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Category Archives: Life, Living and Loving

Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Out

Three AM… and I’m looking for Mrs. Feve’s next prompt… and there’s nothing. Did she decide to stop the project or something? I started to ask her then said, “No, wait, wait…”

I’m still wondering if she thinks of these prompts and says to herself, “Oh… I’d love to see the look on KDaddy’s face when he see this one!”

The word covers a lot of things in my memories, including the way I pronounce it with a more… French pronunciation but not as out there as Canadians pronounce it and, yes, I blame high school French for getting me to pronounce “ou” like “ooh” and not “ow.” The funny part is it gets people asking me where I’m from and I sometimes get the stink eye because they don’t believe I was born and raised right here in the United States.

Of course, there’s the ongoing drama about bisexuals coming out but, okay, I’ve been out for decades now and so long that I no longer remember the exact moment I said to myself, “I don’t give a fuck who doesn’t like the fact that I go both ways!” Keeping my mind in the gutter for a moment, when thinking about what I was going to write this time, the Certified Dirty Old Man in my head said, “Well, you know, when you put it in, you gotta pull it out, too…”

No kidding? Wow… didn’t know that…

“Out” is such a common word that, at least for me, it doesn’t spark any one particular moment when this three-letter word had a memorable impact outside of the fact that my sexuality got me out of the box that most people are locked into.

Out of time. Out of luck. Being assed-out. Left out. Going out. On the outs. In some ways, out signifies a sort of finality or ending; it’s another word for being excluded, like being the odd-man out or it’s a transition – you were inside and then you went out… but you, at least temporarily, quit being inside.

The Certified Dirty Old Man reminds me that being out in a sexuality context meets that last part I wrote… and like I wasn’t sitting here when I typed it.

Being out in left field – what an odd phrase that is and one that has a connection to baseball. Three outs in an inning, three strikes and you’re out and, yeah, the odd twist of being out can put you into quite a mess. Being out of your mind, just another way to denote craziness and/or insanity and taking the word one step further to thinking out of the box.

There’s being out there and being out of bounds which, depending on the person, can be both a good and bad thing and, of course, there are quite a few sports where going out of bounds is definitely not a good thing, well, unless you’re a wide receiver and you voluntarily step out of bounds to avoid that 200-pound freight train that’s looking to put some hurt on you.

There’s those out of body experiences where one feels detached from their physical self; being on the outside looking in comes to mind as well. Even as I write this, that little three-letter word is bouncing around in my mind and trying to stick to something but I think it’s such a common and well-used word in our vocabulary that there are probably a gazillion things where the word “out” was involved.

Being in love… then falling out of love; an object in motion remains in motion until acted upon by an outside force. Running out of gas, both literally and being very, very tired after exerting one’s self. Then, of course, there’s being outside, outdoors, in the great outdoors.

The Certified Dirty Old Man, who owns the gutter, is whispering to me about some more… intimate outs and I’m trying not to pay attention to him but, okay, we’ll go there for a moment so I can finish with this.

When I was nine – and just before my 10th birthday – I’d got hit by a car and knocked silly and from my perspective, the car came out of nowhere and, despite my parents saying otherwise, I did look both ways before dashing across the street. I was on the move – then heard someone say, “Look out!” – and the next thing I knew I way lying against a telephone pole with a lot of people standing over me. The people who hit me took me to the closest hospital and my father arrived and me and him had it out about whether or not I really did look both ways; then, later, the doctor who stitched my head and chin – and the only injuries I suffered – telling me when to come see him again to get the stitches out.

A few days later (and quite a few Mr. Softee root bear floats), I was with my “girlfriend,” Shirley, who had come to see me and, um, ah, ahem, she wanted me to do it to her and I was more than happy to since I was officially grounded so I could heal up and not allowed to go out.

I was so in love with Shirley and once our bodies were joined, oh, yeah – loved her even more. Now, this wasn’t the first time we did it so it wasn’t like this was unfamiliar to us. Dick going in and out of her, we’re kissing – and with lots of tongue – and the world couldn’t get any better. I felt that… good but funny feeling wash over me but I barely paid any attention to it; I’d felt it numerous times before and knew it would pass in a moment, I’d take a nice deep breath, and keep going… but this time, it was different.

Very different.

My heart started beating really fast and my whole body started to shake and tremble; I was having a really hard time breathing, and Shirley’s lovely face was blurred and out of focus… and the feeling wasn’t getting better – it was getting worse. Much worse. I was losing control of my body and like it couldn’t make up its mind whether to keep moving in and out of Shirley or to just stop moving; all the while, my brain is trying to figure out what the is going on: Am I dying? Is this my punishment for being disobedient and having sex when I wasn’t supposed to or, really, um, the punishment was finally catching up with me for all the sex I’d been having with both boys and girls?

It was like something exploded inside my head and I panicked because now I couldn’t see and I knew – or thought I knew – that my eyes were open. Heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears and I had no idea what my body was doing other than shaking and shivering like I was really cold and had stuck my finger in a socket. I was dying… and I was sure of it.

Then everything started feeling better, well, kinda better. I don’t remember pulling out of Shirley but I did, sitting next to her and breathing like I’d been outside running like the wind; I was so… confused that I didn’t know she was talking to me until she shook me to get my attention.

“Huh?” I said – why was my mouth so dry?

“You did it! You did it!” she exclaimed and I remember her smile so very well.

“What did I do?” I asked, deepening my confusion.

“You shot the baby-making stuff in me!” she said and as happy as if she’d found a twenty dollar bill on the sidewalk. “It came out of you and went into me! Do it again!”

Yep – the first time I busted a nut and that white, gooey, stuff came out of my dick and, um, yep, inside Shirley who made it a point to have me look between her legs to see it starting to ooze out of her and I dimly remember thinking that there was a whole lot of the stuff that came out. It wasn’t that I didn’t know about the dreaded baby-making stuff but I thought it was some shit adults made up to scare us into not messing around with sex but, wow… it was for real and my mind quickly put together that now, when I put my dick into… um someone, that white baby-making stuff was gonna come out.

Hot damn! And we did do it again… and even more of the stuff came out and Shirley and I were over the moon and, yeah, out of our minds about it but, okay, when she said, “One more time!” there wasn’t as much of it that came out in the end but, yeah: I was in the big time now and as I found out a few days later, I was the first among us to have the baby-making stuff come out.

Eventually, I’d learn what happened. I even remember, many years later, talking to a doctor about when I became sexually active and he had asked if I remember the first time I ejaculated; when I told him I did remember it (vividly) and that I was nine when it happened, he looked puzzled and mumbled something about that shouldn’t have happened at that age. But I had told him that I’d been hit by a car a couple of days before that moment and all he said was, “Okay… that kind of explains a few things…”

Like getting hit by a car and getting my noggin rattled shook something loose before it was supposed to? If there was a huge, gigantic “out” for me, well, that was it and while I’ve forgotten a lot of things over the years, that moment is one I can’t forget but, like they say, you always remember your first time.

