Burning Bridges

Once upon a time, I prided myself on an exceptional collection of good relationships with ex-boyfriends. I'm certain that it seems strange to curate good terms with the gone bad. But I've always been desperately dedicated to keeping the good opinion of the greater population - even those who break my heart. For a long time, it didn't occur to me that these peaceable relations were an oddity. It wasn't until the line of past relationships grew rather long that I realized what an anomaly those tender treaties were.

For the longest time, there was, at the head of the class, the High School Almost Boyfriend. We'll skip The Freshman Year Experiment - it ended badly - and move on to The First Real Boyfriend. That relationship truly went down in flames amidst a cheating scandal (gasp!), but somehow through my dogged determination to be at peace with all humanity, we found our way back to good terms, albeit some years after the infidelity incident. 

On I went to The Long-Term Boyfriend, who was incidentally my partner in crime in the cheating scandal. We held together through five cities, three colleges and universities, and one breakup and reconciliation.The second breakup was of the volatile varietal, and we spent three years in silence while I dated The Second Long-Term Boyfriend. After four years, that fell apart, too; I crossed state lines, and we managed a tentative truce. 

And then there was The Barrister. And if ever one of my relationships ended in a blazing pile of ruins, it was that one. Perhaps those embers, sparking and sputtering in the smokey aftermath, are what kindled those other bridges, which started to burn with ferocity.

The First Real Boyfriend got married and our waning conversations were finally burned away completely. The Second Long-Term Boyfriend assumed a stony silence, and even when I tried to rebuild the smoldering bridge, it crumbled like so much ash between my fingers. And then The Long-Term Boyfriend got engaged, and thirteen years of on-and-off conversation ended in spontaneous combustion that severed everything. The bridge I prided myself on so much went up in smoke.

Now I'm standing on the side of the bridge where fate has left me watching the flames eat away at all those carefully constructed pylons and planks. Every one of those former loves have found their way back to heartbreak - a second heartbreak where I learned that I can't have the elusive friends-after-lovers relationship. I have to mourn the loss again and suffer through the what-ifs and the what-went-wrongs. I have to accept that the place that they had in my life burned away, leaving that fresh, shiny, tender pink new skin. And maybe I have to face that, now that the bridges are burned, I'm going to have to go another direction. Forward, perhaps?

Requiescat in pace, Kudzu

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

May you rest knowing that you were loved to the greatest depths of the human heart. May you rest knowing that you were and are cherished.

May you rest knowing that your constant companionship warmed even the loneliest, the most sorrowful of hours. May you rest knowing that you were light in a dark and sometimes unkind world.

May you rest knowing that your presence brought joy, comfort, happiness, peace. May you rest knowing that you were all things good (even when you were bad).

May you rest knowing that beyond pet, you were family, as much my lifeblood as anything. That you were my very heart.

May you rest, fully restored to your gray fuzzy bellied glory, with no scars or marks or patches to evidence of your illness.

May you rest knowing that you will never have to endure my picture-taking ever again.

May you rest after your long and hard-fought battle. Having been so brave and true, holding on for so long for me, so that I could accept that it was your time.

May you rest knowing that I never wanted you to die, except that one time you ate my blue merino wool J. Crew sweater (and even then, not really).

May you rest, weary traveler, from all those thousands of miles on the highway between here and North Carolina that would have been so much longer without you.

May you rest, knowing that you will never have to be stuck in the car with me in the McDonald's drive-in in Leland, North Carolina while I have a panic attack over the holiday weekend traffic.

May you rest knowing that you will be remembered in repose on the windowsill, on the kitchen towel, under a blanket nestled against my stomach.

May you rest gently purring or making sleepy kitty noises as you slumber. With your snaggletooth hanging out.

May you rest with my gratitude for having never eaten my eyeball as I feared you would.

May you rest having served me well with the greatest devotion and loyalty - no matter what mistakes I made in life.

