couples

by

empty-nesting

IMG_0279

Our nest was empty today.

And it felt sort of like when Rudy lived in Arkansas.

And I lived here, in California.

So many days came and went.

Both of us experiencing life without the other.

Mostly, only words said how we felt, or what we were thinking.

Gestures and body language played an intermitent role in our relationship.

Those are days that will forever be distant.

Days that cannot be redone.

Days that are, thank goodness, over.

But.

Today.

I am reminded of those distant days.

Because.

Here I am. Here we are.

In the house. Together.

Without kids.

No one is mumbling on the phone with friends.

No one is singing along to the lyrics booming from a computer.

No one is chatting. Talking about a day in the life of.….

And it hits me.

Both softly and a bit aggressively.

That life will be sort-of-like-yet-not-exactly-like-but-in-a-way-it-will-be-sliced-up-similar-to when Rudy lived there and I lived here.

by

walking in the storm

Image

i walk for pleasure. mostly. but, i also walk to ebb any tension that’s built up within my being. tension, every day, or not every day, tension. that can take me down. if i let it.

with my shock absorbing athletic shoes on, my pockets on the rear sweats and an oversized t-shirt dangling over my frame, i head out the front door. leaving rudy behind in the kitchen cooking. fleetwood mac entertains me, energizes me, soothes me as i stroll up the wide cement steps which lead to the paved street, heading toward the hills.

my thoughts meander, take over.

sometimes, lots of times, obstacles pop up, challenging us. rudy and me.

he’s here. home with me. in california. holding my hand. feeling happy.

yet, rudy is disappointed. in himself. dissatisfied that he has yet to find a job. employment to replace the position he left behind in arkansas. i remind him that life is a process. a continuous process that should be enjoyed. he nods his head in agreement, but deep down he’s not buying it.

our conversations on the subject begin like cool weather: comfortable, breezy, with a bit of a chill. then, expectedly or not, it turns heated. overbearing. uncomfortable.

as i’m walking in the hills. walking up steep inclines. jogging down descending, winding narrow roads. i talk to myself. talk myself through my day. my life. our life. i work out my frustrations. make sense of my destiny. rudy’s destiny. our destiny. i consider my take on the world. where i fit in. where we fit in.

everything will be fine. i tell myself. because i know its true. my optimism tells me so. everything will be fine.

i walk into the house. five miles later. one and a half hours after i began my journey of reflection. rudy smiles at me. his glasses balancing on the tip of his nose. i smile. wipe the sweat off my brow. and tell him i love him. i love you too, he tells me. he’s my person. and i’m his. individually, each in our own way, and together we will weather our storm. and enjoy a world of sunshine.

by

West Hollywood – Boys Town

Image

There we were, Roberto and I, cruising down the road, having just left the vicinity of Beverly Hills, just around the corner from Rodeo Drive.

He was nom-noming on a Sprinkles Triple Cinnamon Cupcake which was hugging a scoop of Captain Crunch Ice Cream while I was navigating through the congested thoroughfare.

Previous to that, we had gathered information at The Groundlings, an acting school and theater group in Hollywood where Roberto plans to engage himself.

So, as I said, there we were, heading home, driving down Santa Monica Blvd., just chatting, enjoying our conversation and the view, when I over-enthusiastically exclaimed,

“Wow! This area is very impressive! So pretty! I could see myself, living here, walking down these streets, enjoying an LA kind of life.”

“Me too,” Roberto chimed in. “We’re in WeHo,” he stated.

“WeHo?” I questioned.

“West Hollywood,” he answered.

I felt I should have known this, being a native of California, but, alas, that shortcut word bypassed my vocabulary list.

“Yeah,” Roberto continued, “this is a great area. Did you notice it’s a gay community?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you didn’t notice all the rainbow flags?”

Well, what do you know. The rainbow flags are pretty much everywhere. And then I noticed all the men walking around, going about their daily business, doing whatever it is they needed to do, just like what Roberto and I were doing. Getting done what needed to be done.

I later learned we were in what is referred to as Boys Town, a gay community in West Hollywood.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” I say to him. “This place would be perfect for you.”

“Oh, that’d be great!” Roberto sounded cheery. “I would love this. Living here and working here, while honing my acting skills. Oh look,” he pointed. “See the billboards?”

And I did.