The Certified Dirty Old Man is happy that I got this out and I think he’s looking around for a cigarette… but I’m back to ignoring him and thinking about that out moment compared to the moment that got me out of the straight box and into the bisexual one.

Out. The opposite of in. Many connotations. So common in its usage that one rarely ever thinks about it even when they get to the moment when they run out of words…

And just as I have just done. Back to you, Mrs. Feve!

 
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Posted by on 30 July 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Animal

The word conjures up a lot of thoughts and particularly about Zane, our cat that passed away suddenly a month or so ago; I still find myself looking for her.

My next thought – and other than Mrs. Feve shouldn’t be awake at 3am – was that we are all animals but we think we’re above the other animals that makes up life on this planet. I thought about political animals and how many of them seem to be suffering from a bad case of rabies these days.

But what I really thought about are the memories of what animals have taught me about why humans just tend to make a big deal out of that which other animals do naturally and as a matter of survival.

My mind flashed back decades to a moment when a bunch of friends and I were outside and, knowing us, doing our level best to find some trouble to get into when these two dogs came trotting along, stopped right in front of us and, well, the one dog started fucking the other dog. Everyone just lost it in some way; they were either laughing about it or feeling very disgusted by what they were looking at and all the while, the dogs were going about it and if we weren’t standing there gawking.

We make such a big deal about sex and have gone out of our way to demonize something that is, in fact, natural but what makes us different than those two dogs is that we can do it just for the fun of it and not necessarily for procreation and I’d eventually learn that we’re not the only animal species on the planet who has sex just because we can. Others in the animal kingdom who are, ah, sexual rebels, don’t discriminate between male and female and experts have studied the famous bonobo monkeys who pretty much flaunt their bisexuality in the face of the rest of the animal kingdom… including us.

Yet we go to great lengths to distance ourselves and to not see ourselves as the animal we really are. I think about Zane and how she bonded to me and, well, I guess to her, I was just a funny looking cat and perhaps it didn’t make a difference that we were two different animals. We’d get pissed with each other, play with each other and she’d spend a lot of time just lying on my feet, purring happily and without a care in the world… because that’s the way it’s supposed to be and a continuing reminder that we’re not as all that as we like to think we are.

In that memoir kind of way, we are magnificent animals and my life is full of moments where that magnificence has shined… and where that magnificence has been dulled and sullied because, unlike other animals, we’ve not yet learned how to get along with each other and to not let our differences divide us and make us contentious. Take a pride of lions, for example: If you’re part of the pride, it’s all good and outsiders, well, not all that welcomed. They have their own power struggles and orders of dominance and when you think about lions, the first image that pops into your head is the one with the huge mane, the king of the jungle and all that… but the real power in the pride lies with the lioness and you only see the competitive fierceness in male lions when it’s mating time. We laugh – or maybe even cringe – about a male lion going from female to female and hitting it, you know, provided she doesn’t turn around and bitch-slap the fuck out of him a few time and just as we tend to cringe to see two males fighting over a female.

And humans, as it turns out, aren’t all that different except, given our advantage of having a more and highly developed brain, we can somehow justify acting like the animals we try to insist that we don’t really behave like. It’s not one endearing memory or memoir kind of thing with this particular prompt…

It’s a reminder of that which we don’t think about so much; we are all animals and no matter how much or how hard we try to distance ourselves from the other species on the planet, eh, we’re really not all that different or even civilized as we like to think we are.

It’s the one thing that has stayed with me ever since that day we watched those two dogs fucking and without any concern, fears, or even shame because they were doing what they were supposed to do. Another day, yeah, wow – we saw two male dogs trying to hump each other and while the others were pretty much losing their minds over the two “faggot” dogs, for me, those two dogs taught me something about being human and to not be ashamed or even afraid to do that which, in fact and in deed, comes naturally to a lot of animals.

And the persistent, constant memory and realization that we think we’re better than all the other animals on the planet… and we aren’t. Not so much a memoir but a lesson in life itself and one we all should learn, that we can be human without all the dumb shit we bring to the table. Zane could be totally pissed with me one moment… and happily at my feet and purring the next moment. There wasn’t a day that went by that she wouldn’t piss me off one moment and in the next one, I was petting her and, yeah, even talking to her. We were two different animals but we found a way to not only get along but to co-exist together.

If only the rest of us could learn to do this so that if the day comes when we really do sit down and write our memoirs, what we’ve learned from other animals will play a part in our lives.

 
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Posted by on 20 July 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Shoes

I saw the notification of Mrs. Feve’s latest post pop up on my iPad and I had two thoughts: The first was, “Shoes?” and the next was that whatever Mrs. Feve is smoking when she thinks of these topics, she needs to share and the sooner, the better.

Not a whole lot about shoes comes to mind; the actual footwear isn’t something I lose my mind over and when I’ve needed a new pair of shoes, fashion doesn’t matter – if it fits and looks good on my feet and will last a while, I’m good with that. I can’t even remember the last time I bought shoes but I can tell you that I still have them.

What did come to mind was the old saw about not judging someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes and, as a bisexual, I’ve run into so many people in my travels who, instead of ranting and raving about something they really don’t understand, should put my “shoes” on and take a nice, long walk so that they can really understand what’s good – and “bad” – about being bisexual.

One of the things you learn is what it’s like, in part or in whole, to walk in the shoes of women and gay men; some of it is and can be a pleasant walk while some of it is anything but pleasant and, depending on how you care to look at things. well, let’s just say that it doesn’t make men look good at all and understanding what it’s like to be, um, intimately exposed to men just makes our reputation as men a lot worse or, really, you get to seriously understand why some women are the way they are about sex and intimacy.

I’ve even suggested to some to put on my shoes and go for a walk and the suggestion has been rejected… but they continue to judge, bash, or otherwise denigrate something that, again, they really don’t understand. As I’m prone to saying, I grew up with this and in a very different time when homosexuals were the target of societal angst and prejudice and bisexuals – aka switch-hitters – were a joke, maybe even a myth of sorts and a way to yank someone’s chain… well, until recently anyway. The shoes these more… modern bisexuals are walking in is a poor fit for them, probably giving them blisters and callouses as they try to walk this path and their shoes fit badly because they don’t seem to understand the one thing that, growing up when I did and given my ability to see through the dumb shit:

It’s just being human. Born to be this way if we choose to or, yeah, even if it’s a “last ditch” option and even if one is given litter or no choice but to be this way because we are biologically compelled to be social – and intimate – with each other. People struggle wearing their shoes and maybe because they’re of a mind that one size fits all and that’s never been the case and all it takes to understand this is to think about any time you’ve bought that sweet pair of shoes… and they don’t quite fit right… and you try to walk in them anyway.

