Bon Nuit

I look for her, but she isn’t there; not a search as if she was lost but a glance into a corner where she used to lay, or to the blanket or chair she had claimed as hers. I have to bite my tongue and clench my teeth when I leave for work, or come home from a long day; my whole being fights the urge to call out to her. I listen for the sound of her clopping up and down the stairs, or the banging of a door as she pushes her body to open it enough to get into another room. I come around the corner from the kitchen to the living room expecting to have to fight for a spot on the electric blanket but it is bare. I get ready at night for the battle of the bed and I find it is all mine.

Who is this she, the one companion who has not failed me in the 14 years we spent as one. She cuddled with me in my times of illness and sorrow. She played and frolicked with me in times of joy. So similar were we, we were almost one. My beautiful Bon Nuit is what I named her.

I came to this state knowing few, without a job, not knowing much of what I was getting into in 1993. I did know one thing after years without a pet I was determined to find the one for me. Once the lease was signed on my apartment and I had done some exploring I found the local Humane Society just before Christmas. I was told that they did not allow animals to be adopted so close to Christmas as they did not want an animal given as a gift to someone not prepared for it or screened to accept it, as well as to prevent any undo stress on the animal over the holidays. I was instructed to return right after. Early as always I was not early enough there was a mom and two children in front of me itching to get inside. I patiently waited while the process was explained to me and I was handed my clipboard on which to mark my vitals and the cage of the animal I would like to visit with.

I knew I wanted a kitten and had always been privy to grey’s so when I saw the two grey kitten’s in a cage together with bright blue eyes my heart sang. I rushed back to the front area and handed in my clipboard only to be informed the mom and kids in front of me had claimed both kittens, thus unless they didn’t bond I was out of luck. The attendant then asked me if I had seen the other kitten, and I said no. She explained as we walked back into the animal area that there was one more sister to the litter that she had not taken well to people and was the runt but perhaps I would like her. We could not see her at first so we both got down on our hands and knees peering into the depths of the cage, where low and behold was the smallest black kitten I had ever seen, curled in a frightened ball. My heart sang out.

I asked if I could visit with her and attendant was helpful but cautioned me again about this kitten not being overly friendly and because she was feral perhaps never being friendly. They put the two of us in room no bigger then a very small closet and there we sat for just a few minutes both looking at each other when we realized that it was love and fate that had brought us together. She crawled up my chest and onto my neck, snuggled herself into my long hair and started to purr. I was done for.

I carefully walked back to the front area and said I wanted her. I thought I would be able to take her that day, but no they have very strict rules that required checking my references, my landlord, and finally doing a full vet work up on her. I would have to wait almost a week before I could actually take her home. As the attendant reached up to take her from me, she began to cry out, holding on for dear life to my neck and my hair. Everyone was shocked she had not allowed anyone to hold her and now she had decided she wasn’t going to let go! They all laughed and said it was obvious we were made for each other; they did not know how right they were.

Thus our story begins. We moved from apartment to apartment, job to job, city to city. I looked back after my last bad-boyfriend situation and realized I really should have paid more attention to her opinions, she was right on the mark every single time; hating from day one just about  every guy who was bad for me.

I knew she wouldn’t last forever, but I never thought our time together would end in a flash. I noticed that she was getting older, having trouble getting up and down the stairs. I began to notice she was missing her mark a little more frequently when she tried to get up on the bed or the chair. I tried to ignore it as she like me was always very prideful. Oh goodness and it wasn’t just pride we shared! She was truly me in a cat’s body, right up until the end when she actually took the time to bathe herself for 5 minutes before she would climb in my lap for our final half hour together. She played by the rules, having grown up around dogs I treated her training as such much to the amazement of many cat owners she behaved just as I expected her to. I could leave the front door open and she knew better then to try to leave the house. She could go any where she wanted inside, but knew never to get on the kitchen counters, and that people food was completely off limits. Her standards for cleanliness almost out did mine, refusing to do a bowel in her kitty litter if there was already one there, she would wait patiently every morning for me to clean it out and then immediately take advantage of the litter box. She was head strong and free too, from day one I knew she would never wear a collar, though I tried! I bought her a beautiful red collar and leash to complement her black as night fur, but no! The minute the collar went around her neck it was off. A little tighter to try to hold it in place and she would cry, I gave up too soon I am sure but she never left the house so I figured why burden her with a collar and tags.

Gosh, and I remember one day transporting her in a box from one apartment to another! She always hated being in the car and would scream at the top of her lungs until I thought she would loose her voice (I should have been so lucky!). No matter how hot it was I could not roll down the windows for fear that someone would report me to the Humane Society. So on this particular day I was moving from Bellevue to Seattle, thus the car ride was long enough for her to actually chew and claw her way out of the box screaming the whole time. It was then and there I realized that her desire for freedom and being in control mirrored mine. Ah, never have I met a more perfect example of a master and pet being the same!

So it came to be that slowly last week I noticed she wasn’t eating much. I tried changing her food thinking maybe it had gone stale, no luck. I watched her closely to make sure she was drinking enough and she was drinking more then ever. She was peeing as required but it was not too long before I noticed no bowels, and then I began to worry. Then I noticed on Saturday that she wasn’t sleeping all night with me, by Sunday I was concerned but she did manage a little bowel so I thought everything was ok. Getting home on Monday I watched her closely brushed her well, feeling her tummy and seeing if she cried out in pain, nothing. It was Tuesday when I reached out to my pet sitter for a vets name, and spoke with one of the women at the office whose partner had fostered animals that I realized even if I lost pay I needed to get her to the vet.

I took my pet sitter’s recommendation and some research on the internet taking her to the Cat Clinic in Bellevue (I will plug them now, you could not ask for a better place to take a cat!). They said though they were booked solid to bring her in and they would squeeze in the exam and testing between surgeries. I am not rich by any stretch, and right now I am in debt up over my head due to my extended lack of employment this fall, but I this was my child, my savior, my soul mate so whatever it took. My boss was incredibly kind, and I was careful to make it out and back in an hour so as not to abuse my lunch hour taken early. Arriving at the vets office the assistants were stunned how beautiful she was, how glorious her black coat shone, and how she looked more like a kitten then her true 14 years. I was happy to see that even they could not tell she was ill, as it was already haunting me that I had some how been guilty of missing something, but her outward appearance gave no clue to the inside turmoil we would discover. Now it was just a matter of being patient and waiting for the news, I am not very good at this – the lack of control thing and all.

