The Culture that has been here all the time

I hope:

The concept of "six degrees of separation" posits that any person on Earth is connected to any other through a chain of at most six acquaintances. This "small world" theory suggests we are all connected by six or fewer steps, often described as a "friend of a friend" network, limiting the distance between any two people to six intermediaries

If it is someone on TheCage, will know of a woman who would love to meet me and have a cup of coffee or tea and chat. Maybe even become a companion. Mmmmm, maybe I am getting desperate because loneliness is growing every day.

When people reach an age approaching 80, as I have, many will find they are widowed. Not by choice, like a divorce or separation, but because their significant other has passed away. Like me, they may discover there isn't a line of volunteers standing at our door interested in replacing our lost loved one, and we who experienced the loss may be filled with ambivalence, mourning about a loss, and yearning for a new partner. I don't blame the potential new friend for not wanting to be a replacement; yet, for me, for example, how much of my life do I have left to enjoy a new companion if we meet?

I have often reflected on the lands where the people of my heritage lived for centuries. Wars, plagues, and famines decimated populations, and still enough survived to emigrate to the US, where I live. I think of the old adage, "what doesn't kill me makes me stronger." I truly believe the genes I inherited have equipped me with what a survivor needs. When the graves were marked, the smoke had cleared, and my ancestors looked around, they formed new families. A spouse, a child, and so on. Almost all braved crossing the Atlantic Ocean alone at a time when it wasn't as safe as it is today. A cousin visited Ellis Island to find the names of some.

Young and old had the strength and courage to move on. I am ready to move on, though I do not expect to replace anyone in my life with an exact equivalent.

Instead, I seek a woman who is ready to begin a new life with me, as my ancestors did. (image pixabay)

I thought that if I went slowly into the future, one day at a time, things would improve; they have not.

Each morning, I find it harder to feel motivated to get up and navigate a new day. I know it has only been two months since my wife passed away, but in a very real sense, her loss of a coherent mental state in 2017 began the process of the loss of my compass into the future.

Yesterday, I reflected on how she and I were physical-touch communicators, and each day, despite at times feeling withdrawn, I know this more and more.

So today I sat on the edge of my bed, not wanting to get up, but my cat messed with my cell phone, and it started showing failed attempts to activate it. Meows weren't enough; he stepped on it, and it responded with a voice, so I was forced to get up.

Photos, songs, and items can trigger sadness, no, profound sadness. When my second wife ran off with the maintenance man from where she worked as an RN, it took years to get past that. Her best friend, sometime later, explained she didn't want to stay with our me and our son, with a serious heart defect, because at the time, the prognosis was that he would not live past his teens. During this time, a blue sky seemed black. This all happened more than forty years ago. I only recovered slowly because my late wife of 41 years helped me get past that. I do not have forty years now; less than 20 if averages hold.

In my wisest times, I live in the moment. Too bad, the moments are so lonely. (image pixabay)

I gathered and cleaned some of my art paints, tools, and equipment. I had a project on my back burner for years: Tiny lawn flowers. I want to paint tiny lawn flowers as if they were large enough to fill a canvas of about 12" x 16". I chose Alkyd since my acrylics are battered, and my Windsor & Newton Alkyds are virtually untouched. I have a complete color set, a number of brushes, and a canvas, and all I needed was Liquin, so I ordered that.

I would also like to explore figure painting, as our religious involvement in recent decades would not have approved of it. Now that I am irreligious, it doesn't matter.

What is Your True Language? My wife was in physical contact, and in hindsight, so was and is mine. What are the implications?

"A person whose primary love language is Physical Touch feels most loved and secure through physical affection, presence, and accessibility rather than words or gifts. They communicate and receive care via hugs, holding hands, cuddling, and other intimate gestures, which can lower stress and deepen emotional connections.  The 5 Love Languages +3
Key Aspects of the Physical Touch Language:

Significance: Touch is a "love tank" filler, providing reassurance and safety, often connecting to early childhood experiences of being held.

Expressions: Typical expressions include holding hands, kissing, cuddling on the couch, sitting close, and, for some, sexual intimacy.

Negative Impacts: Neglect, abuse, or prolonged physical distance can be highly detrimental and unforgivable to those with this language.

Body Language: It often encompasses reading nonverbal cues, such as gestures, posture, and facial expressions, to gauge emotions."

I dare say the kink community is a community of physical communicators.

I now realize much of my anxiety and problems over the period I was my wife's sole caregiver (though I could hug and kiss her), and now as an isolated widower, is the direct result of being cut off from a companion/lover. The pain of isolation and the feeling of being extremely cautious about what to do is the theme I live with every day.

I am not shy, but a Munch is something new for me to consider. When I had an FWB (1 briefly) several years ago, she encouraged me to go, but at the time, I was intensely engaged as my wife's caregiver. She passed just two months ago, and I am still feeling the aftereffect of that.

Each time I see a listing close enough and not too expensive, I almost commit to try going, but I change my mind. There isn't a good reason not to to go, but not having encouragement from a partner makes me feel like I would be a fish out of water.

Maybe next time.

I was raised by my side of the family, which was religious. I was scolded for using scissors on Sunday. The list was endless, it seemed. Secretly, as I accepted the mandate of the family to attend religious classes, I doubted and rebelled.

When my father deserted us for the last time (he would return 25 years later, more about that later ¹), a priest brought us a basket of rutabagas, which we didn't know what they were. Jewish people, some holocaust survivors, helped us through the early years. Life really improved when my mom became a mistress to a man who was part of a nefarious life. After that, even the juvenile delinquents left my brothers and me alone. A very cinematic life (LOL).

Hypocrisy reigned, and I was fully aware of it. I navigated life, making my own mistakes. There were times I admit I stole food. I never intentionally harmed anyone, and if I had, I am truly apologetic.

I developed a belief that the only real sin was lying about love and cheating on a lover. I live an honest life, but that is still my driving philosophy.

There was a period of decades during which I studied the Bible because my wife was a fervent believer when she was diagnosed with dementia, and her religious friends vanished. I pressed reject and became irreligious.

One of my healthcare doctors suggested that all humans have a spiritual side that must be acknowledged. I turned to the North American indigenous peoples' belief in the seven grandfathers: each represents 1) Love, 2) Respect, 3) Humility, 4) Truth, 5) Honesty, 6) Courage, and 7) Wisdom.

¹If you watch the movie "The Apostle," the main character is very much like my father was (even speech) when he eventually returned. Only my mother and he, pretended they were never divorced and were married for sixty years.

A bad married day is 1000 times better than one day alone. There was always room to make up, and we could warm each other even if we were mad about something that never lasted long anyway.

Since so many people who claimed to be caring deserted my wife when she became ill, I lack a tangible network of friends to ease my loneliness. Not much hope for a change. Maybe Bingo nights? 

I am learning cat and dog language, playing and singing old songs, and restarting my artwork each day before I swallow melatonin and call it a day. Yes, go to bed earlier and earlier and get up only because Sunny, my cat, insists.

Yes, we each have to find our own way, but having a companion has more upsides than downs.

Most of you know I was my wife's only caregiver for eight years before she passed away, and that I was part of a caregiver group. Th group helped me in many ways, but especially by giving me permission to mourn gradually through the years. Yes, the long goodbye process helps, but it is not perfect: I have very challenging moments of sadness, and I wonder if they will ever fade away.

Dear blog reader, if you are a woman 55 - 70 and live near me, maybe you and I would take a walk and have a talk. We may even become friends.

I am posting this because I am not gay and want to discourage males from sending me letters and invitations.