Browsing "women"
Nov 3, 2013 - Forever, God, Life, Love, Pamela, Personal, Truth, women    4 Comments

Once Upon A Time

love, infinity, anniversary

This coming Wednesday is a very special day.
30 years ago on November 6, 1983, I married my best friend.
In this day and age of disposable marriages and engagements, I’ve come to realize just how blessed I am, we are.
That’s not to say it’s been a bed of roses for all those years either.
But I never knew that I could fall in love with someone so deeply that I could never see myself falling out of that love.
My best friend IS that love.
And that love has a name.
Pamela.

In good times and in bad?
Check.
In sickness and in health?
Check.
To love and honor for the rest of our lives?
Check.

My blog has ‘our’ story pasted all over it so I won’t even begin to tell you how
I fell in love the night I first saw her; in the dark space of a smoky nightclub, I just knew.
Her hair, her clothes, the way she carried herself, her scent, her smile.
Ah yes, her sweet smile, always her smile.
Imagine my surprise when I actually saw those green eyes in the daylight.
I was like a piece of frozen butter thrown on a hot tin roof.
I still say God had His hand in this.
I can’t imagine life without her; without her grace, her beauty, her patience, compassion, mercy and most of all her unfaltering love.
She is my everything.

Who else would I cook Beef Stroganoff or my special Baked Scallops for?
Who else would be the ultimate inspiration in my music and my writing?
And who would be there to hold me up when all my walls came tumbling down?
(Not many people were looking for that gig.)

Through thick and thin she has been there.
I could never ask for more.

For Pamela:

You will forever haunt my heart,
a subtle whisper in the night, a silent look that says all I want to say
shadows of days to come, hours to love, minutes to say a few . . .
prayers of the heart, through a pulse, the wiping of a teardrop, a moment in time that . . .
silently falls into a warm and safe place where two souls meet and embrace forever, for eternity, for love.
Our shadows are the same, our love; endless, our blessings; many . . .
We are forever One.
Haunt my heart forever more . . . for all eternity

Happy 30th Anniversary to my beautiful wife with the viridescent eyes . . .
I LOVE YOU.
Always . . .

~m

love. eternity

Salty Sardines

work, life, reality, fantasy

Had an interesting customer today.
An attorney from the Big Apple nonetheless.
His corpulent and somewhat vocal wife sat her crinkly bumcakes on a leather chair while hubby proceeded
to thrill me with his infinite knowledge of cavendish/aromatic pipe tobacco.

Customer: Yeah, I had a blend you guys make and I liked it. It was called . . .  um . . . 4 . . . 43 . . .  43 something.
Me: 432?
Customer: Yeah, yeah, that’s it. You got something that’s kinda similar but different? (this guy IS a lawyer)
Me: Sure do. (pick up a can of whatever and offer him a sniff)
Customer: Oh, man! That’s way too strong! (It isn’t) How about something a little milder?
Me: Absolutely, sir. (pick up another can of whatever and offer him a sniff)
Customer: Oooh! That’s nasty! Maybe I should just stick with the 432.
Me: I pegged you as a ‘432 guy’ the minute you walked in the door, sir. (winking) You like what you like, right?
(we have another name for this blend that’s unfortunately proprietary)
Customer: Yeah, I guess so. (laughing, while gazing not so lovingly at the lounging and now sweating profusely Wifey)
[No AC in store] [No lie]
Me: How much would you like, sir? An ounce? Two ounces?
Customer: Two ounces. I’m just going to peruse your pipes while you do that.
Whiney Wifey: (in a commanding and demeaning tone) You’re not buying anymore pipes today!
(to me she says) He already has too many. (a look of disgust on her face)
Me: How many pipes do you have? (I’m already feeling sorry for this choad)
Customer: 6 or 7
Me: Oooh! You animal! (my associate has over 400+ Castello high grades worth God knows what)
Customer: (smiles, and very slyly says) I started making my own pipes, too. (eyebrows going up to impress me)
Me: Really? (not really curious but being polite)
Whiney Wifey: You should see ‘em! Pff. (offering up a nasty and disapproving grin)
(to hubby) You’re such a loser! (hubby looks at me, and . . . )
Customer: {{{shrugs. admits defeat to his personal ball and chain}}}
I’m wondering if they have children.
To me, it seems a virtual/sexual impossibility.

