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LOVE LETTERS

Letter from Patricia

Meeting My Darling "J"

The Trouble Tree

Examining The Unexamined Life

Passion' s Slave Resigns Himself

Love, happiness, friendship, etc...

There's a Tiger Inside

TP your sweetheart and get loved for it

 

 

I always love to share true stories that illustrate love lessons.

 

Letter from Patricia

Dear Paul,

Your Millennium message was very moving.  Thank you for illustrating your lessons for us all with your life, and your joy in living.

Your essay on the Foundation of Life was an especially poignant lesson, and you expressed it with such respect and honor that no one could possibly read it without being moved, and safely transported to love's higher ground.

I have spent my Christmas holiday surrounded by books and listening to CD's I received as gifts.  My friends and family's gifts have filled my days with happy reminders of the power of love --  through "Morrie", and "A Love Like Ours" (Barbra Streisand), and "All The Way" (Celine Dion).

Good reminders for us all to honor love, its process, its lessons, its gifts, its challenges, its abundance.  Honor it like our lives depended on it.

Thank you for your wonderful gift of loving words,
Patricia


Meeting My Darling "J"

Andrew Walters, a 39 year old lawyer, who was to his credit unwilling to give up on finding his soul mate; placed an ad on the Net and met, His Darling "J".

Andrew described how he never had a problem meeting the opposite sex. He had a great social life. The problem was that things just weren't clicking.

Andrew one evening explained that he was fed up, with his dead end dating game. Nothing was working and he asked me for suggestions. I asked him what he sought in a partner. The question stumped him, because he had never really thought about it. I told him to write a wish list, compose an ad and post it on the Net.

In Andrew's words here's what happened:

"I really thought about what I was looking for and committed it to paper. The exercise was a real eye opener and made writing the ad all the more easier. I took your suggestion and posted my ad on the Net. Within days I was getting mail messages from woman all over North America. I began corresponding with a number of these ladies and found to my amazement the ease to which I was able to communicate, openly and honestly. Due to the nature of my work; I travel throughout North America and had the luxury of meeting several very amazing women. One in particular really clicked, I call her My Darling "J".

What started as a simple reply to my ad led to months of communication and lighthearted banter back and forth. Each day we would chat with several thousands miles separating us, laughing and giggling, and getting to know one another. We exchanged pictures and shared quite a bit about ourselves.

My business eventually took me to Chicago her hometown. We had prearranged our first date on my second day in town and we were looking forward to the event. I landed in Chicago and as I was walking through the arrival area my cell phone rang. Guess Who? My romantic and spontaneous correspondent. My Darling "J". She asked me to turn around and there we were face to face, cell phone to cell phone. Needless to say it was one of the most romantic moments in my life. Her spontaneity did not go unrewarded, as we had our first date that night. I know I have found finally the one for me."

The Trouble Tree

I received recently the following from Angie Anderson in Mississauga,Ontario, which I would like to share with you.

"I have never read something that I felt was worthy enough of everyone else to read too. The carpenter I hired to help me restore an old farmhouse had just finished a rough first day on the job. A flat tire made him lose an hour of work, his electric saw quit, and now his ancient pickup truck refused to start. While I drove him home, he sat in stony silence. On arriving, he invited me in to meet his family. As we walked toward the front door, he paused briefly at a small tree, touching tips of the branches with both hands. When opening the door, he underwent an amazing transformation. His tanned face was wreathed in smiles and he hugged his two small children and gave his wife a kiss. Afterward he walked me to the car. We passed the tree and my curiosity got theater of me. I asked him about what I had seen him do earlier. Oh,that's my trouble tree," he replied. "I know I can't help having troubles on the job, but one thing's for sure, troubles don't belong in the house with my wife and the children. So I just hang them up on the tree every night when I come home. Then in the morning I pick them up again." "Funny thing is," he smiled, "when I come out in the morning to pick 'em up, there aren't nearly as many as I remember hanging up the night before."Maybe we all need a tree in our front yard ... Angie"I really enjoyed this story because it brought out much of what I believe are the ingredients to a loving life. The carpenter had his priorities in order when it came to "Love". He loved himself enough to recognize he needed to hang his problems out on the tree. Once he entered his home he was able to give love to his wife and children. His work and the problems of the day became very secondary, because he loved himself first, then his wife and finally his children. His work and problems were brought to the bottom of his priority list. This is a fine illustration of the importance of priorities in our lives Thank-you Angie for your contribution; and I agree with you that we all need a Trouble Tree in our front yard."

