Convos With An Addict, A Food Addict

Shhhh.  Quiet. My fantasy is about to come true.

I’m lifting the triangular tip of my slice of pizza right up near my mouth, slowly. It’s always the anticipation that makes it so exciting. The savory smell of the tomato sauce and oregano, garlic,starts wafting in the air, that smell that draws you in, the one you’ve longed for. You breathe in the luxurious scent with one long breath, you moan with happiness and then, finally, you pick it up and feel the rough, grainy texture in your hands that you stroke with pleasure.

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I lift up the heavily anticipated slice (or 2 or 3) of pizza, blow on it gently, I want warm pizza not too hot to burn me, a little spicy, adding extra garlic salt and I open my lips and taste that first amazing bite.

This is only the first slice of pizza of the two or more I will eat tonight, my husband and I have looked forward to this night for days. We only use one pizzeria in town even though there many other options. But, this one, is our favorite and we have tried every one of four or five places, sampling each, several times.

In the past we ordered a slice of Sicilian pizza and a regular slice for each of us of us but I’m not sure which direction we will go tonight. We’ve taken chances on the Sicilian slices before, sometimes it’s a bit too doughy and the ratio is wrong.

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I know what you are thinking there is no such thing as too doughy yet when it comes to Sicilian pizza there needs to be a balance and sometimes from this place, the balance has been off. It depends on our mood, we are never disappointed with their regular slices, plain or mushroom, I have a feeling I know what we will do.

I lick my lips in anticipation. They also serve (sorry if this is a bummer for pizza enthusiasts) the most amazing salad, (stick with me here) with kinds of lettuce, craisins, goat cheese and slices of avocado .Believe me I am not a salad lover but this seems like it should be outlawed it is SO good. It comes with some sort of silky raspberry dressing and we are not counting calories here.

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This was yesterday’s dinner, I would happily eat the same thing today. This is one of my favorite (and most comforting) meals. It speaks to me of my youth and happiness, and Dani’s House of Pizza and André the Pizza maker and of course, the owner, Dani. It was a tradition when we were old enough to walk from school and go there for lunch. For one dollar we got two slices, a drink (grape, no ice) and had leftover money for candy.

Just thinking about it makes me nostalgic and very, very hungry. Maybe I will have the same meal again, Saturday.and toast to the old times when we were young and life was easy and uncomplicated.

 

#FWF, Kellie Elmore

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 I was so sure it was love…

 

my children are older than I was  when we first met.  I was a sophomore in college, you, Mark, were my anthropology professor. I was immediately taken with your dark, smoldering eyes, a glimpse of power.

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I learned quickly that I could make your bad moods disappear. I’m not sure you noticed it but within minutes your childish grumpiness would turn into a low, throaty laughter. You sat behind your desk, head thrown back in laughter wearing your dirty, beige, cable knit sweater,t he one you wore almost every single day.

 

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It was the first time that I had ever felt such intense emotions in my life like a stagnant flower suddenly coming to life again, bursting to bloom.  He flirted, his stares were a few seconds too long, my cheeks flushed with pleasure, my green eyes stared back.

 

 

 

 

There was a moment, captured in my memory, when I sat in your office and I held your young daughter in my lap and happily played with her hair. She cooed so sweetly with contentment. I hadn’t looked at you at all but lifted my eyes for a second to find your eyes staring hungrily into mine, your mouth half-open.

You had awakened in me a budding sexuality that I had rarely felt before. I was naive, I had felt attracted before but never this way. I went from being a girl to a woman without him ever touching me.

I remember sashaying down the hall to see him, for the first time after summer break, 25 pounds lighter, noticing my hips move and my ass, firm and tight, feeling wonderful. Back in the seventies, we wore black leotards and jeans, clogs and my brown hair was lush and long. He definitely noticed the change with his long stare, I felt beautiful for the first time in my life without his approval.  I loved the way I felt, my hair in two long brown braids which he used to tweak, as if we were both in middle school.

I’d like to think he was being “good” for me, to spare me pain and himself trouble but I heard, more realistically, that he had gotten into a lot of trouble in the past and this was his enforced “no-fly zone.”

