my mind. We’ve been a couple for quite a while now – the day Tara moved in was actually our seven-month anniversary (and how appropriate is that?) – but it’s always felt like we weren’t really and truly together since our longest visit only lasted 8 days (and was exactly that, a visit). That’s an inevitable side effect of being in an LDR, I suppose. We were boyfriend/girlfriend, sure, but it always felt like it was more of a temporary thing, since most of the time we weren’t actually together in a physical sense. I don’t know, it’s kind of hard to explain, but Tara gets it. Yesterday was the first time it truly felt like we were a We and our day was actually Our day. Being together full-time has been a surprisingly easy adjustment, considering I was on my own for five years, six months and two weeks. I guess when you love somebody, it should be this simple and natural!

So, kudos to Us. We’re having the time of our lives, even if said time has included a back-breaking monotony of unpacking and moving and lifting and organizing. At least at the end of the day we can cuddle up together in bed and fall asleep content in the knowledge that our time together isn’t limited by a travel itinerary.

Tomorrow we’ve both got job interviews. How uncanny is that? We’ll see if the pieces continue to fall into place so perfectly. Then on Wednesday, we’re headed to Seattle for another visit with Tara’s mom. We’re excited to meet her new nephew Anthony, who is all of two weeks old now.

I’m sure when we come back on Friday, there will still be boxes waiting for us to unpack.

But so what. We’re loving this, regardless! The boxes aren’t going anywhere. And, neither is she!

The living room may be a mess, but it’s only temporary – and totally worth it!

Fate Had a Backup Plan

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Tomorrow, my life changes forever. It’s not every day you can say that.

Sometime after 7:00 PM Saturday evening, Tara will be pulling up to my townhouse. Not for a visit this time, but to stay. This is the culmination of a long friendship that led to a wonderful, perfect relationship. The fact that we successfully pulled off a long-distance relationship often amazes me, and makes me very proud. Most of those fail. I know from personal experience, and yet when it came time to try with Tara, I never even hesitated. The moment our lips met for the first time last August, I knew we had something special. Call it chemistry, or destiny, or whatever you’d like (and it doesn’t necessarily have to end with a y) – but what I felt in those wondrous seconds was complex and passionate and amazing. Kissing her felt right, in a way that I have never experienced before, and nothing else in the world mattered after that. There were a thousand obstacles to overcome, but I knew we had something worth pursuing, and when things are meant to be, nothing can stop them from happening.

I guess I’ve never really written about that evening. I’ve touched upon it, but never with much detail. It almost didn’t happen, for one thing. We were originally supposed to meet eleven days earlier, for dinner and a concert. Just friends. Only our friendship had taken a turn in the days and weeks leading up to our August get-together. We’d always flirted with one another, but that had seemed like harmless fun. The tone of our conversations changed as her visit drew nearer, though. It became clear that there were feelings involved, and that revelation both surprised and scared me. Before our first kiss, sure – I had doubts. Not because I thought Tara was anything less than an amazing person – it just seemed like having an actual relationship with her was a farfetched idea that was too good to be true, like a really amazing dream. It was a really amazing dream, in fact. And then, if we did get together, what about the 837 miles separating us? And my kids, and her job, and and and…it was just best not to think of such things in any realistic way.

The morning of the concert, I discovered through a Facebook post that Tara had been admitted to the ER up in Seattle, where she’d been visiting her mom. She’d had a gallstone attack and would require surgery in a few days. Reluctantly, she cancelled her trip down to Portland. We were both pretty bummed that night, and we texted nearly nonstop while I drank wine. That was when I realized the extent of what that night might have brought, and suddenly those walls that I had put up didn’t seem so strong. Fate had stepped in however, and decided the night was not meant to be. We cursed it and called it cruel, but neither of us realized at the time that Fate had a backup plan.

Looks like a highway in Nevada. How appropriate is that? (Courtesy of poundingheartbeat.com).

I recently finished a Stephen King novel called 11/22/63. It’s the story of a man who travels back in time in order to prevent the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Terrific concept, and I found it absolutely riveting. I consider it Mr. King’s best novel in years, and rank it right up there with The Stand, The Shining, Misery, and his other classics. One of the themes explored in the book is the idea that the past harmonizes, and will fight its hardest to ensure that whatever course of events was meant to be plays out. Well, here’s the thing. I sort of believe that life in general works that way myself. Here’s an example: one day two weeks ago, Rusty borrowed his mother’s car and was able to drive he and Audrey to school himself. Normally I take them, so this gave me a rare break from making the 45-minute round trip. Only a few hours later Audrey’s school called – she was sick and needed to be picked up in the middle of the day. The lesson learned? I was meant to make that drive one way or another, and so I did end up doing it.

And that is why, on August 22nd, Tara and I did end up meeting. Post-surgery, on her way home, she wanted to swing by so we could go out to dinner together. I was nervous as hell. I’d told her that nothing could happen, nothing should happen, because I was technically seeing somebody, although we hadn’t actually seen each other in almost eleven months. The truth is, I’d been clinging to something that had died a long time ago (and, I might add, wasn’t meant to be). It was the flimsiest of excuses, and though she agreed with me, neither of us had a will strong enough to resist.

Life harmonizes, remember?

She arrived that Monday evening. First time she’d been to my townhouse. We hugged, and chatted briefly. Went out to dinner at a Mexican restaurant down the street. The conversation was great, the food, terrific. The margaritas were excellent. Just friends. That’s all we were. Still just friends.

And then, back at my place, the kiss. It took me by surprise. Tara might have initiated it, but I certainly did not back away. One thing led to another and then another, and now – nearly eight months later – she is moving in with me. We’re much more than just friends now, of course. We’re a couple who are madly in love and eager to begin what promises to be an amazing journey together.

I’m happier than I’ve been in ages. The years following my divorce were often a struggle. I dated a few women, had a couple of sort-of serious relationships, but nothing ever felt like this. It’s simply incomparable. Twice, I had opportunities to live together with women. Both times I backed out, could not go through with it, and that’s got nothing to do with me being a commitment-phobe. On the contrary, all I’ve ever wanted was to share my life with somebody else. I simply had to find the right person. Being single has its moments, and my freedom allowed me to accomplish an awful lot over the years, but I am ready for the next step. It’ll be an adjustment, but one that I am happy to make. With Tara…because she is the one.

Welcome home, baby.

Kara-not-oke

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I was watching Lost In Translation not long ago. Great movie, and I’ve mentioned before my fondness for Bill Murray. I do believe he’s one of the premier actors of our generation, and if you don’t believe me, I’ve got two words for you: Day, and Groundhog.

Only not in that order.

There’s a scene in the film where Bill’s character, Bob – a past-his-prime American actor spending time in Tokyo to film a whiskey commercial – is in a bar and ends up singing karaoke in order to impress a girl (Charlotte, played by Scarlett Johansson, who is much younger, feeling neglected by her husband, and with that face and body certainly worth the trouble of impressing).  He steps up to the microphone and belts out Roxy Music’s “More Than This.”

Quite poorly, I might add.

But the thing about this performance is – it actually makes karaoke look fun. And when I think of karaoke, “fun” is not the word that comes to mind. “Terrifying,” maybe. Or “I’d have to be pretty damn drunk to ever consider making a fool of myself in public,” perhaps. But most certainly not “fun.”

Then again, I’m sort of scarred for life. I had a bad karaoke experience once, and I wasn’t even the one singing.

There was this girl, you see.

(And isn’t that always the case)?

Actually, “girl” is being charitable. She was an older woman, an honest-to-goodness what the kids call cougar. And she had the hots for me. I was very freshly divorced at the time (actually, separated – the divorce was still a few weeks away from being final, but the ex and I had split months earlier and were already living in separate condos), and eager to dip my toes into the dating pool again. Or maybe not my toes per se, but whatever. The point is, I wanted to have some fun, and this woman – whom I had worked with at a previous job – was down for that. She wasn’t at all my type, but you know that axiom about not looking for Ms. Right but being perfectly content with Ms. Right Now? That was my attitude in 2006.

Sorry, mom. I know you’re reading this. Gulp.

Anyway, she came over for a date, and while I was perfectly content to stay in, she wanted to go out and do something after we’d eaten pizza. I was thinking a movie might be fun, but then she suggested karaoke.

Err. Umm.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” she said, and I groaned because there was somebody else using an adjective to describe karaoke that I would never in a million years select myself. But I figured I owed her that much, considering we weren’t planning on parting ways for another fourteen hours or so. Go ahead and read between the lines. So I acquiesced, and we drove into Portland.

I should have known the night was going to go from good to not-so-good when Ms. Right Now not only had a particular karaoke spot in mind, but informed me as we pulled into the parking lot that she was “a regular.” Sure enough, the minute we walked through the door, the crowd greeted her by name. This reminded me of “Norm!!” from Cheers. Everybody really did know her name.

We squeezed into a booth, where we were joined by Ms. Right Now’s daughter and boyfriend. I was more attracted to the daughter than I was to her. Maybe because we were closer in age.

OK, I exaggerate. But she was cuter.

Ms. Right Now handed me what I assumed was a menu, only instead of containing things like cheeseburgers and chicken wings, this one listed songs. Thousands and thousands of songs. You’d place your order, and when it was ready, they’d call you up to the mic. My eyes glazed over as I skimmed through the myriad choices. You could sing basically anything that had ever been recorded in the past half-century, ranging from AC/DC to Zeppelin, Led. Again, I had no desire whatsoever to take the stage of what was a glorified honky-tonk bar and belt out a song badly.

“I’m not hungry,” I croaked.

My date that night did NOT look like this.

Ms. Right Now was too busy preparing for her moment in the spotlight to pay me much heed. Suddenly, it was her turn to take the stage. The lights dimmed, the music blared, and she launched into “Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears. Oh, god. She writhed around the stage, shaking her hips suggestively, pouty lips and all. The crowd ate it up, cheering her every move. I, on the other hand, wanted to duck under the table. Or make a mad dash for the door, but I thought that would be considered poor decorum.