Examining The Unexamined Life

"How did loneliness make its way into our household?
When did the heart give up and how do I explain it to my
children when I can scarcely grasp it myself?"

By John Doe

At the sweet hour of the night when the play has gone out of her and I've run out of tales of wicked things I did when I was her age, the eldest of my three daughters asks the question.

It is the question that has dulled her joy, and the reason she stays at the end of her friend's driveway instead of going up to the door. The answer to the question will explain why I've been coming home from work at strange times of the day, why I've been given to wild moments of public grief, and why her mother is now living in an apartment downtown.

My counselor said no matter how I'm feeling, make sure the children know they're loved. "Your mother and I will always love you," I tell my daughter.

My lawyer said these things happen with marriages all the time, so often he's turning down clients. I say, "A lot of married people go through bad times together." The look coming back says, Dad, you and Mom are not together, stop starring at the night light and answer the question.

So I tell her the truth. I haven't got a clue how we ended up like this. I still don't know how the ending started, when the drift began. Good night, sweetie, I'll see you in the morning, we'll talk more tomorrow.

When my wife told me she would no longer live with me, we were sitting at a booth in a Tex-Mex restaurant in a shopping mall. It was 3 o'clock in the afternoon on a workday. We'd been to the restaurant once before, a nacho thing before a movie. I don't remember what was playing that night. I don't remember much of our rare dates, actually, except that after calming the kids, leaving cell-phone numbers with the babysitter and finally getting into the car, we were totally exhausted. Most of the time we'd look at each other and say why don't we go to a cheap motel and sleep, just sleep, that's all.

A couple of months ago I was sitting in my office when an employee came in, closed the door and said she felt her life was falling apart. She needed some time off, maybe a month. I reminded her about the line that no epitaph has ever read: I wish I'd spent more time at work. I told her no one at the office could save her life but her, so go do it. She left, relieved. I sat, stunned, my hands turning cold. The phone rang, Toronto calling about a conference call the next day. I phoned my wife, but she couldn't talk, had to do the dash.
There we were, two parents thrashing away at work 10 or more hours a day, with three kids in elementary school, a fleet of brilliantly choreographed caregivers, piano lessons, swimming, Brownies, a dog with shedding black hair, a white kitchen floor, a cat with kidney failure, two cars, a hammer lock mortgage, a cranked-up credit line, dinner at 8 or later interrupted by kids who won't brush their teeth or another call from work, now here's some cheerful person at the door wanting us to volunteer for something or the other. For once, can't we just say no and feel good about being bad citizens? Please say so.

My dear sleeping daughter, it occurs to me now, way to late, that these years of madness have caused your mother and me to lose each other in the crowd. No sitting in the hammock together and swigging a beer, or shooting baskets at the end of the street. Just the other day, too late, your mother told me she liked holding hands. I never knew that. I liked holding hands, too. When was the last time your mother and I had the kind of talk that keeps lovers together? You know, like, tell me again what you were thinking the first time you saw me. That stuff. It's been years since that stuff.

And so loneliness stuck its foot into our front door, put its shoulder to it and, surprised by the ease of entry, sloped in. A benevolent observer might missed its presence there, camouflaged in the middle of the family room, hidden by all the action, all the industry built up around running this household. But the same observer couldn't have mistaken the danger in early exit from the company Christmas party and the dead silent cab ride home. The truly astute might have picked that moment as the point when the heart decided it wanted too badly, paid the fare, and went looking somewhere else. Those with a sense of dram will know that that was where innocence ended, and the true terror of separation began.