By 1 pm I couldn’t stand it any longer and I called. They said they were examining her now and the vet would call me as soon as they were done. I did not leave my desk, and my cell phone ringer was set on high, though normally at work it is silent. The call came and that is when the tears flowed without control. I ran from the office trying desperately to find somewhere to hide, as I have been told crying at the office is about as unprofessional as you can get. No matter how many times I managed to stop the flow, it was but seconds before it commenced again. The vet and I decided it would be best for Bon Nuit to stay the night, while we waited for the blood work to confirm what we thought from the urine and the exam, that she was very ill. I asked if I could visit her and was granted the ok.

My boss again, though not a pet owner, without pause gave me leave early so I could sit with my baby. We spent an hour I will forever be grateful for, just the two of us alone in an exam room, no sounds, no people, no windows, just two who loved each other from day one. I care not what people say I know she could hear me and understand me as I spoke to her and told her I loved her. I left her knowing I would go home alone; trying hard to believe that the urine test was wrong and the blood work would come back fine, but I was not doing a very good job.

The call came about 9:30 am on December 5^th from the vet confirming my worst fears, not only was she terminal the treatments we had discussed the day before that could have possibly prolonged her life for several years would not work; her kidneys had failed. We agreed that the decision I had come to last night of putting her to sleep if her life would be so altered that it would no longer make her happy was the right decision. This did not burden my heart less; it just made the decision a little more clear. I asked again if I could visit with her and if I could be there when they administered the shots and the vet without hesitation said yes. She even took her lunch hour to drive 30 miles from the clinic she was at that day to Bellevue, to handle the treatment herself (again I can not thank Dr. Rachel Israel, and her team enough).

We discussed the options and decided I would simply take home a little of her fur and paw prints pressed into clay. I searched three stores before I found the clay, arriving at the vet’s office in plenty of time to sit with Bon Nuit for one last time. I believe in my heart she knew what was happening what I do not know if her truly brave façade was just that for my sake or if like me her tolerance for pain and her desire not to upset made her as brave as she was.

We placed her on the table and she did not move. She continued to purr though three people were around her, and her rear leg was being shaved. She still stayed calm, not crying out or trying to move even when we had to roll her over after failing to find a vein, so that we could shave her other leg and access a vein into which to administer the medications.

I did not care what I looked like, actually after hearing the news on Tuesday my eyes have been so swollen I am not sure I will see straight for days, as the tears flowed I held her small head in my hands and she slowly purred finally stopping she was gone. Gone, the one who kept me alive more times then I can say. Gone, the one who kept me here in the Seattle area long after I thought I would, as I could not imagine her screaming all the way back to Boston in the car. Gone, my heart and soul, the only one who has ever loved me without fail, without judgment, just simple pure unadulterated adoration and love, my Bon Nuit.

Good night – Bon Nuit!

Little something to get off my chest

When did men stop looking? When did I stop caring? What happened to the wolf whistles and double takes I used to get? As we get older do we care less about looks and concentrate more on what is on the inside? Maybe just women do, or maybe women did all along and men will forever be visual, if that is the case then I guess I am out of luck.

Is it the over forty thing? Or perhaps my attitude changed when I realized that good looks brought unwanted attention? Was it when I found out an ex-boyfriend liked the company of men better then women, that tainted me beyond the point of no return? Or was it when I realized that no matter what I did, whether skinny or fat, dressed up or dressed down, according to all the guys I have dated over the years it wasn’t enough. Maybe it was when I realized that a helmet and great hair and makeup don’t mesh. Could it be when I realized that no matter how much I tried I couldn’t get a date for dinner, even if I was willing to pay for myself?

I am not sure but looking at my situation now I wonder. What brought on these thoughts? Would you believe Ia book from the library, fiction, about some really strong women. I started reading it thinking nothing of it just entertainment, but these women sounded like a great bunch getting together to lament their singleness, the heroine being a strong business woman. I realized several of these women had encountered what I have, abuse, misuse, cheaters, liars, and even the closeted, only to keep trying and hoping that somewhere out there was the one for me/them.

The book had a fun way to date, every Monday the woman would gather for lunch and put into a glass boot any business card from a man they dated that just didn’t fit, the card would often have a tidbit about the man to forewarn the next woman. The boot was passed and each woman would choose a card then call the man for a date, this is a very intriguing idea based on the fact that just because he/she is not right for the one they are with they may be for another.

Dating seems come in waves for most (when it rains is pours so the saying goes), one of the women I work with decided about a month ago after she developed a crush on a guy who didn’t feel the same, but of course sent all the wrong mixed messages, that she was going to lay low for a bit; no such luck every brother in the general vicinity is knocking on her door. I have heard the “give up it, it will happen when you are not trying;” give up, who me, been there done that for almost a year now, nothing nada, what can I say I just seem to not have the same knack as others I guess.

So back to the when did men stop looking? I am not really sure. I started to notice it when I turned 35 and it got progressively worse, instead of the usual few dry months here and there, it became endless months of alone time without a date in sight. I look closely in the mirror now and can’t quite figure it out. Oh sure, I have the new wrinkles, or laugh lines depending on which you prefer, but the body is in better shape then most, well of course not everything is perfect I mean really I am not a starlet with unlimited funds for lippo and a personal trainer. The hair has changed color over the years ranging from light brown to black to auburn to light brown with blond highlights; none of this seems to be the cause.

The manicures and waxing went away when I found myself once more on a single income and starving to survive in one of the worst areas when it comes to cost of living versus income. Does that mean I don’t take care of this stuff, wrong I just do it myself. Make-up sorry to say is rare if ever, maybe once a year due to the realization that it just doesn’t hold up inside a helmet, neither does great hair. Funny how a helmet sucks the oils and health from your hair faster then a bad perm, no matter I keep trying.