I’m glad she was having fun, but she looked absolutely ridiculous. She had twenty years and a dozen wrinkles on Ms. Spears. I’m only thankful that she wasn’t wearing the naughty schoolgirl outfit Britney sported in the video, though there were props in her performance. Like pompoms, which she shook much too rigorously for my tastes. There was nothing sexy or alluring or even remotely attractive about that rendition. And yet, the audience loved her.

The audience knew her. She was a regular. That has to explain the incessant applause and catcalls that were rained down on her.

I escaped from there without having to take the stage myself, fortunately. And when we got back to my place that night, I faked an illness. True story. I’m not proud of this, but I was much too turned off to be turned on. The next morning I was up early, watching TV while she slept in my bed. Ever since that night, the women I have dated have all been younger than me.

And none of them have suggested we go out for a night of karaoke.

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Tag Teaming, Ely Style

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Dear Readers,

You’ve chuckled over her comments. You were dazzled by her guest post when I was in the hospital. So, as a special treat, I thought I would team up with the girl who stole my heart for a post while we are together this weekend. That’s right: it’s the one…the only…TARA!!

Or maybe I’m the only one excited by this?

Whatever.

My spur-of-the-moment trip to Ely has, naturally, been nothing short of wonderful. It still amazes me how perfect we are together, and how everything just feels so right. It’s nice to experience a real relationship for a change. Maybe someday I’ll talk about the other crazies delve into my dating past.

Someday when I’ve knocked back a few and my inhibitions are looser.

Speaking of knocking back a few, we did just that last night. But instead of my usual play-by-play, I think I’ll turn the blog over to Tara for a bit. Take it away, lovergirl!

Wow, babe.  Good thing I’m not feeling any pressure…

So, yeah, the visit has been wonderful so far.  And I get where Mark is coming from when he talks about how things were with the crazies. Been there, done that myself and its so great being with someone that gets excited and appreciates all those little moments that make up the best weekend since the last time we were together.

After he posted yesterday, I hurried home from work so we could spend the afternoon [CENSORED] and relaxing. Two of my favorite pastimes.  :)  We then hurried down to Racks because it had been a whole 24 hours since we had consumed alcohol. A couple of friends joined us and since Mark had posted on FB that we were likely to get shmammered, rounds of chocolate cake shots were a must. Not surprising, we bar-hopped until a little before midnight and even stopped at the Hotel Nevada to blow some bucks at the Blackjack tables. Also not surprising, Bloody Marys were in order (and greatly enjoyed) early this morning.

OK, it’s me again. In all fairness, my Facebook post originally put the odds of getting intoxicated at 70%, but as the evening wore on it was clear that we were headed in that direction. (Relax, mom and dad – we were celebrating. More on that in a second. Plus, this is Ely. What else is one supposed to do in a small town on a Friday night?). You know, I often say that I’ve lived my life in reverse. Married my high school sweetheart at a young age, settled down, bought a house and had kids. It wasn’t until my divorce that I started actually going out and having fun. Luckily, Tara is all about having fun. So are her friends. Let’s just say at one point we were playing shuffleboard and they may have been lifting their shirts in order to distract me. Which, I might add, worked like a charm.

Typical Friday night scene in Ely, Nevada. These were chocolate cake shots. Yummy!

Tara’s got the coolest friends ever.

Today has been much mellower. We got up at an ungodly hour – 5:30, after going to bed a mere four hours earlier – because…umm, I have no idea WHY we were up so early! Care to field that one, babe?

Because beers and chocolate cake shots = HEADACHE & THIRSTY!!!  I got up intending to drink a gallon or two of water, pop some Excedrin, and crawl back into bed for some cuddle time. Remember when I asked if we were going back to sleep or if I should make coffee YOU were the one that said ‘coffee’?

Regardless of the reason, our eyes lit up when Mark suggested a Bloody Mary instead of coffee. Nothin’ like a little hair of the dog to make things all better. And honestly, it turned out to be a great morning. Not only do we share a love for great food and drink, we also get a bit spastic over good music. With our respective music libraries, we took turns listening to old classics and new favorites. While he was jamming to Survivor, Men at Work, and Flock of Seagulls in high school, little ten-year-old me was rockin’ out to Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Fleetwood Mac, and Bob Seger. Many thanks to my mother for raising me right!

OK, first off, “Eye Of The Tiger” is the perfect rock anthem. Long live Survivor! Maybe my musical tastes in the eighties did leave something to be desired. But once the nineties rolled around, I got into all the cool bands!