I remember a movie I saw when I was in university. It had an unpronounceable Haida title that started with a K, but its subtitle was Life out of Balance. There were lots of hurried up sequences of traffic, people in and out of buildings and subways, clouds rushing past skyscrapers. I remember feeling smug about all those people zooming through their unexamined lives. The movie ended with a slow motion nuclear explosion. Been there.

Now there's lots of time for examining things. A whole lot of examining going on now, yes indeed. I've walked around this suddenly half furnished house a hundred times, a nice little circuit I've got going here. It starts in the family room with a few chin quivers, goes up three stairs to the dining room for a spell of forehead kneading, and ends in the kitchen where the last name on the call display is usually your mother's, one of you calling from her apartment to say hi, what are you doing Dad, and what is the number before infinity?

Tomorrow night we'll have more of this bedtime story entitled, What The Hell Happened Here? The emerging theme has to do with the dumb things I hope you don't do when you're my age. The narrator seems to be overly fond of the word "priorities." Some of the story I will never tell you. It's to frightening for a man closing 40, never mind an eight-year-old girl. Besides, there's a good chance I've got it all wrong. Maybe Dad's just in denial, big time; as you might put it: Maybe Dad is just clued out. Maybe the only thing I know for sure is that when you and your sisters wake up in the morning, I'll need you all to hold my hand.

Passion' s Slave Resigns Himself

In Plato's Republic The elderly poet Sophocles speaks of his waning sex drive as an "escape from the madness and slavery of passion." At the age of 37, I am a long way from such comfort. The trouble is, my wife is already there.

This is not to say my wife has no interest in sex, it's just that her interest is realized only occasionally. Roughly once a month, coinciding presumably with her hormonal cycle. Again, this would be fine if I were like the elderly Sophocles. Trouble is, I'm the guy Camille Paglia was thinking of when she described men as blazing guns. Once a month I howl at the moon. The rest of the time I'm in a rutting frenzy. Once a day would be good. Twice, better.

That's not to say I can't control myself. I'm monogamous by nature and, along with the rest of my sex (regardless of what they claim), I've learned ways to release the constantly building tension. Alone and in private.

But I long for something more. Millions of years of evolution have ensured that I will never be completely happy unless I get to actually do it with someone else. Even then, satisfaction isn't simply a matter of arriving at orgasm. Sex is a journey of mutual discovery. Truths are revealed. There is something about the intimacy of sex that lays open the guts and bones of a relationship in a way that watching TV or doing the dishes together can never approximate.

Of course all these beautiful sentiments are moot if one of the partners is simply not into it. Desire is a fickle flame and therein lies the problem. If the one for whom your flame burns bright emits barely a flicker in response, it's hard not to feel a little wounded. Feelings fester and an unhealthy dynamic takes hold. I want sex. She doesn't. I feel rejected. My rejection turns to obsession. She feels pressured and even less inclined and the vortex begins to spin. Then my one chance in the month arrives and we make love on a tinderbox of expectation, frustration and anxiety.

It wasn't always like this. When we first met, we enjoyed each other as only new lovers can. Like bunnies. Hormone cycles didn't matter then. Sex was a giddy constant, broken only by work, sleep, food, and the occasional movie. If I could encapsulate and preserve one period in my life, it would be those amazing weeks and months when we first fell in love.

But I'm a realist. I know that kind of fevered obsession doesn't last. In retrospect I should probably be grateful it lasted as long as it did. In fact, were it not for the precipitous nature of the decline (that happened some time during our fourth year) and its unhappy conjunction with ego-bashing foray into joblessness, I may not of noticed it. But of course I associated it with my recent failings and believed in my heart that she no longer loved me.

Several years later, we're still together and I no longer fear the loss of her love. But I've had to acknowledge that the love has changed. Where once we were lovers, we are now partners. It's a significant difference. My wife doesn't see this as acutely as I do. While she's aware that our sex life has faded, she doesn't mourn its passing. It's a change that suits her.

