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Archive for March, 2009

841216message-in-a-bottle-video-release-posters

I was shopping at Trader Joe’s when he called from Logan. He’d gone through security already and was in search for a Starbucks.

We stayed in a hotel near the airport last night, after dropping the girls at their dad’s near Boston anyway, we got a sweet deal on a nice hotel with a not-so-warm whirlpool but near a great Mexican restaurant…the hotel had free parking for my car and a free shuttle to the airport for him.

We saved ourselves a few hours this morning by already being there.

When he got on the shuttle, I went to my car and defrosted the windshield and drove out of the parking lot to head north, towards home. His shuttle was still idling in the hotel parking lot.

I was almost done with my marketing, having stopped at TJ’s, and he called from the airport.

“I teared up when I watched your car drive out of the parking lot,” he said over the phone, sounding a little shaky.

I had to quickly stop grinding my coffee and get to the nearest corner so no one would see me choke and cry a bit. I finally composed myself when he diverted to a reminder of our Margaritas last night and what happened after.

Just a few weeks ago, I was shopping for ingredients for his birthday cake and home made soups and grapefruit and intimate things.

Today, I shopped for Q-tips and Farina and a single serving container of Fiesta Dip.

The last two weeks were a whirlwind of  my own work, caring for the girls, keeping up with the house and getting him ready for two gigs. The first is back down on a yacht in the islands and then he will be home in two weeks for approximately sixteen hours before switching wardrobes and flying to Europe to play where it is cooler and more formal (I just saw him try on his suit to pack for the European gig…) 

On top of it all, we went away for four days up north to visit with his family, combined with a fundraiser. There, he played with a guitarist (his cousin), an amazing drummer and bassist. It was a long set in the middle of twelve hours of other very talented local New England musicians, raising money for music scholarships.

At the beginning of the night, we were having dinner and said to me, “so, when I am done playing tonight, let’s get drunk.”

The wine (free) kept flowing, and by the end of the night, we were slightly drunk. I found myself up on stage at midnight with him singing solo, Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel”. His brother-in-law followed along on the guitar and another guy I didn’t know played bass. J played the piano. I sang.

Thankfully, wine doesn’t affect my tune, nor does it affect my remembering the words. 

On a separate occasion, we brought the girls up north to meet his family for a few days and by the end of it, his nephew was calling them his cousins. 

It all feels quite normal and I try hard not to seem starry eyed and gaga and all that, but in reality what I feel is a realness to where I am in my life with him and the girls. I feel gratitude for this love, all around.

Yesterday morning, we were still here at home, we’d dropped the girls off at school and the bags were packed for our trip down to Boston (and his for his gig) later in the day.

I made coffee and food and he looked over at me and said “let’s take this back to bed.”

It’s not quite what you think, because, yes, we got naked and went back to bed with our breakfast.

But on the way upstairs, he went to my tv cabinet and looked through my dvds. I happened to have a copy of “Message in a Bottle” that my mom had just given me. As a side note, my mother is on the strange side when it comes to buying movies…she seems to forget what she already has in her collection. And the uncanniness that she should actually buy TWO COPIES of “Message in a Bottle”, really gets me.

He held it up. “Have you seen this?”

I shook my head and explained how I ended up with it. I had heard it was a definite cheesy chick flick. I had never bothered watching it.

“It has Paul Newman in it!” he exclaimed.

So, we got in bed and started watching. About ten minutes into it, he turned to me and said, “Just for the record, the only reason I wanted to watch this was because Paul Newman is in it.”

He said it again and again, after every painful fifteen minutes of it.  “Remember, I’m only watching this ’cause Paul Newman’s in it.”

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Watching Movies

bandb

Leave it to J, he can always find a rerun of “Good Will Hunting” on television. Seriously. No matter the day or time.

We love movies. I always have, and coming together with J, we watch alot of them, especially independent quirky films. We’ve seen a great many, a most recent rental was “Bottle Shock”, about Napa Valley wineries placing themselves on the international map in the wine-world.

The other night we watched Vie en Rose, the story of Edith Piaf. We chose it mainly because J is about to play a two week private gig on a yacht back down in the islands, for a Polish couple who requested French and Italian tunes on top of his regular repertoire. The story was somber but inspiring with how despite Piaf’s life was filled with misfortune, her spirit was one connected with her voice and singing and her ability to live through love.

The next night, we were in his room and decided to look through is dvd collection and find a movie to watch. I’d never seen Spinal Tap, so we put that one in. I had a particularly good time recognizing actors from other movies and tv shows, like the guy who played Lenny on Laverne and Shirley. And Fran Drescher, young and beautiful.