Anyway, yes, this morning was pretty great. What I like best about this relationship – as Tara mentioned above – is how much we appreciate and enjoy the simple things in life. We both sort of spazz out over things that other people would take for granted. Like grilled cheese sandwiches, for instance. It brings us closer together. After our music and Bloody Marys, we headed into town for a stop at the All Aboard Inn, a bed and breakfast run by one of Tara’s friends. While this particular friend didn’t lift up her shirt, she did serve us a delicious breakfast – French toast for Tara, a carne asada breakfast burrito for me. Then we came home, watched a movie, and took a nap. Afterwards, we walked back into town with a loaf of bread to feed the ducks, grabbed a sandwich at the local drugstore, and ate that in the park. It was the perfect day to be out and about – sunny and 60 degrees – although a breeze did kick in while we were sitting at a picnic table, chilling us just a bit. We’re back at the house now for more movies and, well, we’d just like to enjoy each other’s company on my last night here. I’m heading back home tomorrow morning at 7 AM, and already feeling bummed over that.

But…

The reason we were celebrating last night? Tara has been applying for jobs in the Portland area, and there was one in particular she really wanted. They contacted her the other day, and she’s got a phone interview scheduled for Monday morning. They’ve already asked about her availability for an in-person interview. I was hesitant to mention any of this on the blog lest I jinx it, but Tara assured me it was okay. Neither of us is getting our hopes up, but if things do pan out, then she could be moving in with me very soon. At the least, I may get to see her for a couple of days again next week. Fingers, toes and all other appendages that can be crossed are officially crossed!

That’s all I’ve got. Any parting words, dear?

Yes, actually I do have some. I just want to take this opportunity to thank all your readers for their kind words and supportive comments over these last few months. You all have been wonderful and I love reading your comments. I look forward to the day when I’m moved, settled, and have a job that doesn’t send me all over this great state so that I can read more of your posts and start writing again myself. Just like blogging brought Mark and I together all those years ago, I suspect there will be more new friendships forged in the future. You guys are awesome.

May This Passion Never Fade

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So, I’m in Ely again. Surprised? I blame it all on my girlfriend. She’s too damn irresistible.

When we parted ways after her last visit, we weren’t sure when we’d see each other again. For once, we didn’t have any future visits planned – only because Tara is focused on moving out here there ASAP. Her job search has begun. Things could conceivably move fast, if everything falls into place. So there’d been talk of meeting up in Boise for a weekend, but that was it. And then, suddenly, opportunity presented itself. Her dad (who she is living with until she moves) was headed out of town for several days, and the kids are with their mother this week. The lure of four nights together in Ely proved impossible to resist, so we made plans for me to drive down on Wednesday. Even then, we were nearly thwarted by a snowstorm, a case of the stomach flu, and an appointment with the state of Washington regarding my unemployment. But everything always seems to work out perfectly for us, and all of those became non-issues; at 4:41 AM I pulled out of my condo complex and began the long trek to Ely. Just a little over twelve hours later I pulled up in front of Tara’s office and we embraced. It had been an excruciating eleven days apart.

Yes, I’m serious. And may this passion never fade.

The trip down was uneventful. Cold and windy, but not a cloud in the sky the entire 837 miles. There’s snow on the ground here, but not a ton. Still, more than I encountered in December. Go figure. The desert is quite beautiful in late winter, as a matter of fact, with the snow-covered mountains that stretch north to south nearly the entire length of northern Nevada, and acres of silver sagebrush dotting the plains. It got down to 12 degrees my first morning here, but warmed up to the mid-40s. Today it was 16, but on the way up to 60, with clear skies. I couldn’t ask for better weather.

Wednesday evening, Tara made me egg rolls and sesame noodles. It was a great meal after a long drive. Felt weird to be in her dad’s house – my last two trips here, I stayed at Tara’s, but her place is rented out now – although, weird in a good way. He’s got a real nice home. Thursday, Tara had to head into Wells on business, so I accompanied her. Wells is two hours away, and even though I’d spent the entire previous day in the car, this drive was pretty spectacular. Maybe it was the grazing antelope we spotted shortly after heading out. Or the detour down a dirt road. Let’s just say, great drive! After several hours in Wells, we drove to Elko, another hour away. There, we toured Lamoille Canyon, stopped for Bloody Marys and hush puppies at JJ’s in Spring Creek, visited with Tara’s aunt and uncle, and met up with her cousin and his family for dinner at a “sushi” place called Flying Fish. I use the term loosely because it’s not traditional sushi, but is still quite good. They have something like 30 different “long rolls” you can choose from; I opted for the Godzilla, consisting of shrimp, crab, scallops, avocado and eel sauce in a tempura batter. Sooo good. Add in the appetizers – inari, stuffed avocado, and lumpia – and we were pretty damn full. Afterwards, we made a quick stop at K-Mart (because Ely does not have any big box retail outlets and Tara has to take advantage whenever she’s in “the city” to stock up on necessities), and then made the 2.5-hour drive back home, chasing a brilliant full moon the entire way.

All in all, it’s been a very nice visit so far, and is only halfway done. The next couple of days shouldn’t be so hectic. Tara’s working until noon today, and then we’re going to relax the afternoon away before heading to Rack’s to meet up with some friends for drinks. Because in Ely on a Friday night, that’s what you do. Tomorrow we’ve got nothing planned other than breakfast in town and a walk to the duck pond. It sounds like a perfectly idyllic day to me. Sunday morning, I’ll head back home. Sadly, we lose an hour thanks to @#$&% Daylight Savings Time, which I already hate as it is. But, hey – what are you going to do? At least we’re enjoying a nice little bonus visit in the meantime!