One must become a cobbler and, with shoes in hand, make them fit the way they need to fit and fit so well and comfortably that even when you’re wearing them, it feels as if you’re not wearing them. Again, growing up with this when I did, it was an important lesson to learn, a personal skill to master and, most of all, be comfortable walking this path. I’ve said time and time again that the sex is easy… but in this context, making your shoes fit well and comfortably isn’t all that easy:

If you can’t be comfortable wearing these shoes, that’s a problem. Even shoes that fit have to be broken in and if you don’t wear them and take many steps in them, your feet are gonna have problems. So many have these shoes… and keep them in the box, still with the tag on them and as much as they want to put them on, they don’t… but when they try to get their feet into them the fit and comfort just isn’t there.

And back in the box they go.

My shoes are very broken in; they’re well-worn and, sure, like any pair of shoes, sometimes you need to re-sole them, put new heels on them so that when I do walk in them, I walk… better. More comfortable. Even that much more confident that my shoes will continue to be equal to the task and more so when, these days, bisexuality has become more of a minefield than a… rugged and difficult path to walk.

It’s not about style or trends or even “fashion statements.” These shoes have to be custom made to fit your feet and, yep, sometimes, you gotta try on several pairs to find the ones that will not only fit well and comfortably but will be durable and long-lasting. One size does not fit all and common sense says that if you wear a size nine shoe, trying to shove your tootsies in a size eight shoe is going to give you nothing but grief and make your ability to walk in them much more difficult and problematic.

“If the shoe fits, wear it…” and I’ll add that if you do wear it, do so with both pride and confidence and no matter how many people aren’t gonna like the shoes you’re wearing. I’ve worn women’s shoes and I’ve learned – and sometimes the hard way – why their feet hurt so much and when men are involved. I’ve worn the shoes of a gay man and I understand why some like guys who wear bisexual shoes… and why some just hate the fact that we have the nerve to put on shoes that are so similar – but not so much – to the shoes they wear.

To be bisexual, you just need to find the right shoes that fit the way you need and want them to fit… then walk in them. Break them in even though you just might wind up scuffing the toe tripping over things along your path. Sometimes the soles will wear out; the heel will get worn down and sometimes, you just gotta get a new pair of the exact same shoes and once again begin the process of breaking them in so that they fit perfectly and comfortable.

And that’s the real problem when walking in the shoes of someone else: They’re someone else’s shoe and they might not fit if at all… but become a cobbler and design your own unique and customized fit.

Then walk. Don’t put too much weight on what others say about your shoes; find out how to make your shoes fit the way you want and need them to and then don’t ever be afraid to wear them.

Shoes. Even the metaphysical ones. If they fit, wear them because even real shoes have no real purpose unless you wear them.

 
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Posted by on 10 July 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Space

Space. The final frontier. These are the… oh, wait, yeah, I’ve been a Trekkie since the show first aired and hearing those words still give me a pleasant feeling and when I saw this theme, that was the first thing I thought of.

There’s personal space. Not enough space. Too much space. There’s space that are places and if your mind goes to the gutter, I won’t blame you for that one. Indeed, one of the things that flashed through my mind was being able to have sex in a small, confining but populated space… on a Greyhound Americrusier bus, in the back of the bus, not only with the guy who decided he wanted to sit with me but, um, quite a few of the women in our immediate area.

Three of the best days I’ve ever spent on a bus and thanks to a drink made from passion flowers, um, I don’t remember a whole lot of it except it was a lot of fun.

Space between words. Single spaces between paragraphs. Space is empty yet not so much because even in the void of space, it’s not so empty as it looks. There are the wide open spaces that once made me, a city kid, wide-eyed with wonder and awe. That bus ride I mentioned? I remember what I saw as the bus proceed to its stop in Cheyenne, Wyoming. No wonder that area of the country is considered Big Sky and God’s Country. Just space. Lots of space. Beautiful but somewhat desolate and lonely; the mind tends to wander, to take in all that space and, yeah, sometimes it can make you feel small but a part of the whole.

Space in terms of slices of time; being in a good space and then in a not-so-good space from one millisecond to the next only to return to a good space and, yeah, even the space of time I had to think about what I’m writing and I did have a lot of time and space to think that Mrs. Fever made this a somewhat tough topic because the word “space” conjures up all kinds of thoughts and memories that are difficult to fill or, really, to put into the single space of coherent thought and focus.

And, yes: I was all in the gutter thinking about the lack of space inherent with sex; the closeness, being able to physically a part of another person as humanly possible and being in a space where time has no meaning and so much that a mere ten minutes can feel like an hour or an hour seems to pass by in mere minutes. I thought about the head space in being in the moment, which is a space all to itself. In that space, there is no before and there is no after: There is only now. The space between mind and body even when the body is, again, primally and carnally close. Even the space between what is moral and what isn’t in these moment, you know, depending on what floats your boat; that space seems vast and insurmountable… yet, there’s not a lot of space in between that which is moral and that which is not so much…

And depending on how much space you put between yourself and those who might not agree with how you occupy that space and/or who occupies it with you.

The space between breaths; the space between the blink of an eye; the nearly immeasurable space between the neurons firing in the space that contains our brains that allow us to think and feel and remember. Time and space is so closely related and not so much and there is always the space between one memorable moment and the next.

The space between seconds. The space we wrap around ourselves that can comfort those who are allowed to be in our space while excluding those who can’t or won’t be allowed into our space.

Jeez, Mrs. Feve – could you have made this any harder?

 
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Posted by on 30 June 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Big

I had to really do some thinking on this one. I thought about big dicks and big clits because, you know, my mind tend to not just live in the gutter – my mind owns the gutter. But it didn’t take a whole lot of time to think of something more… appropriate.

Like the day I literally ran into Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

Like most basketball fans, I’d followed his career from his time at UCLA to his entry into the NBA with the Milwaukee Bucks and then on to the Los Angeles Lakers. Just one of the great basketball talents to ever play the game and his famous Sky Hook was unstoppable (well, until Dr. J did the ‘impossible’ and blocked one during a game with the Sixers).

So I was on a business trip to Green Bay and a class on how railroad tank cars were lined to protect the tank car’s metal body from whatever was being put inside. My boss had decided that I needed this education to have a better understanding of what we did for our company and as a part of him expanding my role in our two-man team.

