Thursday, May 7, 2015

What Are We Waiting For


Feeling a bit like a five year old, dusty sneaker poking at a pile of unrumpled redish clay soil, front teeth dug into the flakey cracked bits of used flesh on my bottom lip, aging green eyes searching each one of yours, the luscious dark browns, the pale blue, the ones that look like pleated bits of orange and green tissue paper. The dark black, penetrating cobalt, golden honey and chartreuse. All the colors of the eyes that fall upon my words, upon my open soul and keep coming back to drink from me. I can’t and won’t, wouldn’t assume you have been waiting but, I’m sorry if you even once came here seeking my stories, silliness, sarcasm, sensuality, my voice. I’ve been away….

Been in the place I always am, as far as physically. My home has not been Wizard of Oz’d, still nestled here in the somewhat protected city I’ve called my, well my house, it has never been my home. San Diego and Long Beach are my home, but this apartment where we raised our son, have stained, laughed, cried, grew, shrank, battled, quit and tried again, the space I’ve made a fool of myself by mistake and on purpose, this hasn’t moved. My rickety dining room table and its tired legs that sweetly shudder but stand strong when I plunk my embarrassingly overflowing platters upon it, it is still supporting my hefty forearms and sweaty drinks. My adorable neighbor’s light across the way just now, a welcome and open sign, for a couple more hours. My new ipod being the annoying new thing I have to learn and agreeably letting me pretend that I just don’t know how to work the damn thing and that is why I keep listening to the same damn five songs over, and over again. It’s not that I’m freaking obsessed with George Ezra and Hozier, this damn thing doesn’t read my fingertip mind! Yeah, like that. The smells around here are a little different, my stove a little less slaving, my bed far more rumpled from the tossing and turning. The unconscious foot sweep and entire body wiggle of the lonely left behind bookend. Only so far you can go before you fall off the shelf right?

Before anyone worries, my husband and I are still very much married. I’ve not left or been left, sort of. He has however been traveling, like an insane amount with his new job….the one he loves and feels appreciated in and driven by, (so what kind of partner can be mad about that, right?) the one that has had him gone 12 out of the last 15 weeks. Weeks. (Insert very dramatic and pouty sigh here) So my home, my house, it feels more hollow and needy than it ever has. More work for me to do, one soap always needing replacement while the other sits dry, one less craving tummy and no one here to entertain as I run out with my hair in twelve pigtails, glasses upside down, no pants with a plunger in my hand asking, “Um, have you seen my dignity?” which makes that whole thing a tad awkward, my infantile snort notwithstanding. I’m cooking less, enjoying a bit less and have been finding far less inspiration, both here and crawling my woefully tired clunky frame into bed at night.

I crave passion like an adrenaline junkie craves dropping from the tip of a wave or hovering their toes over the side of a plane. I nurse from that kind of swelling like an infant feeds from a firm and willing nipple. Getting older, and slower, curbs some of that but the fire that churns about inside me, the flames that have flicked at my insides since I was old and wild enough to listen, it still smolders and cracks beneath my skin. Still kicks at my ribcage and raises my eyebrow. It slithers about inside me and sends those tired legs searching for a place to tie up, to stop for the night. Feels like a warm palm in the small of my back, pushing me to bend in ways that make them watch. Make them crave too. It’s all here, just beneath my aching to be stroked skin, but...

I need that firm willing in my mouth too…

I need a reason to plunge


Tear at my clothes

My flesh

Bare myself….

Feel myself searching more than ever before. The Taylor Swiftication of music. The Parkersation and AntiParkersation of wine. Boring and lonely food I cook for just me. The points wars. The who matters and who doesn’t ego fucking stroke of interweb wine blog self-glorification, a soulless and back lit empty footless sweep of a very empty bed. There are exactly 3 wine blogs I can even bother to click on anymore, and no, not one of those three is mine. Not sure I ever fit in the wine blog world and as it bleeds out I can say once again, I’m okay with that. I do still so badly ache to learn, read, be fed and nursed…have that tug of my lips on the firm and willing inspire me to spread myself open to those in need of feeding too.

So now what?

For me, I took a couple weeks off and let myself stroke and puddle. Pout and grieve for a place that use to be. Settle into a new life with a few less daily voices as I did my best impression of a baby making out the new shapes and faces. Searched for my passion where I should have stayed in the first place, in the soft, warm, wet, river of fire that has burned within for as long as my increasingly feeble mind can remember. I’ve let the weight of acceptance tie my tongue, hold me back and down for long enough. I’ve never been able to line dance or do the electric slide. My body doesn’t bend that way….their way, I stumble and with my “Zinfandel Face” watch the counted out steps drag, uninspired across the dance floor just like the choreographed, “thoughts” spin in front of my screen like they are on some crazy Sisyphus spool. Time to hit the “fuck it” button and open myself again. I miss the feeling.  

The wriggling out of those socially acceptable britches didn’t come without a bit of a hiccup. My severely vexed and fatigued mind took that quite literally. The twice the work at home thing is coupled with way more work at work, (but some way fucking cool new and very exciting things, new cheese case full of new meats, fresh eggs, pates, local pickles and eggs…more tasting, teaching, learning, fuck I love that. Not to mntion new faces and policies that make us a better, tighter and more efficient company, love that too. ) so at the end of my day coming home to, well to nothing, not wanting to cook, eat read or write, well my crazy had to go somewhere. Spent a full week suffering night terrors like I’ve not ever experienced before, well since I actually had a monster that was hunting and wanting to silence me. 

