Hi sweetheart, it's been the most beautiful springlike day, sunny, mild, and I notice that bulb shoots are coming up in the flower borders, daffodils, hyacinth. I'm sitting here musing in my typical (of late) airhead fashion, suddenly feeling a bit more materialistic than I ever do. I think I look nice enough (though someone quite viscerally begged to differ, a couple of weeks ago, really shockingly naked about it). So if/when I respond to any CL ads these days I have thought to include, "so if in your-heart-of-hearts you're looking for Heidi Klum or the like, then I'm not for you!" Still, I think, just in a mild, musing fun way, what would it be like if someone gave me a day at a beauty spa, and I had all the works? Facial, massage, manicure, pedicure, makeup, haircolor & trim, I don't even know what else --- just everything but everything that could be offered. Would I be physically transformed? In a way that might create chemistry or allure, that wouldn't otherwise be there?

I'm thinking about the guy I met yesterday, I liked him very much. He and I had an amazing amount in common, in terms of our situations, and also that we're both very bright, intelligent, humorous, inquisitive. I wasn't instantly sexually or 'chemically' attracted to him; neither was I turned off, however. I really enjoyed talking with him. I'd like to again. At the moment I feel as though I'd like to be friends with him - or almost like brother/sister, be able to get together in a super-friendly fashion & compare notes & commiserate. But how realistic is that? And also -- well, I have no idea if he'll contact me again or not. And I wouldn't be surprised if he may feel similarly, that he had a great time talking with me - but is the erotic 'spark' there?

I'm not sure if I can tell quite so soon off the bat. I think about you, I keep thinking about you. I think, just now -- well, what if I had just met you for the very first time, and we were getting together for a date? I can picture you driving us to wherever we would be going. We wouldn't know each other at all, and I can hear you, with your gentle, distinctly accented voice, speaking, commenting, politely querying of me, commenting in response, answering questions I might have of you. Would I be 'instantly' drawn to you, in that circumstance? I'm not sure.

It seems to me that the sparks flew between the two of us, only after many years of slight acquaintance -- on how many occasions, in total, have we ever encountered each other? Perhaps a dozen in twice that number of years? And yet I can easily conjure, remember flickers of attraction I felt towards you, at various instances -- at your wedding for one, which was possibly the first time I ever met you (possibly I even had to beat down a feeling -- uncharacteristic for me -- of envy, of coveting, of regret). I can still remember the way you looked in your tux, the tilt of your head, you were somewhat in shadows in the receiving line of the hotel wedding reception, as we briefly touched hands. I don't know -- I always liked you, but never thought of you 'that way', or if I did I'd immediately quash it, stamp it out, like an ember or dropped match that unattended might threaten to catch fire.

So - it's hard to know. I know that I'm willing to try to get to know a person, if there's any sense of connection or attraction there at all, see if things develop. But I also know in myself, that I can't fake attraction. I did try that once, a very long time ago, with someone I went out with for quite a while -- way too long. I tried so hard to like him, and to feel attracted to him -- and I just couldn't, and things didn't go well at all. There's no use 'forcing' things, or 'trying too hard.'

But still, I think about you so much, and care about you, and you continue to be a wondrous presence in my life, not there, and present, all at once...

I don't know much about you at all! I probably know more about the interests & mind of the man I conversed with for a couple of hours yesterday, than I do about you. What are your 'hobbies', dearest?

And so on a first date with you, you driving a big 'ol dreamboat of a car, by turns looking at the road ahead, glancing over at me, peering at the rear view mirror -- we might very well not ever wish to touch hands, or to kiss.

But now, my love, under those very same circumstances, were we to be in that way together -- for the first time! -- that's just what I'd want to do. And I probably wouldn't unbuckle my seatbelt, because it's unsafe to, but I would reach my left hand over to yours, and I think you are so sufficiently and beautifully and assuredly grounded in yourself, that you would put your right hand in mine, and be able to steer the car along the scenic byway with just one hand, and I wouldn't feel anxious about it in the least, it would be all 'comme il faut' between us.

