Guys and Dolls

Anyone who tells me men and women are romantically the same or want the same, is not someone I can believe. Why? Based on limited experience, both mine and that of others, emotional androgyny is completely in error. Women see serious love and romance as that leading to some kind of permanent or, at least, stable on-going relationship. To most women, a romance is a kind of  investment in the future, one with someone around who becomes part of her life. It doesn't mean women need to marry, necessarily, it simply means that there is a dependable someone who is going to share experiences in an equal manner, someone with whom to build a life, while at the same time, allowing both to remain individuals and yet enjoy interdependent roles. Women don't see it as a trial period but rather as a growth situation. They also realize that there are escape routes for possible endings but that if so, they are ones that are mutually respecting of the feelings of each. Most men, on the other hand, don't appear to look at a relationship in the long term. They see it in a sort of day by day matter that may or may not develop. They don't anticipate any kind of permanency at the outset and yet they are aware that one day, there may be that kind of event. They, like women, expect mutual loyalty and respect while the relationship is happening but they don't put any locks on a commitment to one person unless they are ready for the "big step".  Men must feel confident that where they are heading, should the relationship become serious to them, is the absolutely right time in their lives to act. In other words, they see a relationship as  something with no big expectations but that which is experimental and perhaps, possibly, something more.  When both the She and the He are sure about what they want mutually, something more than a relationship might happen. So they think. While these mores are changing, they are basically different, males from females. And that can cause problems. Males who don't consider dating something exclusive, differ from many females who see a series of datings with one person as becoming a commitment, and are thrown into jealousies when this illusion is destroyed. And jealousy is a sure way to poison any relationship on either side. The message when what seems a good and blossoming relationship has jealousy, it's time to say bye-bye and not resort to the demeaning aspects of jealousies at all.  Jealousy is far harder on the perpetrator than the victim, and it's a sure sign of a diseased union. The message is there: it's over, get out. Relationships that harbor jealousy are not relationships, they are wars with retaliations and hard words and hurts that are far worse than simply stopping. Sounds harsh but the alternatives are worse. Long drawn-out sessions of jealousy and its repercussions are just not worth it if something can't be worked out. The "short sharp shock" is best. "Exeunt", as the Bard put it.

Garbage As Long Division

Being a responsible world citizen is no easy task when it comes to what we throw out. Used to be, you  tossed garbage into one bin and a truck came along once a week and carted it off to a garbage dump. Everyone knew where The Dump was, generally, but nobody saw it - or wanted to. You could smell the site driving by and know it was there because of the seagulls circling overhead but we did not see the hills of it piling up. There were pretty rows of trees hiding it all. We heard that it eventually became necessary to truck garbage off to another forgettable site well away from the city. But one day, even that became a problem. About that time, we became responsible folk and began recycling our waste.  Being responsible has its work. Where I live, there is an air-conditioned garbage room and in it, are two huge red  bins, a bunch of blue bins and a green one. One of the big red ones, is for garbage, the other, for cardboard, while the blue ones are there to hold  "recyclables". The green one is for compostable things. It's all very organized. I'm not. I am a learner in this new garbage matter. I believe in the whole process and its purpose which is survival of living things, but I have to admit it is confusing at times. I always thought paper was paper but not in the new garbage system. There is paper and there is paper. The tissues go into compost while newspaper goes into recycle unless it is used to wrap food waste and then it goes into compost. There is also division of plastics. Not all plastics are equal. Some are for recycle and others are garbage. None are compostable. I find myself looking under the sink at my three containers and going "eeny meeny miney moh" before popping what used to be called just garbage, into one of the sacks. I have to refer often to the taped list on the inside of my cupboard door that defines which kind of garbage is which. I do a lot walking about with tissues in one hand and old newspapers in the other taking these to their rightful places for discard. It has added another complication to my life. A good one. Now, I am not complaining, I am just saying.

Dream On

Sometimes you see something or someone that appears to be a prize. You want the prize - whatever, whoever it may be, and you strive to find a way to achieve this thing that has eluded you. Every waking moment of your life becomes filled with the desire to achieve what you want. You make endless plans and go to all efforts to set up ways to get to your goal. All else in your life is set aside or inconvenienced or neglected. You simply have to get what you want at any cost. You become obsessed. All your efforts are bent to the task. You can see your desire almost complete. The real work begins. Everything else is secondary and you become dedicated to what you have waited for all this time. The plan evolves and with superhuman effort, you reel in what you worked for. And like a miracle, you do finally get what you wanted. Everything you planned worked out and now you are successful. The joy is overwhelming.  And for a time, you're sitting on top of the world so to speak. There is that glow of holding the prize in your own hands. The diploma is on the wall, the ring is on the finger, the structure perfectly complete. Time slides on in joy and you look around and see what you have and you love it but for some niggling reason, life isn't quite as exciting as before. Something is missing, just a tiny bit, but there it is, that slight dissatisfaction, however, small. Then you realize one day that anything, once achieved, is at an end: there seems nowhere else to go, no one else to want, nothing more to work toward. And it is only then, you know that it's the "getting there" that charms and not the achievement of a goal in itself. Certainly, there is the memory of what you accomplished but now that you have it, the shine fades. The dream is a reality. But, you think, maybe there is something else, some wider horizon, something more. The search begins to seek what is better than best and off you go again into the dream of another shore to explore, another love to find, another thing to create. And we begin another dream.

All New - Phew!

After months of living homeless in other kindly people's homes, here I am in my own brand-new  place at last. It's all modish, sparkling and shiny. Each tiny scratch or scuff mark is instantly attended to. I hope this fussiness doesn't continue; I have other things to do. Like writing, for example. Finally, here, I have stopped crashing into corners that defy speed shuffling while carrying things that are desperate to find a shelf or drawer. I have almost stopped bruising myself against unfamiliar corners, doors that leap out at me and jutting appliance handles.  I have even come to tolerate the pile of cardboard boxes, as yet,  in the middle of my so-called Great Room. Great Room? What it really means is a room where you combine dining, living, lounging and cooking. Is nothing secret these days?  Wall-less is a better term, but awkward in print. Sizing down sounds so marvelous. It appears  all you have to do is discard the ugly sweaters or the vase your gramma gave you, you know, the big one that always made you cringe but "Gramma gave it to me".  I remember Gramma, but her vase has got to go.  "Good things" have to go. Out, silver, crystal, precious ceramic statues, little pictures, out all the better-keep it-you-never-knows. My country mother-in-law dumped her sizing-down goods into the "old" well. I have, instead, the Salvation Army and the hospital thrift store. Perhaps someone else will value the cut glass, china and travel memorabilia that, as I pack it up for the last time, pulls like farewells to old friends. The place smells new and I wish I could enjoy it more but first, that pile of boxes calls me. It won't go away by itself!