Truly, this man was a louse, a monster but I was caught in the whirl of his intensity and his charm. I felt sorry for whoever he was married to although ultimately she divorced him. I knew I thought I loved him, more likely it was too many years of blind infatuation.

If you ask me why, I obsessed about him I honestly can’t tell you. Maybe it was the game

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of not getting what I wanted that was so appealing, maybe it was the first sensation of awakening sexuality. I’ve always been attracted to “the first dance” of romance, where you feel the flush rise to your cheeks, and your eyelashes stay closed a couple of seconds longer than usual. It’s all a game, a wonderful, sensual, romantic game.

The only think he did for me other than not having sex with me was this: he hated graduation, he never attended. When I found that out he wasn’t going I was devastated.  He asked me if it meant something to me if he attended or not. “Yes” I said but he made no promises and we never spoke of it again.

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“Commencement” as I’ve written before, is a nice way of saying good-bye.  During the procession, I saw him standing in line in his black robes and colorful ribbons, his majestic glory. That was the one thing he did do for me, he came to graduation for the sole purpose of wanting to make me happy.

I never regretting loving him nor did I regret continuing to love him, if it was really ever love at all, because it was a love that was intense and pure. One sided, of course, but it took me from being a girl in love to being a woman to love without him ever knowing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#Free Write Friday, Kellie Elmore

 

Nowhere To Go, In Time Or Place

I felt the tears of uncertainty and dread spring to my eyes. I quickly wiped them away with the back of my hand because if I didn’t they would stick to my face like hot glue. Change hasn’t happened in our lives for years but I know, in my gut, we will be saying good-bye to the world as we knew it, forever.

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Saying good-bye to the past, yet clinging, pathetically, to the memories that I hold dear. Old memories that rust in time but bloom in my brain like day lilies.

Another chapter will be beginning but we don’t know when or where.  Getting older is not easy unless you are a sweet, innocent child. Children love to turn another year older, there is no death in their future, just presents, and  cakes with candles, hope, fun and friends.The aged lack hope universally.

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For us, their parents or grandparents, it takes on a whole other realm of closing a chapter and warily beginning another, the last third chapter or the beginning of the end. We don’t celebrate parties in the same way anymore; birthdays come around, it feels like, every few months. There is no happiness in aging when you can’t go back in time. Even memories become stale, photographs, blurry.

Our bodies hurt, pain clings to us like Saran wrap on cheese, transparent, almost impossible to remove. It holds us hostage in our weary, broken bodies

I hold on to the wooden stair rail, going downstairs slowly, sticky over time, but now I am fond of the predictable stickiness in certain areas. I have walked up and down these stairs thousands of times, with sick babies, and naughty toddlers, with gleeful children and with young adults I was proud to call my children. I walked with my husband supporting me and me supporting him.

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I am not sure of the timeline, of when we will leave. It could be as early as six months but it could be more like a year, maybe two. The jittery nerves inside me says it will sneak up on us like a deer crossing our path in front of our car in the dead of the night.

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I have practiced saying good-bye to everyone I love and have to leave behind in my shaken heart. I will be leaving this home, this carrier of memories. I know I am on my way, still clutching to some false sense of security.

Entering into another phase of my life, of our lives. I have to control myself from me not to sob out loud. I know this tiny, white house which in six months could be painted navy blue or brown. I don’t know, I will never know. But it will never be my house again. My children will not grow up here, the trees we planted for the children will stay and the two big gray rocks other people’s children will climb on.

We are homeless, we have nowhere to go although we can stay for a little time in a few places but never like this again. The locks on the doors will be changed in two days, maybe three, new owners will eventually move in.  The FOR SALE sign on the front yard seems to deface our property. It has already defaced our home.

A chapter in our lives is about to be over, a new chapter has not yet been written, the lines blur together. We are standing, clutching on to memories not yet ready or willing to create new ones. I am not sure I will ever want to make new ones.