Hi sweetheart, I have had the most delightful afternoon, it will be a challenge to capture tiny fragments of its evanescence as it passed - but boy I had a swell time. Right now there's a neighbor's chicken roasting in a clay pot, surrounded by root vegetables that mostly I didn't even bother to trim: the last of the CSA sweet potatoes, earth still on them (I rinsed them off, even if I didn't peel), brussel sprouts, carrot, small red potatoes. Yes I should have had my camera ready & handy-- the pot, laden with the small hen, legs straight upright (in slightly unsettling rigor mortis) surrounded by all golden orange brown earth tones of veg & clay pot -- well, it would have made for a stunning photo. But we've seen such photos before...

Oh sweetheart, I am throwing my arms around you and kissing you hello. I had the most delightful afternoon today. I'm very glad indeed, that I had quit smoking all those years ago, because along today came along a... better date. Ah, I don't really view it in those terms (belles, irises, delphinium...). Anyway, I had a wonderful time, whether it goes anywhere or not, I hardly care, the two of us are like a pair of individual Robinson Crusoes stranded on this frosty archipelago of a county, having a hard time connecting with anyone at all let alone romantically, or sexually. He & I (I'll speak for myself) had a great time talking, listening, talking, listening - at a wonderful hideaway rustic pub, dark tavern warmed with woodburning stove...

After he drove me home in his dream boat... man, it was just swell... barge of dreams...

And we talked dreamily of philosophy, and of movies, and of our respective spouses, and of all sorts of things...

really cool guy
glad I met him

so - sweetheart - where are you?

Ah, so my date would prefer a smoker, first & foremost maybe. So that accounts for the excessive aftershave odor in the cab, the only thing I didn't like. I should have guessed, since I smoked for many years. Wow, that's some heavy-duty masking deodorizer. But - certainly - quitting was so hard-won, so long ago - of course I'm not going back. Seems to me that, for most - it would be one of my 'pluses.'

I wonder where you are, you seem especially scarce today, which makes me think you're on some long flight somewhere, the conductor - that is, flight attendant - collecting the ticket, offering you a seltzer, or hot towelette.

I have only a slight headache, from a session this morning. For which I'm exceedingly, exceedingly grateful, that I achieved it without it being coupled with severe pain. No, truly I'm okay. I just have to be sure, I think, to not inadvertently strain, and to keep my head & neck well-cushioned & supported...

Oh sweetheart, so why no recent 'humors of the day' from GCT? And what happened to the wedding invitations ('save the date!', I was messaged) that were to have been mailed out in February?

Oh darling, I'm not in the best mood. I feel a little discouraged. And, you know, when I realized that he's not all that fussy but he'd like a smoker -- I don't know, that just made my head pound a bit more. And let me repeat that I have never, in all my life, before the last ten days or so, been headache-prone. (That would never be my excuse for 'not doing it tonight' - only - having experienced it, I realize the origins of that chestnut; and 'blinding headache,' in the course of self-gratification -- well, that is just all too -- I don't even have the words for it, the irony of old Victorian prudish/prurient adages - possibly containing a grain of truth!)

Don't get too excited, my dearest Catholic. I fully support women's rights for reproductive everything, esp. birth control, and am in full support of all political candidates who support that.... and all the rest, who differ, are utter...

well, I won't complete that --
I'm, ostensibly, a poetic blogger, not a political one

dearest, wherever you are
my dear nonsmoking, deliciously organically fragrant you
if I were with you, oh after you'd draped a moist, warm, lemon-balmed cloth on my forehead
thereby soothing my head and restoring my.... mood

oh dearest, so very many kisses

Hi darling, a beautiful golden hour, right at five, the first of the day, as I'm up here in the aerie the world is in warm color again, like stepping suddenly into a different universe, after this cold gray wintry day. I have just come back from the Berkshires, a jaunt to Great Barrington, driving through snow-covered mountain passes, where I caught, on its second go-round, a matinee of Hugo. Which I enjoyed very much, glad I managed to catch it, and especially so on the big-screen. Beautifully done, rich, and treasure-filled: Scorsese certainly knows how to tell a fluid narrative, each scene flowing seamlessly one to the next, with many surprising twists & turns. Impressive. Far more so, I think, than was The Artist, which was good - but slight in comparison. My lunch date and I last week wondered if there was some strange subterranean Franco-American diplomacy going on, through the (over?)-feting of that film. He had seen Hugo, I hadn't, and so now we're on the same page - as far as that movie goes.

