Friday, December 23, 2011

Do I Have A Home For Christmas?

I'm up early. Back on the Upper West Side. Sitting on the sofa with my dog in my wife's apartment. Her new go-cart wheelchair dominates the living room. It is an otherwise beautiful place. Stunning views of the Hudson and the majestic sweep of West End Avenue reaching north. I left the West Village last night to come up here. I've grown to like it here even though I dislike the Donald Trump, well-heeled, housing project feel of the neighborhood.

I'll spend Christmas here. It feels like home. I think. The alternative of being single and alone for Christmas looms and I try not to think about how I'd spend the holiday when my wife is gone. Maybe it would be like how I don't miss the living on Riverside Drive; but somehow I don't think so. I just don't think about it and try to live here and now.

It's a good way to try to be. I had a good year. A solid foothold in Miami, better business in New York, and being present even when it's hard. So I'll help my wife learn how to drive her Rolls Royce wheelchair. Can't say as I'm happy that Santa brought this contraption into our lives, but it is there. I rolled the rug up last night so its tight little turning radius wouldn't tangle it in the squat wheels.

I guess I do have a home for Christmas.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Mr. Brightside

I know I've been neglecting the blog. I've never gone this long without posting. Work and life conspired to keep me away from writing. I've had plenty to write about, believe me; but for some reason time and inspiration didn't allow me or move me.

Anyway, She-Who-Visits and I have become friendly again. I secretly think her emotional life is on a Persephoneous cycle with the holidays bringing out her most nostalgic and mushy side. It has been nice to talk to her over the past few days. Despite all the odds against it, our connection is an enduring one.

I had an incredible road trip with my wife in early November. We were supposed to catch the Amtrak Autotrain but missed it and ended up driving all the way from Manhattan to Miami. The trip's purpose was to get a car to Miami; where I now actually have work.

What made the trip amazing was that she'd taken two nasty falls about ten days before we left. Balance related problems from her death sentence disease. She'd broken bones but was determined that we do the trip together. I did my best impression of Jack Kerouac as duty nurse. She joked that my kink related need to serve has come in handy during her time of terrible need.

We had the best of Indian summer weather. The first night we stopped in Richmond, Va. and had a romantic dinner in a wonderful little restaurant tucked down a cobblestone street. A hip Manhattan transplant was our foodie waitress. It was an evening I'll always remember.

The handicapped room at the Hampton Inn was set up with all the bars and benches and shower acoutrements so that with my help she could do all the things I just take for granted. The hotel staff called ahead to the Savannah, Georgia Hampton Inn and we booked our next night.

On I-95 in the driving groove I did Vin Diesel meets geeky, subbie, lawyer dude. I'd never taken my little Bimmer 3 series convertible on a proper road trip. The Germans don't call it the Ultimate Driving Machine for nothing.

It was exhausting though and about an hour from Savannah we were ravenous. I spotted a big billboard telling us that Duke's Barbeque let you eat all you wanted. Minutes later we were gorging ourselves for $10 each on the best roadside South Carolina heartattack food you ever want to eat. The hash, a mix of left overs and gravy, was true religion.

Two meals to remember when the woman I've been to hell and back with is gone.

We made Miami and then departed a few days later. I was very worried about the flight as we'd been seated across the plane from each other and she really couldn't get around without my help. At curbside we asked for a wheelchair and became instant royalty. No lines, nice security people and airline attendants fawning over our every move. I told her I was never flying without her.

She's now recovered from her falls but the disease continues its merciless attack. It is a year since her diagnosis and while this strain of ALS moves slowly; she is much worse this year than last. Though she's in a promising clinical trial, barring an unexpected medical breakthrough or a miracle her life will continue to contract and wither. But in the most bittersweet of ironies we are now closer than we've been in years; bound together in dedicated need until death do us part.

However, my life goes on. I'm in Miami attending to actual work rather than eating lunches with strangers and asking them to give me work. I'm dating a domme in NYC. Sounds so a domme. We are going very slowly. But I harbor a dirty, perverted, filthy, secret desire. I want to make out with her and get to first base. That's feeling her tit over the bra, right?

This morning I was invited to yoga with Aarkey and his wife but I bagged the Bikram in favor of a lazy Sunday. I didn't run, I didn't go to the gym, I didn't hunker down over a ream of documents for a case. I didn't have to help my wife bath or hang up her sweaters because she can't get her arms above her waist or watch her walk haltingly across the room; bent like a pretzel because the muscles in her diaphram are being destroyed. I didn't have to do any of that.

I just wrote in my blog, because I'm Mr. Brightside.