Whiney Wifey( WW)(Anti-Cougar) finally goes outside to test the weight limit of our all too ancient benches as hubby looks at more pipes.
He finds one, takes it down and places it on the counter before running out of the store like a kid at a carnival to ask for WW’s permission to buy it.
WTF?

I found this sale comical in ways but so damn sad in many others.
Here’s a smart man (supposedly?) being controlled 100% by a woman that defies the definition of ‘loving and beautiful wife’, in my most humble opinion.
She was demeaning and down right salty.
My opinion? She’s in need of some high colonic irrigation. With Liquid Plumber. (ooh. that was a bit harsh)
And who knows, maybe 432 keeps her away from him like Off! spray keeps skeeters away from me.
If it does, he should have bought 40-50lbs of the stuff.
Hey, she’s worth it.

Jul 22, 2013 - hot, Life, Pamela, Personal, Truth, women    4 Comments

Hot Flash

menopause, women, life, changes

Not really sure where this thing is going but I know that in the end I will probably piss someone off and that is not my intention at all.
There’s just something I feel the need to talk about and my blog is the best damn place to do it.
And why?
Because I own the joint.
(kinda)

Being happily married for almost 30 years you get to know every little thing about your partner.
By partner, I mean ‘the Love of your Life’.
Many guys will laugh at that statement but I will stand behind it every step of the way.
No surprise to the readers here that I love my wife unconditionally.
Always have, always will.
Knowing how they like their tea, their steak done, their burgers done, their bed made and their shoulders rubbed, you just know how they like it.
You don’t ask, you just do.
Biologically, they change through the years (as do us guys) and you have to be a sport, a team player.
But sometimes the games get rough though.
I have never been able to figure out why they call it ‘Menopause’.

1872, from Fr. ménopause, from Gk. men (gen. menos) “month” + pausis “a cessation, a pause,” from pauein “to cause to cease.” Opposite of menarche “onset of menstruation,” 1900, from Ger. (1895), from Gk. arkhe “beginning.”

Really?

There’s MENopause, MENstration, MENtal Illness and so on.
How about WOMapause, WOMstration and WOMal Illness?
Just saying.

1am this morning the blanket and sheet covering me were violently ripped off.
Okay, I get it, the AC is blasting and she was cold.
I’m fine with that.
I was shivering my ass off until I could grab enough of the blanket and comforter to get warm and back to sleep.

2am, the blankets and comforter are shoved over suffocating me while she lays there uncovered.

This happens on a nightly basis and I’m fine with that but really?

I understand on a biological and physiological basis why it happens but I still wonder what the hell?
Estrogen deficit?
Damn you, you hormonal hungry bastard!

Several years ago me and Pam went for an autumn drive through southern New Hampshire to view the foliage.
Some nice Jazz was playing on the radio and the heat was on low with the outside temps in the mid to upper 50’s.
Suddenly, the windows were opened, the heat was shut off and I couldn’t hear the music.

“What’s up? You okay?”  I asked.

“Hot flash, sorry.” She said.

The phrase, “Hot Flash, sorry!” should be a bumper sticker requirement for any woman beyond the age of 50.
I don’t say that in a nasty way just as a reminder for the younger folks driving behind you with no clue as to where you’re going.
[Insane. Wanna come along?]
It could explain a lot.
The rest of the ride was basically, AC on, AC off, Heat on, Heat off, windows open, windows closed, ad nauseum.
Do I feel for you women thrashing through this tumultuous time in your life?
Please believe that I do.
Should this thing should ever come full circle, know that us guys would rather rip our genitalia off.
If that’s what it takes . . .
Or not.
Is it me or is it all of a sudden hot in here?

~m

[with sincere apologies to my wife for me talking about this.  It is fascinating. And yeah, I’m losing my blankie tonight]
[fair dinkum, as they say in Australia]

 

The Wicker Chair of Death

Health, death, age, humor, Sopranos

 

