A different kind of war

Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, and his Russian counterpart, Vladimir Putin, attend a summit in the Élysée Palace, Paris, on 9 December. Photograph: Mikhail Metzel/Tass

In February, Russia and Belarus initiated war games, an exercise in capabilities, in Belarus, Northwest of Ukraine. Shortly afterward, fighting in “separatist zones” in Eastern Ukraine intensified. On the 24th of February, Russian President Vladamir Putin announced a “special military campaign to support the right of the peoples of Ukraine to self-determination.” Within minutes of Putin’s announcement, explosions were reported in Kyiv, Kharkiv, Odessa, and the Donbas, Russian troops had landed in Mariupol and Odessa, Russina military vehicles entered Ukraine through Senkivka near Belarus, The Country of Ukraine was attacked on all sides by a foriegn military campaign, promising not to occupy but still taking territory.

It is believed that President Putin envisioned a three day campaign with Ukraine surrendering quickly, as shown by his procession of tanks with inadequate fuel. It is presently day fifty five and the Ukrainians have had meaningful victories. They sank the Moskva, a flagship of the Russian Navy; there is talk of them winning the war.

Ukraine doesn’t have many military targets, but with a civilian, resistance style force everything is a target. Civilian buildings, schools, hospitals and apartment complexes are now targets. When the refugees return it will be to rubble.

While millions of women and children have escaped to the west via Poland and other neighboring countries, the men have stayed behind to fight like the corned animals they been forced to become, fighting to protect their homes in a battlefield of their homes. It feels odd to watch some of the footage from the area; Gentle older men in tweed jackets with shotguns and blood on their shirts walking through the bombed out remains of their village. Without gunfire the scene is peaceful, stray dogs and birds still around. The determination and bravery of the Ukrainian people is highlighted in an exchange between a Ukrainian outpost on an island off the coast. Offered the opportunity of safe passage upon surrender, the small contingent of Ukrainians replied “Go fuck yourself.” Most of the Ukrainian soldiers survived the immediate, brutal shelling by the warship.

Russia entered the conflict with more soldiers on the border than they sent into Afghanistan in the 80s. The war is routinely referred to as the biggest since WWII. But this war is unique.

This is the first ground war in a nuclear power. The Ukraine has 16 nuclear reactors, including the remains of Chernobyl. There is not an “off” switch for nuclear facilities, they require specialized maintenance constantly. The potential for fifteen more Chernobyls rests in the hands of Russian conscripts as they move across Ukraine. The Chernobyl site itself was “occupied” by Russia until radiation poisoning convinced them to abandon the site.

An “end game” is difficult to discern. There have been reports of Ukrainians being kidnapped and relocated in Russia, so the speculation is that Putin is aiming for an unoccupied buffer zone formerly known as The Ukraine. There is the possibility Russia will lose, but only if Putin does not exercise his nuclear and biological weapons abilities. America has stayed out other than providing weapons, fearing a direct conflict between Russia and the United States of America, two nuclear powers with no common border. A war between the two could only be fought with missiles and invasion forces. Picture New York City in Mariupol’s condition, imagine what is taking place in the bombed out board rooms and stock exchange.

If Putin does decide to go “all in” on genocide, will the world react? Right now we’re trying cold war tactics, sanctions and such, because WWIII is not where anyone wants this to go. By using weapons of mass destruction in Ukraine, any belief that Putin would not use them in a larger conflict are erased. If we enter a war with Russia we face the same tactics, will he bomb New York City or Wichita? We haven’t experienced civilian casualties since Pearl Harbor. An end of civilization may be closer than we think.

In the alternative, how long can we stay out of this, watching daily acts of genocide? Is that not also an end of civilization? There is enough of the old warrior still within me to say the end of the world is preferable to a world that accepts occasional genocide. As you might have guessed from my “Roland the headless Thompson Gunner” shirt the other day, I can only imagine how I would have reacted seven years ago, before my TBI. Single with few ties I’m sure I would visit the Ukraine Embassy and volunteer. War is an awful thing, and should be waged by those with an appreciation of life and death, by those who love their children.