It was a satisfying spin, too, in that I scored my favorite French camembert, Le Chatelain, at a gourmet grocery there, and later back in Hudson, a perfectly fresh artisanal baguette. The combination -- redolent cheese squeezed between torn end of divinely chewy, crunchy bread -- oh my word -- one of my favorite snacks ever, intoxicatingly dreamy - and that's without wine.

Sweetheart, you may be wondering if my own blog has 'jumped the shark.' I sometimes wonder that myself, never more so than when I'm listening to the liturgy at church. Truly I'm an admixture of the sacred & the profane. I hardly know what to make of it myself. Now, sometimes I'm a little over the top, I know, and without being "conventionally," piously moral, in that "make sure you color within the lines because it's all about the next life" way -- well, I don't know, somehow I think that Jesus would have (or has) a sense of humor, that being "good" and "following" him can take on a myriad of forms, some of them at times mischievous. So I'm mischievous, and a little boundary-busting, and a little irreverent, and frank about my desires, and admitting to loneliness and the longing for loving companionship. But none of that seems "bad" to me, though it may shock some. No, to me what is immoral, evil, my personal take-away from listening carefully to a service, and making sense of it as it relates to me, is people who are -- faithless to others, banal in their blithe constant lying, callously & indifferently picking up & dropping people --- in short, I see the New Testament mostly as a railing -- well, maybe that's not the right word, but response, an alternative -- to highpowered, highrolling, power-mad, ego-driven predatory narcissism. End of Sermon, for the time being. And so, though in my writing (and perhaps in some of my other actions) I may flaunt some conventions (not to compare myself to Nabokov -- but as did Nabokov) -- I feel comfortable and entitled and not hypocritical to participate in the service, and to think about it, and feel it deeply, even if on my own terms, in my own way, and not spoonfed into a treacly watered down next-to-meaningless bland tapioca. No -- my life is about living -- I'm just not going to trample on others along the way.

Dearest, how are you, I hope wherever you are, you are having a fine time, enjoying yourself, enjoying your life. You're a great guy, I'm glad we found each other, even if we can't be together. I don't know. I'm sitting here wondering what to type next. I'm wearing my E.D. "superwoman" outfit, sequined midnight-blue & black paisley top, cashmere cardigan, tight jeans. My fingers type. The burst of golden light has faded, now it's getting towards dusk. I enjoy driving, obeying all the speed limits (no more tickets for me), driving down curves, along hills & dales. I like Bob Schneider's song Honeypot, I think it's called. He croons just to me, is what it feels like, when I'm alone in the car and he comes on. Wow. And next week's another week, a whole 'nother week before I have to sit down at the organ again. Which I did today, and it went fine, though I felt that I stumbled a little this morning, more so than I had last week with a much bigger crowd. There was another guest clergyman this morning, a different one, and I think I felt a little nervous with him. He sang with a wonderful full, strong voice, and I was plowing through one of the hymns in my way -- and I've always been a bit shaky on strict rhythms & meters -- and I think I was rushing (inadvertently) some notes, at ends of lines, that should have been held longer --- but I was off & running to the next line -- only the clergyman with his strong, operatic baritone was a few steps behind me -- and in this patriarchy of the church (!!)-- OMG, this upstart of an organist is flouting some sort of norm of how "Let us break bread together on our knees," is supposed to go...

Well, fortunately there are other hymns, even if I didn't quite get that one right. No matter -- right?

