But, this is an opportunity that may (only may mind you, no guarantees), lead to something wonderful. And from what I have seen so far just the experience has enriched my life, so I really don’t want to run. However, while I conceptually and intellectually understand patience and enjoying things as they slowly unfold, I simply don’t know how to do it. How on earth does one stay calm and in the moment without allowing the desire for more to rule your brain?

I have an on button (instant gratification) and an off button (drooling on the couch) no real in between, what’s worse is I have an imagination that eggs me on, tempting me with ideas and visions of what might be, ever increasing my desire. I have no clue how to do this, but…

I am ready for this one, I am taking on this challenge, head high, staring into the heavens, shouting “bring it on, baby, bring it on”.

The juiciness lies in allowing oneself to be vulnerable, to let someone in without blindness, but with feet planted on the ground seeing the flaws the reality but all the while enjoying discovering the differences, the small peccadillos that make you you and me me. Appreciating that it’s the way you love and receive love that matters.

Finding the courage to get there, take the risk, not play games, allow yourself to let the waves of love and enjoyment flow over you is what is hard. Or at least hard for me.

This of course is a fantasy, cause after about 2 nanoseconds I become a dribbling pool of boneheadedness. One look in my eyes and all my desires are completely clear to anyone looking, I am without a doubt as transparent as they come.

Cool, calm and collected just ain’t my bag, baby.

My bizarre childhood was extra difficult because of all of the moving around, and changing schools.  But one of the most detrimental experiences took place in one of the three schools I attended in Rome.

I was in 4^th grade my mother and I lived in Rome and I had two of the most evil teachers ever spawned, Celeste and Natalia.  They made the chain smoking, backhand to the forehead Signora Diamante (who let me sleep in class) seem like the embodiment of love and light.

These were terrible, angry, bitter women who took their pathetic resentments out on the kids and for the most part me in particular.

I was a different kind of kid, raised in the mother of all hippy-dippy places, Big Sur and Berkley California. Kids were encouraged to take part in conversations to have opinions and questions to be both seen and heard.  This apparently was not the way little girls were supposed to act in Rome in 1978.

I remember with absolute clarity the day Celeste and Natalia revealed to me that I was retarded; they guided me unceremoniously to the desks where the truly retarded kids sat, plunked me down with them and told me that I was among my own kind.   They told me to never expect to amount to anything, that with my limited understanding, all I would ever have was a pathetic life.

My memories of the years in that school with those mean teachers are blurred and vague, the snippets too painful to dwell on, but I have moments of clarity where I was singled out in front of the class, laughed at and ridiculed, forced to sit next to kids who hit themselves and babbled and drooled, shunned by the other kids and hated by those two women.  I can still feel how tiny, how lonely, how insignificant I felt in those moments.

But I knew they were right, I knew they spoke a truth – “the” truth.

My stomach hurt, ached and revolted, sending me running to the school nurse, Flora where I spent a good deal of time.  She saw me, and took me in.  She adopted me into her family, taking me securely under her wing while my mother traveled.  I remember the kitchen in her apartment, the wonderful smell of her cooking, and the richness of the tomato sauce with brisket so tender it fell off the fork.  The biscuits dipped in warm milk with a touch of coffee in the mornings, watching cartoons lying on the living room floor.  I can see the apartment in my mind’s eye, smell it, feel her bony hugs, and see her as if she were here now. My deepest regret is not seeing her in the years before her death.

For the life of me I can only remember tiny fragments of that school, the few pleasures; school plays, recess where you could buy square pieces of pizza with and without sauce (though never with cheese) and milk chocolate bars that we’d eat sandwiched in those pizza squares.  And I can feel the shame of being so different like a coating on my skin.

I very nearly failed 5^th grade, I remember thinking that as I was retarded there was simply no good reason to do my homework, so I pretty much stopped doing it.

I did pass 5^th grade (by the skin of my teeth) and it was Floras doing, she loved me, she coaxed, cajoled and bribed me into studying promising me that I was smarter than I knew, than I believed.  I know my mother must have been there too, and I’m sure once she reads this she’ll tell me what she did, but I just remember sitting at the dining room table with Flora and sometimes her daughter Daniela studying.

For most of my life I struggled hearing Celeste and Natalia’s voices, telling me how stupid I was, how inept. And fighting against them was exhausting, the path of least resistance always won out, I quit, hid behind my banner of stupidity whenever things got hard, school became a battlefield to be avoided at all costs.

I no longer believe Celeste and Natalia, I know that I am smart.  But seeing my son nearing the age I was when all this happened brings home how little I was, how destructive their behavior, how great the consequences to my life.

I am so very thankful, grateful for Vivi who sees my son and treats him with fairness, kindness all the while expecting great things from him.  Kevin does not doubt his smarts and I tell him every chance I get how smart he is, and how wonderful, beautiful and empathic.

The wounds of our childhood never really heal, they just fade into the background, throbbing every now and then making themselves felt.

When I left my ex-husband and moved out of our house, she took off and disappeared . We never found her.

I miss her.

