Showing posts with label Wifey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wifey. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Listen here -->
It’s been months since I’ve had a chance to drop a few gems
of insight on this blog. I’ve had no
absence of inspiration just an absence of time. Which sucks balls because it’s one thing that I’ve found so much solace
in these last few years. Unfortunately,
the Man has had his proverbial foot up my ass for a few months. But sitting here after having a conversation
about our recent journey to the Republic of Texas, I was reminded that there
are moments in life that need to be petrified in your mind so you never forget
how they made you feel. That’s what this
is about.
I went on vacation. And while that doesn’t sound like a big deal, believe
me, anyone who knows my work ethic knows that breaks DO NOT happen. But let me give you some context; this wasn’t
my vacation. It was my wife’s. I just got to accompany her. And….we needed this. That conclusion arrived
pretty innocently in retrospect.
My wife’s boss had a smoking year professionally; and so did
my wife. The week-long trip was a reward
for smashing leadership goals. She got
to pack along a piece of eye candy like me. You read that right. The
destination was a vacation home owned by her company’s CEO outside of Austin,
Texas. The choice week happened to be in
the more ‘enjoyable’ weeks in Texas. And
when I say enjoyable, I mean hot. Damn
hot. Dubai hot. Like 40 degrees C hot. That’s 104 degrees F hot
for Americans.
The house was on the Pedernales River/Lake Travis and was in
one word, epic. All we had to do was get
there. And the Man, while planting his
foot in an area where the sun doesn’t shine, rewarded me with sufficient
frequent flyer miles to subsidize our travel to a locale where the sun does in
fact, shine, a lot. And to up the ante
higher on this trip, our children found vacation lodging at their grandparents’
home. So we traveled with no live
animals, just our luggage, and our insatiable appetite for beer.
You may think “Austin in summer isn’t a vacation” or it’s
only a “little vacation.” Well, let me
tell you this; no kids, one full week, a $1+ million dollar home on the river,
all room and board paid, 7 days of sun and 100 deg F, Lone Star beer, AND your
best friend is NOT a ‘little’ vacation. Furthermore, the liberal oasis of Austin is the live music capital of
the known universe and has nearly a bottomless beer supply. I was pretty stoked to be there.
Still, I didn’t realize how important this moment in time
was. The beer, the music, the house, the
rental car, the heat and humidity, the food, the vultures, and the pickup
trucks were just the means to an end; that, being a much needed instance of narrow
focus on my very best friend. Two things
became very relevant during this trip. We needed to refocus on something core to our relationship. And, that I’m still very much in love with
her just like 10 years ago. Oh, and I
love Lone Star beer more than PBR. So
really, it’s three things.
Every moment with her was epic. And when we returned to reality, I innocently
stumbled on to a little tune that exactly captured how I felt during those
moments with her. Those who know me may
find this genre a stretch for a punk rock dad like me. But you also know that the soundtrack to life
is what moves me. And “Here’s to the
Good Times” playing here has petrified the magnitude of our time together in my
memory forever. It totally reminds me of
her and our trip together.
During the vacation, we joked about being ‘great
teammates.’ And it became obvious that
we’re great together. It started with
her saddled next to me in the econo-box rental car. She navigated us out of Austin-Bergstrom and
onto HWY 71 west. Everywhere we went,
she had the turns on lock for us. She
made fun of billboards with George Bush and his dog, discovered Poodie’s
Roadhouse, and wanted to stop and get her picture taken with an Electric Avenue
street sign.
We’re so similar. I
had a ton of recommendations on food and drink while in Austin but all we
wanted was Tex-Mex and beer. She and I
made it our personal challenge to sample chips, salsa, and beer at as many
establishments as we could find. And to
raise the game further, we made sure we used social networks to check in and
tag each other like two crazy teenagers.
And as a drinking buddy, she totally excels. We frequented as many local watering holes as
we could. We hit 6th Street
in downtown Austin. It was just the
right amount of d-bags for us to mock. We hit the Continental Club on S. Congress for southern soul and cheap
beer. The best dive bar and most
eclectic group of people we’ve ever seen (or mocked). And then there was Poodie’s. Along the highway heading to Spicewood, we
found it; an old roadhouse; like Patrick Swayze-style roadhouse. There were a couple of live bands very Johnny
Cash in style and I almost got in a tussle with a 70 year old cowboy.
But it’s more than eating chips and drinking beer. She can shop. And I don’t mean that in a pretentious materialistic way. She was always thinking of our children and
what they might want. We spent the last
day drinking and shopping for her and the boys. La Condesa for lunch with the best bloody marys and on to a fashion
store called Austin Rocks. Skulls and
guitars on everything, she was in heaven!
We hit three bars on that last day before getting on that
plane that would send us back to reality. By the time we boarded, we were clutching onto a buzz-worthy flight. Giddy like school girls, on the plane we
dropped into our seats and continued to laugh and flirt. There was a UT coed sitting next to me on the
flight home. In a moment of discomfort,
my wife leaned over and put the arm rest down between the coed and me. A brief
marking of territory which may seem irrelevant but reminded me of how much I
mean to her. I couldn’t have been
happier. Well, a Lone Star beer may have been icing on the cake.