James Gandolfini gone at 51.
My close friend PG gone at 57.
Another friend gone at my age, 54, less than a year after he was diagnosed with cancer.
I hate going to see my Grim Reaper doctor.
Just like I hate going to see my Tooth Pulling Bastard dentist.
It’s never good for a multitude of reasons.
I work 60+ hours a week (including my daily commute) sometimes more.
The gym?
A distant dream, although I love the elliptical machine.
But you have to exercise, you say.
And I agree.
But really?
When?
I do walk at least 30-45 minutes a day and eat fried clams once a year.
At the constant urging (and rightly so) of my wife, I finally made an appointment with my doctor for mid-July.
At the ripe old age of 54, I’m starting to feel my oats.
12+ hour days for 9+ years are taking their toll, physically and emotionally.
I am tired.
Alot.
I have tried to be somewhat reasonable about the food that I eat but sometimes life/time gets the better of me and
I am reduced to a Mickey D’s level of nutrition. (98% beef, of that I am sure)
I want to be healthy, I really do.
And now and then I want to bitch slap someone who has the time to be too healthy for their own benefit for my varying sense of mental stability.
Take ‘Headband Lady’ that runs 400 f*(&^%g miles a week through the neighborhood.
She is incredibly fit and probably has a colon strong enough to  pass a small wicker armchair with ease.
And maybe a slight grunt.
Grape nuts,high fiber horkin’ cheese, Supergrains, tofu pups, Whole Foods ‘Pass a Chair’ oil, who knows what the f*&k this woman eats.
And she soooooo looks like a biatch sometimes with her stupid white headband.
Who wears those anymore?
Not Olivia Newton John, I can tell you that much.
I was driving home last week eating/enjoying a Rodeo Cheeseburger from Kurger Bing (so good) when I drove by her house.
I saw her prancing around her lawn like f(*&^%g Superball on acid.
White headband and all.
Does she ever take the friggin’ thing off?
I found out she has one amazingly green front lawn as well.
It must have something to do with the multiple barrels of Grape Nuts stacked outside her backdoor.
Maybe I should ask my doctor about that.
I don’t want to pass a piece of wicker furniture through my lower intestine but passing a Growler or two
could seriously get me into the Guinness Book of World Records.
And it might make my lawn greener.
There’s always hope.
And maybe enough fiber/wicker to fulfill my wildest dreams . . .

Face

face, beautiful. life, love

 

I saw a woman on the train tonight that had a seriously disfigured face.
It wasn’t a subtle flaw but one of great magnitude.
We’re talking Hollywood magnitude.
I stole glances as she carefully applied makeup to her face, eyes and lips.
I couldn’t help but wonder who she was meeting.
My heart felt sad as I watched her painstakingly apply her ‘mask’, knowing that make up can only do so much.
What does she go through in a day as far as strange looks from passersby?
I wanted to go and sit next to her and tell her she didn’t need all that crap on her face because inside she’s beautiful.
That’s what went through my head anyway.
For all I know, she could have been a total asshole.
But I don’t think so.
Suffering with psoriasis I understand the ‘look’ you get from people that don’t understand your condition.
I see people looking at my elbows, the patches and scales that sometime accumulate making my arms a virtual stomping ground
for questions and unknowing observations.
I can deflect comments on  my skin easily.
I have herpes. Deal with it.
But her?
This flaming red-haired girl had a face that would stop anyone in their tracks.
I am not saying that to be funny because this is in no way a funny post.
I  wanted to say something, anything to this girl to give her some affirmation that she is a beautiful woman.
She got off the train two doors down from where I was negating any sort of confrontation.
I just wanted to tell her that she was beautiful.
Maybe I’ll have another chance someday . . .

Iwatch

Kellie Pickler, Dancing with the Stars

 

I watch ‘Dancing with the Stars’.
There. I said it.
American Idol? Nope.
The Voice? Nada.
The Bachelor? Puuuhleeesse. I have standards.
The Kardashians? They need to find a new planet to inhabit. Soon. And hopefully don’t pro-create.
The Biggest Loser? Whoever watches this stoopid show.
If you need a power tool to get your fat ass out of a chair . . . just sayin’
The Amazing Race? I personally know Max of ‘Max and Katie’ and I have never once watched the show.
It’s not that I don’t like Max, it’s that I don’t watch much TV.

Walking Dead.
New England Patriots.
It’s a short list.

My list could go on but I will spare you.
Get my drift?
DWTS came on tonight and my wife drew me into the living room in the only way she knew she could.

“Come here! Michael! Come here! Kellie Pickler is on! You have to at least watch her.”

My wife is telling me to watch a hot, sexy, gorgeous blonde that is half my age.
Did I like it?
What do you think?
Va-va-Voom .
Pickler has pickled my pickle since American Idol.
Okay, yeah, I watched some AI.
I feel dirty.
And guilty.
NOT.

