Yuma Morning, Love and memories, attitude of gratitude, weeding the garden

I woke at 630 this morning.  I’d been up once in the night to pee. Now as I prayed I thought I normally wake at 7 though we’d not got up till 8 these last couple of days. Madigan had woken me ready to go. He’s a funny guy. Sleeps in but once in a while gets bored and like a kid wants us to get up early and pray. I went to bed exhausted after our trip to Mexico,  I was asleep before 10.  We’re outside of Yuma at Bonita Mesa by Fortuna Road.  

I believe our egos or the self relaxes when there’s wide open spaces and we’re more one with nature.  I expand.  In thee city the press of other egos is work keeping one contained.  In Mexico all the hustlers anxious and needy are pressing in actually touching and physically sometimes demanding attention,  tapping the shoulder, putting the goods they want to sell in your face.  It’s wearing.  I enjoy the buzz and the friendliness but then I’m also on guard, a foreigner, watching his iPhone and wallet.  There’s that but Los Algadones is the safest place mostly professionals, highest density of dentists, opticians and their assistants.  The others are merchants but they make it hard to walk down the street.  I feel it’s not a place to saunter and enjoy.  I remember that even on the Malacon of the bigger towns of the west coast there were vendors disrupting the revelry.  No wonder I love camping and the north away from people.  Boundaries and respect.  

I’ll never forget the Galleria built in the 18th century in Milan with openings to the merchants store complex that only accommodated the doorway of carriages, This way the guards cook let the shoppers in and keep the street people out.  Laura was accosted on the streets of Milan by a gang of Somalian ‘refugees’ who held her till she gave them 20 euros.  Right in the Main Street , a dozen big men holding a little grandmother by the wrist, extorting money.

Such memories come back but not so quickly the far more important memories of my mother walking me and protecting me as a child. I am so thankful for the childhood I had with my parents in Fort Garry Winnipeg.

I saw a CFL Saskatchewan Roughriders Jersey and took a picture.  Other’s commented on it when I put it up on FB.  

I see yellow in the sky to the east.  I let Madigan out and we walked about the camper and truck. Our new neighbours have a bus and two dogs, a puppy chihuahua and an older one.  

I might have woken and got up early because I’m hoping to collect my Harley today.  The ignition module needed to be replaced and they hoped to have the part yesterday so said it would likely be ready today.  It’s Friday the 29, of the Holiday weekend.  A new year. I think fondly of the time in New York with Laura.  

I liked seeing there was a meeting today. Terry posts readings which I often read though confess I’m lax at times. I love the meeting.   

I talked with Lydia yesterday and thought fondly of the clinics, She asked when I was returning and I said before end of February.  I renewed my spot here for another month so that’s Feb. 10 about. I think I’ll take some vacation time to head home.  It took me 4 days to get here but I’m thinking I’d like to plan 5-7 days, maybe leave on the Thursday Feb. 23.  I may leave here and head out to San Diego and get a start on the return.  The weather is warm up to LA and I could begin the trek up the coast but maybe misss the LA hills stretch by sticking to the coast, but more traffic and better views.  

Laura leaves on the 2nd. I’ll drive her up to Phoenix leaving 8 am from here.  I’ve so enjoyed her company.  Comfortable.  Cozy.  Friendly. I do love the girl.  Friend, lover, confident, dog mom.  People call us husband and wife and after 25 years of ‘hanging out’ we don’t correct them.  Yet we’ve kept separate residences. I remember my last wife on cocaine and angry and unpredictable and me unable to sleep in the house.  She’d almost killed us several times sailing, lying and doing damage. Borderline.  Enraged.  She drove the car into the wall that day and would go to bed for days.  Bipolar.  Psychotic. So many terms had been used for her mother and she was her mother’s daughter. They both refused treatment. That was the last straw when she we sent her away to San Diego to get drug and alcohol treatment and she played doctor and told all the lies about me to her family failing to mention her drug dealer and the grow op she had in the home and any of the other stuff.  

I had been married three times and the women were fine all of them great ladies but this last wouldn’t pass as a room mate.  On the sailboat I’d had to bring the coast guard aboard to lecture her on safety and explain why there were ‘rules’ of the sea. She never believed that rules applied to her even in her medical training.  The Coast Guard were understanding. I asked her to sail with other women who sailed but she wouldn’t preferring to badger me and dominate me.  Somehow the idea being that if a man had sex with a woman he was now her inferior.  It was all emotional reasoning.