The hero of Ukraine has turned out to be a former comedian, Volodymyr Oleksandrovych Zelenskyy, president of Ukraine. Never cowering, leading his people calmly. Of all the things he has said this stands out to me; “I don’t want my portraits to hang in your offices. . .Hang pictures of your children there and look them in the eyes before every decision.” Volodymyr emits “soul,” infecting his people with confidence and letting them see their own strengths. As Americans, we are not familiar with war at our doorsteps. The Ukrainian people are fighting for a homeland they are standing in, often the very ground they sleep over, knowing that if they lose they will be erased in the history of the victor.

Despite the resilience of the Ukrainian people, Russia has superior numbers and hardware. Even if they choose to slug it out with ground forces, it is their war to lose. How they lose it may change our world forever.

In some ways, Ukraine has already won.

Tough Break, Carl

Janice and I with John Fetterman. 14 April 22 Photo Credit alamy
Janice isn’t angry, just bad 1/1000 of a second

I have memories of working with a man named Carl. He was not a nice man, but played the part of “everyman,” the guy who has something in common with you when he needed your help. I exposed his incompetence to Wing Command and he said to me, “May I read your name in the newspaper.” Habitually late, Carl himself now referred to as “late,” he missed his chance last week.

Janice has followed the career of John Fetterman for seventeen years, from when he first caught headlines as “The Tattooed Mayor” in Braddock, PA. He is an amazing man, and being such is an amazing politician. Atypical in every way, now Lieutenant Governor, he’s in the primaries for United States Senator, replacing the retiring Pat Toomy. Janice has been a contributor, when she can, of small amounts; often $4.20. Yes John is a pro legalization politician.

He spoke at a gathering last week, wearing a sweat shirt and shorts. An air not of the confidence of a big man (he’s 6’9″) but a man secure in sharing his space, in many ways his life, with you. Inviting. His story is inspiring, more so to marginalized communities. Starting as a nobody, “America’s coolest mayor“( as described by The Guardian on 14 July, 2009), went worldwide. Unconventional, big, bald, and tattooed, he made change where others had failed. His list of successes is amazing. What is more amazing is the little stories, out side of the mainstream, when John wasn’t being a politician; sometimes risking his position, when no one was watching. When they didn’t like watching, the legislature attached a rider to the budget forbidding flying flags other than American or Pennsylvanian in order to force him to take down the rainbow flag which he flew from his office.

We had arrived early (1st) and sat in the empty room for almost an hour, in the few existing chairs near the podium. At about eleven forty five people started showing up, slowly filling the room. He entered the room from the side door right about twelve, slowly working his way through several stops to shake every hand, hear every name. After he spoke he returned to the crowd, and did not leave until he had spoken with everyone who wanted to speak to him. As the crowd thinned, a few other people came over to us and introduced themselves, two queer women with disabilities, and we became the “Old Disabled Queers” contingent.

The old disabled queer continent; Maggie, Amy, John Fetterman, Janice, and me

They approached us because we are somewhat flamboyant, Janice beautiful with freshly dyed hair and a Fetterman shirt with a rainbow heart, me in a kilt with Bi pride pleats, and a Warren Zevon t-shirt. Their first question? “Do you have the car with all the queer stickers out front?” John’s wife Gisele, a great human being by her own rights approached Janice and spoke with our little group for a bit. Here is the sad part. I used Janice’s camera through the day to take pictures, and when Giselle and Janice posed for everyone, I failed to operate the camera, we had no good pictures but our new friends shared theirs.

selfie Janice managed to take with Gisele

As much as we would like to support our local candidate, Malcolm Kenyatta, we intend to cast our votes for John Fetterman. This is not Malcolm’s year, he does not have state wide recognition. Malcolm presently polls at 4%, John is at 41%, and Conor Lamb has 17%. The only real competition is undecided, with 37%. Fetterman has visited each of the 67 counties in Pennsylvania and is known globally for the way he turned Braddock around. Lamb has openly (and falsely) attacked a fellow Democrat as being a Socialist. Malcolm’s most self beneficial move would be to withdraw and support Fetterman, giving him a reason to be on the news so he can be remembered next time as a good guy.