It does make me smile when Pamela makes me watch a bit of a show as I did tonight.
What kind of wife does that?
Mine does.
I think she also knows that her face is much prettier than 1,000 Kellie Picklers.
It’s not only her face but it’s her unfailing heart and soul.
I love ya, Kellie Pickler but Pamela owns my heart.
And that,  my friends is the end/beginning of the story . . .
Can’t wait to see what KP will be wearing next week.
I’m sure Pamela will tell me . . .
8-)

~m

Fields of Music

 

Music has played a major part in my life.
No surprise for those of you that know me.
It introduced me to the love of my life, gained me acceptance in High School, been there for me
when I was down and when I was up, brought me closer to God and has never let me down.
Ever.
I associate many songs with different times in my life; Crazy Love by Poco for my DownEast years,
I Go Crazy
by Paul Davis during my insane solo piano ‘Pamela’ years,
King of Wishful Thinking, for my years with ‘Cat’s’ and
‘Won’t you come in‘ from my Martin-Murphy ‘original’ band days.
I could go on and explain every single band and song but some of you have to work tomorrow.
You know who you are. [grin]
The song in the video above somehow became a favorite of mine and whenever I would hear it on my
Ipod I would text my daughter Sarah to make sure she was okay.
It was a Dad thing but it somehow became ‘our’ song.
I love the words, the music and the sentiment behind it.
It’s a comfortable song for me and Sas.
It has meaning and is filled with love and light although it does reference the colour grey.
If only I could get Bruce Hornsby to the wedding to play it.
In a perfect world, right?
Daddy’s Little Girl is sweet but it doesn’t hold a candle to this amazing song.
Sarah, my beautiful daughter, this is our song and we will dance.
Even though I’ll look goofy as hell.
I’m a musician.
We can’t dance!

“No matter what else happens
What the future will be
In a world so uncertain
Through the clouds it’s hard to see
I will grab you and carry you
Calm your fears if you’re afraid
We’ll go walking
Across the fields of gray.”

Eggs

eggs, Easter, love, family, Easter Bunny, candy

 

Many years ago after Pamela and I got married, we began the creation of a family.
Sometimes it seems like yesterday, sometimes it seems like 100 years ago.
Perspective is such a fickle thing.
That I have been an absentee blogger has never been lost on my wife.
She said to me tonight, and quite casually I might add,
“When are you going to change the picture on your blog?
Write a post about the annual Easter Egg Hunt with the girls.”
I hate it when she’s right.
And I really hate to think she could be a better blogger than me.
If she blogged as well as she ‘Pinterest-ed’, she could put me to shame.
The reasons my blogging has slowed down to an incessant but slow drip is a post in and of itself,
for many varied reasons.
Tonight, though, I am here to talk about eggs.
Brightly coloured eggs.
Easter eggs.
Hard boiled eggs.
Egg salad sandwiches in a shell, yet to be born. [yum]

When our girls started walking we devised a plan for an Easter Egg Hunt to be held in the backyard on Easter morning.
We bought plastic pastel colored eggs that could be filled with all kinds of goodies, from candy and small toys (that nowadays are labeled as DANGEROUS! Your KID could CHOKE on THIS!) to dollar bills and matches.
(yeah, I’m kidding about the matches, calm down)
In New England, Easter morning could be rainy and cold so we needed to use something that would hold up to the elements.
It was the Easter Bunny’s job (namely, me) to hide the eggs in the backyard while the girls were sleeping.
When they woke in the morning to find an incredibly beautiful Easter Basket on their nightstand (compliments of Mr. & Mrs. Easter Bunny)
they were ready to don the appropriate clothes for the ‘going-to-get-mine-before-you-do’  Easter egg hunt.

Now it should be said that Mr. Bunny liked to have several Easter cocktails on the night before and while hiding the eggs wasn’t a problem, remembering where they were the next morning could sometimes be.
There are still eggs somewhere in our yard that I may never find.
I’m still looking for the elusive ‘Ben Franklin’ egg from years ago.
Can’t remember the exact year.
I’ve thought of using some power equipment to try and find it but the money I would spend doesn’t justify the means.
Right now, anyway.
Many years (and mornings after) would find the once loveable Mr. Easter Bunny reduced to the ‘Stupid-Easter-Bunny-that-doesn’t-know-how-to-hide-shit-we-can-easily-find’.
And, my moniker grows so damn lovingly.
I love it.

Fast forward to 2012 . . .