Mountains south of Jackpot, Nevada.

My baby makin' me dinner!

Tara's dad's driveway. Not his sole method of transportation.

Lamoille Canyon, east of Elko.

*Smooch*

Stream running through Lamoille Canyon.

Godzilla Roll from Flying Fish Elko.

The Day After

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I hate the day after.

The day after my girlfriend leaves. It means another wonderful visit has come and gone, and spells a return to a normal routine that no longer feels “normal” or “routine.” The realization that she was here less than twenty-four hours ago is hard to bear; it’s all still fresh, and often I’ll find myself thinking, yesterday at this time we were…{fill in the blank with whatever we were doing, and it doesn’t really matter what we were doing, the simple fact that we were together is enough}, my mind remembering every minute detail, my heart aching with the pain of separation.

I’m sentimental to a fault sometimes.

And I know, in the grand scheme of things, this is nothing. She keeps calling the past eight days her last visit here, for now the focus has turned to searching for a job. Once she finds one, she will move here, and we can begin a life together. She is optimistic it won’t take long, and lord knows she’s far less pickier than I am when it comes to work (this is a compliment). Still, every moment we’re apart stings a little now. It doesn’t help that we’re both impatient, or that there is no firm date for the next time we see each other, a first since we began dating back in September. There’s always been some concrete event to look forward to, and the countdown app on my phone has never before been void of days to tick down toward. I think it makes this time apart the roughest yet, and believe me, no goodbye has ever been easy. We’ve talked about meeting in Boise for a couple of days sometime between now and That Future Then When She’s Here For Good. We’ll see how everything goes.

And yet, I remain happier than I’ve been in years. The pain of separation speaks volumes about the depth of that joy. Soon, I tell myself. Very soon these goodbyes will be nothing but a memory. There will be no day after to contend with.

It’s all good in the hood, as they say. Or maybe nobody actually says that, but they should. It’s clever and it rhymes.

Anyhoo.

LONG PARAGRAPH WARNING!!!

The Days During were pretty stinkin’ good, as always. Hanging out with the kids last weekend was a blast; Tara and Audrey bonded on Sunday, shopping together and even getting manicures. I was impressed, as The Daughter has never been much of a girly girl (which explains the black nail polish, but I thought that was cool and loved the fact that Tara would go out of her way to do something special with Audrey). After dropping the kids off Sunday night, we got all gussied up and hit the town for a belated Valentine’s Day dinner at Jake’s Famous Crawfish, Portland’s oldest restaurant (dating back to 1892), and I introduced her to the wonder and joy that is Powell’s Books. The baked salmon stuffed with crab, shrimp and brie, and the seafood fettucine were excellent. These came from Jake’s, not Powell’s, in case you were wondering and the word “books” didn’t tip you off. Monday we relaxed around the house, partaking in the grilled cheese experiment and watching movies, before making a fantastic dinner of steaks, sauteed mushrooms, garlic bread, artichokes dipped in mayo (never had this before but man alive am I hooked), and margaritas. Since we’re both foodies, one thing we do enjoy together is the art of good eating! Tuesday, we were on the interstate by 9 AM, destination: The Emerald City. Seattle, not Oz (because somebody forgot to pack their ruby slippers this time around). We arrived shortly after noon, made a quick stop to say hi to her brother Eric, and then killed a couple of hours at Pike Place Market. I love it there! Picture acres of fresh produce and just-caught seafood, fish flying through the air, hot doughnuts fresh from the fryer, quirky shops, and a big brass pig. It’s such a cool place, and I hadn’t been in a few years. When we came up for the City Arts Festival in October we discovered a little hole in the wall Chinese restaurant called Genghis Khan, which served the most fantastic orange beef we’d ever had, so a return visit was in order, and since it was lunchtime, our timing was perfect. The beef (and sweet ‘n sour prawns) were every bit as good as we’d remembered. By mid-afternoon it was time to meet up with Tara’s mom, Tracy, in Bothell, so we left the market and parked the car at the park and ride station in Bothell, down the street from her home. She sort of surprised us by suddenly appearing in front of the car while we were in the middle of a rather intense make-out session…oopsie. Not quite in flagrante delicto, but let’s just say if the windows weren’t steamed up, they should’a been. I cooked us fried chicken that night, and Tracy made mashed potatoes and country gravy. Yummy stuff. Wednesday we mostly hung around the house; Tara and Tracy were throwing a baby shower for Eric’s girlfriend, Anne, that evening; when they left, Tracy’s boyfriend David and I kicked it at home and decided to watch a couple of movies. I’d never seen Gone With The Wind before and he urged me to check it out, so I did – and naturally, was quite impressed. It’s not considered a classic for nothin’, after all. We put on Urban Cowboy next, a different sort of classic film…if you’re fond of John Travolta, anyway. Which I am. So that was a nice and relaxing day. Thursday, Tara and I went out to breakfast and then – on a whim – decided to drive across Stevens Pass to Leavenworth, a quaint Bavarian village on the other side of the Cascades. I’d always wanted to go, and had no idea it was a mere 100 miles from Bothell. We had a fantastic time there, strolling hand-in-hand through town and stopping in at various shops – an olive oil and vinegar place, a hippie joint (pun intended), a Christmas store, an antique place, a taffy shop – and naturally, had to buy a big ol’ soft and warm German pretzel to share on our way back. That evening Tracy made a pork roast with garlic mashed potatoes, and Eric and Anne came over for dinner and Wii bowling. I was promised a lemon if I made a beer run with Eric, and eagerly took Tara up on that offer. (Inside joke. Very funny. Trust me). We then played cards before heading to bed. Friday we said our goodbyes and made the trek back home; we had my parents over for dinner, and Tara was sweet enough to cook for them, whipping up her chicken broccoli braid. It was a night of good conversation, the wine was flowing, and Frank Sinatra crooned to us over the iPod. Saturday sucked. But only because of that trip to the airport at 3:30. Before that, the day was just fine and dandy! So, all in all, an excellent visit.