Billboards. Advertisements with model-perfect men advertising products that anyone would want, yet, obviously meant for the boys in this town.

We passed trendy restaurants, healthy health food stores, quaint coffee shops, books-nooks, upscale gay bars, and very appealing residential areas.

“I love this place,” Roberto confirmed.

“Make it a goal,” I told him. “Make it a possibility.

Secretly, I was aligning my thoughts, helping to make this happen for Roberto. A future in the making. Because, well, if it happens for him, then it happens for me.

by

man vs. cats

  IMG_0996Our cats came into our lives, unexpectedly, a few years ago. I was a bit sneaky about the idea of the fluffy twins, taking advantage of the fact that Rudy was living and working in Arkansas, when Brad first approached me with a photo of their newborn cuteness. After a lot of thought, seriously, quite a bit, because, well, Rudy is allergic to cats. But, since he was permanently positioned in another state it made sense that during his visits we could make sure the kitty-cats steered clear of him. In the end, I told the kids Sure. Let’s do it. Let’s get ourselves a few cats! And so we did.

The girls joined our household, fit right in with our lifestyle. Enjoying a sense of well-being and comfort. All was good.

Except when Rudy first found out about the fact that, like never before, we were entertaining a pair of pretty kitties, in his absence. He ranted. He grunted. And did so for weeks until he was left with nothing more to say. Nothing more to add to the many reasons we should not have cats. Realizing and considering that he was there and they were here. So, instead, he slowly, over time, began to adjust to Cassandra and Skyler. 

By the time he returned to California, living here, for the long haul, Rudy had begun to accept their presence.

IMG_9453

Feelings began to imprint.

Last night, Rudy quietly opened our bedroom door, not wanting to interrupt my much needed shut-eye and whispered, firmly, without a show of passion, and refusing to say Skyler’s name,

“That colored cat is sitting out there, by the front door.”

“Oh, ok,” I attempt, running a hand through my already messed-up hair. I know he’s telling me this because no-way-no-how is he going to pick her up, because, obviously his allergies will attack, big time. As I was walking down the hall, toward the front door, Rudy continued.

“I saw her sitting out there, way out at the end of the steps. She was just sitting there, staring at the front door, so I opened it, figuring she’d walk in, and go straight to Roberto’s room.”

Roberto’s room. The room with a door to the backyard. Their home within our home, I think to myself. I smiled, knowing how hard this task must have been for Rudy, yet he was doing it for me, because he knows how much I care about our sweet cats.

IMG_0657

“She walked to the door, then stopped. I guess she saw it was me and wasn’t sure if she could trust me.”

Probably, I think.

Out loud I say, “Yeah, she’s trying to figure out what you mean to her. It’s not like she doesn’t like you, but she hasn’t developed a relationship with you either.”

“I’m fine with that. She’s not my cat,” he confirms.

I reach down and pick Skyler up, wrap my arms around her multicolored body.

Rudy doesn’t know it, but his face gives him away. He’s curious about her. Finds interest in who she is, who her sister is, her twin who looks nothing like her.

He no longer feels angry or negative about them; yet, neither does he feel the need to grasp them and love them.

But, he does wonder about them.

And most importantly, he’s decided to fully accept them. Accept them in a way that works for him. By watching and observing. Without touching.

by

call me

f7804-img_1469

Back in the day.

Long ago.

Five days after Rudy and I met.

He called me.

Called me at home.

Where I was living with my parents.

…

I’m almost certain we met on a Saturday night.

At a Tupperware™ party.

Of all places.

…

We talked.

We laughed.

I gave him my phone number.

…

So.

The next week.

When I said hello.

Talking into the house phone.

He murmured into my ear.

Do you remember me?

Of course I remember you, I said quietly.

…

We talked.

We laughed.

And agreed to chat again.

On the following Thursday.

…

Always on a Thursday.

…

On and on it went.

For several weeks.

…

Until.

One night.

We had an unexpected encounter.

…

We sat together.

We talked.

A lot.

About life.

…

As simple as that.

…

When he called.

Again.

After another week’s passing.

I agreed to an official date.

…

Because.

Well.

My instincts told me to.

Told me.

That Rudy was my future.

by

Are you with the one you are meant to spend a lifetime with?