On the Republican side, the candidates seem to be trying to “out Trump” each other. None reside in the state. In the lead is Dr. Oz, whose commercials emphasize his anti-science, transphobic, and anti-choice positions. Really. He promotes these stands, and ties himself to Trump. One of his campaign promises is to “Fire Fauci.” Some folks believe each and every one of these positions is a reason to elect a Senator. The number of such people should be determined based on the outcome of the primary elections this May.

When we attended the Bucksmont Pride fair last year we met Malcolm, and a film crew making a documentary about the election. Janice promised Malcolm (on film) to vote for him in the primary. They will be coming over to film another segment when we vote. Suddenly, we are noticed as “members of the LGBTQ community.” Maybe because Janice tells everyone about our Big Gay Christmas tree. I’m sure the crew will maintain the secrecy of our votes, and we have discussed whether we should mention that we’re not voting for Malcolm and why. They are already aware of our change of position.

Our 7′ rainbow spiral tree, somewhere around 2000 LED lights and meaningful ornaments
AKA Big Gay Christmas tree

One thing that happened at the rally I hadn’t expected, was all the assumptions made. My chameleon nature, which allows people to be confident enough to make “between us” statements and has been exceptionally useful in previous careers as I recall, needs to be addressed. First and foremost, “But if you want money for people with minds that hate, All I can tell you is brother you have to wait.” I fit in because I’m not judging you, I’m not offended when you make derogatory statements against my beliefs. I get bored by it, but unless it’s aggressive I can’t be bothered. I am conservative, but no longer Republican. I am Christian, as in “a follower of Christ” and not “enforcer of the words I want to believe but don’t understand.” I am Bisexual, and have been for 43 years. I have been married four times, widowed once. I have experienced prejudice against a variety of my imagined traits. Before you ever assume anything about me just ask, I have no secrets. Screw you Carl.

It’s good to writing again.

The Whimper

T. S. Elliot said the world would end not with a bang but a whimper. We are hearing that whimper now. It is saying “I don’t deserve this.” Our society is slowly collapsing, moving along a path predicted in 1970. We see systems failing and apply band aids.

While it is possible that humans cannot exist without a percentage of anti-social behavior, that percentage has been rising for decades. Road rage was perhaps the first noticeable symptom of the death of civility, and today it is murder. People killing each other, often with no obvious reason other than “they deserved it.” The loss of trust in the justice system has created a society of judges, judging each other and executing sentences. The personal thought that someone deserves something moves to action. How guilty of this are you? It doesn’t matter if you are cheering the death of a monster or mud splashed on a pedestrian, we do not have the authority to determine what someone else deserves. We do not even have the authority to determine what we as individuals deserve, the conflict of interests is more than most people can handle.

I have seen one person in a group say “I’m not placing any blame” and another say “It wasn’t my fault.” People are preoccupied with defending themselves against the attacks more common in society. Even when there isn’t an attack.

Generations pass every week these days. What used to last decades, “The greatest generation,” “Baby Boomers,” is now a year, maybe two. Generation X, Y, Z, millennials, and some others have taken place in the last forty years. And they each don’t like the others. Because they’re a few years apart in age? Yep. Any distinction is a reason for prejudice. I’m thinking that using a numerical factor could indicate how far away from the greatest generation you are, in my case “Boomer¹²” indicating the twelfth year of the baby boom.

