Wednesday, October 19, 2016

What men want

So, I have been having conversations with a women and we have been exchanging, for lack of a better term, "tips and tricks" on what the opposite sex wants.  And this isn't just about sex, it's about everything.  Everyone knows that I have more women friends than men, so I consider myself quite lucky that I get to have conversations like this with them.  And hopefully it's made me a better man.  So, in no particular order, are things that a man, at least this man, wants from a woman.

Defend me.  When confrontations arise in my life, take my side and defend me from those who wish to do me harm.  You may not know all the details or the circumstances, but when it comes to a fight I need you on my side regardless.  Having someone on my side that I can always trust, no matter what may come, is something I've never had in a relationship other than Jeremy and I long for that in a woman I love.

Wear sundresses.  I love the long lines of a lady in a sundress.  mmmm  It doesn't matter if you think you're short, or if you're a tall woman, a lady in a sundress is something I always love to see.  I believe that in clothing, it's not always what you see, but what you don't see.  Seeing the shape of your body without seeing the part itself drives me crazy.  I can't explain it, but there should be a word in the English language for it.

Speak your mind.  I love intelligent, strong women.  You wouldn't be in my life if you weren't. Tell me what you think and be honest.  Don't hold back.  I won't take it badly, I will be glad that you were honest with me and not afraid of me.

Don't ask me about my back so much.  It hurts, all the time day or night.  I really don't like being reminded of it.  I appreciate that you care enough to ask how I feel but asking about it only reminds me that I am inferior in some ways.  Give me shelter and a refuge from the pain, that's what I need when it comes to my spine.

Let me protect you.  This man was made to protect the women in his life that he loves.  I don't open doors, send flowers and hold your hand because someone told me to do that.  It's my nature, it's the way I'm wired.  I want to be there for you physically and emotionally.  I want to walk on the outside of the sidewalk so if a car hits us from the street I can push you away.  It's my nature, just as your nature is to protect your child, my nature is to protect you.  If someone or something comes in our house to hurt us I will kill it without a second thought.  You are safe with me.

Don't wear a lot of makeup.  I like a woman who looks natural.  A little eyeliner or base, not too much.  I don't know why but this is what I prefer.  You don't have to impress me, I love you as you are and that's what I love to see.

Must love dogs.

Hold my head in your lap, pet my hair and tell me that everything will be alright.  This may be my number one thing.  I need to feel safe sometimes too.  I need to know that you're on my side and that we can tackle whatever comes together and you really believe that.  All my life I've searched for a lady who can make me feel safe at this level...  I need to know that what we have made together is more important to you than yourself.  Do this and I will never leave your side.

Don't be ashamed of your body when it comes to sex.  Sex is sharing your soul with another person.  I will not have sex with a woman that I don't love, and this is the reason.  I consider your body elegant and beautiful, so should you.  When I was 20 I was attracted to 20 year olds.  When I was 40 I was attracted to 40 year olds.  So believe me when I tell you, I am attracted to you.  Don't be afraid to share your entire self with me.  The best sex you will ever have isn't some wild swinging from the ceiling tirade, it's the love made by two people who love each other more than they love themselves.  And you can't have that when you're worried about how your boobs may look to me.  Great sex happens between the ears, not between the legs.

Accept me.  Lots of people have a strong desire to "fix" people.  I don't want to be fixed and I don't want you to try.  I like who I am, I really do.  I know I'm not perfect and I work on those things but overall I think I'm a great person.  I don't mind advice or tips, I love to learn.  But don't come to me and say that I need to do this or that.  That's been tried before and it didn't end well.

Kiss.  And kiss softly.  Share the same breath.  Touch my face with your hands.  Press your forehead to mine softly and exhale, eyes closed.  Hold my body close to yours.  Everyday.  Kissing to me is a lot like sex.  It's sharing myself with you.  I love to kiss and I've tried very hard all my life to become descent at it, as it were.  Kissing isn't about the tongue or the lips, its a form of me sharing my essence with you.  It's more than just an act, much more.  If you like or dislike how I kiss then tell me, let's make it better.  I want to share all of me with you.

Touch me as much as you can.  Hold my hand.  Cuddle on the couch.  Always sit next to me and not across with me.  Physical contact is a means of affection and reassurance to me that you love me.  It's not sexual, its a reassurance to me that you want to be near me.

So, those are a few of the things this man wants from a woman.  Everyone is different and my needs have been shaped by my own particular life experiences.  I think it's important to learn exactly what your partner wants, i.e. needs, from you.  Only then can you experience a pure love with complete trust.  That's what I really want.  LL

Sunday, June 5, 2016

July 1995

There are moments in life that you never forget.  Moments that you relive time and time again.  To feel that feeling, to taste that kiss, to hold your child for the first time.  I believe I'm luckier than most, I have a substantial set of those "so real" moments that I bring back to life every once in a while.  My very first memory that is detailed and not something I think I remember or from a picture is of my father and I putting together a new swing set in the back yard.  I specifically remember him putting the little rubber covers over that ends of the bolts so I wouldn't injure myself on them.  It was my fourth birthday.  Those are the kinds of moments I'm talking about, those memories that are more valuable than admiration or wealth, the memories you always want to hold on dearly to.

It's July 1995. I'm 24 years old, I have a great job and much more hair than I do now.  I live in a decent apartment in a tiny seaside town, but for the last week I have been in Durango, Colorado.  I spent the July 4 holiday with my mother's family at my grandparents cabin in the mountains.  And when I say in the mountains I mean up in the mountains.  It's miles and miles down winding dirt roads back to anything I'd call civilization. Water is brought in by truck into a large holding tank and the only power is provided by solar or generator.  It's a big beautiful log cabin with the second story having a glass A frame facing east that the sun blares into to wake you each morn.  The air is thin and it's just below the tree line.  I was a runner then and I ran on July 4, only covering half the normal distance before the thin air got me.  It sleeted on me as I ran in shorts, I still have the pictures.  It's a place full of wonders.

So there I am coming off this wonderful vacation.  I took a hopper from Durango to Denver and I've just gotten onto a 737 bound for New Orleans.  Now I love to fly, really love it.  My first career choice was to be a pilot but I had not the eyes nor the grades for that. I'm in the tail, so I'm going to live, and I have a window seat.  We just took off and the Gs are shoving me down into the seat, I'm in heaven.  I slip on the in flight headphones and turn on the music just as I look out the window to my left at the runway disappearing as we circle back toward my home state. I see it as clear this very moment as I saw it that day. The stripes on the runway, the profile of the mountains behind the airport.  The music was apparently set to country and that's alright with me so I'm good.  Over the headphones comes a song about a woman going by plane to see a man who is just a friend and he's completely swept up in love with her.  In that moment, with the music, the butterflies in my stomach from the takeoff, the music, the plane, the man and the that moment my life came together at this great and fantastic intersection.  I realized I was in love with her.  Her that consumes my mind and brightens my eyes.  Her that sits with me daily drinking awful beer and sharing her brilliant mind.  Her with the doe eyes.  The one that runs with me and rides with me.  The one that's the very best part of my day.  I was in love with her,  I was in love... with my friend.  

I would be seeing her by nightfall, by plane, just as in the song.

I know what you're thinking, tell me about her and what happened.  Ah my dear friend this isn't about  a her or an us, this is about a moment.  A very special memory.  "That's so Lloyd Lambert" she's saying right about now.  That song is renamed to her first name on my iTunes, anytime I hear it I smile when I see her name.  And I'm right back in that seat in Denver.  I can see the white shirt I'm wearing with the blue collar.  I can see the jeans and the tan Eastland shoes I'm wearing.  The carpet was blue.  That's how real that moment is to me.  I feel that same feeling again.  That's a great memory...

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

      So, what do you do when you get what you’ve always wanted? There it is, boom. Martha Lou would like that I made such a clear opening statement wouldn’t she? I’ll be sure to start a sentence with and in this blog to counteract that. She used to pull my hair when she knew I could do better, remember that classmates? I’m gonna write this fast and on the fly, so forgive my grammar just this once please.

      It seems I now have achieved something that I never thought I could but was always in need of. And now I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve held on to wanting this “thing” for so long that it’s really part of who I am. I don’t want to give many details out, because it concerns another person and I don’t want to involve them here. I will say that it’s not a physical, tangible, thing but an emotional “thing.” It has to do with a lot of hate and rage that I’ve carried for, well, all my adult life.

      To try and understand this, I think back to the things I’ve always wanted. I’ve always wanted to be socially accepted. I felt like an outsider in school, but then later I learned that pretty much everyone else did too. So that was pointless. Also around that time I always wanted a Fiero GT. I truly loved that car, never got it. I rationalized to my father that he had been given a hot new car in high school. Again, never got it. Instead I got several cars in back then and loved them all, funny how that worked out. Lets see, I also wanted an Irish Setter. I was about 7 or 8 when I had that great want. My dad promised me that if I got up early and fed the chickens for, I don’t know, two months straight in the summertime, I could have this dog. Never happened. He claimed that he had never made that promise. I couldn’t have been wrong about that could I? I’m not remembering incorrectly, I don’t think. I do know that I fed those f%cking chickens all summer! Either way, no puppy.

      Straight hair, that’s another thing I always wanted and never got. Oh the embarrassment in high school when it would kink up after PE. So very embarrassing. I wanted to lose my dreaded virginity like all my bros had done. Guess what, most of them were lying through their teeth...bastards. Jealousy, envy, all those emotions played into the things I wanted during my teen years. Now I know that I’m “grown” I think I was better off without all the things I wanted, I think the wanting made me a better person. Not that I’m some great person, but that I understand that you can be made better by appreciating the things you have.

      Then on into my so called adult years, the sins of the teen years were taking their toll. All I wanted then was forgiveness. I had done some things that I truly wanted to undo. I tried to be a better person and make a better life and any and all success I had during that time was due to me wanting to show the person I hurt that I could be “good.” Through that wanting I learned to accept the blame for my actions and to be accountable for the things I did. That parlayed into successes in college and in my job. All due to the wanting to show this person how well I could perform. I think I needed a reason to be hard working. Not that I didn't’ have a million other reasons to do “right”, but this one reason was what drove me. Then one day, I was able to apologize to this person, and through God’s Grace, the person forgave me. So, I actually did get what I wanted in this instance, but I wanted to show how desperately I wanted this forgiveness and how ultimately it led to a better life for me.

      Now on to the present. For years I have been taking my brain to shrinks trying to work on my many issues. But this one issue, it’s a big part of who I am and I’ve worked on it for a long long time. My current doc said laughingly “that’s going to be several sessions” when referring to this issue. She’s a great doc by the way. Back to the subject, I now have gotten this thing I’ve always wanted. For decades I’ve wanted this thing and now here it is. I can accept it (I haven’t accepted it yet) but then what? How do you let go of a “wanting” that has been part of who you are for decades? I mean this thing really defines me. At least part of me. 

     In the instance above, getting what I wanted was a great thing, but will this be a great thing? Am I just going to be hurt again? Can a tiger change it’s stripes? This issue is similar to that issue in that it involves forgiveness. I’m trying to put myself in the person who forgave me’s shoes, but it’s proving to be a difficult task.