To satisfy the gutter, I will say that my very big-clitted girlfriend arrived in Green Bay to spend that time with me but that’s a story for another time. Anyway, I spent four interesting days in Green Bay and beginning with my flight from O’Hare to Green Bay… in a prop-driven commuter plane and what turned out to be the worst landing I’ve ever experienced when flying.

The pilot bounced us all over the place and at one point, the twin-turboprop plane threatened to take off again. I’ve been in turbulence that wasn’t that bad or scary! It was so bad that the pilot didn’t open the cockpit door (as they normally did) and it was good that he didn’t because I had some choice words for his ability to land an aircraft.

My classes went well and I managed to pass all the test and was now certified to inspect interior tank car linings and it’s time to fly home but my flight out of Green Bay was delayed for about fifteen minutes – nothing serious – but it was going to make getting to my connecting flight a close call, making me think about calling our travel department to arrange another flight home if I missed the one I was scheduled for.

The good thing was that once we landed at O’Hare, I didn’t have to worry about my baggage, allowing me to bogart my way off the plane and rush through the terminal to get to my connecting flight’s gate. Head down, walking as fast as I could without breaking into a run, I’m dipping and dodging all the other travelers and a glance up showed me that I was gonna get lucky – the gate my flight home was leaving from was right in front of me!

All I had to do was turn the corner and get to the gate desk to check in when, the next thing I knew, I was sitting on my ass! Clearly, I had run into someone and hard enough to knock me down and the shock of my ass hitting the floor dazed me for a moment. Then I hear a voice say, “Hey, are you okay?”

I glanced up… and looked into the face of a very concerned Abdul-Jabbar! Even I as I told him I was okay and we were both profusely apologizing to each other I was thinking, “Holy shit… this dude is way bigger than he looks on TV!” I mean, I’d watch him play and you could easily see how he towered over most players but he didn’t look… sturdy, if you know what I mean.

Running into him proved that he was a lot more sturdy than he looked. He took my hand and literally lifted me off the floor and onto my feet – yeah, he was much stronger than he looked, too! I’m getting dizzy looking up at him but the thing that popped into my head was to not ask him for an autograph; I had read that he could be some kind of way about that so I thanked him, apologized again and he smiled at me and said that he’d love to talk more but he had a flight to catch and I replied that I had to get to mine as well.

Off we both go. I get checked in and in time but as I made my way to the gate to take a seat – and to be all “fan boy” about meeting the great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar – there were some folks in the area who worked at my company and, I guess they recognized me somehow because they came running over and blurting out, “Do you know who that was?”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” I said and like it was no big deal… even though it was. My co-workers bombarded me with questions – what were you two talking about? Did he give you an autograph? What did it feel liked to run into him like that?

Shit… it felt like running into a wall – that’s what it felt like! Still, I was having another fifteen minutes of fame since my co-workers felt it… necessary to buy me drinks on the plane once we boarded and got airborne. I even called my girlfriend once we got in the air and assured her that I made my flight on time and, oh, by the way, guess who I ran into… and literally so?

Okay… let me add something about her and what I’ll tentatively call a “big” moment. We’d made love and had gone to dinner afterward and was told that the hotel was hosting a little “party” in it’s rather nice garden, which was along the Fox River and it was, indeed, quite lovely. We’re walking around, kinda mingling, when a rather nicely dressed couple came over to us and introduced themselves and we’re standing there talking when I became aware of why they were talking to us.

They wanted to have sex with us! I picked up on the very subtle hints and when I looked at the husband and gave him a questioning look that asked, “Are you asking about what I think you’re asking about?” he smiled, winked, and nodded… and I thought, “Oh, whew, hmm…” because my girlfriend was completely unaware of why we’d gotten this couple’s attention. They did everything except come right out and proposition us directly and, to be honest, I was game… but I didn’t think she would be so when they invited us back to their room for more drinks – and she politely declined – I was kinda relieved but greatly amused.

We were going back to our room and she was talking about how nice that couple was and how cool it was for them to just strike up a conversation with us… and then I told her why.

“Um, they wanted us to come to their room so they could have sex with us,” I said, watching her closely to see her reaction – and it was precious.

“Really? How did you know that?” she asked.

“I gave the husband a “what’s up” look and he looked back in a way to confirm what I was thinking,” I said. “They wanted us… and kinda badly.”

“Well, why didn’t you accept?” she asked – and that surprised me big time. “Let’s go back out and see if we can find them!”

We couldn’t find them but I had to stick this in.

Didn’t get to really get our freak on with that couple, had a great time with my girlfriend while in Green Bay just the same… and I ran into and got to meet the great Kareem Abdul-Jabbar! One of the best business trips I’d ever taken and one I’ll remember for the rest of my life!

 
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Posted by on 20 June 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Life, Living and Loving: “I Didn’t See That Coming!”

When it comes to discussing alternative relationships – being open, polyamory, etc., there’s a lot of planning involved and so much that a lot of couples, even when interested, can be loathe to bring it up because just thinking about it as an individual can bring up a tsunami of things that have to be thought and talked about, from why this is being brought to the table to how things are gonna work and, jeez, so many things that it becomes an information overload.

But couples manage to wade through it all, get their rules all hashed out and, provided they’re fortunate enough to find others to join them in this, they’re off and running. I’ve had the honor and privilege to have sat with quite a few couples to help them sort all of this out and one of the things that can trip a couple up comes when I ask them about same sex stuff.

Some come right out and say that this is off the table; ain’t gonna happen and better not happen; some say that they talked about it briefly… but dismissed the possibility and, sure, some have, tentatively, said that they didn’t think it would be a problem but not something they’d talked and they’ll worry about that if such a thing happens.

And I’ve told them, “That’s a mistake…” and then I’ve told them why it’s a mistake. In these things, couples tend to think about what they want to do and experience… but not think so much about what could happen. Many do believe that no “funny business” is gonna happen because neither of them are into that – and it’s understandable… but. still, some “funny business” should never be dismissed out of hand because, at the very least, shit does happen and when you’re not expecting – or wanting – it to.

Then tack on that you never know when one or the other person is going to change their mind about that and, sometimes, on the fly and then because something inside of them is saying, “Go ahead… do it… you know you want to…” In this, a lot of couples think that “heat of the moment” stuff can’t and shouldn’t happen, that everyone involved should always be in complete and total control of themselves and, well, hmm, let’s just say that I’ve seen this happen so many times that thinking this way is a mistake.

It becomes a huge shock to the system and can start some pretty nasty arguments… and usually because it’s something they didn’t discuss, didn’t plan for, figured that they didn’t have to allow for such a thing to happen

One couple I know got off the ground and running and were having the time of their lives. One day, I happened to run into the male half of the relationship and asked him how things were going and he had said it was going very well until, one night, his lady suddenly went down on the other woman.

“I didn’t see that coming!” he had said.