Clothes, wow is that a sore subject, two things prevent me from keeping my wardrobe up with the newest styles, my size which it appears is no longer in style so no one makes clothes my size any more, and my inability to figure out what looks good on me which causes me to quickly loose patience when shopping. Based on the recent Paris and Milan fashion shows skinny may just be back in style, I am crossing my fingers. But really is it so necessary to wear expensive fancy clothes to get a date? Shouldn’t you be appreciated for who you are inside rather then what you are wearing.

Ah, double standard I think as I too judge a guy based on what he is wearing without even realizing it, but but…yes there is always a but. I have no problem if you wear a t-shirt with verbiage on it for a workout, but don’t show up for dinner at a four star restaurant with one. Jeans with holes, sure they can be sexy but really men when you are meeting a woman for the first time please dig out the pair you are saving in the back drawer. I know I am not the most stylish dresser, but I do try to at least match, wear clean clothes, that are classic in style, and if I think the venue befits workout wear I will forewarn you. Now if I do forewarn you then pay attention showing up for a two hour walk in cowboy boots just doesn’t work, if you get my drift.

But again does lack of stylish wear really prevent a guy from asking me out? Hmm, let me see? I scan the personals to find that most men my age who are trolling are married, separated (which is another term for married by the way), want only one thing, or are looking for women half their age. Half their age you say and married! Yes, I am not kidding it is horrific! I wonder if or when I do get into another relationship how I will be able to trust someone enough to believe they won’t be out there posting “married but looking.” I need to get on my high-horse for a second, if you are “married and looking,” you need to do everyone a favor and get a divorce. This is said to all those men out there who are “separated” too; you are married until you have paperwork that says you are not, so behave as such.

Further, research shows that I am not the only one with the dating doldrums. It seems that some women are not getting approached because they fall into that crevice called what age are you? I just learned from one woman that she had been told the reason a guy did not ask her out it he thought she was too young, even though they were the same age. It makes me wonder if this might be the case for me too, perhaps older men think I am too young and younger men too old? This started me to wonder if I can even recognize if someone is too old or young for me. I tend toward the too young, knowing in my heart that an older gentleman usually appeals to me more, I have no patience for a child or someone still sowing their oats. But then again, does that put me into the younger woman for older man that he will toss when he gets bored?

The other day I was speaking to a male acquaintance who said I needed to get out there more. Out where? I ride a motorcycle all over the country, just about anyone who wants to can find me on the web and email me, or stop by the local Ducati dealer and find out about me. I walk all over my town and several surrounding towns for hours. I shop in the markets frequented by men and women my age. Get out more? What could he possibly mean? Even he didn’t have an answer, which is very typical from men and women who have been married for years, they just don’t get how it works any more, but then again I don’t seem to either.

Recently even my male friends have been lamenting the dating scene, saying it has become so hard to find anyone, honestly boys I just don’t think you are trying! Oops did I say that, suppose they could say the same for me, except it seems that when I do try I find some really scary creatures, so for now I think I will let the cards land where they may, and continue reading about women who are completely comfortable with their single lives.

Phew so glad to get that off my chest.

Mom quote after reading the below.

Just Thinking

I imagined as I read the “My Turn” in the Newsweek magazine my life as compare to this woman’s. She was lamenting those who were visiting her and who showed concern that she was lonely now that her husband had passed and her children had moved away. She insisted in the article she was not lonely but simply “alone” and that there was a significant difference, I agree. Unfortunately, in her case the difference is she likes her alone time, in my opinion she likes her alone time as she can be alone by choice or with others by choice, unlike so many of us who don’t have that luxury.

I could feel the anger rising in my soul as I read the article, here was a woman complaining about caring friends and family calling her and knocking on her door! How could she! I look around me every day and see not a single soul willing to do the same for me or hundreds of other single folk! What any one of us would give to have a moment where we could say “really I just need a few hours alone, but thanks for stopping by.” Instead, like me, hundreds (actually probably more like thousands) of lonely people feel as I do every day like they are starving on a deserted island in the middle of an ocean filled with fish, but every time they reach in to pull one out it either slips through their hands or ends up being hurtful or damaged in some way as to be inedible.

I am happy that this woman feels her alone time is a blessing, but she has been “alone” for a very short time, when her “alone” becomes years and years I would like to know if she is truly then “alone” or if she really is now “lonely.” I too remember when I have been able to savor my “alone” time, now more often then not I dread it. I fill my time with hours of busy work, cleaning, cooking, riding, and working out. People ask me when I have time to just sit, think and relax, upon hearing these words my heart begins to beat faster and a slight anxiety sets in do they not realize if I actually think about life more then I already do during my hours of walking alone or riding alone I would probably completely loose it? These well intentioned people are all married, have family close by, and/or children and close friends so they do not understand the difference between “alone” and “lonely” yet.

As I search high and low for a true love, I am further exasperated by the “My Turn” woman and her lamenting as she was married for some incredible amount of time to a man she obviously adored. Just the other day my mother and I were discussing the emails bouncing back and forth between her and one of my male buddies about the man I needed and what my “list” looks like. Interestingly enough they were both spot-on for some things: needs to be active enough to keep up with me, lovesto travel, intelligent, just to name a few, but on others they were completely off: no kids, rides motorcycle. Looking at what they felt were my non-negotiables I realized that they were perhaps on my “list” a few years ago but after dating some real duds who met all these I realized that some of them just were not that important while others needed to definitely be moved up on the list.

My mother and my discussion went, as so many do, onto the discussion of why I can’t seem to find a well rounded man. She shared a recent talk she had had with a friend about that friend’s son’s job at a fish restaurant. It appears I am not the only one shocked by the lack of worldly knowledge and experience of so many, turns out one of the waiters asked this man what Calamari was! My mother and I were both stunned, how could someone working in an establishment in Boston not know what Calamari was! We then digressed to the discussion of various foods, arts, etc and how my parents had made sure that my sister and I were as well rounded as we possibly could be, simply by exposing us to life.

I will not say that at the ripe old age of 10 I really enjoyed going to the symphony, or that I preferred to go to the opera rather then the movies, but I can at least say I know a bit about both and can appreciate them right along with “50 First Dates.” I know that when the French family we were visiting put cows brain on the table in front of my sister and me one night we were not thrilled by my parents rule to that we had to try everything put in front of us and if we didn’t like it we could politely then put our forks down and sit quietly; that was probably one of the hardest things I have ever had to swallow with a smile.

