The Culture that has been here all the time

What motivates me? Others, especially close friends. Now alone for the first time in almost fifty years, I am not moved to keep my house up to snuff. Never really been sloppy inside my home or yard (attic, garage, or basement maybe), but without a companion and no visits from anyone, I don't care. Another factor, when I bought this house about four years ago, it seemed to fit. Now that I am a widower for the first time, it is unimportant and lacks space for office and hobbies. Like René Magritte, I paint in the dining room. 

Reigniting my music and art is beginning to add clutter with associated stuff. Soon, new paintings will be scattered about.

I care more about my dog and cat now, too. My cat is a fusspot. He seems to ignore the cat fountain I bought for him and keeps to the old water bowl.

Yes, I am reaching out in search of a companion, but so far, there is no reason to be optimistic. (pixabay)

Ultra Reality has engulfed me. When my wife was diagnosed with dementia, the first four years, we still could take a ride, a walk, shop, and have lunch together, even as her cognitive issues grew. By year five, that was down to rides to the doctor and fast food pick up to bring home, then by year seven I could only manage some of my doctor's appointments by hiring an aide to watch over her, and in the last three months, I relied on Hospice's help (so grateful to them).

I occasionally attempted to seek a companion, and the scammers destroyed my finances. Today, I am well on the way to financial recovery.

The rollercoaster of mourning is rough, though learning about the long goodbye helped a great deal. I live with my dog and cat, watch TV, play some guitar, sing for myself, and have begun working on some art. I have a hard time falling asleep even with melatonin, and I do have dreams, some of them not nightmares but unpleasant nevertheless. Last night I was startled to see an apparition.

I woke at about 2 am to my cat nudging me, and I saw a vivid image of my wife holding stuffed animals standing by my bedside. Ambivalent because I felt love and fear, I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, she was gone.

I have been cut off from dating for forty-one years, but last night I decided I need to resume my quest for a companion. What did I do? I opened an account with eHarmony, feeling both awkward and hopeful. 

I have many positive things to share with a woman, and maybe the potential woman will have many positive things to share with me. I am not sure how to proceed, living in a town where I am still a stranger, with no friends and limited contact with family. I feel I have no choice. Yes, it costs money, and the first contact was without a doubt a scammer. I had her blocked. And, unsure of my dating abilities.

Here are two songs for my mistress, 1973 -1979, oh how much I loved her, and I know the love still lives in me after all this time (so true). My memories explode when I play and sing them again.

Working on a new song and a new painting after an eight-year hiatus, what surprises me? Like swimming or riding a bicycle, it's all coming back to me. The creative process is intimate and personal. I have the creative impulse to work out a starting point, begin refining, and adjust the work according to my inspiration. Sometimes I apply technical steps. I can revise the structure and harmony of a song and work with the painting palette of a favorite artist.

The whole process gives me an intrinsic reward. I have a mantra: "I am neither the best nor the worst artist." This pronouncement has nothing to do with my works, only my implicit sense of accomplishment. That is what it is all about after all.

Quality sex when we were 18 and later in life (like me) is not the same. Anyone who thinks otherwise, let me know.

In the beginning, in the era of free love (every generation had a time like that), connecting to a lover was easy. So many people suggested males were in a hurry and intent on self-satisfaction. I encountered young women who were exactly the same. The next step was what I call the unquenchable phase: Young men AND YOUNG WOMEN seemed to have an insatiable appetite for sex.

Somewhere along the line, as a mistress I had for seven years, I had expressed "quality, not quantity, is what I want." I created a bumper sticker that reads "Good Sex Isn't Just for the Young."

The storms in life disrupt every good thing for most people; they seem unavoidable. There is always a workaround if you keep an open mind. I gave up, tried and failed, and passed through a storm. Now I am willing to try once more. In my mind, I am younger than I look. Let's go with that.

I just reawakened. I didn't survive three marriages, several jobs, and failed businesses. I gained strength, knowledge, and self-control. I removed the cloak I was willing to keep wrapped around me to honor the commitment to my late wife because I was with her until her last moment. I now see that that is a definition of one of my successes in life, and I am glad that I have made it so and become this strong. It is time to exert my power and grasp life with a new fervor.

I resumed guitar playing and singing, and even wrote two new songs. Now to work on them for publication, as I had before I willingly became a caregiver. I still collect royalties and hold a publishing license. I write, arrange, produce, and master using my abilities and skills.

I dusted off some of my artist materials and supplies (even bought a couple of things I needed). Sketched a charcoal face of my late wife, plan an oil color project of tiny wild flowers, and intend to draw and paint nudes now that I can without complication.

This past week, I overcame the loss of money because I made the mistake and let nefarious and devious people take advantage of me(thinking they were women, but they may actually have been men masquerading). 

My childhood should have warned me, as I ran away from home at 15 and became streetwise in New York City. Still finishing High School, tech school, and even most of College with honors. I even enlisted and served with honors in the US Army. I managed stores, led music groups, and supervised a technical staff at a university media center. Survived a failed heart without a transplant, and at 78, ready to start everything all over again.

I am not bragging I am voicing a commitment to rise from the ashes once more like a Phoenix. (pixabay images) (Yes I am a Leo)

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.