“Well, um, when we all talked about that, I remember telling you that such a thing could happen – and you both insisted that it wouldn’t and couldn’t. I also remember telling you that it would be a mistake to dismiss the possibility, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did, but, shit, I didn’t think it could happen,” he said.

“I hope you didn’t jump in her ass about it,” I said. “I also hope that this… surprise didn’t ruin the moment for everyone.”

“Nah, nothing got ruined – the other couple was pleasantly surprised,” he said.

“Good… and I hope that the two of you talked about this later and y’all weren’t arguing about it,” I said.

“We talked about it and, I dunno, I wasn’t mad… but I was just surprised because she never said anything about that,” he said.

“Let me guess at something. I’ll bet that when you asked her what happened, she first said she didn’t know but then she said that it just felt like the right thing to do,” I said. “That sound about right?”

He blinked then asked, “Did she talk to you about that?”

“No, she didn’t,” I said. “But I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yeah… how the fuck did you know what she said?” he asked.

“Because I’ve both heard and seen it happen before,” I said. “I’ve even seen guys do this and they’ve said that it just made sense or it felt like the right thing to do in that moment. I’ve heard both men and women say that they’ve even shocked themselves to realize what they were doing and, later, would say that they didn’t know what made them do it or, in some cases, allow it.”

The situation turned out well for them… but it doesn’t always turn out well and what started out being a good thing has turned into a bad thing… because no one really wants to factor any of this in. They don’t want to acknowledge the possibility and they most certainly never take into account that someone might change their mind about this. Ideally, this should be part of the conversation to begin with and, just as ideally, if one is feeling this at any time after the rules have been set, it merits some discussion. Doesn’t mean that the next time out, something’s gonna happen but it’s always important to find out and know what your partner is thinking about all of this.

And the main reason why this isn’t given a lot of real consideration and attention is because that’s not the way things are supposed to happen; it’s not what they want to experience and other such things that causes a great disturbance in the Force if/when it happens, whether it’s in the heat of the moment or it’s something someone had on their mind and in that moment just said, “Fuck it… I’m gonna do it!” and, perhaps, thinking that it’s better to beg forgiveness – and say, “I don’t know what made me do that!” – than it is to plan ahead for such a thing.

Maybe it comes up… maybe it never does but I’ve learned that the biggest thing that fucks up such arrangements is the one thing no one planned for, allowed for, and didn’t see coming. I’ve seen people discuss it… and dismiss it; they’ve said, “We’ll worry about it if it ever happens!” Sometimes, someone is really thinking about this… but they don’t say anything about it and usually out of fear of some shit getting started but, of course, that’s a mistake, too; since you need to talk about everything and I do mean everything, well, this is part of that everything.

Any thoughts you might have about it. Any experiences you may have had or came close to having. Yeah, you can say that things shouldn’t come to that but at the very least, you both have to seriously and truthfully acknowledge that the possibility exists for shit to happen. Those folks setting up a poly “family” should equally be aware of the potential because even in closed family environments, the more you interact with each other, the more some…. stuff tends to surface.

Maybe it comes up, maybe it doesn’t but if you don’t plan for it and make it a legit part of the conversation, you can either be pleasantly surprised or everything you’ve worked on in this will disintegrate.

Let’s not have that happen, aight? Whether you’re into it or not, plan for it; talk about it and, maybe not expect it to happen but put yourself in a position where, if it does happen or come up, you won’t get surprised by it.

 
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Posted by on 12 June 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project – Run

So many things come to mind about the word “run” so it took me a moment or two to think of a memorable memoir-like thingy… and here it is! Well, two things, actually.

I’d been invited to go on a road trip to an amusement park with my cousin, his mom, and her boyfriend and the two of us – my cousin and I – were hyped to go to this particular park but our enthusiasm got reined in when we were told that we would be making a stop to visit some relatives along the way. Bummer! But once we hit the road, we were good and looking forward to riding the rides and eating everything we could get.

Well, the place we stopped at turned out to be both a family home… and a funeral home. Creepy as fuck and my cousin and I were both mumbling about not wanting to be there and let’s hurry up and get back on the road. But no; the family member there felt the need to show us around the place and it wasn’t like we could refuse off we went.

The casket room… ugh. The family member actually had the nerve to ask us if we wanted to climb into one! Oh, fuck no – and I remember saying – under my breath – “I’ll be damned…” So we took a pass, the family member laughed – he was clearly enjoying our discomfort – and the tour continued.

Down some steps into the basement, turned right, through a door and, holy shit: Lying on a table immediately to the right was a very big – and very dead – woman who was also very blue and covered with a sheet. I could feel my mind starting to trip all over itself and barely heard the family member say something about she wasn’t gonna hurt us.

One last thing to see, we were told as he led us to a door that looked just like the kind of door I’d seen whenever I went to the butcher shop with my parents. He opens the door… and a blast of cold air comes out and we both tentatively followed him inside… and saw a lot of sheet-covered bodies lying on tables/stretchers. My flight or fight instinct kicked in and I even think I had started backing up a little when, all of a sudden, one of the bodies closest to where we were standing sat up.

At this point, the story is more after the fact because I don’t remember running; I don’t even remember moving. In the moment, all I remembered was running and dimly remember being outside and turning right… and running. Blindly running. I didn’t stop running for, to me, was a long time and even then I didn’t remember how I got to where I had finally stopped and I didn’t stop until I heard somebody calling my name – and telling me to stop.

Apparently, my aunt had gotten in the car and tracked me down. I had no idea where my cousin was and I didn’t care. My aunt tells me to get in the car so we can go back to that place and I remember telling her, “Hell, no, I ain’t going the fuck back in there!” She finally convinced me that we had to go back and get my cousin and I could sit in the car and wait.

Apparently, my cousin had passed out cold right where he had been standing. The worst part? All of the adults thought that shit was funny! Indeed, after we finally arrived at the park, I was able to see how funny it was… but it sure as fuck wasn’t funny at the time. My aunt said that when she got to the front door of the place and looked down the street, all she could see was me running and feared for my life since, apparently, I was running across streets and regardless to traffic lights.

Even I thought it was a miracle I didn’t get hit by a car. I thought that was one of those “once in a lifetime” things… but it wasn’t.

Maybe a year later or so, my cousin and I were coming back from a friend’s house and hustling to get back to my cousin’s place before it got too late… and we decided to take a shortcut… through the cemetery. Now, it was a shortcut we’d taken before – during the day – and we knew where there was a kid-sized hole in the iron fence we could slip through that would take a few blocks off our journey.