So after a while Kev and I decided to get a new cat and chose a kitten, Kev named him Zorro and as cute as he was, he just wasn’t the cat for us, he couldn’t take being indoors and would climb the walls (no foolin’), we’re talking straight up concrete painted walls, no wallpaper no nothin’.  We managed to get him a new home where he could romp around outside.

A couple years have passed and we still miss having a cat, so we went to the local shelter and Pernille the Cat chose Kevin as her very own person.    She is a great cat! About 3 years old all black with piercing yellow eyes.

At the moment, she is going a bit insane, she has rediscovered her catnip filled mouse and is going to town on it (fortunately not like Truls the dog would).  Pernille, does however, occasionally stop mid pounce to stare at me with her yellow eyes, a kind of quasi-evil look, as if to say “you’re next” “just close your eyes”.  She’s also getting a bit chubby, we’ve been keeping her inside and I think she spends most of her day eating.  She’ll sniff her food, try and scrape the refrigerator over it, then chomp away.  This morning (at 5am) she wanted a cuddle and lay down on my chest, she’s no feather weight anymore so I tried to casually move her so I could breathe, she got a bit insulted and decided to attack my headboard.  My headboard is wood, indeed my whole bed (except for the mattresses) is pine, and apparently the bed mocks her punctually every morning  at 03 and again at 05 am, and being the mistress of the house she must teach that bed a lesson, so scrape scrape scrape scratch scratch scratch and pounce pounce.

I’m telling you, we must find a way to let her out or she’ll end up being a fat (possibly flatulent) quasi-evil, bed attacking, door scratching, head pouncing, stinky box of doom filling, annoying kitty.

The funniest episode that I remember was a date that I had, this is a couple of years on and the boyfriend and I were splitsville but I shared the apartment with his sister (my best friend, I was lucky enough to get her through that relationship) and it was “her” dog, you know family dog but she took him on ANYWAY.. I had a dinner date with a really cute guy; we had just eaten and were talking, when Truls suddenly discovers his teddy bear.  Obviously he hasn’t seen his teddy bear in some time and is delighted and stimulated to renew his acquaintance.  Truls gets in on with the bear, and I mean he goes at it – meanwhile my date and I are looking on with shock and I must admit amusement (well, on my part).  So, Truls is just mauling the bear and all of a sudden the bear POPS with an actual popping sound and bear stuffing is just flying everywhere, at this point I am practically wetting myself laughing so hard and of course I start to hiccup, cry and burp – and Truls KEEPS GOING! He’s humping bear stuffing!

So here I am in a puddle of laughter, hiccups, burps and tears and my date is NOT amused.

Obviously there was no third date, but I will forever remember the sound of that Teddy bear a-poppin’ and Truls running after the stuffing humping it.

When you miss me baby just close your eyes, and feel me lying right there next to you, arms around you, kissing the top of your head, you feel the squishy warmness of your soft mommy and feel all the love flowing from me into you. Like a bubble of warm, soft, squishy love. No matter where you are or how far away I am, all you have to do is close your eyes and feel that bubble, and know your mommy is right there with you, filled with love for you.

I love you baby boy.

Because, I do really want the best for those I love, and I wish with all my heart that they find whatever they are looking for.  But it is hard to sit on the sidelines watching their happiness take form, wishing for what they have, wanting the same for me.

My desires do not detract from their happiness, I do not wish them undone, I do not want what I had.  That ship has much to my relief sailed but I yearn for their shared experience.  It jolts me back to that primal experience of new love, the feel, texture and scent of it.  I remember that, I can feel it in my bones.

All the insecurities, loneliness, desire go unanswered.  I wait, albeit impatiently, wondering about the choices I’ve made.  Wondering whether my mistake was to want too little or too much and whether I was unwilling to do the work entailed.

But no, in my heart of hearts I know the decisions were the right ones, both historical and recent.  But now, with the doors firmly closed around me, loneliness looms and I am frightened.

I know I have to trust that I will find my way, that when I least expect it, it will turn up, but – oh – it is so boring to wait and there is the very real fear of never finding it again.

If on the other hand, you are nearby, now would be a good time to make an appearance.

Between us, I did actually go to the store today with huge shopping plans and a “massive” wad ‘o cash (yes, the shops are open on Sunday’s in December – thank you Norgies for finally getting with the program). But as my Xmas spirit was not tagging along all I managed to do was buy a huge load of expensive crap, thus blowing the wad ‘o cash on stuff which I didn’t really need and that cannot be gifted to anyone, well perhaps to me, but I probably won’t be very impressed or grateful when unwrapping them Xmas morning.

Luckily tomorrow dawns fresh, and maybe that little bugger with the pointy hat will get back from wherever he was today and follow me around again, as is after all his duty in December – no allowance for him, he has been a bad Xmas pointy hatted gnomy thing!

But if he does come back, I am convinced that with his wafting a discrete scent of gingerbread and the very nearly almost audible singing of Bing Crosby eminating from him, it should pull me out of my spiritless funk and have me decorating all and sundry with a dusting of powdered sugar in no time.

Now, off to dream of sugarplums and hopefully a Chippendale or two in my stocking…