O Sole Mio

It always makes me think... remember... pause in time, in that moment when you touched my hand softly in the candlelight, as my baby lay sleeping beside me on the bench...

There was a spark, a surge of magic that lit my fire and breathed life back into me... that's when I first knew I had to leave.

So often over the years, you crept back into my soul to console me, to light the mind's eye, and keep hope floating.

And the look on your face when you first saw me again, walking through the door of your resturaunt 3 years later... You had not changed at all, except perhaps being more handsome than I remembered, standing behind the bar in your familiar spot... Your jaw dropped. I grinned. Your eyes twinkled. He was jealous.

Time never was quite right for us, but I thank you for being in my life. You were exactly who I needed you to be when I needed you...

And I will always wish I had kissed you that night... just because.

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My Own Sun What a wonderful thing a sunny day The cool air after a thunderstorm! The fresh breezes banish the heavy air… What a wonderful thing a sunny day. But another sun, that’s brighter still It’s my own sun that’s in your face! The sun, my own sun It’s in your face! It’s in your face! Shining is the glass from your window; A washwoman is singing and bragging Wringing and hanging laundry and singing Shining is the glass from your window. But another sun, that’s brighter still It’s my own sun that’s in your face! The sun, my own sun It’s in your face! It’s in your face! When night comes and the sun has gone down, I start feeling blue; I’d stay below your window When night comes and the sun has gone down. But another sun, that’s brighter still It’s my own sun that’s in your face! The sun, my own sun It’s in your face! It’s in your face!

O Sole Mio (In Neapolitan) Che bella cosa na jurnata 'e sole, n'aria serena doppo na tempesta! Pe' ll'aria fresca pare gia' na festa Che bella cosa na jurnata 'e sole. Ma n'atu sole cchiu' bello, oi ne'. 'O sole mio sta 'nfronte a te! 'O sole, 'o sole mio sta 'nfronte a te, sta 'nfronte a te! Lùcene 'e llastre da fenesta toia; 'na lavannara canta e se ne vanta e pe' tramente torce, spanne e canta lùcene 'e llastre d'a fenesta toia. Ma n'atu sole cchiu' bello, oi ne'. 'O sole mio sta 'nfronte a te! Quanno fa notte e 'o sole se ne scenne, me vene quase 'na malincunia; sotto 'a fenesta toia restarria quanno fa notte e 'o sole se ne scenne. Ma n'atu sole cchiu' bello, oi ne'. 'O sole mio sta 'nfronte a te!

--Giovanni Capurro

Pass the Meow Mix Please

I love to people watch, but I really hate people who stare. Especially when staring out of ignorance, morbid curiosity, or just plain nosiness because some unique person or event has, in all its splendor, managed to paralyze their shallow lifeless intellect.

Children, I dont' mind. Children stare out of natural wonder. They are curious and interested. Children ask questions. They're unafriad and non-judgemental. It's only from the adults in their lives that they learn to be assholes.

Anyhoo... admittedly, there are certain times when I have been caught staring too, like the record-hot sweltering day in downtown Raleighwood when I watched a homeless man slit his wrists, walk up to a payphone, and dial 911 with blood pouring down his arms and hands... I stared, not so much for the morbidity (working in a hospital will cure that quickly), but rather the horror at witnessing the level of desperation one man was willing to reach in order to escape the miserable heat... or the rude witch of an old lady at the grocery store, who glared at my special child with disgust before scurrying away, when my daughter accidentally knocked over a zuchinni - well, the next time I saw the hag, I just couldn't help but to stare back and declare loudly with locked gaze, "Look hunni, there's that mean old bat that was giving us the evil eye"...

--Of course, once or twice, in the course of chanel-surfing, I've accidentally, against my better judgement, gotten "stuck" watching "Dog, the Bounty Hunter" on TV too... I absolutely despise that show, the redneck idiots that "star" in it, and generally find the whole concept a rediculous embarassment to the entire human race, let alone to the country (although it sure helps to explain alot)... but it's kinda like a really bad train wreck - one just can't help but to sit and stare, mouth agasp.

But when it comes to people staring at children, or disabled people, or most especially disabled children, I often find I'm out of my own control. The problem is generally people, in all their ignorant bliss, love to jump conclusions about what they see or think they see, stereotype, and pass judgement...

Example: I met a wonderful mother at a Parent Leadership Development retreat once, who had unfortunately had learned through experience that it was far easier to summerize her child's emotional and behavioral disabilities as well as basic medical history into pre-printed pamplets to hand out to all the well-meaning and would-be-hero types who feel the need to intervene whenever her child has a public meltdown. (As if this amazing woman didn't endure enough without some know-nothing jackass berating her parenting skills.) People can be o' so cruel in the midst of their own ignorance.

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Recently, during a family excursion to Target, my Bella decided mid-way our shopping spree that she wasn't going to walk any further. As she is too tall for the kid seat, we emptied the cart, piling everything in the front, least it gets tossed out, so that Miss Thang has the entire cart to herself. Kevo grabs a bag of cat food which he places in the cart with Bella since the kid seat is stacked five feet high... and merrily, we continue onward, stopping in the book section before heading to the register... The two of us have our backs to the cart as we browse books, when suddenly I hear Bella's familiar eatting song, "uhm, uhm uhm..." (the cute little humming sound she makes when she really enjoys her food).