To her credit, she did try to accommodate me. She agreed to meet me halfway. Once a week. Four times more than she wanted, eight times less than I wanted.

But then there came the excuses. It's too late. It's to early. I'm menstruating. I'm ovulating. Tomorrow morning. Tomorrow night. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. And let's not forget the charity sex. The resigned sex. The "you do what you want to me as long as I can read" sex. It got to the point where I was using my wife the same way Philip Roth's Portnoy used liver.

I sought counseling in women's magazines (men's magazines offered only short-term relief) and found that while many women shared my problem, the solutions they offered didn't fit. My efforts to seduce my wife failed to arouse anything more than suspicions. She would politely inform me that while she deeply appreciated the candlelight dinner and the fact that it was prepared in the nude, I still wasn't getting any nookie that night.

In desperation, I tried the reverse-psychology approach. Play hard to get. Make her come begging for it. I soon found out she was happy to employ the same methods of self-release that I had regretfully been forced to use. And at a 60-1 ratio, it would take five years of celibacy for her to experience what I went through in a single month. The old dynamic quickly reasserted itself.

Which brings me to where I am now. Of the five stages of grief, I am now at number four: Resignation. I know that no amount of cajoling, bargaining, romantic endeavors or simply being really, really nice to her will make the slightest difference. I will get laid once a month until her hormone cycle changes at menopause. After that…who knows?

This is not a terrible state of affairs. I have the comfort of knowing that she is not, herself, sexually frustrated. I can trust that she won't go elsewhere in search of fulfillment. I also have the comfort of knowing that eventually I too will be released from the madness and slavery of passion. I will at last reach the final stage of grief: Acceptance.

But not a day goes by that I don't mourn the loss of what we once had. Like a blind man who remembers sight, I remember what it felt like to be lovers. ………. David Marsh

David Marsh is the pseudonym for a man whose wife has assured him that she will never have sex with him again if he publishes this under his real name.

Love, happiness, friendship, etc...

SUSAN HERMAN wrote:

Maybe God wants us to meet a
few wrong people before meeting
the right one so that when we finally
meet the right person, we will know
how to be grateful for that gift.

When the door of happiness closes,
another opens, but often times we look
so long at the closed door that we
don't see the one which has been opened for
us.

The best kind of friend is the kind you
can sit on a porch and swing with,
never say a word, and then walk away
feeling like it was the best
conversation you've every had.

It's true that we don't know what we've
got until we lose it, but it's also
true that we don't know what we've been
missing until it arrives.

Giving someone all your love is never
an assurance that they'll love you back!
Don't expect love in return; just wait
for it to grow in their heart
but if it doesn't, be content it grew in yours.

It takes only a minute to get a crush
on someone, an hour to like someone,
and a day to love someone,
but it takes a lifetime to forget
someone.

Don't go for looks; they can deceive.
Don't go for wealth; even that fades
away. Go for someone who makes you smile
because it takes only a smile to make a dark day
seem bright. Find the one that makes your heart
smile.

There are moments in life when you miss
someone so much that you just want to pick them
from your dreams and hug them for real!

Dream what you want to dream; go where
you want to go; be what you want to be,
because you have only one life and one
chance to do all the things you want to
do.

May you have enough happiness to make
you sweet, enough trials to make you strong, enough
sorrow to keep you human, enough hope to make
you happy.

Always put yourself in others' shoes.
If you feel that it hurts you,
it probably hurts the other person,
too.

The happiest of people don't necessarily
have the best of everything;
they just make the most of everything
that comes along their way.

Happiness lies for those who cry,
those who hurt, those who have searched,
and those who have tried, for only they
can appreciate the importance of people who
have touched their lives.

Love begins with a smile, grows with a
kiss and ends with a tear.
The brightest future will always be
based on a forgotten past,
you can't go on well in life until you
let go of your past failures and heartaches.