Love you, sweetheart. Listen, wherever you are, I hope you've had a wonderful weekend and will have a great week to follow. Who knows what might happen -- and I mean wonderful things - smiles, kisses, fresh loaves of bread, sunshiny days, days -- whether it's sunny or not -- increasing in length by leaps & bounds each day --

so reluctant to let you go, as though we were in a train station, with the train pulling away
many kisses
waving my handkerchief
blowing kisses
love you I mouth
I'll send you a postcard tomorrow, sweetheart, when I've arrived

Hi sweetheart, oh darling, I imagine that your champagne cork popped which accounts for the 18 hits in one second a little while ago, oh my love, I wish. I'm up here, aerie aglow in the last rays of light - the sun came out in the afternoon, melting away a lot of the snow. I spent the afternoon - oh let's see, I drove to the little town library and bought last month's Harper's for ten cents, fished out another two nickels for an outstanding fine on my account, and picked up a book I had waiting for me on reserve, the selection for U.S. Senator K.G.'s Book Club -- which I on some exhausted level respect & wish them well with, but I am so not "involved" these days in any way, can hardly get through a scholarly volume on E.D. and her beloved maid, let alone a volume by Kristof on empowering women through work. Oh, I'm just getting more exhausted thinking about it. Sorry -- I used to have all that kind of energy in me -- in spades, and spades -- and it's all gone. Now I think about other matters entirely.

Oh so what else... practiced a few hymns at the church today, in preparation for tomorrow. Piece of cake, these ones are quite simple.

I tried not to think of T.S. Eliot & toilets.

I dreamt about C.B. last night.

He comes to me while I am lying down, waking up, in a darkened bedchamber. He kisses me, and I say that my breath is bad, from a night’s sleep, but he doesn’t seem to care. We make out, his body is beautiful, lithe, and strong, and he is covered with coarse dark hair, all over, it’s very animal, arousing. We make out, but at some point he seems to lose interest, and we stop. I wonder if my technique was too tame.

He administers an essay exam, in a lecture hall. I’m there with my booklet. I’ve aced his exams before. But this one – I’m going to fail. He’s given the names of four (or so) cultural names, on which we’re supposed to opine. Buddy Holly is, one; possibly Pina Bausch is another, or perhaps it’s Jacob’s Pillow Dance. I’ve heard of some of these names, but don’t know enough about them to write anything remotely intelligible. And some of the names I haven’t even heard of. I mention this to the professor, C.B., who’s a little disapproving of me, because I’ve come down from my desk to try to get the names I’ve missed. And I tell him that I’m going to flunk this exam. He shrugs, and says that there’ll be another exam, another chance, at New Year’s. I figure – I might as well write any nonsense at all, whatsoever, just make it up outright, since I don’t know anything about these figures – so just make it complete unabashed nonsense already – maybe he’ll appreciate that kind of desperate creative effort.

***
and what else, compulsively, or reflexively trolled local C.L. ads, even though I'm not really looking, not at the moment. I became intrigued with one, a guy who keeps posting & posting - compulsively himself - he's stuck (as he says) in a very longlived marriage (married, with children, 36 years -- at age 56), and he indulges, in truly very explicit fantasies. Which weren't so explicit yesterday evening, when I playfully sent him a note (not formally responding to his ad, just a quick aside), and his ads today, have only become more explicit and desperate. I feel bad for him. So in the spirit of the season, I've indulged in a bit of entirely voluntary, unsolicited pro bono work. I had wondered what I had given up for Lent -- and it might be, a bit belatedly -- the Big O's.

Sweetheart, darling, sleep tight you -- I'm around, always cuddling with you...

***
Message from Belle to "Needsome", this afternoon

... boy you're posting a lot of ads these days... !

I'm not the one for you, I know I'm not, but I keep thinking about your ads & your situation. I feel bad for you (please don't take that wrong). You're entitled to your fantasies, and to tell you the truth they get my mind going a little bit. But believe me I'm not the one for you -- I'm not a James Bond-type vixen...

Anyway, I was just wondering if your ads are working for you. Because, speaking as a woman, they just raise so many questions, and maybe they don't appeal to women so much (except for of a certain 'working' class -- and that's not who you want).