     To be very frank and honest, I have taken some joy in doling out punishment toward the person who hurt me when I could. That’s a hard thing to admit to anyone reading this, but I did it...a lot. A verbal barb here or an unreturned phone call there, yeah I did all that. I considered it the least I could do to return the pain. And though it was wrong, it did give me some sense of retribution and I enjoyed it each time.

     So now, put yourself in my shoes-if you can based on the minimal information I disclosed about what was done to me-and let me know what you think I should do. Go deeper than a one line response and imagine yourself and the person who has hurt you most in your life..and them asking for forgiveness from you. Would you do it? Really? I don’t know if I can.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Father of the Year

This time I want to blog about something very specific, the one thing that has compelled me to drop the first F bomb on my facebook wall. Most of you have seen the facebook dad who posted a video berating his daughter and then shooting up her laptop with his .45. I have to tell you all, this really pisses me off. And something else that really pisses me off is so many of my friends agree with what the dad did. People, are you honestly as stupid as this guy? Really? You can’t be, none of my friends are this bad a parent, are they?

Now you’re pissed too? Good, now you know how I feel. If you think this piece of human garbage is right in what he did, then you have some deadly serious problems. Firstly, it is FACT that the world IS NOT getting worse and kids today are NOT worse than when we were kids. The fact is, grasshopper, YOU have changed and not the world. I wrote a blog on this a few months ago and it is pure fact. You can disagree with me, if you don’t mind being wrong. Let me share; when I was a teenager I drank booze, I was having sex (with girls too), every other word was a four letter word, I skipped school, I stayed out all night and lied about where I was. I didn’t care about my grades. I cheated on tests. I talked bad about my parents (just like the girl here). I snuck out and I snuck in, into bedrooms not my own even. Heh, a great many of these things I probably did with you, Mr or Mrs “kids are worse today.” They’re NOT.

And you know what? Our parents did this too. Most of our parents were teenagers in the 60s. I’m sure they think the same thing, that we were worse than them when in fact they had all the free love and dope smoking. Their parents probably hated them all lol. The ways and means of the world may change, but the facts remain. To us it was our parents listening to us talk on the phone or reading our diaries, today its twitter and facebook. Tomorrow it will be something else. But parents will always think that their kids are worse than they were at that age.

Now that we’ve set that straight lets look at what we know about the guy. Firstly, nobody has mentioned the fact that this is a one sided story. I would like to see the other two sides and then the Paul Harvey side. How do you know that dad is being truthful? He could pretty much say what he wants, correct? Who would believe daughter over dad, especially when he’s the one with the gun? I can only imagine what his relationship is like with her. In his video he is being the child. He’s doing nothing more than throwing a fit. He’s letting her know that this is the way adults act. It’s OK to do what he does. I wonder if dad has any priors? We do know that he’s divorced, that came as a huge shock to me personally. I mean who wouldn’t want to have a whiny ranting gun toting loser in a bad hat for a husband. I bet he had the chicks liked up when he kicked mom to the curb. Shit I about went gay when I first saw him.

So, to those who agree with the father of the year here, for a few minutes let’s imagine a few things. Imagine he’s your kids teacher. Imagine he’s your kid’s coach. Wouldn’t it be great to see him pull out his good ol .45 on the ump at the next T-ball game? He could shoot a few holes in home plate! HE WAS SAFE YOU MOTHER...Yeah I’d pay to see that. Imagine he’s the dad to one of your kid’s best friends and they want your kid to come to a spend the night party. Honestly, I have a serious take on this, what if he’s the father of your grandchild. The daughter he’s berating and belittling is your granddaughter and your daughter’s husband. That's a scary image right there, but he is someone's son in law.

Once my dad took the valve stems out of all 4 of my tires so I couldn’t go anywhere. That night I took all 4 valve stems out of his truck tires and put them in mine. I pumped up the tires and hauled ass, leaving him sitting on 4 flats. Did that do any good, any of it? Nope, not for me or for him. I think that was something like the guy here was trying to do. After the nationwide humiliation he’s caused his daughter don’t be surprised if she uses a gun on him. I’d vote to acquit if I was on that jury.

I only ask everyone to remember, we were all once the son or daughter. We were once in this girl’s position. Maybe it’s because I’m still just a big kid that I see this as horrible. Remember that you ARE the child and imagine what it would be like if your dad did this to you. The child lives on in YOU. You talked about your parents too, you may have even gotten caught doing it. But dad didn’t shoot up your stuff and post it on fb. If dad would have built any kind of quality relationship with his daughter, this would not have come about.

What did you want your parents to do when you were a teen in trouble? How should have they acted? Well, do that the next time. I don’t think anyone can say “man if my dad had only have shot up all my stuff and put it on youtube then I’d have turned out better.”

Be the adult that remembers how it was to be the child. Again, you can disagree with me if you don’t mind being wrong (I love that line). Flame on, I’m ready for it.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

It's a Good Day

    I haven’t written anything in a while. I didn’t make any of conscious effort to not do so, it just happened this way. In taking a look at my writing as a whole, it seems that I write more when things are at their most bleak. In truth, I hardly even post on facebook these days. As I sit here today, my life as a whole is far better than it was say six months ago. Today my days are filled with joy, laughter and love.

Since I don’t feel the “need” to write as much today as then, I started to wonder if all writers write due to what they see as their dark times? I know that's the case in my life and I wonder if it is the norm? I have friends that write and blog as I do. I think some of them are in the same frame of mind that I’ve been in the last few years. I think it’s an outlet for me, a way to scream and say what’s really on my mind. Perhaps it’s their outlet as well? I know it made me feel, that when people read my musings and commented back, that the world heard me and knew that I hurt. I felt accepted and when others felt as I did I felt accepted.

