A Time for Reflection/Starting Over

I am back in the States now, sitting in my living room, looking at my new cat, or maybe it’s my new cat, and contemplating what has happened to my life in the past year and a half. This blog hasn’t been written to in close to 8 months, and frankly, I am glad for that. I haven’t even looked at it in that long, to be honest. I was sick of it, as little as I wrote in it at all, and I was sick of Belgium and sick of NATO and sick of a lot of things. Probably best I stopped when I did. This is all very public, of course.

Having said that, it is time to do my time in Belgium, and my six months back home, justice, and do it I will. I plan to start writing in this blog again, and pick up where I left off, though in a slightly different fashion. Now I will be writing after the fact, with a bit of wisdom that only hindsight may bring to one’s perspective.

I will start the effort off by saying that my last month and a half in Belgium was fairly chaotic, for many reasons. I had too much time on my hands for far too long, time alone, and that is not a good thing. I was out of sorts and homesick and ready to be done with my little expirement in living a more interesting life. I was done with Beglium, and I was done with Tibor, my Eastern European boss (of whom I will write more later). At the end, I was done with my big, cold apartment and I was done with my relationship with Gloria. I was done with many things, but, most of all, I was done with myself. I was sick of me and the weak and vulnerable person I had become.  I was ready to come home, but Belgium wasn’t quite done with me.

As you have probably read, I had the living shit kicked out of me in Belgium, and woke up in the back of a car driven by two strangers who only laughed when I asked where I was, who they were and where I was going. That was my first week in. Plenty more happened in my time there, much of it sort of crappy. I have spent a lot of time trying to figure out what went wrong, who was to blame (mostly me, of course) and how I might have made things better. Belgium was, in many respects, not a good experience. I have come back from that place a less secure and confident man, and one left casting about for his place in the world. I wish it were different, but still I feel myself flailing a bit.

I need to write about my experiences there, I need to get them out of my head and onto this electronic tablet and shine the light of day on them. I am tired of them clanking about in my head, a collection of questions without any answers. I need expiation. I am not certain that this is the way to achieve that, but I hope that it is. Nothing else has quite worked, so why not try and see what happens? Most of all, I need to make sense of all that was me in Belgium, because six months of lonely reflection has not helped further that cause one little bit.

A teaser. I will start the recounting at the end, and work my way back and forth as I see fit. This will not follow any chronological order. It will flow as it flows, a coherent timeline be damned. It will start with me, laying in bed, alone, at 3 AM on the night of November 20th. It will start, in another post, with me staring wide eyed at the clock next to my bed, after three nights of no sleep. It will start with me wondering when I will sleep, and also wondering at one point I would finally break down completely. It will start with me, in a pool of sweat but freezing cold and shaking, and fearful of another night alone, and fearful of seizures and dying by myself.

Sounds dramatic, and to me, at the time, it was. Now, it makes me feel like a bit of a drama queen to write this, but I want to be faithful to what I was feeling and experiencing at the time, so I err on the side of purple prose. And, just so you know, at the time, I was going cold turkey from a short term Xanax addiction, by myself, in that cold, lonely apartment in Mons, Belgium. And I wasn’t sure I would make it back to my home in America, to my family and friends. I wasn’t quite sure if I would make it back to sanity. To be honest, sometimes I still feel that way today. Some things you can’t leave behind, I suppose. They stay with you, much as Belgium will be with me until the day that I die.

The rest of the story is for another post. If anyone is left reading this, don’t let it worry you too much. I am safe, sound and Xanax free now. I’ll try to keep as much of it as light as possible, but I cannot promise that it will all be sunshine and laughs. Not at all.

Perhaps a lighter tack

Well, some of you may notice a few missing posts. Once again, I agonized over whether to publish something or not, and decided to go ahead an publish. And, once again, I decided later to take it down. Basically, what you do is go in and mark something private. I have done that a few times now with certain posts, and this is yet another case of that happening.

