August 19, 2009 No Words and Sex

My silence has been about not finding the right words to express the trip to Maine. Nothing fits.

I can only share that I have a family. They don't look anything like me. They are tall and white and live in Maine. And when I arrived in my LA-ness chocolate-colored skin they pulled the wagons round claiming me. I don't know if it's always been the case and I didn't notice or if without Art by my side they decided to make a stand. Either way...I have family in Maine. And I no longer refer to them as his family. They are my family.

Because none of the words I set down on paper to describe my trip to Maine, I share photos.

AUUUGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!


I can't upload the @()#$$(*@ after being on the phone with Verizon @($)#* twice today after my internet was on the brink for @()#@*(# days!

And what I really need to do is honestly....have good sex.


Really.




I just need to get laid. Not f-----but properly laid. Are there any patient men out there who will take more than two minutes for 4-play? (Art took forever and it drove me crazy!)





Since my husband is dead and I can't think of man who is not married that I should bestow my post-death virginal experience on I will have to take my frustration out on this damn computer and website that can't seem to up load three stupid @*(#$@*# pictures.





And its not working! And I'm even more mad cause when you're a widow, no one talks about the lack of sex. My marriage had sex (although not enough) and it was good and pleasant and I miss it and need it and want it.




A widow (ha or a woman) who wants sex is like the persons yelling "F---!" in the public library. Everyone looks up, stares, giggles a bit and hopes you don't come near them.

And I think good widows don't want sex, bad widows do. Well put this behind (which, by the way, is a nice, round, sexy behind!) in with the bad crew. I am a full on woman, damn it and sex is good.



Harrumph!

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July 3, 2009

Motherhood, widowhood and sexiness
collide on Appleton Way and Glydon Streets in Venice.

My cute 46 yr old divorced neighbor drove those cross streets yesterday while I was helping Ezra get his bike up on the curb. I was in running shorts, top, and sneakers. A ratty bandanna was keeping the hair off of my face and I was wearing “ode du three hour old sweat” from a run. I felt frumpy, wholly unattractive and guilty. He passed before I could wave back.

“Crap, he always sees me when I look like shit.” I think.

“Why do you care?” I retort.

I stand straight as Ezra peddles away from me, and start walking, far behind the cute driving neighbor…confused.

I knew how to be sexy for Art. It was not in the taking off of my clothes (although that always helped). It was in a laugh, a nuzzle in the crook of his neck and that dress he loved on me. It was in knowing he was watching me while I wrestled with Langston and in the power that flowed from me after a long hard workout. It was in my touch of those wonderfully commanding thighs of his.

Motherhood sexiness ebbed and flowed around, under and through the kids and illness and bills and arguments, pregnancies and dress sizes. I rediscovered it, lost it and found it over and over again, each time stumbling on different hues of our connection.

I have always enjoyed a good flirt, an arm touch or a straight out gawk from or towards other men. I did it from behind the “sanctity of marriage.” Looking was good. Touching…not worth the risk.

I can touch, now. Only…OMG! What do I wear? Will I be like those young girls who laugh a bit too hard, smile too broadly and lean in a bit too close? How many dates before I sleep with someone?

These questions startle and concern me then make me laugh out loud.

As a new widow, I stand open and ridiculously vulnerable. How does this whole man thing work again?

It’s the second coming of being a teenager only less awkwardness and with the wisdom of who I was, am and becoming.

Curiosity mingles with fear and fascination. This will be an adventure!

An untraveled path to a destination I can’t quite comprehend.

When will it begin? When will I decide it's time to start?

I continue following Ezra down the long side walk.

"Man, I hope that he at least noticed my tone legs!" I say to myself and giggle.

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