I have two kinds of writing that I do. The first is the one being my public blog and comments and such. And the second being the writing that I do only for myself. The latter never to be published lol. There’s some really good bad stuff in there, heh. Those lines are most definitely my way of screaming at the world, and often times the people in it. It makes me feel so much better to get those things out and not have them roam around in my head.  I haven't been putting out any of either form in quite a while now. I just don't feel like I need to scream right now, and that's a good thing.

    So, true to form, this is a short blog. I’m afraid that I don’t have much to say these days. I’m in a really good place right now and I hope you are too. However, my cynicism is just below the surface and I”m sure that it will pop up and help me write a blog or two every once in a while. The world is still just as whacked and there will always be people like me to point out the obvious.

I hope I get to see each one of you soon, L3

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Aging, or getting old Ungracefully.

Aging, it sucks doesn’t it?  I mean really, it absolutely sucks to be 40.  Man I freaking hate it.  I hated the build up to it.  I hated it the day it happened.  I hate it now.  My mind says I’m about 28 or so.  My body, well that’s another story.  I wonder if I hadn’t had all this physical trauma if I’d feel this way?  From what I’ve seen and heard from my friends over 40 I’d have to say “no” to that question.  Most of them hate it as well.  One friend will be 50 soon and he physically gets angry when he talks about it.  Gee, what greatness to look forward to eh?

I think it bothers me most that people on the street don’t think I’m “younger than I look.”  I think I look my age and that sucks.  People used to say that I looked young for my age, not so much these days.  I’ve never considered myself very good looking, but I never thought I looked “old”.   Yeah, vanity I know. I think the pain, the drugs, the job, and the sleeplessness have all put some miles on my face. Insert deep sigh.  It bothers me that I’ve lost some of my hair.  It bothers me that I have a gray hair in my beard.  Every time I let it grow out I pull that gray hair out.  It’s just a matter of time now.  Yeah, I know I’m lucky that I haven’t gone gray yet and all that shit.  Yeah yeah yeah.  This is me bitching, we’re not talking about you (yet), bear with me.

I didn’t mind when kids started calling me “Mr. Lloyd.”  I thought that was OK, I felt like that was something I earned around 30.  The 30s were good.  I did a lot in that decade of my existence.  I’m not going to go into all that but I will say that I accomplished many things back then.  I was still able to do all the things that I wanted.  The decade of the 40s won’t be like that.  I can’t imagine skiing, racket ball, playing 36 holes of golf in one day, not even running now.  All that’s gone, and (you guessed it) it sucks.  But this blog isn’t really about that, it’s about aging itself.  Perhaps I am leaning to the down side of things because of the screws in my spine and the pain they have brought into my life.  Maybe I’m just a little farther along the path than others of my age.  Maybe I’m getting a preview of what true “old age” is going to be like and it scares me, or simply pisses me off.  I don’t know, but every time I think about my age I end up in sadness.

It’s a fact that I feel like the “middle” is the end.  I think about dying a lot.  I’m not scared of it.  I hope its a long time away though.  I feel like at this age I’ve finally realized that I will die sometime.  I want to live to be about 75 or so.  That would be cool.  I just have this feeling of wonderment about it all.  I’m excited to see what’s going to happen.  I have my own personal beliefs and I hope they come true.  I want to do so much between now and then, but I also feel like I have accomplished so much.  I don’t want to leave Robin alone.  I don’t want to leave Brit and Cassy.  I have an unfinished blog about death that I'll post some day, I add little observations to it once in a while. Even though I'm not ready to go, I can not wait to see 1 and 2 again. Oh how I want to see my grandmother. Sometimes, even though I hardly smell anything since my sinus surgery, I catch a whiff of her perfume. I wonder if she's right here with me when that happens?  I miss the ones that have gone so much.  I hurt for them every day, God I hope I get to see them again.

I’ll try to inject some positivity into our little talk.  Even though I am madder than hell about aging, I accept it.  I’ve lived a great life and I know it.  I was blessed, truly blessed, to have a great childhood and adulthood.  I certainly can’t complain about any of that.  Many of my friends have experienced much more heartache than I have and they have much more right to bitch about our age.  I’d like to do some things different, if I knew then what I know now kind of thing (I’d have shot and killed that fucking horse).  But overall it is what is and I’m satisfied.  I’m looking forward to retirement and living on a farm again.  I can’t wait to live on a road where I can drive by moonlight.  I want to feel what it’s like to be on the back of a horse running flat out with his ears back again.  There are many more fast cars and faster bikes in my future, and I have one more house to build.  The greatest thing about all that is that I’ll get to spend it with Robin, but even if we had nothing I would still be satisfied just being with her.

My purpose in writing this was to vent, of course, but honestly if you feel like I do I want you to know that you’re not alone.  I think some of you hate it too and I share your anguish lol.  We’re in this boat together and I’m here for you... O’ Gray One.  40 is sucking right now but 50 isn’t that far away and it’s going to suck worse.  Make the most of the decade and be “younger than your age.”  That’s my advice, I’ll try to follow it myself.  If I can 8)

So, this has been me ranting about getting old.  It happens.  I don’t bitch much in my blogs so please allow me this self pity.  Thanks.  

See you soon,

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

1 and 3

Over the years a lot of people have asked me for my middle name, “you need to put your middle name here not just the initial L.” What most don’t know is that L. stands for nothing at all, and yet to me it stands for everything.

The story of my name began in 1921, then went through a significant change in 1945 to become the name I carry today. You see, I am the third Lloyd L. Lambert and the story of my name quite a tale.