We slip through the hole and start toward the front of the cemetery and we were talking about the very steep hill we had to climb and, really, not paying much attention to the fact that we were trespassing in a graveyard. We crest the hill and now we see all the above-ground crypts and mausoleums, old and ancient structures that had been there since forever but we’d seen them before. Now to set the stage…

It really was a dark and stormy night and one of the other reasons why we decided to take the shortcut; the wind was picking up, trees rustling, really spooky shit and we both felt it and we were nervously talking about anything and nothing just to shake the eerie feelings we had. We had reached what had to be the biggest and oldest mausoleum in the cemetery, a huge, imposing structure covered with ivy and moss and had been subjected to the weather for so long that you could’t read the family name chisled above the door.

We’re walking as fast as we could – still going uphill just a bit – when we heard… moaning as we approached the mausoleum. We looked at each other and actually slowed down a bit, both of us looking around and seeing nothing, kinda calmed down… until the ghostly moaning began again and it was loud and wasn’t stopping.

My legs were shaking – my flight or fight instinct had turned itself on and just when my cousin was saying, “We need to hurry up and get outta here!” the front door of the mausoleum flew open with a loud bang and a figure emerged, stumbling and moaning…

I was gone. In the wind. I could have easily outrun “The Flash” and “Superman.” Hauling ass so fast I was literally kicking myself in the ass. Unlike that last time, I knew where I was and where I was going and even looked for cars as I sped across streets. Where was my cousin?

Fuck if I knew. I wanted to stop running and look for him… but I couldn’t stop running! My brain replayed the moment just before I took flight and saw that the “ghostly figure” that burst out of the mausoleum was just some drunk who, I guess, decided that taking a nap inside was a good idea.

I didn’t stop running until I got to my cousin’s house and, thankfully, he arrived a minute or two later. We were laughing and breathing like steam engines at the same time; he told me that when he heard the noise and saw “the ghost,” he had turned to look at me – and I was gone. Long gone.

“You were running faster than that last time!” he said.

“I don’t remember moving,” I said. “I heard the noise, turned to look at where it came from and when I saw that coming out and moaning, shit, the next thing I knew I was on the main street and hauling ass!”

“Man, it was like you vanished like a ghost!” he said.

“I didn’t mean to leave you,” I said – and, yeah, I felt bad about that.

“Not your fault you can run faster than I can,” he said with a shrug. “By the time I made it to the street, I could see you off in the distance and you were just running! I lost sight of you when you turned left on Orange Street and I knew where you were going so I kinda slowed down.”

Shit… I didn’t quite remember making that turn, to be honest. What I knew was that other than my lungs still burning a little, my behind was hurting something fierce and it took my cousin to point out and mention that I had the tread marks from my sneakers all over my butt.

Now, in my own defense, I gotta say that I wasn’t a coward and neither was my cousin. We were both very skilled in the martial arts and not only knew how to defend ourselves but wouldn’t hesitate to do so. We both realized that being in the cemetery at night, with the wind and trees making all that noise had just set both of us on edge and was topped off by that drunk doing his “Night of the Living Dead” thing.

Another one of those “run” moments that I can laugh at now… but neither of them was funny when they happened and had me running like I’d never run before.

 
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Posted by on 10 June 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project: Ride

So many things to choose from for this prompt but there are actually two rides that I can kinda combine into one thing and beginning with my “historic” flight to California.

It wasn’t my first plane ride but after being used to traveling up and down the east coast, I was on my way to the west coast and my permanent party station at Castle AFB in Merced, CA. The flight itself was, I guess, pretty routine but as we flew across the country and at 34,000 feet, the limited view from my window seat had me introspective being among the clouds and looking down at the ground that appeared to be moving slowly even though we were zipping along at over five hundred miles per hour.

I was flying into the unknown and I laughed to myself – and causing the woman sitting in the aisle seat to give me a funny look – to think about the day I got my orders for my permanent party assignment. We’d been asked to pick three Air Force bases we’d like to be stationed and, of course, I had picked Dover AFB, about an hour away from home and I think I chose McGuire in New Jersey – but since I didn’t really know of any other bases close to home, I might have left my third choice blank or said I didn’t know.

It was a setup and a reminder that when you’re in the military, you go where they tell you to go. During this session, the last place anyone wanted to be stationed was Elmdendoft AFB in Alaska – and quite a few of my tech school classmates got laughed at when they got assigned there. Still, it wasn’t funny when I was told where I was going and when I was told that Castle AFB was in California, I was shocked and a little hurt to realized how far from home I’d be… and it didn’t make me feel better when my classmates were laughing their asses off at my shock and awe.

We flew over the Grand Canyon and the captain flew in such a way that everyone on both sides of the plane could get a good look – or as good of a look one can get out of those tiny windows – at the very big hole in the ground and, wow – seeing it from the air is pretty awesome. My mind was in awe and more so when I thought about all the people I knew back home who weren’t able to see what I was seeing… and probably never would.

Five hours after takeoff, I’m on the ground at San Francisco International and in a pickle because I missed my connecting flight to Merced. Shit. But that got taken care of and I began my tour of duty some 2,500 miles from home. Which leads me to the second part of this ride.

My first “road trip” to Los Angeles to visit relatives who lived there. It was exciting when I left the base Friday night after I got off from work, tossing my bags in the trunk of my car and my mind pouring over the details of the map I had and the more detailed directions to where my cousin lived in La Brea. Driving down the Pacific Coast Highway was… awe inspiring although when you’re driving at 70mph, there’s not a lot you can look at for a very long time.

It made me wish I hadn’t been driving so I could enjoy the sheer beauty of the Golden Bear state. The miles rolled beneath my wheels and I’d stopped a few times to refuel, bathroom breaks, etc.. I was pretty much on time and I knew I’d arrive at my destination at night. About the time I got in the neighborhood of Bakersfield, I was going through the mountains; the road was full of curves now and giving me some pretty cool views that I noticed but wasn’t paying that much attention to, opting to keep a closer eye on the little traffic around me. I was getting tired but I didn’t know if there was any place I could pull into to rest up a bit.

However, oh, maybe a mile or four later, I saw a sign that indicated there was a pull-over rest spot up ahead and I decided to pull over and stretch out the kinks. I pulled in, shut down the engine, got out of the car and stretched and looked out to see the city of Los Angeles off in the distance and thought, “Wow… you can see it from here!” Then I stretched again and looked up…

And my jaw dropped as I froze in mid-stretch because my eyes beheld a sight I’d never seen before. Stars. A night sky filled with stars. So many stars that you really couldn’t see the black that separated them – think about tossing a handful of white sand onto some black ink and you might get an idea of what my eyes were seeing… and my mind was trying to make sense of.

I felt… small. Humbled like I’d never been before in my life. I had no words for what I was seeing and all I could do was stand there looking up and I might have been drooling a little since I couldn’t seem to close my mouth. I couldn’t tell you how long I stood there looking up at the impossibly bright night sky and I didn’t snap out of it until I heard a voice close to me say, “Pretty awesome, isn’t it?”