When you were born, you were crying and
everyone around you was smiling.
Live your life so that when you die,
you're the one who is smiling and
everyone around you is crying.

THERE'S A TIGER INSIDE
by Michael Webb

I received a newsletter in the mail announcing that our favorite recording artist, Loreena McKennitt was releasing her new album. Her albums are the only ones we "collect." She calls her style "world music." It is an amazing blend of folk sounds from around the world accompanied by her heavenly voice. Loreena travels around the globe, researching people and their cultures and paints the experiences into her music. It is both moving and thought provoking. For Athena and me, it is romantic. It is often the chosen music for our candlelight dinners or our evenings of snuggling on the sofa, drinking hot chocolate.

I knew Athena would be delighted to hear her new CD. While she was at work, I purchased the album and created a trail from our front door all the way into our office. The trail included Loreena's newsletter, some old fliers and the CD cases of her other 6 albums we own. When I heard Athena open the front door, I began playing the album on my computer (yes, CD-ROM's can play regular compact discs) to continue to "lure" her to my office. When she collected all the Loreena memorabilia and finally made it to my desk, she was beaming from ear to ear.

I could have simply bought the CD and handed it to her with a bow on top, but the few extra minutes of thought and time elevated the gift from "that's great" to "that's ggrrrrrrrrrreeeaaaatt!!!!!!!"

Michael Webb is the best-selling author of The RoMANtic's Guide: Hundreds of Creative Tips for a Lifetime of Love. You can order at Amazon.com or for more of Michael's FREE tips, visit http://www.TheRomantic.com

TP YOUR SWEETHEART AND GET LOVED FOR IT
by Michael Webb

Who ever thought toilet paper could be romantic? I never gave it much thought myself until the other day one of those crazy ideas popped into my head. I don't even remember what triggered the thought, but one day when Athena wasn't feeling well I went into her bathroom armed with a black pen and a mission.

I unrolled about 100 feet of the toilet paper and began writing little messages on the paper and rolled it back up for five feet and wrote another message until there were 15 or so on the roll. The messages were simple. Nothing complicated. Nothing too flowery. Just little thoughts to let Athena know I was thinking of her and that she is very special to me.

She was surprised when the first message came around the roll. And then amazed when the 2nd, 3rd and 4th ones showed up. She even admitted to me that she wouldn't go to the bathroom in the middle of the night because she didn't want to accidentally miss one of my notes.

Women sure are funny - and sensitive. Guess that's why we guys love them so much. When you are over at your sweetheart's place, it will take you all of five minutes to do a number on his or her roll of toilet paper. He or she will wonder where you get all your wacky romantic ideas. Shhhh. It will be our secret.

Michael Webb is the best-selling author of The RoMANtic's Guide: Hundreds of Creative Tips for a Lifetime of Love. You can order at Amazon.com or for more of Michael's FREE tips, visit http://www.TheRomantic.com

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Letter from Patricia

Meeting My Darling "J"

The Trouble Tree

Examining The Unexamined Life

Passion' s Slave Resigns Himself

Love, happiness, friendship, etc...

There's a Tiger Inside

TP your sweetheart and get loved for it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Letter from Patricia

Meeting My Darling "J"

The Trouble Tree

Examining The Unexamined Life

Passion' s Slave Resigns Himself

Love, happiness, friendship, etc...

There's a Tiger Inside

TP your sweetheart and get loved for it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

turks and caicos islands

Letter from Patricia

Meeting My Darling "J"

The Trouble Tree

Examining The Unexamined Life

Passion' s Slave Resigns Himself

Love, happiness, friendship, etc...

There's a Tiger Inside

TP your sweetheart and get loved for it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Astral Hearts

Letter from Patricia

Meeting My Darling "J"

The Trouble Tree

Examining The Unexamined Life

Passion' s Slave Resigns Himself

Love, happiness, friendship, etc...

There's a Tiger Inside

TP your sweetheart and get loved for it

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