My grandfather was born April 6, 1921 as one of 17 children into a family of farmers in Oklahoma. His given name was Lloyd Ernest Lambert. He grew up working the fields and left school after the 8th grade to help his family. Life on the family farm was good and he told me a great many stories about his childhood. He even taught me how to “chop cotton” like he did as a kid. But then in 1941 everything changed. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and our country went to war. Lloyd Ernest was soon drafted into the Army and was eventually assigned to an EVAC hospital, the forerunner of M.A.S.H. units, in New Guinea. There he saw the great horrors men do to one another during war. He didn’t talk much about the great war, he liked to say that “I just drove a truck” while in the Pacific. He told me that he wondered if he would ever get back home to see his mother again.

After what must have seemed like a lifetime, the war was suddenly over. In 1945 Lloyd Ernest was shipped back to the ‘States and was due to be discharged at San Francisco. That’s where the story of my name takes a sharp turn. You see some clerk somewhere, a person none of us would ever meet, made a simple mistake that affected three men for the rest of their lives. The clerk typed my grandfather’s name as Lloyd L. Lambert instead of Lloyd E. Lambert on his discharge paperwork. Upon seeing this my grandfather informed the clerks of the simple mistake. However, the clerks had literally thousands and thousands of soldiers to discharge. The time needed to rewrite his discharge papers; two weeks.

Lloyd Ernest thought for a long minute and then he had an idea. He set out in a taxi cab bound for the San Francisco courthouse. He wasn’t going to wait two weeks to see his family. No way, not after the years he had been overseas getting shot at. At the courthouse, he legally changed his name to Lloyd L. Lambert and his discharge paperwork became correct. And the L.? What does the shiny new L. stand for? Absolutely nothing, initial only. He was in such a great hurry that he didn’t stop to think up a name, none that he liked anyway. He rushed back to the base and was discharged from the Army as scheduled. I think today that would be called “thinking outside the box.” He left the farm as one man and returned as another, in more ways than one.

Four years later my father was born and became Lloyd L. Lambert Jr. In 1971 another firstborn son came into this world and became Lloyd L. Lambert iii. 1 2 and 3 Three men, same name. Initial only.

So, now that you know the story of what my name means to the world let me tell you what it means to me. That L. represents, in essence, my grandfather. He took an active role in raising me when I came to live with him and my grandmother as a baby. He was a quiet man, honest and hard working. He rose before the sun to provide for his family nearly every day of his life. I always took for granted that he knew the answer for everything. If I didn’t know what to do, all I had to do was look to him because doing whatever he was doing would be the right thing. I think Ernest was a great middle name for him, I never saw him be dishonest or unfair. I think that part of him lives on in me and I struggle to keep his quiet and calm persona at the forefront. I know he had disdain and dislike for a people and such, but he never showed it.

While 2 worked and provided, 1 and 3 spent years and years together. 1 taught me now to swim, to drive, to hunt, to fish, to ride and rope. I could go on all day telling you about all he taught me. He taught me some things about women too, but I won’t divulge any of his trade secrets here. He and my grandmother would take me out of grade school for weeks at a time to go on trips, just the three of us. By the time I was 8 years old I had swam in the Atlantic, the Pacific and the Gulf. I had been out of the country to Mexico where we shopped and were checked for fruit flies on the way back into the U.S. When Columbia made her first landing at Mojave in 1981 I was there. Parked on an interstate overpass sitting on the roof of the car with our binoculars. I still have the pictures. Their love was wrapped around me like a warm blanket and those memories are some of the greatest of my life.

Lloyd Sr. would continue to be the great influence in my life into my 30s. Always answering my questions and helping me with life’s little dramas. I talked to him each and every week after I moved out of state and my wife and I visited as much as we could. But when my grandmother passed away unexpectedly a huge part of him went with her. He was lost without her and he knew it. He spent three years waiting to see her. Then, one night early into the fall, he went to be with her. He died just as he lived, quietly and without a fight. On more than one occasion he had asked me if it bothered me that he was ready to go and be with my grandmother, he said it had bothered my father to hear him say that. I told him no, and that I though he was a full gown man and if he was ready then that’s all there was to it. He was 83 years old and it was the worst pain I have ever known.

I can’t really put into words what 1 means to me. It’s immeasurable the love and respect I have for him. The things he taught me, the things he took the time to teach me, have served me well every day of my life. I’ve said before, I see carrying his name as an honor. To be named for such a man has been the great privilege of my life. As 3, I will always strive to be all the things I saw in 1. I believe he lives on in me today and when I’m faced with a choice I always try to think what 1 would do. And I always try to be Lloyd Ernest.

If you have or have had someone like this in your life then you and I are in a very exclusive club. We were blessed by God and don’t ever forget how lucky we are to have had them. Not everyone gets to experience a love like this. Cherish it.

In closing, I’d like to say that it took me several sessions of writing before I completed this story. And though I am not an emotional person by nature, it took me many many tears too. I found it hard to describe how deeply I love 1 and how I will always be proud to be 3. I hope that came across to you. I believe that when you die, someone will be standing there waiting for you. Someone reaching out a hand to you from the nothingness, ready to show you the way.

I already know who my person is and he’s got the same name as me.

Friday, October 28, 2011

Blog 11 Random Thoughts

Blog 11 Random Thoughts

Hello my friends.  I haven’t been able to find the time or the energy to blog much lately.  That doesn’t mean that I haven’t been writing.  I’ve been jotting down quick notes and thoughts in my Google documents.  I thought instead of creating a new blog on a particular subject, I would instead put in some of my random rantings.  Enjoy  8-)

October 12 On the subject of things I have and things I lost.
I really hate that I lost my favorite denim jacket from my high school years, I thought about it as I looked around.  It was a direct tangible link to my past that I loved to put on both physically and spiritually.  I always called it my girl.  I found it in the debris but for some reason I didn’t take it back to our refuge.  The first team to “gut” our house got rid of it-they didn’t know and I wasn’t there.  That makes me really sad.  Feels like I lost a friend.  F*cking hurricane.