“That’s not the word I’m thinking of,” I said, feeling as if I’d just awakened from a dream. I looked to see who had spoken to me and there was a woman standing next to me; I never heard her approach and, shit, I hadn’t even heard her car on the pull-over’s gravel. Even better, I hadn’t even noticed that she was holding my hand!

“I know the feeling,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “First time seeing this?”

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes unable to make up their mind whether to look at her or to return to looking at the indescribable awesomeness of the heavens. “You don’t get to see this where I’m from.”

We stood there hand in hand for only God knows how long; I was still trying to make sense of what I was seeing and feeling, both awed and disturbed at how… insignificant I felt and I felt so lost and was, apparently, because she kinda shook me to get my attention.

“I’m sorry – did you say something?” I asked, adding feeling stupid to the list of what I was feeling.

“Yes, I did,” she said. “Make love to me. Right here. Right now. Let’s not waste this moment…”

To be honest, I don’t remember us getting undressed under the star-filled night sky nor could I remember how we wound up on the warm grass; it was like I blinked and we were entwined with each other, kissing, fondling, tasting each other. I blinked again and now I’m inside her; we’re moving against each other and as we released with each other, I didn’t miss the significance of what we were doing under the star-studded sky, two human “stars” underneath an unlimited and uncountable ocean of stars and the vastness of the universe.

I blinked again, it seemed, and I was back in my car and entering the Los Angeles city limits. Where had I been? My memory started to return; who was she? Wow… did we really make love under the stars? My body said, “Oh, you most certainly did and it was beyond amazing!” I made my way to La Brea and my cousin’s home but I was unsettled, still dumbstruck over what my eyes beheld when I looked up and I couldn’t shake the sense of understanding my place in things. We ask ourselves, “Why am I here? What is my purpose?

What is the meaning of life? I knew the answer… but there were no words for it. Humbling. That feeling of being insignificant in the very grand scheme of things while being immersed fully in the primal need for contact and intimacy.

What a ride. Such a profound moment in my life. I wouldn’t see a star-filled sky again until decades later, standing on the deck of a cruise ship at night…

But that’s another ride.

 
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Posted by on 30 May 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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The Post I Didn’t Want to Write… But I Have To

Two days ago, our beloved cat, Zane, suddenly and inexplicably died. No “warning” and to our knowledge, she wasn’t sick but at 14 years old, she was loving called “an old ho.” Our “carpet colored demon” because we had noticed she was the same color as the carpet in our apartment.

That furry pain in our asses, always into something, and all up in our business most of the time, almost always getting stepped on – cat stuff. What the fuck happened?

I’m still trying to figure it out. Saturday was a normal Zane day, sleeping and wanting to be played with and then camping out on my feet. It came time to feed her and as she always did, she got up and followed my lady into the kitchen and got all happy to hear the can opening – and she knew that sound from any other can opening sound. Followed my lady onto “her room” where we kept her food and water and got up on her platform to wait for,the bowl to be put down and, knowing her, purring all the way.

Maybe a minute or so later, she comes tearing out of the room and I happened to be looking in that direction when she ran right onto the reclining rocker and I had two immediate thoughtswith first being, “Oh, here she goes again…” because he running out like the devil was chasing her wasn’t unusual and it wasn’t that unusual for her to bump into the chair although not as a matter of course.

She laid down and I’m kinda waiting for her to come walking around the chair and with that “I meant to do that” look… except she was still lying there. I got up and asked her, “What are you doing, little girl?” because she just lying there on her belly and for a moment, I wondered if she’d knocked herself out hitting the chair.

Until I got a real good look at her and thought, “Something’s wrong..” and as I thought this, she gave a little hiss… and I looked at her eyes and said, “Oh, no…” I rubbed her head – no response. I put my hand on her body and couldn’t feel her breathing but I’d done that before and thought she was dead, only to have her look at me like, “Why are you touching me?”

I even tugged on her ear, something I know she didn’t like. No response. I looked at her eyes which were open and my heart was crushed. Our baby, who my lady rescued and restored to good health when she was a kitten…was dead. But what the fuck happened? I went and told my lady, “Honey… I think Zane is dead.”

“What?” she said and I nodded for her to come see… and now we’re both looking at her and I told her how Zane got to be lying where she was. Rubbed her head, lifted her paws and finally grabbed my phone, turned the flashlight on and shined it direction into her open eyes… and her pupils were fixed and dilated.

She’s dead. And I still don’t know how she could have gone from her usual self to being dead in a minutes or two. And now I have the even painful task of laying her to rest… and just write this still chokes me up and makes my eyes watery. Seriously, you expect a pet to die and we even said that maybe one day we’ll get up and she’ll be lounging somewhere and we’d notice that she didn’t get up and greet us because she died in her sleep.

We didn’t expect this to happen and the way it did. All kinds of reasons why a cat can die suddenly but at the end of the day, I guess it doesn’t matter because regardless of the reason, our little girl cat is still dead. Was it something about her food that killed her, maybe a strange allergic reaction? Heart attack? Stroke? No fucking idea.

God… this fucking hurts. We keep looking for her. I sit here and find myself looking down at my feet because she had the uncanny ability to camp out on my feet and I’d never know she was there until I started to get up or accidentally bump her with my foot. I’m sitting in the living room and looking at the three places she normally be – on her bed, the back of the loveseat, or perched right bending me on the back of the sofa… and purring in my ear.

And she’s not here any more. The night she died, I eventually went to bed and for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t close the bedroom door. We learned early on that leaving the door open would result with one of us waking up and looking Zane in the face or, since she seemed to be attached to me, lying on top of me and I’m waking up wondering why I feel heavier than I should or my lady wondering why she was a lot warmer than she should have been,

Yep. Cat. That nosy heifer who once jumped in bed with us and was messing with my feet as we were making love. Yep, the cat who, whenever the two of us were talking about anything would sit or stand right with us and like she didn’t want to be left out and might have something to add, like a meow or two.

It is so strange not seeing her. I’m still coming out of the bedroom and looking for her perched either on the loveseat or waiting by the door. We go in “her room” but really it’s where our computers live and she doesn’t follow us in to nibble on her food or drink water or just sit between us as we talked about whatever… or she’s sitting under me and so close that I have to look down to make sure I don’t run her over with my chair.