I am queer, and in the last few years what was once an all inclusive rainbow appears to have passed through a spectrometer, each individual Pantone color has a separate flag, prejudices against each other are as prominent as prejudices against the rainbow.

Despite pleas from every segment of society to stop killing each other, Philadelphia had over 500 homicides last year, and is on pace to surpass that number this year. When the news can’t keep track of how many people were shot today I think we can call it out of control, as if there was ever any control. I may be a bit sensitive, but when one victim’s mother said her child had died from a bullet that wasn’t meant for him, it seemed that she meant the bullet was for someone else, bullets in the air are just a fact of life.

A pandemic, sickening and killing people around the world, is doubted as being a hoax by a surprising number of Americans. We are presently averaging over one thousands deaths in America every day. Over one million Americans have died, over six million in the world. That’s a pretty elaborate hoax. Yet people still get into physical confrontations over wearing a mask.

The great America work ethic, A.K.A. working until you drop, has made way for a workforce that demands comfort in the workplace and wages more in line with the executives of the company. The chase for a “living wage” is unending. There are a few bright lights; “Freestores” are beginning to appear, but the pursuit of conspicuous consumption is going as strong as ever.

And the Internet.

What was once called “The information super highway” has become so congested with misinformation, disinformation, and unfiltered opinions that credible information is harder to locate than ever. “Concerned citizens” routinely take two sided issues and make them multi-dimensional twelve sided issues; whatever was being decided is lost in arguments over subtleties. “Moderation Bots” misinterpret meanings, protesting something that is banned can cause the protestor to be banned for mentioning what the protest was against. Meanings shift by the hour, I am routinely told not to identify as “Queer” because “Queer” is an insult to queers. Guess what Mr. Politically Correct, we took the word back thirty years ago and are proud to be queer.

People exist as internet personalities, sometimes several. These creatures of electrons feed on attention, “likes,” and comments. “Original content” is an undefined buzzword. The number of connections is considered more important than the quality of those connections. People leave their lives behind as they chase someone they met on the internet. Life in the internet reduces humanity, one human at a time.

When a complex system fails, it happens slowly, one element at a time. The lost elements place strain on the remaining elements, which eventually fail themselves, until there is not enough left to maintain the system. We are experiencing failures in the areas of civility and responsibility, the glues which hold society together. I don’t even know if there is time to reverse the damage.

In the “big picture,” there is no good and bad. Those who survive will use the skills that helped them survive to create new communities. Some of those communities will be based in sharing, some will be based in hoarding. It is not as if we will no longer be human, all the facets of humanity will be present. It will be the end of the world as we know it, but not the end of the world.

Love and Mental Illness

I am recognizing, some six years after my Traumatic Brain Injury, just how much damage I sustained. I may be smarter than the average bear, but I live with people, not bears. My girlfriend, who I love immensely, also has some mental health issues. From her point of view, I have been a bear.

There are huge portions of my past that I either do not remember, or don’t believe my memories. Conflicting memories that range to the impossible. In fact, that’s the only way I can tell if a memory is false, when it’s impossible. Other stuff might have happened, could have happened, I am not always sure. Memories of who I was don’t always match who I am today, and I wonder if there is any reason to dwell on it. What difference does it make? I am here today, so I survived.

I find myself far more vulnerable than I remember ever feeling, which is in contrast with the world in which I am judged as manipulative. Janice is under the impression I have said things which I know for a fact I didn’t say. She interprets based on nothing I am aware of, if I say something she perceives as negative I am responsible for an entire diatribe (which never occurred) in which I told her to do something. Last night I commented that our wine glasses were different sizes and she immediately moved her glass away and said I had told her she drinks too much and should stop. I have enough of my brain left to know I did not say she drinks too much or that she should stop. That does not matter. She will forever remember last night as the night I berated her about drinking.