The lessons my parents taught my sister and me about being polite and trying everything before deciding we didn’t like it not only became instilled in us in regards to food but became part of our mantra to life. I have participated in many religious services, eaten foods most would never imagine, met people and been places that will forever hold a place dear to my heart. What I can’t believe is how hard it is to find someone as “well-rounded,” until I learned of the Calamari question then I started to ponder if “alone’ versus “lonely” was really that big of a deal.

I have continued the tradition of teaching and showing my parents started, not with my children as I have none, but with those who surrounded me over the years from friends to boyfriends. It is only recently that I have come to the conclusion that I have been sucked dry and I want someone to impart their experiences on me! Selfish? Maybe? Maybe not. I would love to continue to impart my knowledge in exchange for one who wishes to do the same; so maybe for now my “alone” will be my “alone” and I will ignore the loneliness rather then settle once again for someone who does not share my love of life and exploration.

Jackets

I will not profess any expertise in the matter, I will only relay what I know as a female rider who has gone through four jackets and has helped many men and women to purchase jackets in the past 10 years.

I started as most do in leather. I will forever regret this foolish waste of money. Though leather may smell great and look really cool when it comes to riding day to day it is useless, it is not waterproof, it is too hot or too cold, and is just not comfortable. Hold on before you start bad-mouthing me remember my disclosure above I am speaking only from personal experience.

My next jacket I would love until the day I loaned it out and didn’t get it back; my Aerostitch Darien jacket. Though costly and definitely too big, it never leaked, it provided unbelievable breath-ability and was extremely comfortable after just a month of break-in.

Aerostitch created a winner with its Darien products, the only drawback is they refuse to cater to women, thereby unless you are a large woman who can easily fit into a man’s small you are either out of luck or like me riding with a lot of material flapping in the breeze looking like you are wearing your dad’s clothes. This jacket wore well through every season here in the Seattle area and on several long distance trips with temperatures ranging from well below freezing to over 110 degrees. To accommodate the varying weather I only needed to close or open vents and layer accordingly, but I was never in want of more pockets, more venting or extra waterproofing. The highest speed crash I experienced in this jacket was about 25 mph but there was no visible damage to the jacket.

My next jacket would be presented to me by Dainese. It had a very similar cut to the Darien jacket, however was lacking the extra pockets that most riders desire for keys and other miscellaneous items, but I worked around it. The Dainese jacket came with the same waterproof capabilities via the Gortex liner, had a little less venting but enough to allow me the same operability as the Darien and came with the same type of reflective areas to help with visibility. Again I used this jacket for years on my day to day commute and on my rally and endurance rides. I experienced deluges of rain, snow squalls and temperatures well over one hundred, yet the jacket kept performing. I even had the opportunity to crash test it at highway speeds; the only damage it sustained was a little scuffing on one arm and a broken snap!

My newest addition is a Rukka A-Tech jacket. After wearing the jacket for several months in all sorts of weather and temperatures I must say it is the best jacket I have encountered, in all my research and my wear history. Not only do I daily receive comments from other riders “wow great looking jacket what is it” but non-riders too think it is incredibly cool looking. But looks aside this is the best fitting well-made jacket I have worn. The pockets have waterproof liners and extra zipper seals all around, a high neck but not too high, great venting and it actually is a woman’s jacket made to fit a woman’s shape and mine too!

Not only is the Rukka making a woman’s jacket it is made in enough sizes that even someone as small as me and larger will find a jacket that fits! The sizing would not be worth much however if they had not also created a means to produce an armor as durable and safe as hard armor but made it flexible. I have had to remove the armor from all my other jackets as it was created for a man and as such pinched me or cut off my circulation, since the “Armacor” is flexible it doesn’t do this and I have been able to leave it in the jacket offering me the protection I have longed for in a great fitting great looking jacket.

All three of the textile jackets are created with a heavy abrasion resistant Cordura, each was Gortex lined or laminated. The Darien and Dainese jackets both had D-Stone for extra abrasion resistance. All used 3M reflective materials for safety purposes. Each had it’s own brand of armor and venting/breathable material. Cost of all three varies but all are fairly high end jackets as I believe there is only one of you and you can not be replaced but your equipment can be.

So pick your poison, just remember comfort can and protection can be the difference between a great ride and a short bad ride!

Fear and Pain

Fear and pain are words I try to avoid at all costs. I have done things that most would be afraid to do. I have pushed past what would be considered normal levels of pain. Yet despite my prior life experiences with fear and pain, the last month battling with my better judgment and various doctors has put even my ability to push any thought of fear and pain to a test I hope never to have to endure again.

Fear has always been an issue. I was taught by a great MSF instruction that the day you get on your motorcycle and have no fear is the day you should get right back off and hang up your gear. I am not saying you should be terribly afraid, you should as he explained simply have enough respect for what a motorcycle can and can’t do, as well as enough respect for the road and those around you to have just enough fear to attain your highest level of safe riding and awareness for what is occurring around you and under you.

My mother and father taught me well to be just afraid enough to be very aware at all times of what is happening around me, to be just ever so wary of strangers, enough to let them in without foregoing safety. My life experience with assaults has lead me to be a little more afraid perhaps then most of those around me, but as with all life experiences this is to be expected.

My tolerance for pain however I can not quite put my finger on the why or how. Years ago I ran on a very bad stress fracture until the bone actually snapped one day while I was running. Young and stupid is what I chocked this experience up to. But years later when I continued to run with heel pain that would have put most down, young and stupid didn’t quite cut it, especially when it was determined one of the bones in my heel was busted in several places, an injury that even now bothers me if I run too hard. Just last year after falling from the washer onto the dryer during my move out of my ex’s house I continued to clean and move all my belongings until mid-afternoon when I realized the pain in my side probably should be examined. I was stunned when the emergency room doctor bluntly said “do you want to see a picture of your broken rib” but not nearly as stunned as he was when I told him what I had been doing for the last six hours after the accident.

These last few weeks however have tested me as never before. I believe it is not so much that there is a lot of pain, there is not. I believe that my high tolerance for pain is a saving grace right now. I am sure the nurses who asked me several times if I was in pain during the CT scan this week were thinking I must be on drugs or completely insane. Not knowing what they were seeing, even though I asked several times if they could tell me what they saw, I could not understand their questions sufficiently or their concern.