There was one casualty on the trip. After ripping around some local trails on the
bike, I came back to the house for a dip in the pool. My phone jumped in with me. My water-logged electronic device had a bunch
of these moments digitized but now were gone. So I took the opportunity to draw them from memory on these cocktail
napkins.
This is my wife chilling out poolside in the sun with a refreshing drink
This is my wife riding a Jackalope at a watering hole of the same name
This is my wife shopping on S. Congress Avenue
This is my wife in bed at noon after a night of drinking
This is my happy wife after a great vacation
Looking back on it all, I remember sitting on the edge of
the pool during a sunset, watching her float by on an air mattress. There was some tolerable country music
playing on the outdoor sound system and I had a beer in my hand. I realized.
She is the most amazing woman ever. I didn’t need this vacation to realize that. But I needed this vacation to be narrowly
focused on ONLY that.
It didn’t take Texas to make me realize just how important
moments like this are. But what it did
do was align life’s little moments in a way that I could comprehensibly read
and reflect on the magnitude of a trip like this with her. Best. Vacation. Ever. Best. Friend. Ever.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
It’s the still of the night where I find some of my deepest and most introspective thoughts and dreams. It’s typically the weekend where I can really afford the time to let go of my conservatisms of being equipped to head to work and be responsible. It’s the kind of night where I’ve been able to sit back and reflect on the aspects of my life which are truly most valuable.
I don’t get a lot of time to do it. The weekends are finite and my energy level and inspiration are much more endangered than ever before. That’s what happens when you’re a dad. Not that it takes chemical stimulation, but I’ve been able to unlock some of my deepest soulful feelings with the help of inebriants. Tonight is no different. And with that, I’m caught thinking about my fortunes and how I’ve never really publically let down my veil of secrecy on this blog.
I spend a lot of time pontificating about what I think life is, my lessons I glean from my kids, and how much I love the music and hate ‘the Man.’ Tonight, I spent the evening watching a chick flick. And normally this would mean nothing, but I also stumbled on to a song earlier while working on a Saturday for the man which seemed to prime to proverbial pump of inspiration. This is an entry to the love of my life that has saved me from everything I thought that would take my life.
If I can start with the simplest message; I love you. And this isn’t enough. I still don’t measure up. I think we both know that the last few months have been difficult by our standards. I haven’t been the most open. My communication has been less than efficient. I know I could’ve explained things better, expressed things clearer, been more transparent with my feelings. You could’ve been more connected to me. I’ve felt your distance, like a cold highway to nowhere at times. Some may have been my gross misinterpretation of reality. To that I’m guilty. But some is the plateau of complacency a relationship can reach at times when life trumps teamwork.
Tonight is my night to sidestep the routine and seize that late night moment of tranquility and inspiration to eloquently plant the seed of confidence and concern.
There’s a contentment that you reach in a relationship and I suppose at times it’s easy to misconstrue for complacency. After all, we’re not the youngsters who had the knotted up sexual tension as a result of bad timing and inappropriate circumstances. As everyone knows, I’m still that young boy that met you years ago and hung onto the gleaming hope that you would give me the time of day. Now that I know the time of day and the clock seems to always be ticking forward despite how hard I dig my heels in, we’re growing up and those innocently guilty years are behind us.
And that’s OK. And as easy as it sounds, we can’t lose the intimate focus of love on each other. It’s easy to look in the rear view mirror and evaluate the road that you’ve driven over these years. And it’s obvious that my metaphoric driving hasn’t been the safest or the most insurable. Before you, the official you, I’ve wrecked many a car. My journey has been riddled with horrible decisions where it’s cost me sanity, self respect, and dignity. All for the thrill of the speed of life. And interestingly, coincidentally, or even karmically, you’ve always been in the traffic jam of my life. It took me years to figure out the direction it would take to find the true depth of love.
Shit it may have been a dozen years of criss-crossing you during the gridlock of our relationships. It was easy to wave out of the window and wonder what it would be like to be in the same car. Only years later we are now caught in traffic together. Enough with the car metaphors. Get to the point.
I wish I could. I used to be eloquent. I could tell the story, elevate the audience to a new level of thinking, and connect them to something so deep. I’d been told that I could recite the alphabet and people would listen on the edge of their seats waiting for that next letter. Tonight, I’m struggling to put it all together. I hate not feeling like I can tell you in words how I feel. It’s hard knowing that you feel something so strong and so deep and you’re not able to effectively and eloquently communicate to the one person that needs to know it more than anyone else.
What I know is this:
No words are enough. Nothing I can write here will ever do justice the level of the deepest most soulful love I have for you. It’s more than a peck the cheek or the firm embrace. It’s more than the stern discipline that we team together on our boys. It’s more than the tender kiss on your neck. Even with a vivid imagination, I can’t even approximate a life where you and I don’t drive together. There’s that car metaphor again. If I could just tell you without words. But I don’t know how. What I do know that is that I hold you above everyone and everything.
You represent everything I’d sacrifice everything for. It’s a unit of teamwork where confidence overrides anxiety. I’m learning everyday that the novelty of intrigue and the unexpected can be happily superseded by the hands of time and lovely comfort.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