It just makes me that much more eager to have her around all the time. It’s going to be amazing.

Our belated V-Day dinner.

The Chef's Special that night: baked salmon stuffed with shrimp, crab and brie. It was heavenly.

Because I'm a romantic bastard, remember?

The iconic sign at Pike Place Market.

Pike Place: It's like an indoor farmer's market on steroids.

A plate full of orange awesome and sweet 'n sour delicious!

View from near the summit - Stevens Pass, WA.

My sneaky girlfriend hiding a snowball, which was subsequently launched in my direction.

Leavenworth, WA.

Even the Starbucks in Leavenworth looks like it's in the middle of Germany.

Love Is In The Air. And Chowder, too.

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A few days ago I got a hankering for a really good cup of clam chowder, so I did what anybody would do to satisfy that craving: made a 240-mile round trip to go get me some.

What? You wouldn’t?!

One of the things that attracted me to Tara was the fact that she once drove 72 miles for a corn dog. Clearly, this is a woman after my own heart.

And okay, fine, there was more than just the clam chowder at the end of my destination. There was sand and surf and salt air. The ocean. Fun shops to browse through. And the world’s largest frying pan. I’d been longing to take a trip to Long Beach, Washington for some time now – and with a kid-free Saturday looming large, decent weather (meaning overcast and drizzly), and an iPod full of tunes, the open road beckoned this past weekend. I decided to hit the road at 9 AM sharp. I stopped in Astoria a couple of hours later to walk along the Columbia River for a bit, before proceeding across the 3.5-mile long bridge that connects Oregon and Washington. I arrived in Long Beach about 11:30.

The unique and cool thing about this place is, cars are allowed on the beach. If you’ve never done so before, let me tell you – driving across the sand is a blast! I had my window rolled down and the breeze in my hair made me giddy with excitement and the sense of adventure.

And cold, too. Brr. February on the Washington coast? A tad chilly. I quickly rolled the window back up.

But still, it was a great way to spend the day. I took a walk along a section of the world’s longest beach (yes, it really is) before retreating to my car to watch the waves crash to shore. I spent an hour or two reading and relaxing and enjoying the scenery. Back in town, I hit a few stores. And when 4:00 rolled around, I headed to a bar and grill called Castaways Seafood Grille for a couple of cocktails. And that clam chowder I had come so far to have. It was delicious, I’m happy to report. And then I added fish ‘n chips to go along with it. I always crave those when I’m at the coast. Properly full, I headed back to the beach, and fate smiled down upon me by providing just enough of a break in the overcast to surprise me with a sunset. It was unexpected, and magnificent.

I then made the long trek back home in the dark, arriving back at Casa Petruska eleven hours after I set out. It was pretty much the perfect day.

I say “pretty much” because Tara wasn’t with me, and she was the one missing ingredient. But while she wasn’t there physically she was there in spirit, and we texted and talked throughout the day, anyway. Next time I go, we will go.

I’m also a little sad that we aren’t together for Valentine’s Day, which is ironic because I never cared much for this day. I used to refer to it as a phony holiday invented by greeting card companies looking to make a fast buck, assuming there were kickbacks involved between the chocolate and flower industries, as well. God, I’m such a romantic. But I realized that this attitude only existed when I was single, or married to somebody who complained that the flowers I gave her weren’t nice enough or delivered to her work. Is it any wonder I greeted this day with cynicism?! I have since discovered that when you are in a relationship that makes you happy, you want to celebrate Valentine’s Day with the person you love. So, the distance between us feels greater than usual today. Add in the fact that today is our official five-month anniversary, and it’s even worse.

But.

Next year we’ll be celebrating together. And, Tara is coming up for another visit on Friday, and staying for eight days and nights. We’re celebrating VD a few days late with a dinner in Portland on Sunday. This helps soften the blow.

It’s going to be a fantastic visit, and brings us ever closer to the day when she moves in with me for good. Every day will feel like Valentine’s then.

Aww. What do you know? I am a romantic bastard, after all.