I know the blood I have been seeing for three weeks now is of concern, but I had trouble convincing my original PCP that we needed to be concerned, even when all the tests came back negative. Instead I had to find another Dr quickly and the new Dr realized that a specialist was in order; this is when the fear truly hit me. Again it is not necessarily any pain or even the now upcoming surgery that I fear but the reality of being alone far from family, and the unknown.

My fear of being alone was further exasperated when I had to battle with the hospital admittance desk. They would not allow me to come in unless I had a ride home and a cab was not acceptable. I could not believe my ears! I explained there was no one here and I needed to take a cab home, they threatened not to let me come in. I was so upset I told them they were discriminating against single people who did not live close to family and friends, still they would not budge! My parents threatened to fly out from Massachusetts to help me, but I told them I would figure it out and I did. But even after overcoming this ridiculous rule I was still extremely upset that I was not the only one being discriminated against and that now being alone was considered a stigma or something that could be discriminated against just like the color of your skin or your religious beliefs!

How could this be! Are people who are alone that much a minority that we can be treated so poorly. That we would be denied medical care not because we couldn’t pay for it but simply because we could not get a ride home! Yes the letters are flying out of my computer and will continue until some one realizes that this is horrible! Could our society make lonely people feel any worse? We already encounter daily situations that test our muster and discriminate against us, think about it have you ever seen a buy one dinner at half off if you are alone! No of course not, but every day you will see buy one dinner get one free! Or buy one dinner get the second at half off. How many vacation package deals are based on double occupancy! And now it has gotten even worse you can not get proper medical care unless you have a family member or friend to pick you up!

Goodness talk about fear! Fear of being alone! Can you imagine this should not be the case no one should have to fear being alone. All over the world alone time is cherished, appreciated and even now considered necessary for a healthy life. Yet one of the best hospitals in Washington State is refusing admittance for medically necessary surgery unless you can prove you are not alone!

The pain is nothing, a slight lower back ache that I would not even have noticed if the blood had not started. But I must say I am almost as impressed by my ability to ignore this pain as I was by the broken rib, especially when my Dr told me it was the result of a kidney stone measuring .4 inches! Can you imagine look at a ruler do you realize how big that is! Too cool actually, and too bad they can’t pull it out, instead they must go in and zap it to bits to it will hopefully come out on its own. I have heard passing stones is on par with childbirth, which is funny because one of the reasons I didn’t want kids was the pain I heard you experienced, ah well guess I will find out soon enough, or not if my tolerance for pain continues at the level it seems to be at now.

Ok enough venting for now. I am sure I will be updating this portion of my blog so stay tuned.

Words of Wisdom

Recently several people have imparted words of wisdom on me. When I first heard them some passed by as not particularly full of wisdom and others slammed into me like a bus.

The first statement came from a friend (I will call him Friend A) in regards to another friend of mine (let’s call him Friend B), but truly fit in some manner to all. The gist of the statement was; at times it is not a choice to live a certain life style, instead it is forced on us by our fears or our inability to change. We had been discussing how Friend A believed Friend B would end up an old man alone with his motorcycles, whereas I felt he had made that choice. Friend A explained that it was most likely not a choice but a sad outcome of some fear or barrier that stopped him from committing to close relationships and/or opening up enough to let people get close.

I walked away from the discussion thinking to myself, wow he is right on. Friend B had been through much counseling over the years and still was a lone, and often lonely, and then it really hit me that could be me! Unfortunately, not only could the barrier be a mental issue but an actual physical one as in my case. Worse a physical aliment could not only prevent close lasting relationships but could be impossible to correct. In my case, at this time, it is impossible to correct and comes in the form of a sleep disorder that puts my life on a completely different time schedule then the “normal” world. I have little or no control over it as it is a genetic disorder that causes my circadian clock to work on a different schedule.

My sleep issues did not really bother me in the past but as I have gotten older it has gotten what would be considered worse, swinging to early morning/late night rise times and late afternoon/early evening bedtimes. It does not effect my ability to ride as I have lived with it my whole life and know my body better than most, thereby I am able to sense well ahead of time when I need to go to sleep (it is not narcolepsy). What it has affected is my ability to go out after work or in the evenings, further complicating my ability to develop relationships with evening based individuals. Again, I am not overly concerned with this as I do not enjoy most evening events, but it would be nice on occasion to be able to go out to dinner after work, something that is no longer possible unless I wish to push my body clock out which causes me to become extremely ill for at least 24 hours and sometimes two or three days. A comparison would be if you did not sleep for 24 hours, you most likely would feel ill until you could get enough rest to make up for the lost sleep. Since I can not “sleep in” (a symptom of the sleep disorder) I am unable to get the extra rest needed sometimes for days, which actually benefits me on my long rides but makes my daily life a little funky.

So now what? Technically I have not chosen to be alone but instead have been forced to by the barrier Friend A was depicting using Friend B as an example. I still think it may be Friend B’s choice as it is not a physical ailment that prevents him from making a lifelong commitment but instead an ingrained fear.

The second statement wasn’t really a statement but started more as a debate between let’s call him Friend C and me. We started discussing the virtue of the woman who just wrote a book about her 150 dates over a period of a year, and how she dated just about anything that was male regardless of age, culture, job, etc.

Friend C suggested I do just that, and I balked; rightly so based on my prior experience with the male species. Friend C then implied that I was too closed minded and that perhaps if I opened up a bit more I would have a good time. I argued the woman had been foolish to have taken her life and put it into situations that could potentially have caused her great harm; my rebuttal came from years of experience in regards to stalkers and other miscellaneous experiences with not quite well-intentioned men.

Immediately Friend C thought a bit about my rebuttal and agreed based on my tainted history I would have a different perspective on the situation, but having great respect for Friend C I continued to dwell on what he had said late into the night (yep I had a little too much coffee during the day, one too many issues to fix at work to calm down enough to get a good nights sleep, and I was hungry which always makes for a long night). I realized that after much thought I had great respect for the woman as she had truly put her life on the line, whether she knew it or not, just as I do with all my rides and that though I might disagree with her means I did truly respect that she did it. That does not mean I am going to attempt to do what she did, but I might think twice before rejecting someone’s offer of a coffee date.