September 27 On the subject of my Mistress.
I’ve decided to come clean and admit a few things.  You know, try and clear my conscience.  The truth of the matter is, I have a mistress.  
There I said it.  I proved Bonnie right I guess.  You should see her though.  One look at her will change your life.  Get to know her, and years fall like leaves in the Autumn.  She’s tall and thin, with long black hair so dark it could easily pass for blue in the right light.  Legs, oh the legs, the best kind.  The ones with feet on one end and ...well, never mind.  Her skin is soft and pale and she has eyes that seem to burn a hole straight down to your soul.  They’re empty eyes though, like a shark, just as Quint said.  Most every time I see her she’s dressed in either black or white.  No color, no joyous yellows or sky blues.  Not even a ruby red.  Just black and that pale skin.  Waiting for me.  Every day.  Every night.
Sometimes she’s a dragon slithering under my blankie and settling upon the small of my back.  I can feel her weight, and I cringe every time her nails pierce my flesh.  The gargoyle in my window hasn’t been able to stop her from spending the night with me.  When I find myself alone and the world has gone silent, I talk to her.  I beg her to leave but she doesn’t listen.  She seems to love me with such passion and conviction.  One would think that my spirit and my appearance has diminished to a level which she would not find acceptable.  But alas she loves me yet.  
I have a mistress, and her name is pain.

August 27 Friends
We went down and picked out the coffin.  Made the other arrangements.  Bought the flowers. It feels like you are just going through the motions at that point.  Taking care of what has to be done.  Trying to get everything set up right.  The funeral home worked with us and we had things as best we could.  Later that night we held a wake.  Somehow I managed to hold it together throughout.  Dad’s body looked horrible.  The pain in my back from all the standing was some of the worst I’ve experienced, as was the pain in my heart.  I had a lot of help from Robin, Britney and Xanax.  The funeral was set for the next day.
The next day I put on a dark suit and traveled to the run down ratty funeral home to bury my father.  Robin helped me through the front door of the funeral home and then my life changed again.  There standing before me was Jeremy Lloyd Burge.  Let me be more clear, there standing before me was my brother Jeremy Lloyd Burge.  In all my life I have never had such a feeling. Jeremy landed in Tennessee and couldn't get a flight back due to a huge ice storm.  So, being the man he is, he rented a car and drove 8 hours through an ice storm to carry my father to his grave.  If you are lucky, I mean really really lucky, you get 1 friend like that in your life.  
     I had lived my entire life up to that point as an only child.  But it was there, in that shit hole of a building, that I saw my brother for the first time.  I saw that there was nothing that he wouldn’t do for me.  Tears, excitement, gratefulness...I ran a gamut of emotions. I pray that in the time he and I have left here on earth, that I somehow get to repay him for this kindness.

This is a short story I wrote while waiting for Robin at a hospital.
As I sit here in this ever shrinking waiting room, I start to imagine who my wait-mates are.  They, just like me, have a loved one a few yards behind a huge door.  Every few minutes a different nurse pops her head and shouts one of our last names like a hostess at some dank eatery.  I keep wondering, how many different nurses do they have back there?  On we wait.  Hoping and praying for our dears.  I’ve been playing this game for a long time and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest to sit here for several hours.  I love my wife, and I would do anything on Earth for her.  This is nothing.

Some of my neighbors look positively disgusted that they have to be here.  As a man, I can not imagine feeling that way at a time like this.  Your love is alone back there.  Cold.  Hoping and praying for good news.  You’re sitting here in the sun with a view of The Big Easy out of the south window.  Undoubtedly it will be your ass on a slab back there one day.  Then maybe you’ll feel a little differently about having to share this room with me.  

A quick scan reveals that we are at about roughly 50% capacity.  Plenty more room for my fellow waiters.  Over in the corner is a young fellow who looks to have made about 25 or so trips around the sun.  Rather sloppily dressed.  No socks.  He’s been playing on his cell all morning.  I wish my battery ran that long.  I can’t imagine who he’s here waiting for.  This area is usually occupied by those of us who, like the proverbial fine wine, have aged a bit.  

Across and to the left of me is a man of advanced years.  75ish maybe 80.  It looks like he finally managed to wrangle that booger out of his nose.  I don’t know who it was bothering more, him or me.  He’s now moved own to running a pinky in and around his ear canal.  Shit, he earned it.  Let him dig.  I think I’ll tag him “The Miner.”

Eh, a few more new friends and I’m going to have to take my backpack out of the seat next to me.  So far it’s been successful at warding off all comers.  And of course I sat on the end of a row so as to eliminate the possibility of someone touching me on that side.  At times my damaged olfactory nerve is an annoyance, days like this it’s a true blessing, for a lot of my roomies here look like they smell bad.

An hour or so ago they rolled an elderly black lady into the room.  She’s still sitting there breathing in the oxygen affixed to her nose, the bottle resting on the step of the wheelchair.  She’s frail.  And she’s loud.  She’s made me snicker a few times already.  I don’t think she puts up with any shit from her (grown) kids.  I hope she’s OK.  Based on my expert peer observation, her spirit is  as strong as ever but her body is fast giving up on this life.  I hope she’s OK.  She looks like a Melba to me.  I bet they call her maw-maw Melba.

Wow, that kid is still on his cell gaming.  Hell of a battery.  And sadly, the Miner has discovered the other nostril.

The room is filling much faster now.  Only a few seats left.  Almost no pairs to be had.