The Astoria-Megler Bridge spans the Columbia River and connects Oregon and Washington.

That there's the world's largest frying pan in the background.

Well worth the 240-mile roundtrip.

Don't know who these people are, but I don't care: I love this shot.

Kids

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Just got back from the grocery store and it was a real adventure. What made this particular trip so fun? The constant, ear-splitting screams of a small child.

I assumed, at first, that a baby was crying. If so, she had quite the set of lungs. This continued, nonstop, for a good fifteen minutes, the kid never once pausing or coming up for air. Her cries echoed through the entire store, making for a very unpleasant shopping experience – I could see this on the faces of the other shoppers I passed. Eventually the cries drew closer, and I spotted the offender. Surprisingly, she was about three years old. Her cheeks were blazing, tears streamed down her face, and she continued to wail incessantly. Her dad blatantly ignored her, pushing the cart with a stoic look, while her mom walked alongside, ignoring her with equally stubborn indignation.

The whole thing was sadly pathetic – and completely unnecessary.

All they had to do was pick the child up. Hug her, pat her on the back, comfort her. I don’t know what the issue was, and I understand that it’s none of my business, but a battle of wills out in public should never be allowed to continue unabated for so long. Eventually, the dad did scoop her up, and what do you know – the crying stopped instantly. Nobody said parenting was easy – I know this from firsthand experience – but it certainly doesn’t need to be that difficult, either.

I’ve been reading a lot of old blog posts lately. The summer of 2006 was a difficult and contentious time in my life; my marriage completely fell apart, and I have the whole thing chronicled elsewhere. Every event that transpired, every emotion I felt, is captured for posterity. This was unintentional; I’d been blogging for years, and when bad things started to happen, I continued to write. If anything, I stepped up the pace. So, for better or worse, I’ve got this very difficult time in my life all written down for me to look back on whenever the mood strikes. It’s difficult reading, but invariably makes me feel pretty good about my life these days, because it gives me a better appreciation for the happiness that Tara has brought me.

One of the things that I’ve been reminded of, in reading those old posts, is how crucial a role my kids played in helping me to survive a very trying time.

Divorce is difficult on everybody, and my kids experienced firsthand the disintegration of their parents’ marriage. It must have been an awful thing to witness, and I felt horrible that they had to live through it. And yet, through it all, they remained strong and supportive. I refuse to point fingers and place any blame – we’ll just call it an unfortunate situation and leave it at that – but throughout that summer, more often than not, it was just me and the kids, morning, noon and night. I think I depended on them just as much as they depended on me – but I don’t think they know that. Or knew that, because last night – some five and a half years after the fact – I let them know how important they’d been to me that summer. In fact, I shared with Rusty a blurb I had written one day in August.

Rusty, by the way, is the only person in the whole world I feel I can truly count on…my son’s stock keeps rising in my eyes every day…I’ve got Rusty, thankfully. He’s been awesome through this. An eleven-year-old source of strength. I think I’ll keep him around…

Audrey, too, was wonderful throughout the whole ordeal. At six, she was younger, and it was more difficult for her to process what was going on – but she rarely complained, and weathered the storm admirably.

The point is, I wanted my kids to know how thankful I was to have them, and how important they’d been to me then. And, how important they are to me now. It’s true that they are older and more independent. That they fight with each other and don’t always do as they are told and sometimes get on my last nerve. But, they are good kids, and I’m lucky they have turned out the way they have. Considering what they have gone through, and the fact that they still rotate between two households with very different lifestyles, ending up someplace different every week, they are remarkably well-adjusted and pretty well behaved. My friends point this out often, and Tara – who was understandably nervous over meeting them initially – has truly taken to them (and vice-versa). It’s made what might have been an awkward transition pretty damn simple.

So, Rusty and Audrey, even though I sometimes snap at you guys and nitpick over little things, know that I’m proud of you, and glad that you guys are around. I can’t imagine life without you.

And no, I am not dying. I just thought I’d tell you that!

One of our many outings in the summer of 2006, proving that even in the midst of turmoil we still managed to have a rip-roaring, bloody good time!

The topic of kids, actually, is an interesting one. When we first divorced, I swore to myself that I would never again have another child. I felt like I’d paid my dues and, back then, had no interest in going through the whole process again. But over the years, my stance softened, and my attitude changed. The older my kids got, the more I missed those younger years (which is pretty ironic, because when they were babies I couldn’t wait until they were toddlers, and then when they were toddlers I couldn’t wait until they were in school…there was this never-ending cycle of wishing they were older and more independent, until suddenly they were. Then I was like hey, wait a minute…  Maybe this is something all parents experience?). Plus, if I had it to do all over again, I know I’d do a better job. The kid crying in the store is a perfect example. When I was younger I was less patient, and more apt to try to prove a point, never mind the fact that it is impossible to reason with anybody under the age of 7. With maturity comes wisdom. I’d never let my kid cry like that. And, knowing how fast kids grow up, I think I’d appreciate those younger years more. I wouldn’t be in such a rush for my kid  to turn older. There’s a lot to be said for cherishing the moment.