May you rest from leaping onto the cabinets, the countertops, the bookshelves, the bed with sprightly grace.

May you rest with an endless supply of spider plants whose leaves you may nip to your heart's content.

May you rest from strewing toilet paper from the downstairs bathroom into the kitchen.

May you rest, never to be forgotten.

May you rest, my darling. May you rest from exhaustion, from pain and from this namelessness that has consumed you.

May you rest in the hands of the Heavenly Father who made you.

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

The Word's Goodbye, But I Can't Say It

I've been a (raving) David Gray fan for over 10 years now. It all started for me like it did for most of us on this side of the pond when White Ladder exploded on the American scene with "Babylon." But over the years, I discovered the treasure-trove of pre-Ladder work, from Flesh and A Century Ends to Sell, Sell, Sell and my beloved Lost Songs. Plus, Gray put out three studio albums after Ladder.

Even more than Coldplay, David Gray has been the soundtrack of my life over the last decade. Albums and songs surged to the forefront at varying times with the words and music crafted for highs and lows. For love and lack thereof. For times when in the place "where we can shine" to the place "where the eye don't see no color." Like a cheap therapist, David Gray has soothed my soul on many occasions - long, desolate, never-ending car rides, stricken with grief, heartbroken.

And just like at the Coldplay concert, I heard one of his songs for the first time - from just four rows away from the one and only David Gray. I had thought it would be "This Year's Love" that would bring tears to my eyes or when he sang "As I'm Leaving." But instead, I was surprised when the song "Freedom" went right through my soul. And as I listened to it over and over (and over) again since then, what wasn't surprising was that it was a song for right now. For this state I'm in. For this place I live.

Take your eyes off me
There's nothing here to see
Just trying to keep my head together
And as we make our vow
Let us remember how
There's nothing good that lasts forever

Time out on the running boards
We're running
Through a world that lost its meaning
Trying to find a way to love
This running
Ain't no kind of freedom

Feel the touch of grief
You stand in disbelief
Can steal the earth from right beneath you
And falling in so far
They know just where you are
Yeah, but there ain't no way to reach you

***
It's time to clean these boots
Fold up these parachutes
The word's goodbye, but I can't say it
The end is close at hand
I think we understand
There ain't no use trying to delay it

***
Fasten on my mask
I'm bending to the task
I know this work is never finished
But if I close my eyes
I can still see you dancing
Laughing loud and undiminished

I love the last line of the song, the bittersweet hope of knowing that I will be able to close my eyes and see Kudzu undiminished - dancing across the floor on small, sure feet, eyes alight with love and mischief.

Thank you, David Gray, for the 497th reason that a world without your music would be less bearable.

Hover:

An intransitive verb

to waver
As between life and death. Between numbers that show increased and then diminished red blood cells. The equation never balancing out. Always faltering between where it should be and far worse.

to linger uncertainly in a nervous or solicitous way
I lay in the floor next to him, observing the rise and fall of his breath. I touch his fur lightly and feel his warmth. I watch how he moves, looking always for his untroubled agility, light steps, inherent feline grace. I study his eyes. I note the color of his tongue, how much he eats, his insatiable thirst because of the steroids. The near constant scrutiny exhausts me and makes me restless.

to remain suspended over a place or object
Holding in the heartbreak most of the time until it ekes out, slides down my face, trembles on the edge of my chin, holding until the salted weight is too much.

to move to and fro near a place
We shuttle back and forth between home and the hospital. Work and the hospital. The waiting room and the exam room. The ICU and the outpatient services. The ongoing rotation of doctors and residents and students who carry the thickening file from the front desk to the discharge desk.