And I caught myself looking today. I got up from my usual spot on the sofa before I started this and looked down at my feet before actually standing up. She wasn’t there… because she’s gone. I thought about that last hiss she made; was she in pain? Scared? When she started running and hit the chair, did she know something was wrong and that she was dying? And the thing that really fucks with me is something I remembered when she hissed:

Her pupils were already fixed and dilated and the hiss… well, fuck. Last gasp? The only thing she could do before her brain fully and finally shut down? I don’t know. What I do know is how much it hurts knowing that’s she’s gone and the way she left us. Suddenly. Inexplicably. No warning or indication that anything was wrong with her other than being a 14 year old cat.

Yeah, she wasn’t as feisty as she was when younger but she’d want to play, would stalk and pounce on us as we walked around and sometimes her idea of fun was me chasing her and her plopping down as if to say, “Okay, you got me!” then go on the attack when my back was turned. And the day she died was no different, well, except she died. It even a hour before, she way lying on my feet and purring; I reached down and rubbed her head and she purred even louder,

And an hour later, she died. And we can’t make any sense of how she died. We’ve talked about getting another cat but at the moment, our hearts ain’t really in it. There’s the matter of us have a lot of cat stuff – food, litter, etc., and we don’t have a cat anymore. Even my lady said that we can get another cat… but it won’t even be Zane. As a cat, Zane wasn’t a dumb animal by any stretch of the imagination and even my mom, who doesn’t like cats, always asked us how “her” cat was doing and she cried when we told her that “her cat” died.

Knock on our door and Zane would haul ass to the door and I’d tell her, “You wanna impress me? Open the door!” I’d open the door and she’d be right there to see who it was and if they came inside, she’d either hiss at them – which was most of the time – or she stroll up to the person and look at the like, “Why aren’t you petting me?” Sometimes someone would knock on the door and she’d just vanish into thin air, making us say that if you didn’t know we had a cat, you’d swear we didn’t have one.

She went after the cable guy in full attack mode and so much that we had to put her in a room and close the door. When she did that same thing to a guy who was delivering something to us, wow, that was weird as fuck but, okay, maybe there was something about both guys she just didn’t like. Company comes to stay a few and she’d vanish like smoke… then reappear and mingle like she had never left the room.

Like my lady said, “It feels like our child has left home or something…” and I know what she means and now it’s us having to get used to Zane not being the part of our lives she came to be, furry pain in our ass and all that she was to us. We’d tell people that dealing with Zane was very much like having a small child who’d get into everything and so,times in baffling ways, like the day we got a package that came in a long, narrow box… and it wasn’t a matter of if she was gonna try to get inside the box but when she’d try. And she did. And got stuck. I hadn’t laughed so much in a while watching her trying to get out by herself.

Or the time we had a big box and she snuck into it… and almost got taken out with the trash. Or her ability to walk across the top of a flat screen TV… to me watching her actually watching TV. All we had to do was to move something, even for a moment, and she’d be checking it out and we’d put it back where it belonged… and it had to be check out again.

Whenever we’d go into the kitchen, she’d haul ass after us and thinking it was feeding time… then she got smart. One of would go in the kitchen for something and she’d sit there and watch what we were doing and if we weren’t opening a can of cat food, she’d just go on about her business and, as I said, she knew the difference between her food being opened and, say, me opening a can of Coke.

I miss her. Zane was a lovable pain in our asses… but she was our lovable pain in the ass.

 
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Posted by on 25 May 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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Life, Living and Loving: Mrs. Feve’s Memoir Project: Green

So, green. When I saw the email alerting me that Mrs. Feve had posted the second prompt, my mind starting thinking about green and the first thing I thought about was rebirth, that moment when winter is done and over with and things that were dormant during the cold months were now awaking up – grass, flowers, and trees. My next thought was about summer and my brain immediately connected to the most greenest thing it could remember.

Our youngest son had decided to drop out of college to join the US Navy after figuring out that he could continue his college education and the government would pay for it so off he went to the Great Lakes Training Center just north of Chicago but before he left, we sat down and had a conversation about basic training in general and what he could expect, what the purpose of basic training was and, for him, um, when they tell you to do something – and no matter how dumb it sounds – just do it… and don’t question it unless you like doing pushups.

Yeah… it was a lesson I learned during my time in USAF basic training and I probably still hold the squadron record for pushups. Live and learn.

He made it through (learned the same thing I did, by the way) and we wanted to be there for his graduation ceremony. I’d been to Chicago and its environs quite a few times and my first thought was for the three of us to hop on a plane to O’Hare, rent a car, get a hotel, and watch our son move on to the next phase of his training…

Except his mom didn’t want to fly. I spent a lot of time looking at train and bus schedules but they weren’t going to get us there when we needed to be there so the only thing to do was to drive. I hit MapQuest to find the best route and, holy shit – we’re looking at a 13 hour drive! We left home around 10pm – a couple of hours before I had planned to because I wanted to literally get the show on the road and off we went.

By the time we hit Gary, Indiana, I was feeling some kind of way because I’d been driving the whole time. The sun was up and there was, oh, hmm, maybe a two-hour portion of the drive beginning with leaving Ohio where the only thing to look at was corn.

Lots of corn. So much green as far as the eye could see. It wasn’t as if none of us had ever seen a cornfield… but nothing like this. Mile after mile, on both sides of the road, nothing but the vibrant green of healthy, growing corn… and it was strangely mesmerizing and somewhat hypnotizing as I sped along and even that had me thinking that I’d been traveling all over the country as part of my job and I couldn’t remember seeing green like this before – and looking down from 30,000 feet didn’t seem to count nor, I realized, did what I was seeing any real justice.

Life. Green meant life. Life is full of experiences and wonders just as much as it is full of potholes – and that thought came to me because I narrowly missed running through a pretty good-sized pothole. I barely caught the edge of it, bounced us around (woke up my road partners) and despite a slightly hairy moment, the green was still there, signifying life and growth.

While the 13-hour trip was full of conversation and other things to keep us occupied (and to keep me awake), nothing dominated our talk more than all that green of the cornfields that seemed to go on forever. Hell, when we got to the hotel – 12 hours and 40 minutes after we hit the road – we were still talking about it.

And were still talking about it once we got back on the road after attending the graduation ceremony and having dinner with the newest member of the family to serve our country. I didn’t do much driving on the way home; the drive to Chicago, it turned out, seriously kicked my ass and I’m sure I slept through that two hour stretch of road that was home to green and the likes none of us had ever seen before.

Years after that trip, all that green was the one thing that really stuck in our minds about our journey. Green is life. Vibrant. Full of wonder and hopeful expectations for good times to be had and experienced. Green is everywhere. Life is everywhere. It reminds you of the inherent beauty of the world around us, takes your mind away from the chaos of every day life to refresh and renew your perspective on things, can refresh your spirit. We say that we should take time to stop and smell the flowers and it’s good advice so the next time you’re out and about in your travels, look for green… and remember how good it is to be alive.

 
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Posted by on 20 May 2020 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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