Relative Something

It is the last day of the year 2011. I can’t tell if it is a function of my being successful at living in the moment, but I fail to sense any particular significance over the change of the calendar year. Today will feel no different than tomorrow. The number is a rather arbitrary one. How old do people think this planet is? 4.5 billion years? Lets have that be the year. Tomorrow can be January 1, 4.5 billion.

Maybe I’m just frustrated by the struggles Cyndie and I have been having to organize our joined thinking toward logical action for our future dream of selling our house and finding the perfect little horse-hobby farm of our visions. There’s this complication of an all-consuming job she is responsible for in Boston right now, with its unknown duration. We want to return to Portugal to visit our friends there, too. Something seems to be holding Cyndie back on committing to that, and it feeds my frustrations that we aren’t coming up with anything solid I can put my mind to. They are all just possibilities right now.

The real truth to my frustrations is that I have recently come across two things that should be inspirational for me, yet they have both triggered the opposite response in my naturally depressed way of perceiving my reality. We visited friends a few nights ago, in their newly remodeled home. It was a knockout. It was absolutely gorgeous. It was functional and stylish. The guy served as his own contractor and did much of the work himself. I’m not that guy. I need to have such a person in my back pocket. When I see a problem around the house, I just pull out the guy and he looks the problem over and sees the solution. If he can’t fix it himself, he knows who to call. And he gets a good deal on the price to do the work, too.

Then I came across something that cut even closer to my situation. Someone who wasn’t that guy, but built his own low impact woodland home in just 4 months using simple tools like a chainsaw and a hammer and chisel. He wasn’t an architect, nor even a builder or carpenter. He used natural materials and spend about $4,700. He is a fine artist. Photography and graphic design. He is Simon Dale.

I should be thrilled to find this. There is certainly much there that I admire. But it blows my mind. Short-circuits my logic wiring. Instead of feeling inspired to grab a hand tool and set off on my own adventure, I become paralyzed by the sheer unbelievableness of such accomplishments.

I have no idea what 2012 will bring for me. I’m a guy in my 53rd year on this planet. I think I’ll take some pictures, write some thoughts. See what comes of it.

It is now one week since Cyndie came home to visit for the holidays. It has been enlightening for me. After only two months of living in separate cities, it appears that I have established a new comfort with my solo routine around the house. Having another person living here again is messing with my style.

There are the usual conflicts, like needing to share space in a bathroom again, or our opposing method of managing stuff around the house. The second morning after Cyndie had been home, I was going to walk into the laundry room to get something that I keep in there, but I was stopped short by piled boxes she chose to store in the room. I discovered that I had forgotten what it is like to come upon these types of little surprises.

More sinister, are the periods of time when she is in town, but not home. Do I wait to eat until she gets home? I find myself suspending my activity and my decisions in order to accommodate her, not knowing what time she will actually return. In the months that she has been in Boston, I can see now, I have become more decisive in my activities.

With the sorrow of being alone, comes the joys of independence.

It is a tangle of competing interests. I doubt it is any different than if we had never tried to live apart, but it does shed new light on the subject, our spending time living alone. I bet there are a lot of military spouses who have far greater insights on this than I ever will.

Hard to write. Struggling to recover senses. Ate too much. Three days in a row of family gatherings which all involved prodigious amounts of delectable delights have left me with the mother of all sugar buzzes which is struggling for dominance over the mother of all overindulgences. Is it the sugar, or the massive amount of incredibly great food I’ve been eating that has me lolling around in a stupor this morning? It’s probably a tie.

The Christmas holiday is done. The problem is, leftover food remains. Luckily, most of the leftovers stayed at the house of Cyndie’s parents, where the meals occurred. I must admit, with my recent situation of being responsible for my own meals, I am struggling a bit with the abundance of available delicious eats. It’s a classic case of feast or famine. Seems like there is either too much, or not enough. I’d like to be able to somehow capture this rich vein of great food and store it for next week after Cyndie is gone again. I’m too full to want it right now.

Meanwhile, I have been enjoying increased appreciation for the fine arts being performed in the family kitchens over the last few days. I have gained renewed respect for the efforts put forth to provide such a grand array of food. Of course, these meals automatically come with the added bonus of a room full of cheery dinner companions, the lack of which colors most of my regular dining when Cyndie returns to Boston and I am left on my own in the big house. That alone would be enough to make my frozen pot pie dinners a heck of a lot more appealing.

It is one of those things that goes without saying, yet the urge to write it rises up anyway and out comes, “It is a precious world in which we live.” This morning I awoke with images of sugar-plum fairies and creatures not stirring, prepared to embark on the annual series of spectacular mingling, feasting, and gift exchanging events. It feels a bit like a marathon for a couple of days, but comes with the reward that is probably equivalent to the ‘runner’s high.’

I did not anticipate the messages that appeared in my inbox when I logged in today. I received a wonderful forwarded note from Nepal that threw me back to the wonder and glory of the Himalayan mountains in an instant. I also was on a list of family members who received a desperate plea for help from someone very near.

Yesterday I joined Cyndie’s family to tour the new facility of the University of Minnesota Amplatz Children’s Hospital which opened at the end of April this year. There are miraculous treatments being offered, which is very uplifting, but it involves the heartbreaking reality of all ages of children with incredibly serious afflictions. The facility is designed to accommodate entire families, because some of the treatments can last months, or years. Hospitals like this are an amazing resource, but no one ever wants to need to be there.

Every day that we have what we need, our health, our family and friends, our connection with purpose and sense of place in the universe, is a precious day in the delicate balance of this amazing world of reality that is this life. Cherish the moment. Breathe fully the moment.

Then reach out and lend a hand to those who seek help. In so doing, we enhance the preciousness of what already is.

Last night I attended a holiday gathering of family and friends who have known Cyndie for most of her life, and I found myself, naturally, trying to provide news on the adventure of our separation and her new job in Boston. I desire to present things in a positive light, but I fear some of my loneliness sneaks out to the astute observer. I received one surprised reaction that I was still here, with her living in Boston. Obviously, I wonder about the same thing.

It is interesting to hear myself tell our story over and over in the course of an evening. I begin to notice that not talking about it can be a way to shield myself from some of the reality of this experience. Talking about it brings more of my feelings closer to the surface; even the ones that are mostly subconscious.

Still, it seems like I am talking about it every day with someone. Maybe just not as often as at a party.

Today is the big day I have been waiting for since I got back from Boston at Thanksgiving, as I will be picking up Cyndie at the airport tonight for her holiday visit. It’s time to tidy up some things around this bachelor pad and make the place look a bit more civilized again. You know, put the unnecessary pillows back on the bed …stuff like that.

And I bet you can tell, …I’ll be happy to do it.