We drive back and forth between my parents' house and my house. We move furniture, small boxes and mow the lawn. We flutter through the rooms briefly and then depart, leaving a hollow echoing shell.

to hang, fluttering in the air or on the wing without moving in any direction
At times in this endless free-fall, I force myself to stop thinking about any of it - the lack of answers, the mounting expenses, the mortgage I'm paying on a house I don't inhabit - and I coast. I gather him in my arms and hold him so that I can absorb his breath, his heartbeat, his purr, his sleek black fur. I hold him and we stay there in that moment with no yesterday and no thought of tomorrow. Only warm, weightless safety.

to fluctuate around a given point
Life is driven by Kudzu. The times we must administer his medication. Leaving work every evening and coming directly home-do-not-pass-go to spend time with him. Fitting myself in the spaces where he lays - by the water bowl, snugged up to the vacuum cleaner, on the old coffee table in the spare room. Bending myself into the small spaces just to be close to where he is.

to be in a state of uncertainty, irresolution or suspense
No one knows why but suggests the answer may lie in the bone marrow, that deepest place where we have looked before and found nothing. The doctors want to invade again and look for those terrifying diseases that will give a name to what is sapping his strength. But I'm not sure that I can. I'm not sure that I can put him or me through that.

We go to the doctor again on Tuesday to check his red blood cell counts. And they will give me too little information and want me to make something of it. To decide what to do next. Which gamble should I take? And does it matter, when I feel like, in the end, that death holds all the cards? My next play is a faceless card, gripped tightly, being pushed toward the table with fear, hovering there, unable to let it fall and finish the game.

If You're Going to San Francisco...

* Be ready to pay with cash (SF is a town without credit)

* Wear comfortable shoes

* Read the map scale carefully ("a few blocks that way" can be deceiving)

* Beware of THE FOG

* Good luck finding Hayes Valley

* Know that "hills" is an understatement (particularly the Russian ones)

* Do not eat at Lori's Diner (to be regretted the next morning by all parties)

* Wear your elastic pants to Ghirardelli Square

* Pack an extra memory card for the 385 photos you will take

* Get scared by The Bushman

* Check out the Get Offs at the Hemlock Tavern (only if you have industrial strength ear plugs)

* Try not to get killed by the rabid cyclists

* Skip Shakespeare's Gardn [sic] at Golden Gate Park. Jenn's description is far more satisfying than the actual garden.

* Contemplate that the Japanese Tea Garden is worth seeing but maybe not $4 worth seeing and how you would've been much less disappointed if you'd only had to pay $2.

* Avoid the cable car with the scary herky-jerky driver

* See the sea lions

* Prepare yourself for smells ranging from garbage to urine to beer to homeless people to dirty bay water to unidentifiable odors that you'd rather not even contemplate what they actually are.

* Buy art from Eduardo Gustav on Fisherman's Wharf

* Meet up with old friends

* Spend too much money

* Flirt with the European boys on the pier

* Get chills in isolation #13 at Alcatraz

* Giggle on the giggle hallway in the Powell Hotel

* Be prepared to be very, very, very sad when you have to leave

99aXed

It's the end of an era. As of January 25, 99x will no longer be on air. The 99.7 FM frequency is being given to what is now Q100, a top-40 rock format. The X will transition to 100.5, sans its morning show, marking the end of Leslie Fram's 15-plus-year run on the station's Morning X show.

For those of you who grew up in Georgia, listening to the Morning X was akin to watch SNL on Saturday night. It's just what you did. You tuned in to the legendary Barnes, Leslie and Jimmy morning show so that you could catch a few stellar lines and maybe hear the first spin of "Jeremy."

And then there was 99x Resurrection Sunday, which played chic rock and folk rock and folk infusion and was the first place I heard "Silent All These Years" by Tori Amos. I remember leaving Jenn's house and driving down a lonely stretch of road with Tori's voice reverberating through the old '92 Taurus and thinking, "Yeah."

99x sponsored the Counting Crows concert at Chastain Park Amphitheatre where I met Adam Duritz - who gave me his autograph while denying me me a hug. Somewhere, I still have photo of Niki, Tempe, Heather and me with the 99x poster we absconded with.