While looking through J’s sweet collection of classics, I came across a boxed set of Beavis and Butthead.

I held it up. “Um, Beavis and Butthead?”

He shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “What can I say? I get a kick out of that for some reason.”

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iphone

1. Blue singing to herself in the back seat of the car while Red reads “The Boxcar Children”.

2. Photos. Photos of the kids. Photos of good places I’ve been. Photos of my artwork. Photos of my family. Photos of J.

3. The ringing of Skype on my computer in the mornings.

4. Paying off the credit card.

5. Cheese and Ritz Crackers.

6. Dr. Pepper flavored Bonnie Belle Lip Smackers. 

7. Having the girls in school two blocks from home.

8. Making room in the drawers, closets and storage for when he comes home for good.

9. Not having to or wanting to go anywhere during a snowstorm.

10. A fully charged battery on the cell phone. Specifically, MY NEW iPHONE!!!!

11. Hymns from my church, even though I no longer believe in my church.

12. Anything made out of fleece.

13. A Starbucks with a fireplace.

14. Blue snoring in her bed

15. A neighbor with a snowplow on his truck.

16. Blistex

17. Accomplishing waxing the bikini line.

18. A working furnace

19. Sleeping with him next to me

20. Landing safely

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pansukian-beach-cabana

Due to J’s strenuous 5-6 hours of playing piano every night, he tends to need some work on his shoulders and neck and seems to manage to find the best massage people ever, no matter the city, no matter the town, no matter the island.

When I am around, I do the work. I like it. It usually ends up in nakedness. Massage and nakedness go hand in hand, you know.

By the end of his first week, he’d already found a beach with a massage hut on it and got worked on by a large Caribbean man named Erol. 

He went back to Erol a few times before I got there…he went back one day, excited to get another massage from Erol, the only masseuse who has worked out a particular problem in between his shoulder and neck (other than me of course). But Erol wasn’t there. The hut was gone and “they” were pouring a new cement foundation and Erol wouldn’t be back for three days.

Fortunately, three days and a bad wimpy massage later from a local gym, J was back getting massaged by Erol.

When I arrived, we went down to that beach. I have always been hesitant to get a professional massage because the one I had about six years ago was by a rather large talkative woman who poked and prodded in a few places but left me feeling more stressed out than massaged.

Right away, J led us to Erol’s cabana where he got us in for a couple’s massage. I had this lady that didn’t speak English (thus, the talking thing would be out of the question) but I questioned her ability to work out the kinks that had built up in my back, neck and arm (painful thoratic issues, my arm turns blue sometimes…Google it). But it was only $35 bucks so we went for it. 

At first, I kept wanting to poke my head up and look around. See what J was doing. Even though I knew he was probably going to be doing some sleeping.

I finally relaxed and the small non-English-speaking lady massaged my back and hips and butt and all the right places that I was feeling hurt, from my day of flying, nights up late at the bar and sleeping on a horrid bed next to J with springs poking up into me all night. Still worth it, but man, that bed sucked. Nothing like “being on top” and having a spring poking into your knee in the heat of passion.

Anyway, the massage lady was doing all the right things and then we got to the end and I was drifting off and feeling good and relaxed and then she started in on these chopping motions all over my back and legs. It’s something that reminded me remotely of when I was a kid and my grandpa would pound me on the back and I’d go “baa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!” and laugh because he was making my voice vibrate.

So, basically, in the end, she reversed what she had just done, the soothing, calming rub, by karate chopping my entire body. When we were sitting on the beach afterwards, I looked over at J and said, “did Erol do that chopping thing to you at the end there?” And he goes, “Yeah. No one’s ever done that to me before. It was, um, interesting.”  

“Yeah,” I said. “Now I need another massage to recuperate from my massage!!”

He arrived home two hours before our big snowstorm hit on Sunday evening, making the shuttle just in time to meet us halfway, north of Boston. Like me the week before, traveling home from the island, he’d been up for over 24 hours by the time we got in bed. Having him in my bed for the first time in three months, wrapped around me with fingers in my  hair and face against my back, was like Christmas. The comforters and pillows and feather bed and handmade mattress were a major step up from what he had been sleeping on the last few months. 

We spent yesterday at home with the girls since they had a snow day. And today we had lunch with some friends and looked at a house with our realtor. (Yeah, I just said that.)

As he left this evening to spend tomorrow with his mom up north, (he’ll be home Thursday morning) he sat on my stairs pulling on his boots and talked about getting coffee as he drove up to his mom’s house, so he could stay awake for the drive.

“A cup of coffee will get me home okay,” he said.

And then immediately he turned and looked me in the eye and pointed to my front doorway and said, “What am I saying? THIS is home.”

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