My girls have grown into young, beautiful and intelligent women and yet, I still have to hide eggs.
I am not a freekin’ Easter Bunny anymore, I am a grown 53 year old man.
I don’t have long and fuzzy ears or a cute little tail.
My ass is now flat.
I need three wallets to assimilate an ass bulge.
And I’m a crazy curmudgeon that thinks the world has gone insane.
Maybe I’m insane because I’ll still be out this Saturday night hiding eggs and loving it, rain or snow.
And on Easter morning I will still have no idea where the hell I put them . . .
In my heart, I’m hoping they keep the tradition going
because as silly as it was it’s a part of Pamela and me that will live on.
And maybe in the end, that’s what it’s all about . . .

A Happy Easter to all.

Shine

 

In a little while from now our youngest daughter, Hannah, will be heading off to college.
My wife and I will be staring at something of an empty nest;
a new frontier and previously distant horizon for the two of us.
While we’re incredibly excited for her to embark on this wonderful journey our hearts are a wee bit melancholy.
It’s almost like this time in our lives was so far off in the distance that we needn’t give it a second thought.
The days of the Murphy family all living under one roof has all too rapidly come to an end.
That we would always be together was an illusion I unconsciously chose to create.
It’s what father’s do, I guess.
Little girls turn into teenagers and teenagers turn into young women and the time comes when they ultimately fly away.
Thank God it’s not forever.
There will be one less bell to answer and much less laundry never mind the savings on the water and electric bill.
(each daughter took at least 3 showers a day, or so it seemed)
I should be happy.
Somehow, I am not.
I will now be cooking for me and Pamela (more savings?)
This house chef is seriously jonesing his favorite customers, the ones who always said the meal was great
(even if it moderately sucked).

Change is an inevitable fact of life and nothing can alter that,
not the weather,
not God,
not even American Idol with Steven Tyler.
When change does happen in a major way as it will this coming September,
I will still scratch my cueball noggin and wonder where the hell the last 25 years of my life went.
I do have much to show for it though in three exceptional, vibrant, creative and beautiful young women ready to change the face of the world for the better.
They are all destined for great things.
Lofty, but heartfelt.
Like the Wally Lamb book title says,  ‘I know this much is true’ (Not the Spandau Ballet song!)
They all managed to somehow find their wings
and my wife and I are so very thankful and ultimately blessed that they did.

To my little Hannah(shine)-

Dad’s going to miss having you around.
Who else would leave a friend’s house on a Saturday night @10PM
to get their father a head of garlic and a can of chick peas because he wanted to make hummus?
To see you begin this incredible journey in your life makes my heart swell with pride because you have worked so hard and are so deserving of it.
I will also tell you that with being away from my cooking for a time,
Thanksgiving Dinner will be the very best you have ever had in your life.
Truth. (yes, you can pick the bacon off of the turkey)
And although my heart will break a little when we get back to an ‘all too quiet’ house,
I know that you’re but a heartbeat away.
As will I be.
So shine, Hannah . . .
Close your eyes,
dream big,
don’t take any shit from anybody and shine
just shine . . .

~Dad

May 12, 2011 - Life, Love, nurse, Personal, wishes, women    4 Comments

Infirmière

Congrats to our daughter Sarah,
that graduates tomorrow from MGH.
She will start her nursing internship in the ICU at the Newton-Wellesley Hospital in a few weeks.
Pamela and me are just a little bit proud.
Graduation tomorrow morning at the Hynes and dinner tomorrow night at the Tavern in the Square.
It should be an awesome day.
We are so proud of her and all that she’s achieved.
Leaving you with a nurse-inspired poem . . . for our new NURSE

By Jennifer Huff, LPN:

I said goodbye to you today.
In my own quiet way.
A hidden tear was shed.
Tribute to the life you led.

Empty chair, an unspoken reminder of you.
Too soon to be filled by a patient so new.
Numb to the pain of so many goodbyes.
Sorrow hidden, secretly brushing tears from my eyes.

You joined the others who paved the way for you.
The leader, the song-man, the feisty one, too.
The one who decided that he’d just had enough.
Saying farewell to you all has been so tough.

I like to imagine you are all gathered up there.
Playing poker, having feasts, so many stories to share.
No more restrictions on fluid and food.
No longer chained to disease, it is as it should.

Those of us left behind, keep your memory alive.
Working hard every day to help others survive.
Chair no longer empty, a new soul to tend.
Hidden tears suppressed.
A new beginning to the end.

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