Edible Fungus

I have heard people talk about them. They speak in tones like they have gone through some life-changing experience. One taste and you will never be the same. It is the root of the chocaholics weakness. One sniff, one glimpse and they can be brought to their knees. Left whimpering and shaking. The truffle. According to dictionary.com, a truffle is defined as "any of various chocolate confections, especially one made of a mixture including chopped nuts, rolled into balls, and covered with cocoa power". Now you have to admit that does sound somewhat tasty, perhaps even drool-inducing under the right conditions. I say this now. For many years when folks went on and on about how dreamy these "truffles" were, I could not imagine that anyone would possibly think that these, these things, could possibly be looked on as a dessert paragon or a decadent snacking treat. As a young lad, I would watch cooking shows when I came home from school (yes, it was a primitive, one-room, earthen hut). One of the biggies at the time was a PBS program called The French Chef, starring old bouillabaise herself, Julia Child. She was always hammering away at various cuts of meat with an old broom handle. On more than one occasion, she showed a grainy video reel of a dirty old farmer and pig rooting around the french countryside looking for an edible fungus known as a "truffle". Now can you begin to understand the root of my confusion? The gist of my nub? The dessert taste treat was not a fleshy, edible tuber, but a chocolate yummy. Just when I was beginning to think that everyone I knew was a tasteless, uncouth dolt, I finally understood. With my confession of idiocy now complete, I embrace the simple truffle and call it my friend.

Rejection

I have been single in spirit for more than 3 years and single by law for more than 6 months. Yesterday I decided to make a move, to reach out for a potentially new and different future. To work to get back on the horse that bucked and threw me off so violently. Sure, my backside and head are still quite painful. Sure, I can clearly picture the incident, almost as if it happened this morning. I can hear the sounds, I can smell the air of that fateful day. I would say, I guess, if you pressed me on the issue, that, perhaps, these sounds and smells are not as sharp, not as distinct as they used to be. But this is life, and the diminishing of the senses and the memory is part of who we are, part of the healing process. So yesterday, for some reason, I surfaced for a breath of air. I asked out a lady at work that I like, that I get along with, that I would like to get to know better. She turned me down. She said that she thought I was sweet, that she liked talking to me, but that she has had a very bad history of getting involved with guys that she works with. Regardless of the reasons, I was still on the outside looking in. Still walking alone on my journey. However, up ahead I noticed there was a fork in the road. One way lead to dealing with my disappointment and hurt in a positive way, with full realization that I am a good person with a lot to offer. The other path led to self-destruction, self-hate, and the downward I'm-not-worth-a-damn spiral. At least for today, I chose the path of light. I reached out for life, and although the outcome was not what I wanted, at least I reached out, at least I spoke up, and I can live with that.

A Year's Walk

A year has passed and so much has changed. A year has passed and all is now much better with my soul. I recognize what has happened. There has been much progress on my journey, and I know, without a doubt, that it is not mere coincidence. A year ago I was drifting, the search had left me bone weary, frustrated, and confused. A chance encounter and God's plan for where I was supposed to be at this moment became clear. I had been led to an oasis. A place to learn, a place to grow, a place to connect. A year ago I came to Waters Edge Church. Several months ago I related the story of my WEC Journey. I thank God for leading me to where I needed to be. I look forward to the journey ahead.

Goodbye is Forever

There is no act more terrifying and affecting to me than saying goodbye. Goodbyes with me are always accompanied by a wave of emotions. The memories of all of the good times that I have shared with the person, the realization that the special things that we did together will be no more, a sense of loss, and an understanding that I will not see this person again, at least not in the same way. Maybe I am affected so deeply by goodbyes because I do not have all that many friends and losing one typically opens up new areas of loneliness in my life. I also tend to have many regrets when saying goodbye as I know that I wanted to get closer and share more of myself, my time and energy, but other things in life got in the way. Things like work, and laziness, and fear, and the belief that time would never run out on our relationship. There would always be a tomorrow. In the last couple of years I have had to say way too many goodbyes. Each lost friendship weighs on me. I think of my friends often and miss them. Friends like Mindy, Paul, Daniel, Brian, Suzanne, Robby, and Elke.