Finally, much to my chagrin one of my loyal website readers commented that my website appeared to be my best friend. This comment fell on the same ears that had just heard the two lines of wisdom above, and I did not take offense, but instead released a huge grin. Unknowingly, he appeared to have hit the nail on the head. I don’t know that I would actually call my website my best friend, but I must say a dear one. What more could you ask of a good friend; untainted devotion, an unbiased mind to hear, a well tuned ear to listen, and well intentioned silence.

Of course a keyboard and blue computer screen can not come close to fulfilling what some say is a need for human interaction, but with the hours I keep it helps to know that what I put on the screen will eventually be read by someone interested in my ridiculous rhetoric; whether they agree, disagree, or just read it for a good laugh or cry, my good friend releases my feelings, thoughts and secrets when a reader opens the door to my personal musings and my ride stories.

Ramblings

The weather is not behaving, Mother Nature is putting up a battle with winter and winter seems to be winning, so what more can I do then ramble about life.

Children:

A friend turned to me the other day and implied that if one did not want children they were not normal, that they were not sane. I have much respect for this friend and like many of my friends he may have his opinion but I have mine as do thousands of others in this world. I don’t believe I am abnormal just hold a different opinion of life and children. I feel very strongly that if you can not provide the love and healthy home a child needs to grow into a strong healthy adult you should refrain from having them. I believe that I do not wish to purposely put my body through what many claim to be the most painful experience they have ever suffered. There are others who I have talked to who have other reasons for not procreating; some have chosen instead to adopt or to support other members of their families. I do no feel in my heart that one should be labeled as insane simply for making what I believe to be a very sane decision, a decision that if made incorrectly or on whim could harm not only the individual making the decision but others including the children. Harming children to me is far more insane then making the choice not to procreate.

Further, simply because one does not wish to bring more humans into the world does not brand them as one who hates children. I for one adore children, almost to a fault as I have debated for years becoming a teacher but am such a proponent of children having fun and growing through imagination and experimentation I am incapable of reprimanding; which would make me a very incapable teacher! Another friend of mine mirrored my opinion the other day “I love other people’s kids, I just love going home without them at the end of the day more.”

I know women who have tried for years to become pregnant, seen marriages fall apart over the heartbreak and have even dated one man who said I would need to take a fertility test before he would marry me, and another who broke up with me when he realized I could not have his children simply by saying he needed children from his own sperm, that adoption was not an option. I feel that these people have made their decisions sanely and as such believe I too should be shown the same respect that my choice was made sanely and with much thought, not on a whim.

Online Dating:

Goodness, I got really tired of everyone telling me I could meet someone online, that now-a-days that is the only way to meet people. So what did I do? Went against my better judgment and put myself out there for an ever so brief lapse of judgment totaling 3 days. I was shocked, and dismayed by what I encountered. This all fell about the same time that an author put out a book about how she went on 150 dates in one year. I can’t even imagine the few men that I corresponded with ever so briefly on email were more then I could bare. Imagine being solicited by a man as old as your father! A man who started using swear words on email when I said “sorry I don’t date people who drink alcohol.” And others who could not understand why I would not be interested in moving to far away places from Kansas to Irsreal. I found one man told me a false name, and the only reason I caught him was I did a search based on the name and information he had provided me and low and behold another man’s picture came up!

I was shocked and hurt, I am a very honest person. My profile was very specific, I used a recent photo, was very specific about my non-drinking, riding, and morning hours, yet again and again I found myself encountering men who thought that they could skirt around the truth or out right lie. I am not used to this behavior but it caused me to go back to my recluse behavior figuring it was best for me to lay low and find comfort in my riding then find myself in a situation with a man who couldn’t even tell the truth on a website for dating.

I wondered based on my experience if the men in my life had similar experiences, I was pleasantly surprised, if you can call it that, to learn the answer was yes. It seems many who go on line feel that they can mislead anonymously and believe that they won’t get caught. Unfortunately, this causes me great concern as there are probably men and women out there who don’t know what questions to ask or how to double check someone’s story before they meet. Even worse I wonder about the women who give out their last names, even first names before getting all the information they need to make an educated guess as to whether or not the man they are emailing is telling the truth.

I looked into other dating services, again per recommendations by friends and the cost was prohibitive and the guarantee non-existent. I can imagine how many single lonely people fall prey to the sales person who promises 8 dates for $1500. When I pressured the sales person for a guarantee that all 8 would meet my non-negotiable criteria she beat around the bush finally realizing I would not play that game! Other services charge an annual fee then a fee for every activity you participate in, wow either these singles are beyond wealthy or they don’t realize you can sign up for kayak class at any local community college, or travel with a group through most travel agencies or even go river rafting simply by calling the local rep!

So as far as dating goes, not happening, but goodness it is better then dating someone who can’t even tell the truth in a simple form online! And I can think of a lot better things I can do with $1500 then go on 8 dates.

Lonely People:

There is a man I see almost every week, he sits alone in a chair listening to his music and typing out emails on his pda like device. There is a lonely woman I see every morning when I look in the mirror. There is a lonely child I see sitting in the library. There is a lonely ….I could go on and on, there appear to be lonely people everywhere. How can there be so many lonely people? If only there was a way to put all the lonely people together.

Websites have been trying now for a long time it appears. There are “groups” for just about everything, now there is Myspace, and Pugetsoundfriends, and various other forums for lonely people to get together, but are they really getting together? How together can you get when it is simply typing an email or IM to someone? How connected are you really to your human warm-blooded counterparts?

I want to reach out to that man I see every week, and ask him if he wants to go to a movie. I want to touch the child and say it is ok come to the zoo with me. But something holds me back, society. Society says I should not approach strange men, my history holds even more evidence that I should be wary. Society and our legal system prevents me from approaching the child, I might be tagged as a child snatcher.