I turn around to find my child, not only EATING CAT FOOD, but in the midst of a furious nose bleed as well... OMG! "Take the cat food away from her," I yell as I go sprinting across the store to the toilet paper isle to grab paper and wipes to clean my bleeding child. Meanwhile, from the other side of the store, I hear the tantrum begining... by the time I return, she is in full throws - screaming bloody murder, madder than hell because Kevo took away her yummy snack and was trying to hold her still! To top it off, we dare to try and clean her face! Oh the fun. --Nothing like having a pissed off, screaming, bleeding child to draw a crowd of onlookers... and yes, there they were, parked with carts at the ends of the isle, gawking, witnessing the clear brutalization of a poor helpless child.

At this point, there was really nothing else left for us to do except laugh hysterically... and get the hell out of the store before some dumbass called Social Services.

Adios Mio.

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"Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."
--Gene Fowler

So, Once Upon a Time...

I was married to the u.s. army in the form of a handsome spanish-mexican-indian american I once met in a bar (at Fort Bragg of all places)... For the purpose of this story, I'll call him "Jack" (short for pendejo). Pretty much, the love affair went straight down hill (at warp speed) from the words, "I do," turning into an cold and abussive quagmire of misery for the years following... However, together, we managed to produce the most beautiful, special, and perfect form of angelic life on this earth. Ironically, she was the strength I needed to pack my shit, get on a plane, and return to the place I hated most. She would have enough challanges in her life and was NOT going to grow up like that; I would not allow it. ...And to this day, I miss Europe far more than I have ever missed "Jack."

I did not go to the command and request "Early Retutn of Dependents." Instead I bought my own plane tickets for me and my daughter out of my own pocket and packed everything I could possibly fit of our belongings into 5 of the world's biggest suitcases to accompany me, my 18 month old, and a hysterically barking Chinese Pug as we departed the only place that ever truly felt like home. (That was the first time I left my heart on the tarmac.)

Despite being continents apart, "Jack" was intent on making my life a living hell... I rebuilt our lives, found a great job with decent pay, found a great daycare program; began OT, PT, and SLP services for Bella, refinished an old house to live in, bought furniture, and slowly began to breath again -- all on my own. No help, no child support, nothing. One morning, I woke up, fell on the floor and couldn't walk... I had an enormous herniation in my lower back - in part from caring for a non-ambulatory child. --I was scheduled for emergency surgery in 2001, 2 years after leaving Europe.

Meanwhile, "Jack" remained in Germany for 1.5 years collecting BAS, BAQ, and COLA for a wife and child who wasn't there... then PCSed to Ft. Drum, New York on orders for a family of 3 and moved into on-post family housing. (Anyone reading this who is remotely familiar with the military culture, knows that that is a huge, "Oh shit.")

At the point of surgery, I made the dreaded phonecall... the "you've had 2 years to get your shit straight and I need you start helping out" call. "Jack" basically told me to go call someone who cares - he was about to purchase a house (with the family allowance) and didn't have any extra money... so I did... I called the Post Commander of Fort Drum. (Shit rolls down hill real fast in the army.)

Many, many death threats, much harrasment, and a restraining order later, it was pretty clear that it was at last time to enlist the aid of someone else to deal with it all...

Having gone through three attorneys (and a couple deceiptful and cowardly, sorry-ass boyfriends simultaneously), I fired number 3 and walked into number 4's office February of 2003... (I walked out on Number 3 [a short balding troll-looking, childless fucker named Dan Coleman] when he had the audacity to say I would need parental rights in order to have my daughter sterilized when she reaches puberty [which, horrifyingly enough, is still legal in NC]... one of the rare few times I have ever been completely and utterly speechless.)

So Lawyer number 4... listened to the entire twisted, complex saga for two and a half hours of me speaking as rapidly as I possibly could to get it all out... alas, Lawyer Number 4 says to me, "Don't worry, I'm going to take care of this," and somehow, I believed him. Perhaps because he was willing to see me for a consultation knowing that I was, at the time, an unemployed single mother of a disabled child... or perhaps because he actually listened. But I believed him, that everything would be okay... And he never even charged me for the consultation.

October 31st, 2003 marked the dissolution of the legal marriage to "Jack." I couldn't have hoped for a more appropriate day to commemorate.

We kept in touch, Lawyer Number 4 and I, and occationally would grab lunch together. For years, he kept a professional distance and proved himself over and over to be a solid trust-worthy friend... He encouraged me to go to London in 2004 so I could speak to my 'best friend' and former live-in lover/fiance face to face and heart to heart... and a few months later, he came over in the middle of the night and held me while I cried myself to sleep after discovering from strangers that this 'love of my life' was marrying someone else.

Lawyer Number 4 knew all the deep dark uglies of my life... from my marriage and custody, the challanges of being a single mother to a child with special needs, my crazy-ass "family," health concerns, and the aunt-fucker and the coward... He came over durring the threat of an ice storm to move my refrigerator when Bella poured sour milk underneath it. He refused to allow me to pay for lunches. He read the entire Qu'ran. He accompanied us to kiddie movies and carried my groceries inside. He drove me to doctors appointments when my health had declined so that I could no longer walk steadily. He made me laugh, even when I didn't want to. He won my daughter's heart and she won his. And although I remained the cold, distant, bitter ass... he wouldn't go away. He resolved to prove to me that I could count on someone, believe in someone, trust someone -- and that someone was him. I didn't make it easy for him... bless his heart... and he wouldn't go away.

So, the bad news is, I've lost the best divorce attorney I ever had...

but here's the happily ever after... Cinco de Mayo, I married him.

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Nearly all marriages, even happy ones, are mistakes: in the sense that almost certainly (in a more perfect world, or even with a little more care in this very imperfect one) both partners might be found more suitable mates. But the real soul-mate is the one you are actually married to.
--J. R. R. Tolkien, Letter to Michael Tolkien, March, 1941