THE OLDEST MAN ALIVE JOURNAL, DAY TWO
This Hub is a series which you can follow like a daily journal. I will probably not have time to write in this journal every day, but perhaps, at least several times a week, but that hasn't happened yet!.
I hope this "journal" will bring inspiration to you, especially to men. I hope it is a nudge or urge to grow love in your own garden. As men, we tend to experience love as a capturing and an enslaving of the person we love. We control and eventually suffocate this precious other. And all of that is about our own brokenness. Has absolutely nothing to do with the person we say we love. NOTHING. Except that perhaps he or she was broken enough to go along with our sick program! Sorry! Check out the initial blog
The Oldest Man Alive
So they asked him, "What is your secret? What makes it possible for you to live to such a ripe old age?"
He just sat there for the longest time. He loved to do that in interviews. It drove the reporters nuts. Besides being a lover, he was also a guy, in other words, a control freak!
He finally looked up and answered their question.
"You know, I heard that French woman, who lived to be almost 118, tell you guys that she stopped smoking when she was ninety-seven! I thought that was hysterical.
Yeah, so what is my secret? What has kept me alive all these years? Well, that's pretty simple. LOVE. And to keep that love alive in my soul, I write a love letter every day to the woman of my dreams."
"Who is she?" they pushed him.
"Why do you ask such stupid questions? You gotta know who she is for crying out loud."
"Is she still alive?"
"Another stupid question. Are any of you reporter types intelligent? At all? Come on, of course she is alive. How or why would I write her every day if she were not alive? Soulmates never die. You live on each other's hearts, forever. And no matter where you might be living physically, you need to talk to each other every day, in here." And he tapped his heart. "Now, I've told you enough. Leave me be. I have a letter to write.
Oh, how I miss you. I went down to Macy's yesterday and bought a bottle of your favorite perfume. I sprayed your body pillow with it and then cuddled up to you all night long. .
I dreamed I was running on the beach with you. We skirted the surf and splashed each other. We sat for awhile in the suds and dared each other to stay sat while the remnants of a couple of big waves rolled over us. The water was a bit cool, but your warm body next to me kept the goose bumps.at bay.
O how I love it when I dream about you. I awoke not knowing for sure if maybe I had slipped back in time. I lay there in the bed silently, listening to see if I could hear you breathing next to me. I fell back to sleep and when I awoke with the sun, I listened to see if I could hear you making coffee in the kitchen. The smell of burnt toast seemed to be drifting into the bedroom from some place. I imagine from the neighbors. It is amazing how that smell can find its way in.
I am assuming you remember that today is our wedding anniversary. We would be married 75 years today. The young priest, who probably knows nothing about marriage, well, I guess his parents were married, so what am I talking about? But anyway, he said in his sermon last Sunday that there is no marriage in heaven. I found that interesting. So I wonder who you're hanging out with up there? You and Jack Russell, your old "buddy" from High School making out there on some cloud? Hey, it's okay. that's what heaven is for. Just save a few kisses for when I finally make it up there.
I keep wondering what the heck I am still doing here. Perhaps the great great grandkids keep me going. I love going to the park with them. I can still throw a pretty mean frisby but my arm was very sore the other day from throwing that damned thing.
I caught myself looking at a young checker at the grocery store the other day. Remember how you would elbow me when you caught me doing that? I remember you whispering in my ear something like, "keep that up, Jack, and you ain't gettin nothin tonight." That's the only reason I do it anymore just to hear your cute voice inside my head.
You are the best, Beth. No one can replace you. Occasionally, it feels like you are slipping away, but I grab on, I go deep into my soul where you seem to be permanently etched. I will never forget the time you said you needed to go away for awhile. You weren't sure if we were really meant to be married and you just needed space to figure it all out. I remember thinking that that was the end for sure, but I am forever grateful I gave you that time and space because then there were never any doubts or what if's. Our grandson, Patrick's girlfriend told him the very same thing a couple of weeks ago. I told Patrick, "Let her go, Patrick, let her fly. It will be the best decision the two of you ever make. Your grandmother and I were separated for awhile." I told him that I thought that time away from each other became the glue that held us together through thick and thin. Do you remember that time at all? What did you do during that time. You know, I never did ask you, and I sort of didn't want to ask you. I don't know, I figured if you came back, that was good enough. Why would I want to know anymore than that?
Thanksgiving is just a couple of weeks away. For whatever reason, I am not particularly looking forward to it this year. I don't know if the days without you are finally catching up with me or what? I thought just to distract myself, I might go the downtown mission and help serve that big Turkey dinner they put on each year.
Well, sweets, I miss you a bunch. I will write more tomorrow. Oh by the way, I had scrambled eggs and toast with butter and black berry jam. The seeds still stick in my teeth. When I heard myself crunching on the toast, it almost sounded like you were right next to me crunching on your toast.
I saw this poem today. Not sure what it meant for the poet, but I found it beautiful and wanted to share it with you.
You hold us high.
Like a gentle wind,
Spreads our wings.
(Fly, my love.)
You call us
To your wholeness.
Our souls perched
Eager and hesitant
For their separate journeys
Out of the darkness.
(I will fly, my love.)
You know us
By our hearts, Lord.
By Your heart.
(We will fly, my love.)
Do you like the poem?
Your Soul mate
More by this Author
A fictional account of what may happened in Dallas on November 22, 1963. Sometimes truth and fiction work well together and perhaps give us a better glimpse into reality than the so-called facts.
For the stick in the mud, let’s-get-it-on-and-over-with type, (probably a guy!) spending any amount of time exploring this question could be hard and as boring and perhaps as frustrating as foreplay. So I...