I'm just wondering about the 'romance' part. That's what most women I think, would like. I personally, might indulge such play-fantasies..... once I really knew the man, and there was a relationship of trust, and fun, and play --- but that would have to develop.

I guess I'm the type of woman who would like a glass of wine & share an elegant small meal with -- and talk a bit, and see if there's an attraction, and see where it goes.

Also - on the practical side - since you're so explicit about your fantasies, and say that you're available in a 50-mile radius. If you're not going to get a 'pro' -- with all the right outfits & toys & accessories -- well, I just wonder how many women around here not already deeply involved in that line, possess such props.

Also -- 50 miles each way -- doesn't that mean that you'd expect the woman to "host"? But you don't say that in your ads. But I'm thinking that you're not going to be springing for hotel bills all the time, not with a family to support....

Anyway, just random thoughts. I sense your desperation, and I hope someone just right for you responds.

I myself (probably against my better judgment) might not mind having a glass of wine with you, break bread sometime, except that I'm sorta/kinda feeling my way with another guy at the moment, a promising CL lead (we had a nice first date, and he's asked me if I'd like to get together again). And the last thing I am is promiscuous in any way (completely, and I mean completely faithful in my 25-year marriage --- only starting to 'break out' now -- but I don't plan on 'playing the field.')

Anyway, wishing you well -- and I guess -- well, just think about what women want, & need to know, as you're drafting your ads.

All the best, Belle

P.S. I'd "I.M." you, but I'm a luddite on such fine points of yahoo, let alone owning a whip, corset, or strap-on.

Hello darling, I wish so much that you & I could just spend a quiet evening together, have a glass of wine at p.m. maybe, or here, or wherever, a B&B in town would be nice - because I don't like the idea of doing it here, my house, too wrapped up with other associations. I am just feeling, oh - I miss you, I think we'd have a nice time together, I think we get each other, and it would be relaxing, and there wouldn't be much "explaining." Wordless sounds good to me. No, not just that. Just the depth of understanding, a given, so that there's all this warmth, and relaxation, and acceptance.

I have found myself googling 'orgasm migraine.' Yes, darling, in the cruelties that one could not possibly make up, that, it seems, is my new affliction. I had my first one ever last Saturday, thought I might be having a stroke (but since we don't have health insurance - so what). And I've had a couple since then, this week, at just that point, and sure enough, one this afternoon, as well. I can hardly believe it. My mother was a migraine sufferer, and I had a boss once who was so severely afflicted that she would give herself injections with some sort of painkiller.

Until last week, I've never had a migraine, or been much of a headache sufferer whatsoever, my entire life. The only time I've ever really had headaches is if I had way too much to drink, or mixed alcohols -- you know, the self-inflicted ones. But I don't have those; I drink my quantity of wine these days but not so much that I wake up hungover or headachey (or only extremely rarely).

Oh man, but now I relate to headache & migraine sufferers, good God. And having googled it, it seems to be a not-uncommon malady.

Except - seriously. I'm 52. I've had, off & on, a wonderful sex life over the years, no problems. Then there was a long, very long dry spell, in recent years. And then I rediscovered my capacity for sexuality via toys, about ten months ago. And things have gone swimmingly for me that way, except for the longing for another, for touch, for "corporeality." But in terms of being able to orgasm, it's been a revelation. And until a week ago, it was utterly uneventful except in the sense of bliss.

This really totally sucks now, the advent of this development, just as, for the first time in a long time, I am joyfully anticipating perhaps intimately encountering a lover at some point. But what if I get a splitting migraine right at the crucial moment? I'm not fearful/paranoid of it yet, it's too new a development. And fortunately with my new friend, it does seem things are going slow, very slow... and so that might help, I don't know, less pressure. It's as though I intensify thoughts, focus, at that moment -- and then bam -- "thunderclap headache," as they're aptly termed. I've popped an aspirin since - a couple of hours ago - and the pain still lingers, though not as excruciatingly. And still through it, I managed to make myself come, even through that pain. Well, it's one thing to do that on one's own, but with a lover?

Anyway, that's the newest. Oh great. Because one thing this blog has never been, is some sort of log of medical woes, enfeeblements, reports of doctor visits, and all of the tedious above. And I don't wish it to be.