I thought I would end today's post with a few nuggets of truth.

• The loss of a friend is like that of a limb; time may heal the anguish of the wound, but the loss cannot be repaired.
  
• While we are mourning the loss of our friend, others are rejoicing to meet them behind the veil.
  
• Sometimes we lose friends for whose loss our regret is greater than our grief, and others for whom our grief is greater than our regret.
  

Old Man Transition

When did I become a wrinkled old man-hag? Why have my trousers slowly inched up from my waist to above my stomach? Come to think of it, where did all these Bermuda shorts and black socks come from? Some transition has happened and I must have been dozing off or eating luke warm oatmeal when it occurred. Actually I first noticed all of these changes just this morning. I was logged onto my Facebook account. Those of you who use this "social networking" site realize that, based on a 100% scientifically accurate system, they post ads consistent with your user profile. It was these danged ads that revealed my geriatric condition. I see listings for male potency products, walkers and canes, electric scooters, dentures, and ads for elderly women seeking "company". As I realized what was going on, what these ads were trying to tell me, I rushed to study my face in the mirror. Yes, yes, lots of wrinkles, ear and nose hair, wild eyebrows, pasty white legs. My, those Facebook whippersnappers were accurate. I am old, my youth has departed, and would somebody tell me what those hellions are doing on my lawn.

House II

I show up in my usual attire, blue jeans and a polo shirt. I carry with me a small attache case containing a rather sizable amount of money in the form of a cashier's check. Money that I had been saving for this very moment, this opportunity. Am I nervous? Maybe, to some degree. I guess that I have a few butterflies within my gut, but perhaps, this is just to connect me to the moment. I don't want to miss it. It could all too easily melt into a stack of legal-looking documents that require my signature. In reality, it is taking some level of possession of a solidly built brick structure. This structure will be transformed over the coming months from just a building to my home. In the possibly chaotic transition from my old apartment to my new house, I look forward to some of the little decisions, such as choosing where the silverware drawer will be, which shelf to put the bathroom towels on, where to position our sets of wind chimes. I will get to know where the light switches are, the best way into the kitchen, exactly where I want to place the couch. Beyond this period, I look forward to sitting down with our lunches and dinners laid out on the coffee table and just relaxing while watching our favorite shows or talking together. A sense of normalcy and routine returning to how we plan our days. I look forward to the new streets and houses becoming familiar landmarks on my journeys out and back. As of today, it is mine and I look forward to the future in this place and I pray that God will bless our time here.

Part 2 of a moving 6 part series.

Tears are Falling

I guess that I am a little less black and a little more lavendar that most guys. I know a lot of men that would dare not admit this, but I am not afraid to tell you that I cry. I certainly do not view this as a sign of weakness or feel it is something that should be hidden at all costs. I do not view this as a feminine or effete trait that marks me as something less than a man. It is how God made me, and is part of the palette of emotions that defines who I am and how I interact with the world around me. I am definitely not a stoic person who plays their emotional cards close to their vest, I am a wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve type and I am O.K. with that. I am well aware of the stigmatism of being labeled a "crybaby", I can live with this tag if it comes to that. Many people seem to be truly affected when someone around them cries. The response can be one of emotional bonding with a kindred soul, can be of adding distance and losing respect, or maybe even ambivalence.

I already know that I am a sucker for the swelling music and often contrived pathos that makes up many movie or book endings. I cry when the hero wins the girl and rides off into the sunset (even when I knew well in advance the outcome), I cry when I have to say goodbye to people I care about (even if only for a little while), and sometimes I cry tears of joy. I have known people who take pride in never crying, those who feel that if someone saw them with tears in their eyes that everyone would immediately lose respect for them and think them some sort of a pansy or an emotional train wreck. I feel that tears are a sign of connection with our own human condition. They serve to bring release and relief. They help us to heal and to celebrate. Sometimes we might feel that we can never let the world know who we are, that we must always be under full control when we are among others. Sometimes though, being who we are, tears and emotions and everything that comes with us, is so much more important and genuine.