On my layover in Chicago the other day I was sitting for a second in a secluded area of the airport when a woman sat a few seats from me, and made a call on her cell phone. She started to cry hysterically and search desperately for a clean spot on her soaked Kleenex. I thought twice before doing it, but realized all the times I too had been crying in a public place and not one person acknowledged my distress. I was unsure what acceptable behavior was but thought I could at least offer her a crumpled Kleenex from my bag if nothing else and move away to give her privacy. So I stood walked to her hand pushed a crumpled but clean group of Kleenex into her hand then walked away to give her privacy. I hope that was the right thing to do, I hope she did not take offense, and I hope some day when I am in need someone like me is brave enough to help.

Even now as I walk by that lonely man and say hi, the only thing I believe our society would approve of, I cringe thinking he is lonely I am lonely why can’t we just get together for a movie or coffee without society frowning. Then I realize society looks the other way when it comes to all the lonely people, shunning them and casting them into a group of unmentionables. Movies and books and life scream groups and families but does not provide for those of us without. The chorus now screams in my head “Where do they all come from? Al the lonely people Where do they all belong.” I don’t’ know where they all belong but they are here.

Transitions II

Well not long ago (see somewhere below) I wrote a musing on the transition of moving from living alone to living with another. Low and behold I find myself feeling the need to write again about transitions this time from living with someone to living alone again.

I do not wish to discuss the details behind why I am alone again, I have simply accepted the fact that in life I will meet people who may or may not be the right one, but whatever the outcome that person was put in my path for a reason and for that I am grateful as I would not be who I am without the good and bad of these encounters.

It was this weekend that I truly had time to contemplate the meaning of not having someone special in my life, as it was my first major holiday since my transition. For some the prospect of spending an entire three day holiday weekend alone would cause major distress and heartache for me it was a welcome relief. I realized how much I dreaded the “we have to be here at this time, and there at that time,” hectic holiday nonsense inflicted by friends and family during a holiday like Christmas. I greatly dislike the added discomfort of “who do we visit and when,” and the hurt that those we can not visit try to suppress but relay anyway.

Don’t get me wrong, I still heard the hurt in the voices of my family, but they have more then every right to voice their want as I have been unable financially to visit them for years – I can not remember the last time I actually saw my niece perhaps 4 or 5 years ago. And up until December 23^rd we were all checking last minute flights to see if I could catch a cheapie, to no avail. Regardless of my “lonely” situation I was quite well occupied by my inability to sit still, and the warm temperatures that blew in on a typical rainy Seattle weekend.

It was during some of these long moments of solitude that I realized, once again that alone did not constitute lonely. So many single people forget that there is so much more to life then a “relationship.” So many I know have put everything into the other that when something does not work out they are completely destroyed. I have been there, done that, many times over the years, put myself out on a limb, given up all that I loved to please another only to one day wake up and realize I could not live the farce any longer.

Of course I will not discount the sense of joy you experience when you are in a relationship and have someone to share special moments with, whether the sunrise or set, the full moon, or even just a silly song on the radio, all of these without a doubt I will miss until I find another with whom to share. But I will not sit back and let life pass me by simply because I do not have another to join me in the adventure.

It is riding in the pouring rain when I can hear nothing but the rain hitting my helmet and it is so dark I have to concentrate deeply that my mind fails to realize I am alone, but it all comes rushing back when the sun brightens the sky and the road opens up. The realization that I did not find the right one again hits me ever so briefly just like the sunshine in Seattle in the winter, just ever so slight glimpses of what could have been or was. This time it is not such a painful realization as it has been in the past, more like a pause in time, a short gasp for air, a slight feeling of failure, and then I force myself to remember that everyone meets someone for a reason and I must take away the good and bad and learn from it.

Then again, my “Cinderella dreamer self” raises her scary head and my mind closes out the logical side of things and the emotional side takes over. That’s when I get the sense that there is someone out there for me, I just know it in my heart, the bad part is where?

So then I start to contemplate a little more the possibility of finding the “one.” I wonder why it is so hard to find someone who fits well with me. I wonder why it is so hard for anyone to find the “one.” I look around and see great examples of everlasting love, and perfect examples of really bad love. I contemplate my non-negotiables list again and again. I debate with my mom over the necessity that the boy must ride. I haggle with my guy friends about the excuses some have used including my un-approachability, my drive, and my smarts. Other males I know bemoan the lack of good female prospects, but their criteria includes beauty and weight, not high priorities on my list. My girlfriends mutter about my being too picky when I am single and when I am dating the wrong one quickly back peddle to you need to be more picky. Others mention going with the flow and being more open to my inner self and my intuitive side.

But finally it comes down to he is probably out there thinking the same thing I am where is “the one:”  

Lying

Lying is an interesting word, it portrays an action that some believe is acceptable, others believe is acceptable only in certain circumstances and still others feel it is unacceptable no matter the circumstance.

Based on the above I researched the differences; I read everything I could find from other laypeople’s theories to PhD’s clinical studies on pathological liars. I have decided, for me, that lying is not an acceptable behavior. I will admit however like others before me, and others to follow, I have not always told the truth, and I have admonished myself thoroughly for it.

I am sure I will continue to encounter occasions where I will be at wits end to try and figure out a way not to divulge an upcoming surprise without a lie, or to answer a child’s question about the Tooth Fairy, but I will manage. I am sure I will run into certain social situations where it will be difficult to uphold my no lie policy. I will have to use the utmost of tact, not a lie, so as not to tell someone their outfit looks terrible as they are walking out the door for an important meeting. I will have to finagle my way through the  “Do you believe in Santa Claus” question a child might pose. I will have to figure out a way around some questions the male species asks that they really shouldn’t, just as I will have to tiptoe around the “Do I look fat” question that comes out of many females’ mouths.

I will try to follow the age-old rule to “do unto others.” I will try to tactfully weave my way around the truth only if absolutely necessary. I have realized through my research and personal experience that I would rather be hurt by the truth then destroyed with a lie.

What of those I encounter who lie? I am not sure. We are taught to forgive others; to let go otherwise the stresses will overwhelm us. Studies by doctors have proven that those who are quick to forgive are less likely to develop illnesses related normally to stress. But I am not sure how easy this will be. I don’t imagine that I will be hurt or overly upset by someone telling me that there is no party planned for my upcoming birthday only to be surprised with one. I definitely will not be resentful of someone who tells me I look nice in a color that I probably shouldn’t be wearing. But what of the lies that are not such niceties the ones that are hurtful to my moral beliefs and potentially damaging to loving long term relationships.