Mom and dad, you can breathe easy – I’m not trying to tell you anything here. I’m not ending this post with some big, surprising revelation. And I know I’m not getting any younger. If I ever did have another kid, I’d have to bring along an oxygen tank whenever I pushed the stroller, as I’m sure I’d end up winded from the exertion.

Actually, I kid. Tara told me the other day she has trouble keeping up with me sometimes. And I’ve got eight years on her. Maybe it’s the fact that I do have eight years on her that has me thinking this way? Dating a younger woman without children, the idea is bound to pop into your head at some point. At least the thought doesn’t have me running in the opposite direction, or even breaking a sweat. And that probably has a lot to do with how good Rusty and Audrey have been over the years.

So again, I thank you two. For being there then, and for being there now.

And no, really, I swear I don’t have some kind of terminal disease…

Remembering The The’s

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Maybe, she says, they’re getting tired of hearing about all this. 

But, but…I stammer. There may be some truth to this, but who isn’t a sucker for a good love story? The romantic in me has been unleashed, trumpeting forth furiously and without abandon. A broken record, perhaps, but it still spins, playing the same happy tune over and over, and it is sweet music to my ears. A blog is many things, I reply, but first and foremost, it’s a bookmark in the pages of your life. I want to look back on this, to always remember The Beginning. I’ll still write about mandolines and geoduck, but also of the great times we share together. Photographs fade over time, details become murky. I’m compelled to remember so we never forget.

You’re right, she says. Don’t ever stop.

It’s a good thing, because I couldn’t if I tried. I don’t just talk, I shout. From the rooftops, for the world to hear. There are so many moments in time to capture for posterity…

The adrenaline rush of the late night airport greeting. The ride home, holding hands the entire trip. The [ARE YOU CRAZY? MY PARENTS READ THIS]. The pizza and beers Friday night, followed by Wii games with the kids. The drive to the Oregon coast on Saturday, when rain and snow and fog gave way to hail moments after I remarked that we had seen every kind of weather imaginable. The rainbow that blossomed right before my eyes the instant I pulled over to take a picture of the water. The World Famous Octopus Tree (how they laughed over my Griswold-like enthusiasm) and the view of the Pacific Ocean from the Cape Meares Lighthouse. The squeaky cheese at the Tillamook Cheese Factory and the wine tasting next door. The snowball fight and the Mad Libs tournament on the drive home. The belated birthday dinner for my dad, and Tara’s first experience with Chicken Paprikas.

The homemade biscuits and gravy and pitcher of Bloody Marys Sunday morning. The flight to Vegas, our first airplane ride together, full of laughter and good conversation and Mousetrap on my phone (“Airplane Mode,” of course) and a few more Bloody Marys. The pictures in front of the iconic Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas sign, retakes because those we snapped a few weeks earlier in the dark didn’t turn out. The Presidente margaritas at Chili’s (and the realization that we hadn’t been lacking in our recommended daily allowance of alcohol that day). The drive down the Vegas strip, in the dark, neon lights shimmering in the desert air, before trekking Over The Hump To Pahrump.

The solo excursion to the hotel casino Monday morning while Tara was in a board meeting for work. The four “3″s perfectly lined up on my video poker machine, 800 nickels that translated into a rare chance to leave a casino with more money in my pocket than I entered with. The lunch with Tara and her coworkers, and admonition (or was it a threat?) from her boss to take good care of her. The trip to Pahrump Valley Vineyards while she finished up work. The rain showers and chilly wind sweeping through the valley (I thought it never rained in the desert!). The housing inspections we went on together with Michelle from the Pahrump office that afternoon, a chance for me to see my girlfriend in action. The two-and-a-half-hour dinner at Tommasino’s, a classy and gorgeous Italian restaurant that seems as out of place in Pahrump as a tumbleweed would in Portland. The calamari, tentacles and all. The Italian wedding soup and roast duck and chocolate chip cannoli and live jazz music and pinkie ring-bedecked owner straight out of the Sinatra era.

The breakfast burrito and coffee from Sonic Tuesday morning before heading out for more inspections. The crazy antics of Lisa and Laura, the local realtors who are partners-but-not-in-that-way. The detour through Red Rock Canyon on the drive back to Vegas, the mountain formations stunningly beautiful in the afternoon sunlight. The long, sad walk through McCarran Airport, neither of us wanting to part ways after such a wonderful visit. The tearful goodbye at the gate. The new countdown beginning: 25 days until we are together again.

That’s a lot of The’s to remember. A lot of The’s to never forget.

A lot of happy memories.

This rainbow over Tillamook Bay appeared out of nowhere, just in time for my shot.

Best airplane flight ever!

Las Vegas sign, Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas

The iconic sign welcoming dreamers from around the world.

The Strip

The Vegas skyline.

Over the hump you end up in Pahrump.

Tommasino's in Pahrump: one of the best Italian restaurants I've ever been to.

Red Rock Canyon outside of Las Vegas.

My hair is blowing in the wind and there are cars in Tara's eyes, but I love this picture anyway.

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