A dying laptop battery just sent me scurrying through the waiting room to find a wall outlet for my charger.  Thankfully the logical part of my brain was still in control and located behind a tiny love seat free power.  Now I have a whole new set of  immediate neighbors.  I feel like the new kid in school.  I said the proper “Hello” to these new friends of mine.  None of them wanted to converse either, thankfully.  The influx of new roomies has began to ebb somewhat.

Now on my left is a man wearing slacks and cheap shoes.  Short sleeve button down shirt.  Mustache.  Not intelligent enough to be an engineer.  Perhaps a middle school science teacher.  I don’t see a wedding ring, and I’m not surprised.  Suddenly just as I was evaluating his future, the nurse called his name and he bolted without haste.  I realize that he wasn’t waiting on anyone, he was waiting to go back for a procedure.  There’s no-one here waiting for Joseph, and that makes me a little bit sad for him.

The flow of the room is changing again and a sudden tsunami of humanity has descended upon us long time waiters.  There are so many choices for me to stereotype.  At least they call you by  name here and not a number. Over and over I have hard “I can help the next person in line.”  They’re fast here, and I like that.  Clear.  Efficient.  Things I strive to be in my own chosen profession.

Right about now I’d kill for a cigarette.

Fate has now dropped Adam and Eve into my lap.  They have taken over the seating formerly occupied by poor Joe.  And they’re speaking Francis.  That explains a lot.  They’re obviously married and look very happy together.  Moving and chatting as my own bride and I do.  The woman is having a procedure I manage to hear her say.  I really should have paid more attention during those two years of french I took.  They’re both very calm looking.  I feel like they know that they are here for each other and that’s really refreshing to me.  Nice looking couple.  He’s white and she’s black.

Ah shit.  Someone brought a damn kid.  Man, I don’t want to hear that bull shit.  Kids are the devil.  Abandon all hope!  He’s got some body's cane and he’s running around with it.  Little rat bastard.  Looks to be about 5.  Why aren’t you in school?  I can tell you his name’s Lane.  I know this because his fat ass mother has been screaming it for the last 5 minutes.  Some people shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce.  I bet when Lane grows up he’s profession is going to be inmate.  I could smack him around a bit, make it look like an accident.

The Miner is just staring out into space, and I think the 20-something lad finally killed his cell’s battery.  The science teacher is back in the OR getting violated.  Melba has been rolled to another corner of the hive.   I’m just sitting here charging my electronics and making up stories about these poor souls, just as they are likely doing to me.  My other has been back there for a long time and I’m worried.

Random and Dateless Babble
I just carved your name into the side of a bullet.


But we’re both good for a trip together once in a while, just to remember the times we spent together.

To K, I am so sorry.

Drive it in deep

I want to be somewhere where I can drive with the lights off on a full moon night.

We have our own secret hand signals and looks.

To be the best at what you do, you have to absolutely know that you are the very best.  And you can never tell that to anyone.

As I stepped between my two friends that were about to come to blows, reality slapped me in the face and reminded me that I’m 5’10” and 150#.  What the hell was I thinking?

There is something magical about doing something that requires you to put on a helmet.


Monday, October 3, 2011

It's Getting Worse

Things are getting worse. That’s what people say. There has always been an underlying feeling of doom in most people. Some say the end of times is near. When I was a kid things were simpler, things weren’t this bad when I was growing up. Ever heard that one? I bet you have. Politics, religion, society in general. They’re all going down the tubes. Right?

Wrong. The world is not changing, YOU are. Hold on, don’t get revved up, listen to what I have to say. Many years ago when I was a puppy (thanks Donnie) I read a great article about how society is going to shit. How all the killing, war, famine, genocide, etc are increasing. How certain eminent doom is upon us. Any day now the world will come to an end. It was a long and well written article. At the end there was the By line and the date; 1898

I believe it’s just human nature to be chicken little. The Christian Bible has loads of information on the subject of our impending doom. The problem is, it’s open to interpretation. Psychotic preachers and aspiring cult leaders have feasted upon our fear for centuries. Just in our lifetime we’ve seen Jonestown, Heaven’s Gate, the Wacko in Waco. All spewing the message of our end of days. Just this year we had the fossil preacher Harold Camping incorrectly use a slide rule and his toes to predict our end. When it didn’t happen we got a whoopie-it’s in October now. Dumb dumb dumb. Next year is 2012 and the Mayans, who couldn't predict their own extension btw, get their turn in the spotlight.

I’m not saying that it couldn’t happen. It could. Right now. I may not even get to finish this article. Though our methods have improved the premise is still the same. It took the Spanish hundreds of years to conquer the peoples of what is now Mexico. Now we could drop a few tactical nukes and wipe out millions and be home in time for supper. It may be easier today to bring the 4 Horsemen but it takes the same human desire for dominance to order men to fight. When we were kids I remember having a great fear of nuclear war. I was convinced it was going to happen and that I would be one of the few humans left alive. I figured I needed a dirt bike and a manual can opener to survive. I still hate Regan and the commies for the cold war. I was about 11.

So with 40 years of research and experience I can say that I believe that the world is not getting worse. We are simply aging and we naturally romanticize our youth and have an innate desire to go back to those times. Times then were the same is now. Technology has improved. Communication has improved. We have made huge strides in medicine that enable us to live longer lives. We are in the middle of a long great curve of mankind. We’re doing OK.

When we were growing up our parents and our grandparents pointed out how when they were young the world was better, correct? Well in that time, they saw the world as bad. However, that time was our youth and we now see it as a good time, correct? Do you see my point? Our children will view the time right now as a good time when they are our age. Yet we continue to think this time is a bad time. It’s simply that we’re aging and we’re changing. The methods and the tools have changed but society has not. I also believe that people will never change until they HAVE to. Something has to happen to society as a whole for us to put an end to war, famine, murder etc...