But I spent to many years on call, delivering babies, answering the phone, going out to hospitals to let my sleep be constantly disturbed by someone who took delight in causing another person suffering. She was mean.  

And i vowed I’d not give up my bed again. I’ve not married. I’ve several moveable homes, boats, campers , RV’s.  I’ve had apartment but I’ve not bought houses because the woman got them in divorces and the judges gloated at the suffering of other men hoping against hope to get the women who would see their proxy violence as manly. The courts were so obscene about marriage. Marriage and family law needed to be tribunals.  Nothings made that more true when she showed up with her lawyer both of them in push up bras and fish net stockings looking like hookers as the judge licked his lips and drooled at the girls.  Thank God for my Chinese Christian colleague who told me his people had been abused enough by the English courts that he prepped me well for the whole obscene drama. I was so thankful for the wisdom of the Christians that day and now understood that the errors of marriage were in my choice.

I’d picked non Christians, a delightful pagan and an aetheist and a whatever.  I’d also drunk and picked drunks and simply liked women who wore black bra and panty sets. I was the twisted one there. I wanted the wife who was the lady in the living room and whore in the bed room.  

Laura was a grandmother when I met her.  A lapsed catholic who rarely attended church till she came with me and had stopped going to Al Anon because the 12 stamps point the finger at ourselves. We prefer to blame.

Despite all the therapy and sponsorship I still interpret my ex wife’s not as the Jesus they were but rather as the ‘other’.  They were saints come to teach me the best of lessons, Zen warriors who at any time could have caused me so much more harm or death but rather played with me like a cat with a mouse teaching me how to be prepared for the psychopaths in charge, the government men, the multi billionaires, the satanic, and the wise.  I have been blessed to have the best of wives but now I respect my sleep too much to put my bed into an agreement about sex and historically made for the fanily and children and not for couples. A proper roommate agreement would have laid out duties and obligations. I remember the sex stoppage in the middle marriage and ‘my body my own’ the decision against children.  I did the sperm test and don’t want to face that humiliation again.  All the while the laws are stuck in the 17 th century and the traitor Trudeau brings in immigrants pre Magna cart and women culled from questioning their men knowing too many of their sisters killed in living memory whereas here the women abuse men with impunity . Cultural marxist plays the woman as the proletariat and all men are bourgeoisie.  Especially my multimillionaire educated ex wife.

Now that’s the bad neighbourhood of my mind.  The good times we all had were decades of fun and folly. The bad times were at most 1/10.  At least 51% of the time was good but immature mind slips into the goo of self pity and wallowing despair , the narcissism of self and won’t live in the attitude of gratitude where it belongs.

That said sleeping beside Laura last night was heavenly. I watched her climb into bed and was reminded of my adolescent self dreaming to be near such a gorgeous sexy creature. And here she was cuddled beside me . Our good night kiss is the best of apertif’s. 

She is the best and the present. Maybe the past would be best if it was present. My 50 year married friends says they fell in and out of love and that the good years were best.  Divorce like abortion is the throw away society consumer object.  Why even own duct tape.. The next generation can’t cook. We can order in sex like food.  It’s changing society of individualism and communism.  The glue of love and time is gone,  The communists fear the family.  The only loyalty is to the state, the new religion, better 1984 and a collection of shallow slippery sorts afraid and sickly but flocking to the latest fashion.  

I’m old.  Laura is kind to be with me. I miss the hard dick and strong back and lifting women to fuck them in their clothing sans panties against whatever wall is convenient, in the streets, in the home in the elevator.  Today sex isn’t spontaneous.

All that is spontaneous is peeing.  My aunt said to me when I was a teen that I’d one day know the locations of restrooms as she did. Well now I’m mapping restrooms and enjoying easy access.  I still drink coffee out but admire camel Laura who forgos beverages except at home.  We’re as amusing together as my dog who when i kiss Laura climbs over my shoulder to add a kiss.

These are the memories i want my mind to turn to not the well worn pages of self pity like to fools card deck.  I want today to focus on the positive and remember life as the glorious gift of adventure and friends that it has been.  

She’s up,  I’ll make her coffee.