She shares a disability with my father; what she mishears she interprets as some nature of attack. We’ve spoken about it. and she is aware of it on an intellectual level, but she still considers everything I say lately as something other than it is. Often nothing has to be said for her to pass judgement on a conversation which did not take place. She believes I feel a certain way (for no reason), and then believes that I have made demands based on those feelings.

Recently she told me she is planning to leave, and laid out all of her reasons. I have to agree that if those reasons were true she should leave, but they are not. It does not matter, she believes they are true. Any attempt to inject reality into the conversation was seen as arguing. Lately I don’t have to say anything to be arguing.

For three years I have been troubled by her lack of understanding, and it never occurred to me to understand her. Simply saying “That’s not what I said” has been useless, She believes I have said these things and that is all that really matters. Did I ever take the time to understand why she misinterprets my words? No. She has been no more to blame than I.

I had hoped to try couples counseling, a third party would be more believable than I am in determining what I actually say. The possibility exists that I am insane and saying things I don’t remember. Her insurance has been less than helpful in providing therapy, only a few of the psychiatrists in our area accept it, those that do are not accepting new patients. She contacted Medicare to change insurance, and they placed her into one she did not choose which is worse than her original insurance. Immediate help is not available.

It is difficult to have confidence in anything. I am susceptible to believing I might not know what I thought I did, I can’t argue. It turns out I don’t have to, she can handle it on her own. I speak slowly, and if she interprets the first words of a sentence as negative, she jumps in and defends herself. When I try to tell her to let me finish a sentence before she decides what I have said nothing happens, she keeps arguing what was not said.

She walks away from all this feeling controlled. I ask her to spend time together and she angrily tells me we have been together. The fact that she was online and participating in a dozen different conversations at the time does not matter, her body was here. I tell her I don’t like some of her friends and she believes I don’t like any of her friends, and has an odd opinion about the friends she has that have been friendly to me, as if we’re conspiring against her. I ask her to limit her time on the internet and interact with me and she stays off the internet completely, sitting next to me sullenly. I understand that an element of her mental illness is an all or nothing approach, but she moderates several of her activities.

This hurts me deeply. In my opinion, she doesn’t want to be happy and resorts to sabotage if something is actually working. But she can’t see it, so mentioning it is just asking to argue. The woman I love does not know I love her.

She foresees a large settlement later in the year, and has planned on using that money to move out. This is something that sucks about being on fixed incomes, change is difficult. I had genuinely hoped that by the time she receives the settlement she will have seen that I am not the monster she has created, but now I don’t think so. More than likely we will coexist in an environment that she sees as hostile, with a lot of luck if I can avoid speaking it will avoid most arguments. She’ll get her settlement and leave, never appreciating the love I have for her.

I’m blaming a lot of this on my TBI, the lack of awareness of her side of the issues is not a trait I remember. But there is one I can’t let go of. I fix things. That’s what I believe I have always done, in one fashion or another. So I can’t just let go, I need to fix “us,” probably more than the need I feel to stay together. This is causing turmoil within me. I want to say “Sorry, I was awful, enjoy the rest of your life” but I find myself saying “Please don’t go. we can fix this.”

I have no choice but to remain hopeful, regardless of reality.

Insurance

Betty Grable’s legs were insured for $1 million USD in the 1940s

We can insure anything, in many cases the availability of insurance is expected. Sometime in the last twenty years, we started calling insurance by the name of what it insures, turning Health insurance into “Healthcare.”

That subtle change altered the way we see “Healthcare.” We certainly have the right to be seen by a physician, but do we have the right to have someone else pay for it? Free Healthcare sounds wonderful, until you realize that what was free was an insurance policy, a piece of paper. You still have to pay to see a physician. For insurance, whether directly, through an employer, or through a government agency, you pay for healthcare, then you pay for a physician.

I may be required by law to purchase healthcare insurance but it is not healthcare. Healthcare is a physician treating a patient, not the exchange of cash to facilitate treatment. The buzz is growing. Why are we paying for healthcare but not receiving it? We just have insurance policies, which may or may not pay for any part of any treatment.