The X hosted the Jingle Jam that Sarah McLachlan headlined at the Gwinnett Civic Center where we had fifth-row seats.

And there was also Live X, which produced some amazing acoustic sets over the years.

99x has apparently fallen on hard times while I've been away. With the rise of satellite radio and the faltering popularity of alt rock against top-40 pop coupled with the departure of Barnes and Jimmy from the Morning X and difficulty finding a successful replacement combo, it looks like it's finally jumped the shark. Goodbye, 99x. Thanks for the memories.

* For you OC kids, I couldn't find the old logo - the bright yellow 99x on the black background. You know what I'm talkin' about!

"I Do" Review

"I Do" Good
* The weather was perfectly beautiful with bright blue skies and golden autumn light.

* Kim looked magnificent. I've never seen her quite so radiant - and when we first got her dress on, and I took it all in, I couldn't help but cry to see her looking that regal.

* I did not lose Kim's engagement ring while wearing it for the duration of the ceremony, nor drop Ben's wedding band into the nearby lake on accident.

* The dinner music included selections from William Shatner, Ethel Merman and The Beatles - only Kim Shable (Oja!).

* Kim's mom put us all to shame on the dance floor during "Gold Digger." And that, my friends, is to be applauded.

* Kim handled snafus - like the accidental dumping of a cup of a coffee on her veil at the salon - with unbelievable aplomb.

* Managed to arrange an all Wilmywood photo - sans Penelope, HAT, and Daren. We missed you!

* I had the best up-do ever - Samantha, you rock.

"I Do" Not-So-Good
* I discovered at the rehearsal dinner that my best friend is also left-handed. How in the name of heaven did I miss this fact all these years? I am admittedly obsessed with other left handers, and I didn't know Kim is one? I cannot believe this. I demand a recount.

* After the rehearsal dinner, we all went back to the Shables for a campfire. I, after my 4 a.m. wake up call, fell asleep by the fire in a lawn chair. Like a bum.

* I was attacked by a bee during the ceremony. No, really. It approached, and I tried gently to wave it away. But it pursued me relentlessly until I was flailing arms and doing a little hop from foot to foot to get away from it. I imagine, for the crowd, it was mildly entertaining.

* I did not have time for even one "nerve-softening" drink before offering my toast - behind a very poignant and touching tribute from the best man. Out-toasted, I was.

* The woman in charge at the event site scared the bejeezes out of all of us - both with her demeanor and her aggressive blush.

* I was forced to do the Chicken Dance against my better judgment and the preservation of my dignity. Many, many thanks to Jenn, who was friend enough to not allow me to suffer alone.

"I Do" Tears
* First moment in wedding dress

* Exchange of vows

* First dance

* Goodbye

Leaving: Part Three - The Office

This little paperweight sat on the small conference table in my boss's office. It was a Magic Eight Ball of sorts for the business types with answers like "Buy" and "Fire Someone." I used to sit at the table in her office and spin it and spin it while we were talking, letting my finger fall in the grooves to slow it down. On my last day, I went in to take a picture of it, and it just happened to be right on the line between "No" and "Go For It" which I thought was an ironically perfect answer to the question of me leaving.

I have been known, on occasion, to complain about my job. But I suppose that's par for the course if you're human and employed. The reason everyone loves The Office and Office Space is because in some way, we can relate to the horrors of the 9-to-5 existence. While I complained about whatever was going wrong that day, that week, that year...I still really loved my job. And I loved my office - including the carnival tent painting that my boss bought at an auction after I fell in love with it and was gracious enough to let me have in my office. And I loved the beautiful, beautiful iMac G5 (seen below). I had a marvelous time sitting in that chair - especially when I had visitors in the chairs opposite mine. (STGD, Susan, Allison, Lauren - that means you.)