Rudy and I have been married for 27 years. I’d say long years, because some felt that way, but mostly the years have zoomed along quite rapidly. Through our many ups, and our many many downs, we have managed to hold our relationship together for the simple reason we have chosen to. Most importantly, for us anyway, is that we really really like each other. So much so that when something negative intervenes into our life we, like many couples, drudge through the hard times, always smiling at each other when all is said and done. I really like you, I will tell Rudy. And I really like you, he will respond. Or vice versa. Maybe he says it first, and I am the one to reply. Either way, we know we are each others person, the one you can count on, for better or worse.

Back in the early days of our I Do’s, my nephew John once mentioned something about how Rudy’s last name Romero, and my maiden name Palmer, had the same meaning. I listened and understood what he was saying, and over the years had thought about the alignment of the universe in our world, but I never delved into what he told me. Not completely. During any kind of conversation, when people, mostly women, would speak about surnames, married names, maiden names, and any other kind of name, I would think about what John had told me, but never divulge the information. I held onto it, because, oh my goodness, what if I misinterpreted what he meant. That I was completely wrong. How embarrassing would that be? And every time I thought I should to simply search the information myself, to gather the truth fully within me I was always at the wrong place, at the wrong time. I never ever thought about it when I was working on a computer, or browsing through words in a dictionary. No, ironically, I would think about our surnames in the middle of a conversation with others, never in a place where the internet was running hot.

Never until a few days ago, in our 27th year of marriage; twenty seven and one half to be exact. I must have been thinking about Rudy and I, and our relationship, and how we always seem to forge ahead, maintaining what’s most important. Simply the fact we are together. That we are lucky enough to enjoy each others company. I am sure that was the moment I finally remembered to compare our surnames. I quickly turned on my phone, clicked on the blue Dictionary icon, and plugged in Palmer and Romero.

IMG_1546 IMG_1547

So, I finally confirmed that not only are Rudy and I meant to be together, but our names tell us so. And, well, it seems we’ve been on some type of religious, or better suited to us, a spiritual, journey – together.  Now, I can have an open conversation about our pilgrimage, a journey of our destiny. Yay!

by

what do you do when a man cries?

You listen, of course. You listen to him tell you he can’t figure out what is wrong with him. Wonders why he doesn’t seem to care. About much. All you can do is listen until there is a pause, a break from his stream of words.

Then you tell him what you think. Where the problem might lie. You tell him that it is most likely not something current that has caused him grief, to give him the feeling of giving it all up. No. You tell him you believe it may have to do with a time long ago. During his youth. That for some reason, as a small boy, he seemed to feel not-so-very-loved. That specific moments could have dirtied his mind. Ingrained themselves into his psyche.

You also tell him that maybe he’s spent his life trying to please someone who is no longer around to please. You tell the crying man he needs to find it within himself to believe, to know, that he is indeed worthy. Worthy of everything he’s accomplished. And that if he can find it in his heart, his mind, and his soul to believe how valuable he is to the world. To his wife. To his children. He will feel rewarded. Happy. And full.

That unless he discovers his value, deep down, he will always have a hole where all the good things get washed out, plugged up by the bad.

It’s psychological you tell him. That it’s absorbed in his mind.

So, you make a suggestion.

Find that person in your memory. That person you’ve been trying to please. Find his face. And tell him you are okay. That you no longer need anyone’s approval. Only your own. And then you will see. Life will brighten. Feel lighter. Less harsh. And only then will you be truly happy.

In response, the tearful man will say to you, I think you are right. I think I am holding onto something from long ago. Something that is hurting me. Hurting my life. And my relationships. Then he will breathe deep. Wipe away the tears that have fallen. And embrace you. Hold you tight. Because you are the person he trusts the most.

by

the mellowing of a man

IMG_2030

Rudy has worked hard. Worked all kinds of hours. Hours throughout the day. Throughout the night. But now he finds himself at home, domesticated. Cooking. Cleaning. And caring for the kids, specifically Brad, who continues to depend on us. All the while I scamper off to work.

Rudy’s becoming more patient. Taking the time to talk. To really talk. To talk about feelings. Both good and bad. To talk a lot.

Tension is released.

For both of us.

An already deep connection deepens. Respect and friendship take on a new path. The stress of life is replaced with the joy of communicating.

He’s calming.

Embracing life in a simply simple way.

He’s engaging himself.

Enriching himself.

His being.

His psyche.

His approach.