Still, a sudden splitting headache, is a sudden splitting headache. I can't rise above it.

I was a philosophy major in college, and I remember some rueful observation about, perhaps it was Descartes. That had he ever suffered from, say, an abscessed tooth, he wouldn't have been quite so bifurcated on the mind/body split. "There never was a philosopher who [that?] could tolerate a toothache."

Love you, sweetheart. Perhaps we wouldn't have to explain ourselves to each other. That would be nice.

Sweet dreams, many kisses.

Hi sweetheart, Leap Year Day and March 1 (in like a lion) have plunged this part of the world into black & white graytones, and so I find myself in semi-soporific, hibernating mode, a little low energy, wanting to lie down and just sleep, which I did, a couple of hours ago, lay down for a nap and fell fast asleep, and woke thinking that I should rouse myself to do a workout but just couldn't summon the energy. I'm feeling betwixt & between things a bit, yet again, waiting 'for the phone to ring,' as it were. I did get out to the supermarket at lunch, and bought fresh flowers, that I arranged in vases all around the house, including two tiny pots of yet-to-bloom daffodils, that I've placed in either kitchen window, facing north (at the birdfeeders, the grackles may be fooled into thinking it's spring) and the south. I wonder, with this sudden imposition of wintry weather, if bears, otherwise insomniac over the months (as I tend to be in the middle of the night), find themselves suddenly terribly sleepy.

At the supermarket I scored a couple of packages of lemons -- more than a dozen, for $2. So my project tomorrow will be to bake a lemon pound cake. I bought butter, and I've set out four of neighbor's chickens' eggs on the counter so that they'll be 'room-temperature.' My hairdresser likes that cake very much, I gave her a sample last time I made it (about a year ago), maybe I'll bake a tiny tin of it for her (I've fished one out, with that in mind).

It's my habit now to peruse the CL ads, not so much, at the moment, with a mind to responding, so much as with arms-length fascination. The Freudian-slips of typos! For example, a man searching for a woman to "warship" - !

I can't tell you how many times - and this grammatical error I find very telling - that Mr. Whoever is forever searching for a woman "that" --- that, rather than "who." That construction -- "person that," "woman that," comes up so frequently, more often than not, that I felt an oddball sense of elation when I came across a posting today from a man who longs for a "woman who..."

Some men search for "a single women." Yes, I suppose it's a typo. Is he searching for just one woman, the One [That is] for Him? Or only single women, more the merrier, bring 'em on?

I love it... I just refreshed the page of local listings... A guy has been chest-pounding the last few hours about how he's an "old-fashion" guy looking for a submissive 50's style woman in terms of Values... and he goes on at great expository length in his posts to that familiar rhetorical effect.

Ah, but all that fast-lane chest-thumping didn't get him where he wished to be. I'm guessing he's experienced a dearth of promising responses. Because now he's posted again, in more deflated - calmer - terms, "Traveler seeks a friend." Awww.

I'm not making fun, I'm not. I have my own tribulations (is that the same as a trial? whatever, hard time) these days. I'm not going to post my own CL ad; as a woman I think it's better to respond to the ones out there. As I mentioned, I'm waiting for the 'phone to ring.' I think my clock --- and it's not even the Marisa Tomei footstomping biological one (though footstomping nonetheless) -- is on a faster track. I don't want to jump into anything... at the same time I can't wait around forever... ("one week and a day for what -- a cup of coffee!!").

And that's that dearest. What you have here is an old-fashion 'married to wed' Seven Sister that might be a sub except that the moment he started puffing his chest I'd get all turned off so I'd rather be with a horse-whisperer like William Shatner who's 80 and looks 59 and is so happy & exuberant & full of life, and I never got into him at all on Star Trek, probably because I never got into Star Trek, but when I saw the last five minutes of the interview with him today on Charlie Rose, I was so struck by him that I thought, man, if he ever posted on CL, and he turned out to be the blind-date, wow, he would be amazing. And you know... well, we'll see...