Right now our age group are the owners of the world. We are the leaders, the voters, the people of the world. The Earth was handed to us from our predecessors and now it’s our time to live. If we operate the way our elders have we are merely the second boring movie in a trilogy. We own the world, let’s take it and make it better. Let’s not think that the world owns us.

As always, I hope not to offend and look forward to our discussion. I’ll see you when I see you. LL

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

2 Seconds at Target

I bought a new laptop. It has an icore process or and all the things I wanted. The ram was a little low so I thought I’ll just upgrade that myself. Ram is cheap. Ten minutes later I’m on the floor at Target begging God to let my sweet wife live. I’ve got her face in my hands and I’m shouting as loud as I can “YOU FIGHT! FIGHT! DON’T YOU LEAVE ME HERE ALONE! Her lips turned purple and the first responder training I had at work kicked in. I moved her head back to clear her airway. Her eyes were looking in all directions but obviously seeing nothing. I tried to open her mouth for the sake of her breathing and to make sure she hadn’t bitten her tongue. I tried as hard as I could, but her mouth was clenched tightly closed. She moaned a little. FIGHT. YOU FIGHT. YOU COME BACK TO ME! Her arms were fixed straight out in front of her and her legs were also rigid. I was straddled over her on my knees face to face with her. Her chest heaved and would rise up to hit me in the thighs. Please God, let her stay with me. I never ask for anything for myself. Please God, please. She looked right at me, or rather through me. But I could tell that what here eyes were seeing wasn’t making it to her brain. She has already had two blood clots, this one has went to her brain and it’s over. She’s dead. Just like that. No warning. She just passed out. I had seen her falling out of the corner of my eye and i grabbed just a piece of her shirt and eased her down as best I could. Then she convulsed. And then she died.

She really just died in my hands. I couldn’t save her. She’s not moving anymore. Eyes wide open and fixed. Every single thing that was wonderful in this world just left me here on the floor. Her little body just gave out on her. I had this overwhelming feeling that half of me had just been cut out. I was alone. The one beautiful thing in my life had just wilted and now I did not want to live. I remember thinking, I’ll take care of all her arrangements then I’m gone too. I thought that, I really did and that’s no lie. I honestly did not want to live without her. And if that happened again right now then I assume I’ll feel the same way. I believe that I’m going to Hell anyway so why bother living in this much Earthly pain? I just felt...I don’t know...hollow. I don’t think there’s a word to accurately describe it.

I thought she was gone for about 2 seconds, the entire seizure had lasted about 1 minute. All the above shot through my mind as images and feelings during that small amount of time. Her eyes flicked a little and I could tell that she could see me. I was just about to start CPR when I noticed that she was regaining consciousness and her life force was back with me. I said “Hey there do you know who I am?” She nodded no. “Do you know your name?” Silence. “I was walking by here and I saw you fall and I wanted to see if you were OK” I said. That seemed to reassure her a little. Imagine waking up on the floor of a grocery store with a stranger on top of you. “Do you know your name?” I asked again she replied in a rather smart ass tone “Robin.” As if to say yea you stupid SOB of course I know my name. I replied in an equally smart ass tone “Do you know your last name?” Silence. lol.

While all this was happening two young ladies and one young man who worked at Target had come to help and dialed 911 imminently. They were awesome. The young man brought a new pillow still in the plastic from the bedding department and put it under Robin’s head. He was also good during the seizure telling her to “Keep your eyes open.” One of them was the manager and she called a few days later to check on us. Just great kids.

The paramedics were there within minutes and they also were great. We had her loaded up and ready to go to the hospital in another 5 minutes. When we arrived at the ER I parked and ran to the back of the ambulance as they were unloading her. I’ll never forget the look on her face. She was a scared 6 year old girl. Totally innocent sweet little girl. It was as if all the things the world had done to her were stripped away and her core personality was the only thing remaining. It was truly a beautiful thing to see. When she saw me her face lit up and there was the big smile that she reserves only for me. I knew that we’d be alright then. I kept asking questions and getting some but not all answers. I never left her side and I wanted to be the link from her memories to the present. The very young doctor at the hospital was also great. We had a head CT done and when that was clear he had her transferred by ambulance to the main hospital in New Orleans. I admit it was a little bit fun following the ambulance at 3 in the morning hauling ass down I-10. I couldn’t have asked for better care up to this point, they were all top shelf IMO. By the time we got to New Orleans and in a room much of Robin’s memory and motor function had returned. She still had troubling grasping words and walking but that came back with time.

You all know the story from here. Two days at Ochsners, how ever you spell it, in New Orleans with some sorry ass doctors then back home. Their doctors all wanted to pin the blame on another area of medicine that wasn’t their specialty. Young pussies really, all of them. Afraid to make any kind of decision. We saw our friend in Biloxi who is a neurologist and we have a plan now. I feel like she’s in good hands with our friend and he’s close to us both personally and location-wise. She isn’t driving for a while (as long as I can convince her not to lol) and her mother stays with her when I work nights.

So this is my blog for the week, well two weeks because I was a little busy lol. There’s no moral question or any theme. Just my life and something that happened in it. I have a friend about my age that lost her husband and I pray for her a lot. Now that I’ve had just a very tiny glimpse of what that’s like, I can’t imagine what it takes to go on after a loss like that. It was the worst 2 seconds of my life and I have a new found respect for pain like that. You guys all know that I beat the drum of spending time with the ones you love in these blogs so here it comes: SPEND TIME WITH THE ONES YOU LOVE because one day you might be looking for crackers on isle 16 and ten seconds later you’re on the floor talking to your God. BTW tell him I said “Hey” and “Thanks.”