In a sad sign of the times, when you ask for an appointment with a physician, the first question is “What kind of insurance do you have?” I recognize the obligation of compensation, but what other transactions require proof of payment before something as simple as an office visit? Would there be so many patients unable to pay to just speak to a doctor that allowing them service without guarantee of payment would bankrupt doctors?

So we have Insurance. Insurance companies pay differently for services, so does the doctor I need accept my insurance? And if they do, are there appointments available? I shopped carefully, making sure the drugs that are prescribed to me are covered by the insurance. I made sure they had plenty of doctors in the specialties that apply to me. Then I tried to make an appointment.

First barrier, you can’t make an appointment until the policy is in effect. To be clear, you cannot speak to the receptionist to make an appointment until the policy is in force.

Second barrier, is the doctor accepting new patients? Now that you can speak to the receptionist, she can tell you the doctor is not accepting new patients, or that the first available appointment is in six months.

Third barrier, some people do not have the luxury of being able to change insurance at all, or may be restricted to a yearly window in which they can change.

My partner recently tried to find a new psychiatrist, the doctor who signs the prescriptions for the various psycho-active drugs she has been prescribed for somewhere in the range of thirty years, and a psychologist, the counselor who provides “talk therapy” (which used to be the realm of psychiatrists). As she contacted doctors from the list provided by the insurance company, her first observation was that the list is horribly out of date, most of the doctors she contacted no longer accepted that insurance, a few didn’t even practice that specialty. Those that did were not available for an appointment within six months. Normally she would not be able to change insurance companies until roughly that time, six months from now. Her prescriptions would need to be renewed before then, as would anyone’s. The psychologist she had been seeing for years and was actually making progress on some of her issues was in another state, and her insurance stopped covering out of state doctors. Fine if you live in Texas but in the Northeast there’s another state within thirty minutes wherever you are.

This is one of many baffling facets of health insurance. The company must be licensed to sell insurance in a particular state, limiting the number of companies to consider. The company, which should do everything to increase the number of doctors available to me, has instead limited that number to my immediate surroundings.

She will be paying a penalty to change insurance companies, but after weeks of research she found one that had a psychiatrist that will be able to see her that also covers the prescriptions she already has. She is on total disability, allowing her the time to complete the research. I have no idea how an average working person would navigate the process. Once she sees the doctors she will be able to discuss why their indoctrination against the use of opioids does not apply to the case of a 53 year old woman who requires those exact drugs to survive.

The government wants to reduce the amount of drugs that are prescribed, forgetting that the drugs were invented because they had a specific purpose which was needed. Opioids are addictive, is their result addiction? An addict needs the drug for a non medical purpose, but when the drug serves to make the patient able to interact with the world, the physical addiction is still there. If she misses a dose she risks post addiction withdrawal syndrome, PAWS, which can be fatal. Every new doctor has to be guided away from the slogans and back to the reality.

It seems to me that if I am required to purchase something, that thing should work. Insurance companies cannot know what percentage of their customers may need a certain specialty, but when that specialty routinely has zero available doctors in a geographic area, the company should not be licensed to sell policies there. Perhaps companies could have ratings based on the number of available specialties in an area; no one wants to have physicians sitting idle. The alternative is patients going unseen. This is not an impossible task. If there are insufficient doctors in a certain specialty, the company could pay a higher percentage of the amount billed, enticing doctors to accept that insurance or even relocate to the area which pays better for their services.

Until these changes are adopted, we continue to waste health insurance dollars. Paying for insurance, whether directly, through an employer, or through a government agency, which cannot be used, has no effect on the average person who will never need the insurance. Finding out you’ve been paying for insurance which does not provide the healthcare you need, when you need it, is too late.

Of course, single payer health insurance will face the same problems. Any health insurance which does not actively promote doctor accessibility/distribution cannot be called “Healthcare,” because it doesn’t care about patient health.