Sorry, but I decided I will keep some of these posts private until I return from overseas. No reason to have people reading them and not being able to discuss the details with me personally. To those who may have already read these posts, well, this wouldn’t be the first time, would it? I am still getting the hang of this whole blog thing. As a form of communication, it’s great. But, perhaps a lighter touch would be best from now on.  Originally, I had planned this is a take no prisoners, spare no punches sort of blog. And every once in a while, I find myself in the mood to write a post that reveal unsavory personal details about my life. I do not worry so much about me when doing this, but always have second thoughts about the impact of such posts on those back home. I don’t know, I have said this all before, so I will leave it at that. From now on, with something like this, I will go ahead and write, but mark it private, and then publish it when I am home.

On another note, movie recommendation: Rec. This is a Spanish film, and to describe it, I think, would be to ruin the fun for anyone who wants to see it. An American remake of it is coming out this year, so go watch the original before Hollywood ruins it for you. You will be glad you did.

How’s that for a lighter tack? Movie recommendations. By the way, I am working on setting up a Flikr site on which I will post pictures from my various trips, for pleasure and for work.  I will post the link here when I have all of the pictures uploaded.

And, regardless of the posts I have no determined to keep private, I have resolved to start writing in this blog again on a regular basis.

Nobody told me there would be days like these

It has been a long time, my friends, since last we spoke. I feel that I should offer an explanation. The short answer is that I have been fairly down for a while, missing family, missing friends, missing my home in the States. And when I feel this way, I typically become non-communicative. As in, I just don’t want to talk to friends, or family (those same people I am missing).  I withdraw. Not sure why, but this is how I have always been, and, I do not foresee that changing any time soon.

That said, I offer an apology. I know that many of you other there have been wondering where the heck I am. That is not to say I haven’t tried. On more than one occasion, I have written a post here, put it up and then reconsidered and took it back down. Suffice to say that I think about you often (I really do, all evidence to the contrary), and I hope to see you again soon.

Now, as to posting in this blog. As you know, postings have been rather sparse lately. And now you know why. But, I have resolved to start posting again on a regular basis, and so I start with this humble offering. It isn’t much, but it is a start.

I know that many of you out there will read this, and so I want to address something to you all, and I *will* follow up with a phone call (something else I have been neglecting for far too long):

Dad & Barbara & Bobbi: I have been thinking about you guys, and I hope all is well. I have been out of touch, and that is inexcusable. But, I do think about you, and I hope all is well in your area of the world. I know that things are difficult right now. But I also know you each, individually, are a fairly strong group of people. Bobbi most of all. To you all I have one thing to say:  this too shall pass. And it will.

Whitney, Vince and the Kids:  Sounds like a seventies era rock group, doesn’t it? Like a demented Partridge Family, except, as far as I know, no one in this group can sing.  Ryan can play any musical instrument she wants, but still, no one else in the family has any musical talent. But, that doesn’t really matter. Because, I love you guys anyway. Even though you will never hit the road and make millions of dollars on tour, that’s OK. I love you anyway.

Denise, Marty & Mike:  Another seventies era revival group. But, with a twist. My Aunt, my Uncle and my Grandfather, whom I think about quite often. I have been out of touch for far too long, and you have my apologies. I looked at the calendar on the wall today, and it told me that I have been here for six months. And I haven’t really spoken to any of you in that time. And I feel awful about that. Mike, if you are reading this, you should know that I am in the process of putting together a care package for you, complete with Belgian chocolates (which are really quite good) and other assorted stuff. I miss you, Mike, and I will, hopefully, speak to you soon. I just wanted to tell you I am sorry for being out of touch for so long. I think about Mimi on a daily basis, and I know you do too.

Mom – What can I say. You know more than anyone how things have been. I will call you soon, and I hope you are well. Love you.

Ryan & Sara – Last. but certainly not least. Sorry we have been playing phone tag lately. And I am very sorry that I haven’t been more proactive in getting in touch with you guys. Please do not think it is because I do not care, I do. Ryan, you’ve been my best friend for years, even though I do not show it sometimes, especially now. But just know this: I do think about you, and we will talk soon. Hell, I need you to fill me in on what’s going on with the Redskins.

Pat & Ben & assorted others:  Man cruise? Hell yes. Sign me up. Again. This time, no Xanax on the plane, and probably no $900 bar bill, either.

Rob & Crater & Doug & whoever else is reading this blog at TAC: Eat it. No, seriously, eat it.

Cathy  & Carrie: I hope you guys are doing very well. I see you on my Yahoo, and while I have not really been in the mood to chat, I will chat with you again, soon. I promise.

*****

That’s enough for now. I *will* be speaking to you again soon, though.

Just wondering, how many time can I say in this post: “I *will* be speaking to you soon”? Whatever, I do not feel like editing, so it goes out like this.

A New Beginning

I haven’t posted on this blog for quite some time, and for that I apologize. It was never my intention to stay away for so long, but, here you have it, I did. And I am not sure why, other than the fact that I just did not have a burning need to post. In fact, after my last post, I was disgusted by the idea of posting anything else. I sat here, in my living room, and tried to write something that I thought someone other than myself might find interesting, and I just could not do it. I would write, read, and then delete, and try to write again. But, nothing. Nothing.

What could I say? I asked myself that for a long time. To be honest, I never thought I would write in this blog again. I decided that I would just say to hell with it, and let it rot. I felt like this after my grandmother died, and she had died very soon after my other grandmother died. To be honest, after this, I was in a bad place for a while, and I didn’t really want to talk to you guys. I didn’t really want to talk to anybody.

And yet, here I am again. I do not know why. Had you asked me this morning if I would be posting another blog entry, I would have said no. But, as you can see, here I am again.

Have you ever felt that you miss someone so much that it hurts, it actually causes you pain? Yes or no? Me, I would say yes. I miss Mimi, my grandmother, so much sometimes that it hurts me to think about her not being here any more. It hurts me so much I don’t want to talk to anyone, or be around anyone. And I certainly do not want to write in this stupid blog.

*****

I’ve met someone, though we met a while ago. That doesn’t make much sense, so I will explain. She lived in Seattle, and I went to Seattle for business, a couple of times. I met here there. Funny thing is, she is in Europe now, working for the Peace Corps, and we have recently become reacquainted. And. And. And. She is as lovely as I remember her being, and as smart and as witty and as compassionate.  She may read this blog, so I will keep it toned down, but she is something special, I mean really special. All of my friends should look at their wives or girlfriends and weep because they are not she.

Yeah, I mean that. I mean exactly that.

Her name is Monica, and how lovely a name have you ever heard?

A Tale of Two Women

 On Friday, March 14, Erma G. Grantham passed away. She died in Cypress, TX., but really was a resident of the whole state. She lived in many places, most notably in Alice, TX., where I spent a good part of my childhood growing into the person I am today.

A few weeks before I came to Belgium, another good woman passed from the world, and my (our) lives. Her name was Jean Folan. She died at her home in Alexandria, VA. She had been under hospice care for quite some time before her eventual passing. I, along with my sister, mother, grandfather and aunt, were at the house at the time, so we were able to say our final goodbyes.

Both were fine women, and meant a great deal to me. They were my grandmothers, and women who played  a large part in making me the man I am today. Well, all of the good things that I am. I have to take credit, or the blame as it were, for all of the bad things that I might be.

These two women, a study in contrasts. Erma was my father’s mother. She was religious, and conservative and a strong woman, the product of the unforgiving country in which she lived, loved and raised a family. She was sharp as a tack, too. You didn’t get many things by her. These are the things that I remember about her. A sense of grace, and funny. She always made me laugh. And she was pretty free with the sugar. That’s what she said when she wanted a kiss, or wanted to give one of her grandchildren a kiss: pass me some of that sugar. I remember my mother being afraid she would spoil me with all of the affection that she never failed to lavish upon me. Afraid she might molly coddle me with her kisses, with her hugs, with her holding me in her arms, rocking her chair back and forth.