What to do with a lie such as; I am not/did not cheat? Or I didn’t use your bankcard? Or I don’t do drugs? What to do if such a lie comes from the mouth of the one you love, a family member or a trusted friend? These would cause me quite the dilemma. Do I forgive? If I forgive the first time what if it happens again? How many times do you forgive an error in judgment or a hurt to your moral being that destroys your trust? What of the alcoholics whose families hung in there for them through thick and thin forgiving the lies over and over until finally the person was recovered, or those families that kept forgiving yet the forgiven never saw the light and thereby the loved ones lived in misery for years.

At what point does a liar decide that the lies are too hurtful and comes to the realization that they must change; or maybe they never realize that what they are doing is hurting those around them, thereby believing they don’t need to change. The studies I have found state the liars often feel that they are justified or don’t believe it is wrong as long as they don’t get caught. One of the studies actually said the liar will state "I don't know why I did that", and when confronted about why they lied, their answer will be the same. Everyone knows why they do something, other than small children (or perhaps those with other handicaps) as they are too young to process properly and express properly why they acted in a particular manner.

On the other hand at which point does the recipient of the lie(s) decide enough is enough and break away from what could be considered a hostile environment. Or is love so strong, as we are told gods love is, that they continue to forgive? This is a huge dilemma for anyone who has encountered it realizes. There are talk shows on every afternoon about spouses catching the other cheating, and even with proof the guilty party will continue to deny it. There are people who get arrested for drug possession every day telling loved ones and friends they will get treatment and never do. Personally I am of the opinion if you get caught own up to it, admit it and take responsibility don’t continue to lie, and never lie by omission.

Lying by omission, it is a statement I caught on Dr Phil one day and have found several occasions where it fit what was occurring to a “T.” Dr Phil describes it as a means of lying by not telling the whole story. A silly example would be if you asked your child if they ate their lunch today and they answered yes; when in reality what they did was eat the sandwich, but threw away the piece of fruit and traded their milk for a soda. You could argue that the question was not worded properly if the answer desired was a full disclosure of exactly what they did and didn’t eat; you would be right. However, in the case that you are speaking with an educated adult this would be considered lying by omission as they would realize what/why you were asking and would be purposefully avoiding disclosing the truth, thereby lying by omission. Again this is a fine line to walk, you could be accused of lying by omission by simply saying your hair looks great, when someone asks you how they look, while avoiding telling them the dress they are wearing is much too tight.

Ah, the complicated web we weave. So perhaps after all this musing I have realized that each person will have to determine his/her line in the sand when it comes to what is forgivable, acceptable or wrong in regards to lying; me I suppose I will just wing it.

Those Long Gone

A whisper that is all it is, a whisper of a feeling or a memory, a touch in passing of something or someone just out of reach. I have found that those who have crossed paths with me and then passed on, whether unexpectedly or due to old age, continue to cross paths with me even now.

It doesn’t take much for one of the incredible individuals in my life who are no longer here to pass through my thoughts. Sometimes it is an upcoming holiday that brings the memory forth, or a smell, or a song.

With my birthday fast approaching, my heartaches for my Cuz Suz as we lovingly called her; she passed so early in life, much sooner than she should have. But in the brief time that she was around she gave of herself freely and openly teaching my sister and I to be accepting of those who might not appear to fit the typical “model” ideal we all seem to strive for and to see the beauty within.

A fleeting sense reaches me as I ride past the gas station Ron Smith met me at on my first ever Saddle Sore 1000. My mentor who set me on my way toward Iron Butt Fame, also passed much too soon. I will forever remember his smile, quick wit and true respect for females who were willing to put themselves into the fray and show the world what they were made of.

The smell of bacon and eggs cooking brings back the warmth of a kitchen filled with a mishmash of dishware (whatever was salvaged over the years), the original fridge from years gone by (you know the kind that has a big handle on the front), a stove so antiquated it is worth more than the newest stainless steel ones, and my Grandma. She lived to a ripe old age, but for me she never seemed to change. I will always remember the long white hair tied up tight in a bun, which every so often my sister and I got to see loosened and down, how lovely. The tea she would serve me every morning as I watched her cook, was laden with too much sugar and milk, tempered by the saltines she would place beside the cup. The smell is of heaven, of times before any one knew you should watch what you ate; instead we enjoyed the full flavors of this now bad-for-you food. I can still see her standing over the stove, with chicken soup always warming in case we might want some, tea water forever boiling, and bottles of honey to sweeten her grandkids with.

A tall woman with short dark hair brushes past me, and I see her; she was barely in her early 20’s when her life was cut short. She was fast and furious in her love of life, never looking back only living for today. She drove a fast Camaro and dated even faster men. It was one of these men who took her life, when he failed to successfully pilot the two-seater plane they were in over Mexico. Her beauty and her laughter will forever ring in my heart.

Two Aunts, both died of cancer, both similar yet different. My favorite Aunt reeked of art, and life. She traveled the world; she lived the life I have forever searched for, with one home on the east coast and one on the west. There was no stopping her long cross-country trips in her decked out van, and there was no stopping her in life until the very last breath was taken from her. My other Aunt made Martha Stewart look small. I will never forget the first time she made my sister and I homemade fried chicken, the smell and taste of it and the process to make it intrigued me even  at the ripe age of 6 or 7. My love of all things in the kitchen, I am sure was instilled by her and my grandmother. Both my Aunts “come in any time you are welcome” homes too left an indelible mark.

Auburn hair, impeccably applied makeup, and nails any woman would long for, and there she is my first office mate. She made it to her late-30’s before cancer took her, but in her brief stint on earth she touched those around her with her giving nature and incredible beauty. Her ability to create from simple household items, dolls and clothing for them made her a hero to those less fortunate, and an icon to those around her.

Two big men; that is how I remember my grandfathers. One was massive in stature, so big we could pass a quarter through his wedding band, the other huge in business. Both left lasting impressions of strong men with strong work ethics. Neither of my grandmothers was demure by any stretch, which meant these men had to be large not just at work but also at home, while still knowing when to give (not without argument I can attest). They are long gone, but still cross my mind.

Healthy?