Little monsters

You don’t expect them, they sneak into your mind. Yesterday, I was looking at the calendar for July; we have things scheduled for the fourth and the sixth. The fifth is empty. A hole in the schedule. It stood out and one 5 July stood out in my mind. Walking out of the hospital alone, carrying Emma’s belongings.

I recall that moment as a scene from the film “Leon,” Matilda alone with Leon’s plant walking away, the world continuing and not even noticing her presence.

I was aware of the what and why, and thankful it hadn’t been a memory of that last night. As I look at it now, there were a sequence of events, each with their own memory triggers. From different triggers I recall deciding to spend the night at the hospital, watching the 4th of July concert on the parkway with the Roots, her difficulty with urinating, her last breath, the business of a fatality in the hospital, going home. One weird moment; her cousin drove me home and as I got out of the car she asked if I planned to remarry. Overall, a little over twelve hours wandering through the twilight zone, as surreal as the last twelve years have been nothing was as strange as those hours.

This is not my norm. However it was Emma’s. She remembered every detail of the deaths of her first two husbands and relived them on their anniversaries. I tend to remember people on their birthdays; 9 October is far more important that 9 December in my memories of John Lennon.

I miss Emma. It’s been twelve years since she left. I don’t know if I think of her every day, but I always think about how she would evaluate the times. When would she have realized Trump was a fraud? How would she have dealt with the pandemic? She always had such strong feelings about issues. Of course if she hadn’t died everything would be different, I wouldn’t have retired and would have never moved to Princeton. I would never have learned Flemish or spent time in Belgium. Would I have started driving again?

I spent so much time trying to understand my grief that I never got around to grieving. Yes there were weeks of tears, but I never really processed losing her. A few years ago I had a psychotic break, which I came to blame on not processing Emma’s death. Who knows what effect my brain injury has had on everything?

I’ve always been a loner, so losing Emma was losing my world. Nothing in my life meant as much as her, and I tend to gloss over our differences. As I look at the metrics of our relationship we had some monstrous arguments, yet we managed to make love every day. I remember when I met her, my friend Suzanne impersonating Jon Lovitz’s “Acting!” bit; “She has. . . passion!” She was everything I was looking for in life, and I believe that today, further from her death than our first date, we would still be much the same.

The contrast to my current life is disturbing, but also helps me appreciate Emma more. Apparently it isn’t normal to make love every day, or spend all your time together; sharing to the point that it felt like one life. Arguments are supposed to leave both parties disgruntled for days or weeks. You’re supposed to have a life your spouse knows nothing about. Last time I did that was before Emma, when I was having an affair while married to Paula. I would rather not travel in that direction.

So do I miss Emma or the life we had together? Both of course, and Emma could never be replaced. I had hopes that I could find her passion somewhere else, but that’s not going to happen; she was one of a kind, an integral part of of my life. That’s just part of why she was so special. I never realized just how fortunate I was. Sorry folks, I got the only one there was.

Last week would have been our anniversary, both of us thought getting married a third time was appropriate for April Fools day. For several reasons I have deleted my FaceBook account, one of them is the memories. As long as I don’t think about it I’m fine, but from now until July I can pretty much tell you what I was doing that day in 2010.

I haven’t written in a while, and as I usually say at this juncture. I intend to write more. There are a variety of factors involved, but of late I’ve had something of a self esteem issue. I had come to believe that I have very little purpose. My confidence was zero. Somewhere in the seeds of this article is Emma’s faith, the way she believed I could do anything. One night she called when I had already fallen asleep to ask me to repair the espresso machine at her restaurant. As it worked out, I was able to replace the thermal fuse with one from a copier, but it easily could have been something of which I had no knowledge. Last year I replaced the toilet in the second bathroom. I was almost finished removing the old one and Janice was on the phone trying to reach a plumber, having no faith in my ability.

I’m realizing just how much Emma loved me.