We step aside, we cling to the naked walls and to each other with the depths of our depression in our hearts beating slowly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kellie Elmore, FWF

Clear Lake (Photo credit: DBerry2006)

‘Crashing Waves’ – Porth Swtan, Anglesey (Photo credit: Adrian Kingsley-Hughes)

I’ve been calm all my life, I have kept things inside me, perhaps there was turmoil that I never knew about but just felt it in an eery way. Some say it came out in different ways that were unconscious, maybe it was always there, life is not a perfect place to be but I had to be it.  I was smooth, calming, dependable because that was my role. Nobody said anything; they didn’t have to, I understood with a blink of an eye or a shadow cast by the sun or the moon. I was stripped down to nothing, you could see through me on calm days, right down to my little toe pebbles where you would daintly swim.

As I got older, I tried hard to separate from all of you, it took time and strength. Yes, strength to cut those ties that were strangling my neck. I pushed and shoved and every time you pushed back I was getting stronger and stronger to not allow you to bully me. I pushed back with my self-confidence, with blustery forces, with big white foamed currents, rolling waves and when I felt like it I would knock your ass to the rough,sharp, uneven ocean floor. If you had been really mean to me as soon as you got up, I pushed you down again making you gasp with uneven breaths. I could do that now, no longer was I a calm little secret, holder of all things peaceful and gracious.

I was confident filled with self-worth, I was in charge now, chuckling at your ineptitude. I was right, not you. My importance and intuition was unbelievably sound. Yes, you were wrong, battling your head against me again and again. But, I stayed sturdy, hitting you back over and over until I had punished you all day and a little of the night when the sun had set and I could relax in the joy of my last accomplishment of the day. Finally, you understood, that tomorrow and every day afterwards, I would never back down and be your puppet again. I knew me, and I knew all of you and you could burn in hell as far as I cared. It was harder for you to say you were wrong, all along, wasn’t it? I know, but I no longer care. Because I do KNOW the truth I always have, you pitiful, self-involved, selfish beings, the scum, green, slippery left-over seaweed that we all avoid.

The Age We Are

We all age. It’s one thing, like death, we cannot change. In time, we need to accept the inevitable. We all get older and as scary as it sounds it is going to happen whether we like it or not. At some point, kicking or screaming or both we need to find peace within ourselves to accept our new, old age, our new lifestyle, that WE are now considered old.

thanks for old friends (Photo credit: Steve took it)

The trick to getting comfortable with your age? I have no idea. Once in a while I become a nervous wreck thinking about it. It usually only lasts about ten minutes at a time but when it hits it doesn’t feel good at all. Like now:

How did I get to be this old? I don’t understand. Wasn’t I just seven walking up the big hill to get to my elementary school wondering about how it would feel being old? I distinctly remember the comfort that I would not get old alone, that the friends around me who were the same age would get older too.

Junior high was a blur, it wasn’t the best time but it wasn’t the worse. It was something you had to go through to live another day. Students bothering you for your lunch money, dark hallways, new friends. Dreary, fenced in cement playground.

Then, I fell in love with high school, my sister went away to college and a new me was born. As my parents said “I blossomed.”  I adored high school, I was at school more than I was at home, in every club imaginable. Writing clubs, The New York Club, Yearbook Club, Acting, Jabberwocky Club (a magazine I, unfortunately named.)

Didn’t I go straight from there to college, when it snowed on October 2nd and finally got warm at the end of the semester for a few days and we played frisbee and sat in the sun? We had a cat named Boz.Those four years went by so quickly, Anthropology, Sociology, Psychology. Parties, crushes, and one ugly hangover.

After that I was single, independent, living in my apartment in New York City, working at a good job, moved to Boston on a whim, I thought my friend Matthew was moving there, made a really good salary, convinced I would never meet a guy. I had a short romance or two. The next step was meeting a guy that for the first time I didn’t get tired of after twenty minutes.

My first love. My always love. We got married, we moved, we tried to have children to no avail and then (thank you G-d ) I got pregnant and what a miracle that was! We were blessed that after two and a half years of painful, intrusive infertility treatments, our son was born. When our son was one, we were thrilled and excited to be naturally expecting another child, another miracle, a beautiful blonde, blue-eyed daughter. I give thanks for my family every single night. That’s what love is.