Jean, or Mimi as she liked my sister and I to call her (never call me Grandma, she was fond of saying, though I would just to get her goat sometimes), was my mother’s mother. And she was brash, loud and bold. She had an opinion on most things, and was never afraid to tell you what it might be. And I was glad to hear them, because, in many ways, her views informed my own views of the world, from childhood until adulthood. And I suspect they will, always. She was my best friend when I was younger, and she never failed to be there for me when I needed her. And I often did. More times than I am able to count. I will never owe so much to anyone as I owe to the memory of Mimi, and to her fine husband, my grandfather, Mike. They both mean more to me, maybe even more now, than I am able to articulate.

How to quantify the love that one feels, or express the feelings of loss at the passing of those that they love? It may be simply beyond me to do so in any intelligible fashion. What I know is this: these women, my grandmothers, they have left us, but, in the grace and beauty of their lives, they have left a permanent impression upon my soul. Never was any one person so lucky than to have two women such as these in his life. I am humbled by them, and I will never forget the simple safety I felt by being in their arms, and in their hearts.

They say you have to love family, but that’s not always true, is it? I was lucky, though, for I had two women who loved me unconditionally, even when, at least as I viewed it, I was unworthy of that love. But still, it was given freely, and nothing was asked in return. God bless their memories, and long may they live in our hearts.

I love you Grandma, and I love you Mimi. The circle of life brings us all home again one day. Until I see you next, know this: you will never be far from my thoughts, or my heart.  I hope that I can make you proud, and repay even a fraction of the gifts that you tenderly bestowed upon me.

There will be blood

Ok, I don’t want to hear any arguments, or back talk. Got it? Good.

Now, go see this movie: There Will be Blood. And do it quickly. It is, perhaps, one of the best movies I have ever seen. And, if it is good enough for me, well, do I need to finish that sentence and make us all feel bad?

I think not. Just go get the movie. No backtalk, just do it.

Howdy, Strangers

Well, here I am, posting again. I will start with an apology, as I have not posted in a while. I seem to have been infected with some type of French ennui, a malaise, a lethargy. Oh, and probably one of the worst flu bugs in the recorded history of man.

This was no ordinary flu, mind you. Oh, yeah, you have the flu back in America. But, this was just somehow different. It started with a fleeting tickle in the back of my throat. Then, a sniffle or two. I know, sounds familiar, but just you wait. That soon progressed to full on fever and me quoting existentialist poets in a bath tub filled with ice. Along with the headache came the overpowering desire to look down my nose at all things non-French. And to compare life to zee bread, you know? Soon, all of my American buddies were shying away from me, but the French loved me.  I was, for a few short days, the toast of France and French Belgium. I attended art shows, actually enjoyed mimes and my jeans somehow grew so tight that one could count the hairs on my buttocks. All two of them.

Thankfully, I am feeling more like myself. American, in other words. I am back to being mistrustful of my surroundings and only eating Rice-A-Roni and anything, ANYTHING, made by Chef-Boy-Ardee. Ah, it’s good to be me again.

So, the flu has subsided, the feelings of emptiness have cleared up, and I am back to writing in this, my one true testament. Sorry to have been away for so long.

*****

A big shout out to the care package that Ryan and Sara sent me a few weeks ago. I rummaged through it, took the CDs to work, read through the books on Belgium and left everything else in the box. I came home tonight, weary and weakened from my illness, and realized: D’oh. I forgot to buy toilet paper, and nary a paper product was in sight. The stores are all closed at 6, so, in this country, if you haven’t bought it by then, you go without. I see the care package on the table, and desperately rummage around and find: two rolls of toilet paper!  And, I swear to you this, at that moment, never have I been as grateful as I was right then. That feeling will subside, of course, and I will go back to being an unworthy friend. But, until then: thanks, guys – it’s the small things that seem to matter most.

