What is love these days anyways?

16 11 2014

Lately I’ve been wondering.
I’m so lucky.I am surrounded by dear friends who I adore and who seem to like me. I don’t think I’ve offended any strangers lately, except for that guy who wanted my parking space. I have children who care about me.

But I lack love, that romantic upsurge of joy and affection we expect when we see our partner. I mean, I have that upsurge when I see my dear friends, when I get a phone call from afar, when my sons fit me into their wild schedules, when I get an email from a far away family member. But I long for romance. And, quite frankly, someone to curl about me at night and be too hot so I have to peel off the blankets but still sleep, touching each other somehow. I miss that. I miss having someone about to sigh at when my computer goes wrangy or I have to run out for milk or have to climb various stepladders. Someone to laugh with at the end of the day, someone to be with me against life’s challenges.

It seems to be out of style. Or maybe I’ve repelled it by turning down opportunities. I am only now beginning to understand the very real damage done to me in my youth that makes me push words away, seek proof, feel doubt, distrust. I’m doing the work to get over that.

Now, though, that I am yearning for romance, it is elusive, hard to find. People want part of a relationship, not all of it. They don’t want to be tied down, have expectations. Fair enough, I feel a bit that way, too. Adapting to change is hard. Especially as you get older. Others have been hurt, too, and have their own walls to pull down. So they dance away.

But I can’t help but think friendship and romance and love all require some sort of commitment. Time, primarily. The people I adore, I do so because they want to hang out. We spend time together. I can call on them if I need to, and vice versa.

Where is that with my romantic interests? Guarded, bounded, suspicious.
It’s too bad, really. A touch is all I need. And some time. And maybe an occasional bunch of flowers or a surprise book in the mail… I don’t need much to fall head over heels. But I need a bit.

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The new love in my life…

25 02 2013

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I have a new love in my life. He’s quiet, a classic, comfy to hold and hug to me. He lets me touch him whenever I want, enjoys my cuddling with him on the couch while I watch tv, comes out with me to social events and joins in with enthusiasm.
He, like me, enjoys all kinds of music, from rock and roll to Peter, Paul and Mary. He’s as thrilled as me that I’ve found the music for Classical Gas by Mason Williams.
But, like most grown ups, he’s also good on his own. He’s content to do is own thing if I’m away doing mine. He’s not threatened by others like him.
One day, we hope to travel together, maybe to Newfoundland, where we can hang out in the pubs with the locals. Or just sit and watch the sunrise together, maybe singing a tune together. Maybe “Morning Has Broken” or something. We don’t know. He even understands I might leave him behind and take my shorter friend.
I don’t know how long my infatuation will last, but it’s pretty strong right now. I’ve known lots of other instruments, but none of them have taken to me the same way he has. It’s so easy being with him.
We simply seem right together. We have the same odd sense of the world, me and my ukulele.
I think this is the beginning of a wonderful relationship.





Happy Year of the Snake! Or is it?

10 02 2013

ImageOr as many of my woman friends would say, “EEEEEKS!”

What IS that? Why does it seem more women than men are afraid of snakes? According to a bunch of reports, men and women are equally afraid of snakes, and it’s based on some rudimentary and ultimately sensible fear of things that can kill us. And/or eat us whole.

But we women get to wear the fear thing more openly. Poor men have to look fierce and not quiver as hairy spiders crawl up their legs or as snakes swim by them in the lake. We get to do the girlie thing and scream and point and get them to get rid of the thing.

Or at least, sometimes. I’ve had to rid my world of creepy crawlies solo a fair bit of the time – dealing with bats and crunchie bugs and spiders without recourse to screaming and begging for help. In one way, it’s empowering.

In another, it’s almost a good enough reason to take on a man.

So what does the year of the snake mean for romance, besides the urge to scream when you get one of the commemorative postage stamps on a letter?Image

According to one predictor, this year romance is only good for dragons. Everyone else is to be careful about love, affairs, and all that. There’s lots of infidelity, some coolness. Oh, and dogs (like me) are supposed to get married. I laugh. Even if I do like the spider removal…

In general things, this year of the Black Snake is supposed to be about caution and diligence, despite the urge to get in touch with your artsy side and spiritual innards. So, general frustration combined with hard work. Not sure how this will translate into romance and love…though keeping a relationship going is largely frustration combined with hard work, plus the spicing of love and lust and intimacy. And ignoring of soup slurping.Image

So maybe it isn’t all bad news, in this new year of slithery things.

As for me, I’m keeping my snake net handy. I am not counting on having anyone rescue me as yet.

 





It’s spring, when a young heart’s thoughts turn to those of love…or is that just limerence?

3 04 2012

Ah, the joy of another new word. I thought there were phases of love, yes, but I knew nothing of the word limerent, coined by Dorothy Tennov in 1977. She described an anxious form of attachment, much like the infatuation of early love, but which varies according to the uncertainty associated with the LO (limerent object). Instead of affection decreasing if the LO seems uncertain, the affection and efforts to persuade grow stronger with such uncertainty, until it is plain that nothing will come of the relationship. Apparently, this can go on for years. It’s like being endlessly twitterpated.

“With increases in doubt interspersed with reason to hope that reciprocation may indeed occur, everything becomes intensified, especially your preoccupation with percentages. At 100% you are mooning about, in either a joyful or a despairing state, preferring your fantasies to virtually any other activity unless it is (a) acting in ways that you believe will help you attain your limerent objective, such as beautifying yourself and, therefore increasing the probability that you will impress LO favourably during your interaction, or (b) actually being in the presence of LO. Your motivation to attain a “relationship” (mating, or pair bond) continues to intensify so long as a “proper” mix of hope and uncertainty exist.” http://flatrock.org.nz/topics/relationships/from_love_and_limerence.htm

I am reminded of the book I received one Christmas, where the lady of the house was forced to endure the gifting of the entire crew of the Partridge in a Pear Tree song as her love tried to woo her. Or of the Pe Pe Lepew and Penelope Pussycat relationship, where he tries more and more extreme approaches to win her heart. Until he gets her. Then he flees.

Of course, one wonders about the LO’s role in all of this. Does he/she lead the limerent on? According to most reports I could read, this isn’t the case – a lot of the mental anguish is internal and self-inflicted and the object often isn’t aware of it at all. Still, he/she must wonder at the flood of affectionate gifties and such.

Intersperse liminence with the natural urge to be kind to people and you can just see where people get into horrible messes. A recent online chat mentioned the need to be clear about breaking things off to avoid stimulating the limerent among us into a renewed frenzy of activity and adoration.

But hey, how do you know if you are involved with one of these folks or if you’re just suffering from the usual “spring is here and I’m in love” heart-singing that seems as predictable as the coming of strawberries with real flavour in the spring? Maybe the below will help. In the meantime, be careful out there. Those spring breezes can be dangerous…

“Dear Ralph,
Your four love letters arrived today. My landlady said a heavily sweating man stuffed them in the mailbox and lurched off like a wounded kiwi, so I assume you delivered them yourself. A million thanks, really.
All the letters make fine reading, but I was particularly struck by your complaint (letter 2, page 27) of a persistent heavy feeling in the chest that can only be relieved by sighing. Ralph, this is a clue. You are not just in love, you are limerent. …”

Read more: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,952554,00.html#ixzz1r0jItL9I








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