If I had to pick a time when I was the happiest, THAT was the best time of my life, that time period when I was first pregnant with my son and then ecstatically with my daughter.

Luckily, we have our memories, at least most of them. Photographs too can fill in the spaces that time captured. We can all get scared of being older, it’s natural but here’s something that you can do to help: find other people you trust, and talk. It doesn’t matter what age they are. Pick up the phone, make a lunch date, reach out. Stay in touch with old friends, make some new friends. You will feel better. I assure you, you both will.

 

Haiku Heights: Time

Piercing angel souls,

1 in 3 Teens (Photo credit: Taylor Dawn Fortune)

Secrets unravel in time

Death, by lethal lie.

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Deep lines etched, gray lips

English: Elderly Woman Knitting (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Lowered eyes, dull blue, trembling

kiss of years, past gone.

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Kellie Elmore: Free Write Friday 6-29-13

who am i? (Photo credit: Beni Ishaque Luthor)

(things can’t let you down, unless you let them)

“It’s easier said than done, I know that. You know that, right, Son? All this psychobabble about “life’s has its ups and downs, just go with the flow?” Sure, I know that in my head, but when something creepy, or scary or even startling happens, man, that goes straight, directly to my heart and it’s a sure fire hit. There are no stops, no waiting, or hesitating, it’s a missile like an emotional heart attack. It always has a trigger, like now, people are screaming behind me are making me tense, uptight, upset. You have to understand I’m not like you and your generation, it’s hard for me to “just get over it.” I get so depressed and I just want to put my head in my hands and my body starts shaking. My stomach clenches and it’s trying to ruin my day and I feel myself getting hooked on sadness like a slippery snake, going in and out of my brain to my insides. I  try to stop it but I can’t.

I’m lost, that’s how I can describe it, I’m lost. I’m really nobody now. Sure, I’m someone’s husband, brother, father, but who am I? I’m really not sure anymore.  I used to know but now everything is cloudy. What I thought I knew for sure is shaky, what I thought I knew about you is different.I was YOU, a long time ago. Listen to me. It’s easy to push things into those dark recesses of your mind, I’ve been doing that for a long, long time. There’s safety in comfort, I know that. But, how much comfort is worth it? When does comfort become settling or even just plain old vanilla laziness? I’m the wrong one to ask. I stay safe, too safe, and I stay still. I’m not happy, not ever. Probably never have been happy.

Some people like my old friend Jon are adaptable, whatever happens he adjusts. He doesn’t worry, he doesn’t panic, he goes with whatever comes his way with his cool, jolly attitude and his big goofy smile and things always seem to fall into place. I wish I had been like him. I have NEVER been like him and probably never will be. There’s only so much you can do to change yourself, sometimes you born and labeled damaged goods. I can thank my own parents for that.

At least I tried I to face my fears and do things anyway which in itself is a big step. It’s okay to be fearful, everyone is probably afraid of something but making the attempt to overcome it, that’s like a pile of birthday presents you give to yourself, all wrapped up in silver and gold. It’s a birthday cake with your favorite filling, I choose vanilla cake, with chocolate frosting and chocolate cake with vanilla frosting, I’m not messing around here. I’ll even throw in some oatmeal raisin cookies and chocolate mint ice cream.

Life is a crap shoot. I admit, I am sometimes scared of the future, especially now that I am older. I was young once, just like you. I was young with hopeful thoughts and ideas and daydreams but I have lived a long time and Life has changed me. I hope it doesn’t change you too. Keep being positive and loving, honest and trusting. Even if you get hurt, it is worth the journey to experience that love, that excitement again. Take chances, as many as possible and don’t hesitate to try new things. If it doesn’t work out, move right on to something else. Don’t be like me, please, I beg of you, don’t be like me.

I’ll keep trying, in my own little corner of my world, but I don’t expect too much and that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of reality thrown in to the mix anyway. I am who I am, some good, some bad, just like we all are. No, I’m not giving up anytime soon, I’m still teaching you, my boy, my darling boy.”

Deep sadness – old man [3] (Photo credit: Zuhair Ahmad)

Free Write Friday- Kellie Elmore

Rhythm, a sequence in time repeated, featured in dance: an early moving picture demonstrates the waltz. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

They tell me it was a memory I never had, but of course, I am not convinced they are telling me the truth. I am so sure I remember reaching my long, skinny fingers and stroking the soft texture of the speckled leaves on the ground. Wasn’t it just yesterday that the leaves had been vibrant dancers in, yellow, red and orange, pirouetting for us from the upper limbs of the trees, beckoning us to admire them? Our group of friends sat on the dry ground in a circle and we clapped our hands heartily for their lovely show and whistled our love and appreciation. What a lovely dance they put on for us! We talked about it at dinner at the Inn, all of us feeling so lucky to have seen the beauty of art and nature coexisting. We felt blessed.

When we awoke the next morning, after inhaling strong cups of coffee and eating our sugar dusted, apple-cider doughnuts, we headed back eagerly for the early show of the dancing leaves yet something felt different to everyone. We all felt unsettled, out-of-place. It seemed that overnight, all the glorious leaves had slid to the floor, wet, subdued, stepped on, laying on the ground, curled up and crumpled, dead, on a pile of the old, worn, rusty bridge that should have been torn down forty years ago. The bridge had no use anymore except for photographic opportunities, no cars could travel on it, people felt unsteady walking on it. It was unsafe.

You and I, darling, had danced beneath those breathtaking leaves, we waltzed over and over again but you said you could NOT remember that. Well, I remembered it, with perfect clarity of young love, breathtaking beauty, birds sweetly chirping their melodious songs, and our picnic lunch. We waltzed underneath the bright sun, many years ago. I don’t know why you don’t remember it because it is so clear in my mind and SO IMPORTANT. I don’t understand, it meant so much to us then. Please try to remember, at least something, of that magical day, for me, sweetheart, for me. You look blankly at me or am I looking blankly at you? I don’t remember much of anything at all anymore. I was young once, that I know but weren’t you too?

Plinky Prompt: A call from an unexpected person. Who is it, and what is the conversation about?

• 

  Frosted Flakes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

  You receive a call from an unexpected person. Who is it, and what is the conversation about? Go! See all answers

• Edit answer |
• April 24, 2013 by hibernationnow

• The Phone Rings………

• Hi,
  I’m sure you don’t remember me but my name is Steven and we met in an airplane many years ago flying from Boston to New York. We dated a for a while and even though our chemistry and apparently quick friendship was amazing, I was a complete jerk. I remember I had an office trip for a month after (which I’m sure you thought you would never hear from me again) but I was utterly taken with you. Maybe smitten is a better word.  I sent you postcards, several postcards if I remember. We had a quick and easy banter and a similar sense of humor, and I remember how quick you were with answers, nobody had ever come back as quickly as you and I was enthralled by your wit and by your open smile and dancing green eyes. I can still picture them. It was a tough combination for me to ignore and I knew I couldn’t do it.

  Apparently, over your vacation at home, you had just gone through an extremely difficult situation with your family. A devastating one. You never told me what happened, you couldn’t at the time, you were bleeding still and raw and I was impatient. I forgot you were young and that my track record was really not good, that was my fault, entirely. I totally messed everything up.

  I would call you to say I would be there at your house at 8pm and I would not show up until 12 midnight, this happened more than once. You should have slammed the door in my face, I DID deserve it, I almost wish you had. You probably felt the same way. I remember you told me what your best friend said about me, it hurt but it was true: “There are NO MORE excuses, not even if his family was decimated in a fire, there is always time for a ten second call.” She was right, you were right. T

  I was a selfish, rich, overachiever who thought he had to prove himself in this world. But, that’s what I loved so much about you. Remember when you said your most favorite time with me was when we ate Frosted Flakes in my living room? That was YOU in a sentence. Your grin, your sparkling green eyes, the way you threw your head back, laughing. You didn’t care if I had a BMW or any kind or car, or the prestigious job I had. All you cared about was me, the real me. You saw the unguarded moment that no one else had ever picked up on, except for you. Eating Frosted Flakes in the living room, me trying to explain football to you!! ( Sorry, I couldn’t help that one)

  I’m here now to say, I deeply regret how I treated you. I saw on Facebook that you are married with two beautiful grown-up children, and of course, a dog. I’m glad and somehow I knew you would keep your last name! I am still single but I am in the beginning of making amends. I knew I had to start with you. Even though it was just a short time, thank you for being in my life.