*****

Yeah, I agree: what an odd post this is. I blame the plants. What’s that, you ask, the plants? Why, yes. When you go to a doctor in Belgium, unless you specify otherwise, you are often given a prescription for herbal remedies. For my cold, I believe I was given a prescription for Extract of Venus Fly Trap. While it may me feel marginally better, I do now sit in shady areas with my mouth open, waiting for flies to crawl into my maw. The other side effect is I feel slightly goofy. Only slightly, mind you, and that is much better than spending your time planning a land war in Africa or Indochina. One that you have no hope of winning, by the way. Just like the French!

Criss Cross

 Recently, a co-worker and I were taking a train trip together, to some place, where is not important. We do now really know one another very well, and frankly, I was worried that we would have nothing to talk about while on the long trip. However, after an hour of awkward conversation, stopping and starting in fits and starts, we both realized that we had something in common. Each of us had someone in our lives who we destest, reviled and both of our lives would be better if the people in question just…disappeared.

As will naturally happen in such situations, our conversation turned to murder, to homicide. Surely, said my co-worker, we could not just off the people, as everyone knows that we detest them. Each of us has a motive, and would be instantly suspected by the police. Then, I hit upon a idea: we would each do the other’s murder. We would trip up the police because we wouldn’t be killing the person we detested. No, we would be killing a complete stranger. Criss cross, you see, criss cross. A brilliant plan, the perfect murders! Who would suspect, who could prove our foil? Genius!

Oh, wait, the phone is ringing, be right back…

Stupid Avon ladies. They are rife in this country. Now, where was I? Hmmm, let me just read back through this for a moment.

Uhm, wait, this isn’t the story I meant to tell, not at all. Ha, ha, uh yeah, anyway, I meant to tell the story of another criss cross here, so let me just switch topics. This criss cross is actually a switch in jobs. I will attempt to be brief:

Keith was called into the office of his boss, and told that over the next three months, he would be traveling quite a bit. This was news to Keith, and was certainly news to his wife, who accompanied him out here to Belgium. He wasn’t too happy about it. I, on the other hand, would, if not exactly welcome the opportunity, well, it would force me out of Mons to see Europe. So, I had a proposal for him: let’s switch jobs. You take mine, which requires hardly any travel, and I will take yours. He was amenable, and so we approached our NATO project manager with the idea, and he thought it might be a good idea.

So, the upshot of all of this is that, starting in March, I will be doing some traveling around Europe: Lisbon, Spain, Norway, the Netherlands, etc. Over the next three months or so, I figure to see at least a little bit of Europe. As soon as I know it, I will post my itinerary here. If you want anything from the places I will be visiting, leave a comment and I will ship it to you.

An Oversight

Now, to correct a festering oversight. This is different than the festering boils I typically find upon my ass, usually due to a lack of good hygiene. No, this oversight is something worse.

A few weeks ago, regular readers may remember, I took a gratuitous shot at a good friend of mine. I implied that he might be gay, and that, since Belgium has no closets, he may wish to describe the moment that he revealed to the world that he was gay as a “4 door warddrobe moment” (as this is what passes for a closet in Belgium) instead of as “The day I came out of the closet”.

In response, he left a comment on that blog post, and that is where I assumed it had ended. I learned later that this was not the case. Instead, he devoted an entire Website to me in response. And it is very, very funny.

So, go visit it at: CluelessIndeed. Perhaps you will agree with me, when you do, that this is the work of comedic genius. I know I laughed at it. Ok, I actually wept, but whatever.

BTW – this particular post may not be safe for the kids. Just a thought.

An Aside

Taking a break from the vainglorious enterprise that is this blog, I want to recommend a book that I have recently been reading, titled America’s Secret War. It details the rise of Al Queda, but, more importantly, presents a very compelling view of why the United States is at war in Iraq today, and the actions that precipitated the rise of the Taliban and AQ.

Agree or disagree with the war, but I agree with the author that the people involved on either side are not fools, and thus, there is a rationale for the actions of the protagonists. Read it and tell me what you think.