I got my job by the allignment of Venus and Mars when Saturn was in the 7th house. I simply called all of the firms listed in the Yellow Pages and was invited to send my resume to this particular firm. I can remember the day I interviewed, and I was standing on the opposite side of Princess Street and talking to my mom on my giant Nokia cell about how petrified I was. Particularly because it felt like I'd been looking for a job forever, and I was two seconds from considering Hooters. My boss called to offer me the job on a Sunday, and I started Monday week - October 29, 2001. I worked part time during grad school, and then moved to full time after I graduated.

Over the years, I worked in three different offices with more than 50 clients and almost 25 different people. There was a little turnover problem, and then some of those people are still at the office, picking up where I left off. Maybe one of them is in the club chair on the right, which sits in the lobby (I wrote "our" lobby and then revised) . It's a good place to sit if you need a little sound advice from Miranda. You could find me there at some point during every day. And on the wall is Wilbur/Ferdinand - a happy pig smelling the tulips. I loved that pig. And the lamp that STGD turned on every morning because no one else would and the bowls of candy. When I first started, I remember telling Mom, "There's always chocolate in the office!"

And really, in the end, you have to consider what your send off is like, and I couldn't have had a better one. A photo of me from karaoke was turned into the Ashleypalooza graphic (and thanks to STGD, I look foxy!). It was applied to t-shirts (including one for the office dog!) which everyone was wearing when I arrived at the party. If you ever want to feel a little famous, I suggest getting a group of your friends to wear your face on a t-shirt. There were daiquiries and hula hooping attempts and lots of photos taken. There was the copy of the funny quotes we keep in a book for me to take away. And the beautiful scrapbook of photos and memories. I've looked at it about 50 times since I left.

The goodbyes at the end of this party were among the hardest I had to say. I spent more time with these people over the past few years than I spent with my own family. Every day. Coffee, lunch and sometimes dinner. They were my family away from family. It was an unforgettable experience - all almost-six years of it. And they are unforgettable people. And the end of the party was the first "big ugly" cry I had during the leaving weekend.

I've still been doing some work for them during the transition. And every time I call, I feel a little sad that I'm here and not there. Not getting my second cup of coffee. Not yelling at my boss from my office. Not sitting across the desk from STGD starting out working and ending up looking at Perez Hilton. But I like to think a little of me is left behind. A little ghost of me making too much noise and bad puns and piling up papers and draining the coffee pots and coercing everyone into quitting their diet for the day to go to Chic-Fil-A. Typically, that's what I did.

Leaving: Part One

Yesterday was so brutal. The packing. The disposal of unwanted items that, for whatever unknown reason, you've kept neatly tucked in a drawer, a closet, behind the door. Dividing belongings between storage and temporary life at my parents' house. But the worst part was the leaving. I'm quite sure that the impact of it will come to me slowly. That the next week will be the subsequent parts of leaving that I need or want to express. But today, there is just the first part, the iconic part, the length of time no more than five minutes long that was everything.

It is time to go. The apartment is empty, just like it was the first day that I saw it and fell in love with it and begged my landlord to let me put a deposit down even though she wanted me to think about it over the weekend. I walk through and say goodbye to the porch. Goodbye to the bathroom and bedroom and living room. And then I go to the kitchen window, the one with the big sill that I sat in and talked on the phone, or thought, or dreamed or cried, or simply stared out into the darkness of night and lost myself. I put my hands on the glass and curl my fingers around one of the cross bars of the frame. And I lean my head against the pane and I cry. Slowly, it becomes a sob - the heart-wrenching, gasping, from the bottom up sob. It is loud and painful. My mother puts one arm around my waist, and I sense that it is both to comfort and to support. I am coming loose. Then in one breath, I stop for a moment and say, "Okay." I step away from the glass, turn and walk from the kitchen.

As I reach for the door of the apartment, I turn one last time to look. I see myself in the gilt mantle mirror - face red, eyes swollen beyond recognition, my nose a bright cherry under the brim of my cap, and I say, "Goodbye" and I leave.

