The Sound of Silence

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     Hello, friends! Welcome to another “Mis-Matched to Miss Match” episode. I know you were hoping this would be a good news post because I have not written in some time. Sadly, that is not the case.
     The subject of today’s blog is a handsome 42-year-old professional. He was downright yummy. He was intelligent and funny, and we hit it off wonderfully. At the beginning, he was attentive and eager to please. He even sang to me while we slow danced. I was in heaven. It was a romantic dream come true! Slow dancing and singing! Just imagine it! Continue reading

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Unraveling

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Greetings, friends! My mind is stuck in poetry mode these days. So, today, I am sharing my poem, Unraveling. It is one of my favorite poignant poems. If you already have a copy of my poetry book, From 14 to 41, it can be found on page 12.

If you haven’t purchased it yet, I am running a special on all of my books. From 14 to 41, in particular, makes a great graduation gift. It has a great deal of inspirational and thought-provoking pieces.

All books ordered from my website will be signed by me, and I can dedicate them to the loved ones of your choice. Don’t delay, order today!

Finding My Way

     The last poem I posted, Harvest Day, was written during the darkest time in my life, my unexpected divorce. That’s right, it was worse than going through cancer. Not to minimize the hell that cancer was, because that ordeal was horrible. I knew I would beat cancer. But I did not think I would survive the divorce. I couldn’t sleep or eat. And although I lost a lot of weight, I do not recommend divorce as a weight-loss program!
     Eventually, I climbed out of the pit of despair and rejoined the land of the living. I wrote Finding My Way during that arduous climb.
Continue reading

Harvest Day

     In honor of National Poetry Month, here is one of the poems I wrote in Fall 2011. I wrote this poem, Harvest Day, on one dark day early in my divorce journey.
Continue reading

My Big, Fat Greek Tragedy

MasksComedyTragedy     If there was any doubt that my life is a Greek tragedy in the making, this episode of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” should solidify the notion in everyone’s minds.
     This installment’s bachelor is a well-known businessman in this area. So, all I will say is that he was in his early 50s and had blond hair and blue eyes.
     Initially, when he contacted me, I turned him down. One of the descriptors in his Match profile did not sit right with me. And I explained in my reply that descriptor was why I was turning him down.
     He wrote me a long email in return, clarifying his position and dispelling any incorrect impressions I had. His arguments were good ones. So, I agreed to talk to him.
     We talked and hit it off. We wanted to meet. However, he was in Florida vacationing with his kids. We would meet when he returned. Despite him being on vacation, we spoke every day.
     Then, my dad had a heart attack. So, I was driving to New York as this intriguing man was about to drive back to Indiana.
     God just loves messing with me.
     My potential suitor understood, and we kept talking on the phone.
     Finally, we were in the same city at the same time. So, after talking for almost three weeks, we met for dinner. We got along splendidly. Our likes and dislikes were the same in just about all areas, including politics and religion. That, in and of itself, was amazing.
     He grew up on the East Coast, just like me. Loved to travel. Loved live theater and musicals! Yes, musicals! Where had he been hiding all of this time?
     Well, most of the time, he was working, networking or attending his kids’ activities. He had the busiest calendar I had ever seen. He could not plan out more than a week ahead because meetings and events were constantly being added to his schedule by his assistant and his kids. But he swore he would make time for me. And he did try.
     In the days that followed, we talked for hours on end, about everything and anything. The conversation never got stale or boring. The more we got to know one another, the more perfect we seemed for each other. The similarities were uncanny.
     Drinking and smoking were not issues. Awesome!
     His children were older. Another bonus.
     He had no pets and had no intention of ever owning one. Thank you, Jesus!
     Pinch me already!
     Anyway, everything was going pretty well until it was time to meet his friends. That’s when the bottom dropped out.
     While Mr. Seemingly-Perfect did not have any pets, every single one of his friends did. These friends were his work colleagues as well as his personal friends. He spent almost all of his time with these people. And from what he told me about them, they were the best friends a person could ask for. I’m sure I would have agreed.
     But the conundrum was that they all entertained in their houses. You know, where the animals lived.
     If you have not read my previous posts on the subject, my allergic reaction to animals is anaphylactic. So, I can not be around animals. Extended exposure to them could literally kill me.
     Meeting his friends out at a restaurant would have been fine. I suggested that. But in the long run, that would not have been feasible or sustainable, as they all loved to entertain at their homes. Each had an elaborate backyard oasis, fire pit, and/or boat, etc.
     Then there was his buddy’s lake house. I absolutely love lake houses because I love sitting by a lake, looking out at the water and listening to the water lap up on the shore. And there’s nothing quite like watching the sun rise or set over the water.
     That’s one of the biggest things I miss about living in New York. I really miss being close to a large body of water. Growing up minutes from Lake Ontario was a luxury I did not fully appreciate until I moved to Indiana, land of small, man-made lakes. But I digress…
     Alas, there were always animals at his buddy’s lake house. The owner brought his pets and allowed everyone to bring their pets too. Well, just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.
     I could not in good conscience ask him to pick between me and his friends. He’s known some of them for over twenty years. If I kept him from them, he would become resentful. And I would feel guilty.
     And if he always went over to his friends’ houses and to the lake house without me, I would become resentful. And presumably, he would feel guilty.
     We discussed the situation rationally. No compromise was suitable, and he picked his friends.
     I will not lie. I am extremely disappointed. But let’s face it; I could never compete with them, the lifestyle to which he had grown accustomed, the boats and the lake house.
     How pitiful is that? We can’t have a relationship because of other people’s pets.
     Heavy sigh.
     Animals are truly the bane of my existence.

Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal

How To Deal With Frustrating People, by Brendon Burchard

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     I saw this video that Brendon Burchard posted. It’s about how to deal with frustrating people. And I think the timing is perfect.

     Considering all of the stress and the craziness of the holidays, shopping and family togetherness, this is a great message for everyone.

     He posted the written transcript under it. So, you can read through the bullet points and concentrate on them, if you’re pressed for time.

     Here is the link: http://brendonburchard.tumblr.com/post/104623260743/how-to-deal-with-frustrating-people

     I wish you all patience and peace during this Christmas season!

Happy Father’s Day!

     What can I say about my dad? He is the most hardworking, loving and intelligent man I know. He would do anything in the world for me, my brother and my mom. He is a good man. Plain and simple. Of course, there are times when he drives us all nuts, but that’s part of his quintessential charm.
     Dad is the life of every party. When his blue eyes twinkle, God only knows what he’s thinking or what’s coming next. He is definitely not the most politically correct person you will ever meet, but he is one of the most entertaining. The songs he wrote for his coworkers’ retirement parties were legendary. He even had backup singers. And those backup singers accompanied me during the retirement song I wrote and performed for him.
     People who meet my mother for the first time usually start the conversation with, “We always wondered who could put up with him. Is he like that all the time?”
     She answers, “Yes, he is. We’ve been together for over fifty years. And I haven’t killed him yet.”
     However, there were times when we wondered if he was trying to kill us. His vacations were death-defying adventures. Seriously. If we didn’t come close to getting maimed or killed, it wasn’t a good vacation. He got several ideas from those nice people in National Geographic. That should paint you a better picture right there.
     Imagine if you will a 9-year-old and a 12-year-old and their parents, wearing regular sneakers, carrying no food or water, clinging to chains driven into the side of a cliff with railroad spikes, navigating narrow ledges to reach Havasu Falls at the bottom of The Grand Canyon. Oh, I forgot to mention that we also had heavy camera equipment around our necks. That crazy family was us. We have the pictures and video to prove it.
     Growing up, Dad was the cool dad. He rigged up a car stereo and 6×9 speakers in the garage, so we could listen to music outside. He would play oldies or rock, sometimes country. This was while the neighbor across the street was broadcasting Willie Nelson, or the soundtrack from Evita or the soundtrack from Les Mis.
     Don’t get me wrong, I love Evita and Les Mis now, but listening to those soundtracks as a child was depressing. So, thank God, Dad’s system was louder. To this day, he still cranks it up loud. Of course now that might be because his hearing isn’t what it used to be.
     When he would bring home a new car, the neighborhood boys would come over to “oooh” and “aaah” over it. They’d ask tons of questions that he was more than happy to answer. Then he’d spend the next two hours washing it.
     I think I volunteered him to be the DJ for my 8th grade ’50s/’60s sock hop. He lugged his record player, a slew of records, stereo system and speakers to the school. Everybody, including the teachers, had a blast. He even came up with a trivia game and handed out prizes.
     In high school, he took me to all of the Father/Daughter Dinner Dances. We danced energetically to the fast songs. And we serenaded each other as we danced to the slow songs. We were quite the pair!
     He was proud when I followed in his footsteps and went to GMI Engineering & Management Institute. (It was General Motors Institute when he went there.) I was mortified when I had to explain my Dad’s nickname for me to my college roommate. She answered the phone, and he thought it was me and greeted her, “Hi, Poozlet!”
     Yeah, don’t ask.
     On my wedding day, we were alone in the bride’s room waiting to walk down the aisle. I was nervous, and he was making jokes trying to calm my nerves. But then he got serious for a moment. He said, “I’m assuming your mother had the talk with you.”
     Oh dear God. Did he really just say that? I’m going to die now. Of embarrassment or something. I laughed. Mom and I had the talk when I was ten years old.
      “Yeah, Dad. We had the talk.”
      “Okay. Good.”
     I wonder what he would have done if I had said, “No.” I can only imagine!
     Mom and Dad came to stay with me when I had cancer. I remember waking up from surgery. Mom wore her usual cheerful caregiver smile. But Dad had what we now jokingly refer to as “Dad Face.”
     “Dad Face” is the look he gets when he wants to fix whatever is wrong, but is helpless to do so. Because ultimately, it is out of his control. It’s a very concerned, worried, loving look.
     Mom and I learned quickly that we had to assign him some tasks. That way he felt useful and accomplished something.
     When I was going through my divorce, “Dad Face” returned. Heck, for a while, Mom even had “Dad Face.” Actually, almost everyone I knew had “Dad Face.” Hard not to since I was sobbing at the drop of a hat.
     Anyway, now that Dad’s retired, he’s busier than ever. When he’s not out washing his cars or doing yardwork, he’s fishing. He frequently says, “A bad day of fishing is still better than the best day at work.”
     Mr. Catch and Release has said it enough times, we believe him. Plus, he does come back with some really interesting fish stories. However, it still boggles the mind. This is a man who is always in a rush and hates waiting in lines. Yet, he will spend hours, days and sometimes weeks fishing. Sometimes on the shore or in a boat. Most of the time in waders standing chest deep in a stream.
     Fly fishing is his favorite type of fishing. Although he sometimes uses corn. Niblets to be precise. From a can. Apparently, it works. He’s catching a lot of fish with niblets. Who knew? Niblets!
     And when he’s not fishing, he’s planning meals. Breakfast with his brothers, Old Farts luncheons (his words, not mine), and dinners with everyone else my parents know. Their social calendar is booked out for weeks. They are popular people. Well, I guess with him you do get a meal and a comedy act.
     Most of all, my Dad wants me to be happy and feel loved. I consider myself very lucky, blessed, happy and loved because I have him for a Dad. And no matter how old I get, I will always be his little girl.

Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal