Spring Cleaning

It's March. The first real month of spring, the month I always get antsy. I noticed this when I was 19. I was in a room full of people I didn't really now and never really got to know, we dropped acid, watched the Simpsons, and tried to feel comfortable. I did not. I danced by myself, watched the program I hadn't developed the humour to laugh at yet, and tried to trust these absolute strangers. We did all right, they were kind, and we were in conversation about half a year. That was 1969. No, that was 1996. And it was March.

That March was the first year I saw the cycle. Early spring and I catch a breeze. I want to escape, escape what? Whatever. Wherever I am I want to leave, what ever I am doing I want to change it. It's funny, spring is the time of birth, and I always feel like I want to destroy. But I didn't used to see it like that - not then. Change, change is good - we grow. Thus we have met - spring! Spring.

I live with my sweetheart in Avignon, France. I have dreamt of living in Europe since I was young, at 10 years old I would think, "I want to live in Venice! I want to live where streets are water and there is absolute beauty." I may not be in Italy, but I am close. I am in the south of France living close to the Rhone and the Mediterranean. But there still doesn't seem to be enough water. I am not content. Thus, I look inside.

I have a Pisces moon, with an Aquarian sun; I am an emotional, airy creature, with a Scorpio rising just to add a bite.

My sweetheart. He calls me Apollonia on his website. A Greek Goddess. I have been trying to find a fitting name for him here, on my site. My instinct is to call him by one of his plant friends, but that would perhaps be too insightful, they are warm, wise, gentle, and mild. He cannot easily swallow the bitters I can. Thus I wander back to the first nickname I ever gave him. Atticus Finch. From To Kill a Mockingbird, a novel which I have never fully read. Yet, I remember the old black and white movie that ran on television with Gregory Peck. My sweetheart belongs in that era.

When we first met he wore suspenders, and button-down shirts. Trousers with pleats, leather-free dress shoes and silk free ties. Never bowties. Somehow those did not agree with his well-harnessed fashion sense. My Atticus Finch.

Atticus and I are celebrating our third March together as companions, our second as lovers. The first we were "just friends." I always had eyes for him while he was in love with another. As the story goes it begins to unfold. That was 2005. March 2006 we sat on a bench in Tompkins Square Park with tears on our cheeks hugging each other goodbye. We had tickets to travel to Arizona in April, to see the Grand Canyon and meet one of Atticus's close friends. Thus the relationship stayed. It was great fun; we can have so much fun.

And, here we are, another great adventure.

We went to a traveling amusement park yesterday. “The Fair.” The poster showed high rides and huge thrills. It was fun! The rides were terribly open, such a thrill – death defying really, and decrepit, I wished for a helmet. We had so much fun, we were scared, we laughed, we kissed, we hugged, we delighted.

March.

Who am I from the movies? Maybe I’m Scarlett O’Hara. I watched Gone With the Wind once, once only, they had just released the Technicolor version on video that was over fifteen years ago. I remembered my frustration with little ol' Scarlett. She really couldn’t see what was right before her eyes, who was offering their hand (that’d be Rhett) and who deeply loved her. No it wasn’t perfect, but I remember getting so infuriated with her – it was love and she was denying it.

I started reading Harlequin Romances when I was 9; I grew up watching Walt Disney’s Snow White and Cinderella. I may not have thought becoming a Princess was realistic, but I did believe in the happily-ever-after! As we all know, “they” never explained what after requires: compromise, respect, open communication, difficult decisions, giving, giving, giving.

Atticus tells me, and I think it very true, had we grown up reading Tolstoy rather than being shown fairytale romance we may or, I may, be far more contented in this life. Isn’t it always our expectations that lead to disappointment rather than the actual events themselves?

Maybe that’s true or maybe I’ve just turned 30 and this is the stuff I never knew. I am asking myself, “What did I expect?” And, I think it’s that: happily-ever-after. I didn’t dream beyond 30. I actually remember announcing, “I wanna die before I am thirty, after that you are too old and there is nothing left.” I had seen the pain of adults. They didn’t get the handsome Prince, or the beautiful Princess - they got reality. Hard work, love at expense, and children hard to manage. I didn’t want that. It didn’t look like fun.

So here we are, Atticus and I, living in France, living a wonderful life and it’s March and it’s warm and he is lovely and we went to the fair and we have so much fun and there is a future, there is a possibility.

So I’ll provide my own horse and sweep myself onto it, that doesn’t mean I cannot have a riding partner. The crimson red tide doesn’t have to be the winding river leading to Martin Sheen’s fire-lit fortress in Apocalypse Now. It can be the banners of my life, or our life, or our lives as we ride through. Waves of colours and beautiful sunrises! Lover, friends, and family – you are not alone, neither am I. We all feel the same. I’ve got my horse! Now let’s ride!