Tears

1) Sunday, 10:36 p.m. Intersection of 17th Street and Shipyard Boulevard. Following baked ziti and The Sopranos at Tom & Mel's.

2) Tuesday, 4:12 p.m. Office of The Client. Following presentation of embroidered tote bag. This is the first semi-official goodbye.

3) Saturday, 1:33 a.m. Martin Luther King Parkway. Following Girls' Night with Pen & Mel. Listening to "How to Save a Life."

Georgia on My Mind

Other arms reach out to me. Other eyes smile tenderly. Still in peaceful dreams I see, the road leads back to you....Some sweet day when the blossoms fall and all the world's a song, I'll go back to Georgia cause that's where I belong. -- Stuart Gorrell and Hoagy Carmichael, "Georgia on My Mind"

About six years ago, I sat in a dorm room and wondered what would happen after graduation. I'd applied to five grad schools, received nice and less-than-nice rejection letters from four and clung to the single hope that my place on the waiting list of the fifth would give way to an actual spot in the M.F.A. program. And two months later, it did.

I made my way to the Carolina coast and started grad school - and at barely 22, I was about as tender and green and unprepared as I could be. But after about a semester, I had managed to find a few friends and a job. I had cried a lot and felt lonely more. And I wondered if I would ever feel at ease in this town. And two years later, I did.

When I arrived, I never imagined that I would stay so long. That grad school would run its course - rife with good friends, good memories and bad workshops. That my part-time job would turn into a full-time career. That I'd start to think of the big yellow house with the red roof as home. That unexpected relationships would be unexpectedly important.

But in the past year, I've started to tire of the long way home. It's six hours at best - and I've seen a few speeding tickets trying to make it less. I long to be closer to family and to put my roots down in the Georgia red clay. I suddenly noticed how flat it is here and found myself wanting hills. Smelled the salt and wished for pine.

And so I've decided to head back to Georgia. It's long been on my mind to do it, and I finally decided that the longing wouldn't go away, no matter how hard I tried to make it. I'm still getting my plans in order, but suffice it to say, I'll be weathering my last spring in Wilmywood. It's been a difficult decision to make - to pack up and say goodbye after so many years. To leave behind friends who have been my family away from family for so long now.

I won't be going back the same person I was when I left. I depended on my family for everything then - I'd hardly ever stepped out of the nest without someone holding my hand. Now I've grown so independent they hardly know what to do with me. I'm so proud of what I've accomplished while I was here and who I've become. And I will miss Wilmywood and the house on Grace Street and the river and the downtown streets. And more than that I will miss friends and faces and morning coffee across the desk from S. and girls' nights with Pen and Mel and gatherings at the bar with my old grad school comrades and dinners at Circa with Justin. I will miss the part of my heart that I will leave here.

And then I will find out if it's true that you can't ever go home again.

Mary Poppins Beware

It's a blustery, blustery day. And it's take no prisoners. There will be casualties. Goodbye, dear black Tote umbrella. You served me well until your death outside The UPS Store. May there be sunny skies for you in the beyond.

Farewell, Daylight Savings Time

Goodbye, Daylight Savings Time.
As I have already enjoyed that one-time-only extra hour of sleep, I am missing you already. Especially since it's only 6:30 and been dark as night for half an hour. That's only going to get worse between now and December. While I know some people are opposed to you (that means you, Arizona and Kim Shable), I welcome you whole-heartedly. Who wouldn't want it to be light when they leave the office? Now I am doomed to days where I have to turn my headlights on when departing from work, and frankly, that's a little depressing. I like my days long and my nights short. Is that too much to ask?

And while I enjoy fall, I do not enjoy this early darkness. It quite honestly makes my weekends seem shorter. At 6:30, it's already night. My weekend is o-v-e-r by all accounts.

I hear you're going to come earlier and stay later next year. Bravo to that. I'll be sure to throw a party when you get here. I'll be waiting impatiently until then.

Love,
Ash