• special thanks to Frosted Flakes

Carry on Tuesday: In youth we learn; in age we understand

Fred Carian (Photo credit: carianoff)

Charles and I were married for 53 years before he passed, alone, in the Alzheimer’s wing of the nursing home.  I am now living in my daughter Kaitlin’s house; I don’t want to be here and I’m sure they feel the same. I don’t blame them. I’m mourning more the loss of my  independence than my husband. I’m 93 and I’ve had enough. It is time for me to die.

Charles and I raised our family in Maine, we were “tough old birds” our children used to say.  But, life brings us nothing but surprises, change found us when we weren’t looking. We were getting older, Charles had gotten himself into a car accident, they took his license away, things were very different now.

We put our house up for sale, even though our children were upset, Charles insisted on moving to Independent Living. I didn’t want that but I had no choice. Not back in those days.

We lived first in Harrison House. It was a white building with a lovely garden. Charlie and I used to sit and admire the pink tulips and the big red rose bush. warm season. When Charles was still well and he could walk, with a cane, he would steal a red rose and give it to me. I would be scared he would get caught but he would just laugh and say “Heck, we’re payin’ for it”and we would laugh. When it got cold we would still be in the sun, with our puffy, blue jackets and our red plaid wool blanket on our laps.

After several months I noticed Charles acting a bit odd but I ignored it. He had just had his accident fairly recently and really what isn’t odd in old age? We forgot things, we misplace things. Getting old is nobody’s friend. I would cover for him when the children came to visit. We taught our children to be strong so I had to be strong, until I couldn’t anymore. I had hidden my feelings so long that they burst like the cold waters gushing out of the levees. Finally, I told them the things their dad was doing and they insisted their Dad see a neurologist. I postponed it twice. Finally, begrudgingly, our daughter Kaitlin forced us to go. She was with me when after all the tests, the doctor uttered the words: Moderate-Late Stage Alzheimer’s. Kaitlin gasped but I knew. I had always known.

He deteriorated rapidly. Once he got violent and struck me, they moved Charles to the nursing home in the Alzheimer’s wing next to where I lived. I stayed in our old room, alone. Charles recognized me once in a while and he would have a good few minutes on and off. The last time the grandchildren visited him he remembered them and I told their parents I did not want the grandchildren to ever come again. I wanted them to remember their grandpa as he was. A living memory. It was the least I could do.

Sometimes he would act like a baby other times he would throw things at me and and talk crazy. Who was this person?  I had difficulty remembering he was my Charlie but he wasn’t. He had completely forgotten who I was and would lash out at me, calling me “bitch woman” and calling me “evil.” “I’ve heard it said that in youth we learn, in age we understand but that’s not always the case. Oh no, not really. I made huge mistakes when I was old, more than when I was young. I pretended he was alright when I knew he wasn’t. I should have stuck up for myself like the girls do these days and  never have sold the darn house. I hadn’t learned a thing and I should have. I knew about Charlie’s illness long before the doctor diagnosed him but I refused to acknowledge it. Had I brought him to the doctor earlier he could have been on medicine to help him. I was an old fool, just a plain old fool. Getting old is the worst of your nightmares times ten thousand. Believe me, I know.

I used to have my life and oh, how I loved it. Independence is such a huge part of being alive, you may not realize that but it’s true. I can no longer drive. I stay in my daughter’s room, most times. On some Sundays, we visit the cemetery where we buried Charles. He was a fine man for many years and he had a terrible, terrible illness that changed him to someone else. I will always love that man I married but we buried a shell of a man who was not my husband. That was a completely different person, a stranger, that man was not my Charlie.