It’s a small thing in the world of serious issues. My sleep has always been a spiteful and craveable mistress but this was the first time I’ve ever woken from a sound sleep, heart racing in my throat, pillowcase ripped in half between my fingers, in tears only to fall back to sleep and have it happen over and over again. A reoccurring nightmare (any of you had those? Like the same one from start to finish for days on end?) that brought with it a hot shower and flesh scrubbing kind of creep and horror that kept me up for almost a full week. The kind of darkness that makes you begin to question your own sanity, like how could your own head conspire to terrorize you like that? I started to tell a friend about what went on in these evil and grotesque night films and before I could get halfway through he stood up, wrapped his arms around me, face curled into a twist that let me know I wasn’t being a pussy, his nervous voice telling me, “I love you Samantha” think that might have been the thing that flipped my switch. Love…

I need it

I need to give it

I need to inspire it

I am willing to share it

Show it

Drink from it and spill it into others

Been feeling too alone and part of that






Tell me you missed me

Lie if you have to

Feed me…

Teach me

Inspire me….

I promise

I’ll return the favor

What are we waiting for 

Let's sleep
Smell and touch each other again.

I've missed you

One thousand tiny kisses

Can I pour you a glass?

Just Me... 


webb said...

"Missed you?" that does not begin to cover it. Have been longing for you open heart (and open mouth - that's in a good way!) and your rich words.

Everyone has a drought now and then, and it sounds like yours has been a doozy, but i hope you are coming back soon. This post is like the good old days.

We're out her for you, Sam. To love to applaud and to just be there. Consider yourself virtually hugged - hard. Miss you - a LOT. xoxo

Marcia Macomber said...

Oh, my, girl! Night terrors. Ewwww! I've been lucky to have no more than the occasional bad dream. I've had friends describe their night terrors, and they sound like doozies! Sympathies. Hope it's getting better.

Loved the rhythms in this. I'm down to very few blogs (wine or otherwise) I have time to read. But yours is one. (Ron's is another.) The speed of time has shifted again, making all reading much more difficult to squeeze in.

What are we waiting for? Good question. Love the new cheese display. (Why can't we have these things at home?) Guess we'll have to settle for living vicariously through your wine and cheese descriptions. :-)

Dale Dimas said...

Passion. When you know a musician is truly feeling it and letting you see and feel it too. I think that's why I fell in love with Adele immediately. Your recommendations of Hozier and Ezra. I love the Gipsy Kings even though I can't understand a word they sing, but I can feel the passion. Real Tango music has it. The Argentine Tango drips with it--if "Forever Tango" is in your vicinity see it. Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova in "Once"--listen to "Say it to Me Now" and "The Hill." I know you feel that way about Dave Matthews.

Passion...not blind fanaticism, but passion. Knowing a lot but needing to know more. Sharing, perhaps a bit of preaching, but not propagandizing. The passion for life in the writing of Anne Lamott and in YOUR writing, Sam. (One of these days I'll get to meet you and then maybe I, too, can call you "Darling Samantha"). The passion of your favorite winemakers coming through in their wines and the stories you tell of them both--wine and winemaker.

YOUR passion for the wines you are passionate about. The way you make us crave to taste them by your descriptions, making our mouths ache and water with just your words...your passionate words

The passion in your writing that makes us crave the next installment. You don't "disappoint" us when you don't write for a bit...for me, I know that just means the next installment will be all the richer for the wait. (Doesn't make it any easier to wait, but still...) Your ability to note and describe your life makes me often not want to comment because I don't think my words often do justice to the feelings, and yes, the passion that you stir. Your passion makes your readers passionate for you and usually all I can say is a weak, "Thank You."

Thank You for sharing your passions. Thank You

Samantha Dugan said...

Awe lady, I felt those hugs and kisses. Like seriously. This drought has been a rough one, although outside of the fucking horrible nightmare, (wasn't kidding about that pillowcase, shredded the thing and woke with bits of it twisted in both paws) and pangs of lonely, it has been okay. I love the extra stuff at work, keeps me more focused there, where I am actually selling wine to feed people's lives, and loves. Just needed to shut it down and step away for a second....but don;t for one second think that I didn't think of my handful of sweet readers. I missed you all each and every day. No bullshit, I need you cats. xoxoxox Please, feel that as much as I felt yours.

So nice to see you lady! Thought I had long sense lost you, rightfully to the Funny Man and rescue of needing help puppies, but also to the more disciplined wine folks. So it is quite sweet to find you here. Night terrors are new for me and I am hoping they leave just as quickly as they descended upon me. Seems as if that hug, and a nearly 2 hour foot and calf stroke from the visiting husband, have helped push it out of the daily grind. Very, welcome, indeed. Glad you are still clicking on me lady.

However did I get you?! I'm finding myself at a loss as to how you and I came into contact but I know I've grown, my heart has grown to include you and think of you each time I see a fierce dance move or hear a piece of music that bends me....makes me ache to reach out to you, so I'm thrilled to find you are still here, clicking my links as it were. xoxox

Thomas said...

Ok, ok, I'll lie a little: did not miss you one bit...missed you a whole bit.

Now that I know where you've been, including that rabbit hole of night terrors, which I vaguley remember from a long, long time ago, for different reasons, but not for different impact, now that I know: I forgive your absence.

You can, however, make even that horrible journey into a literary event, and that's not chopped liver.

Me, I'm down to 3 blogs regularly, mainly for the writing, but one of the three, Vinsanity, also offers great photography. The best part is that none of the three will win a wine blogger award this year, because, I hear, the best writing category has been scrapped, which says all one needs to know about the soon to be destination of the wine blogger awards.

Thomas said...

Did I spell it vaguley? No I typed it that way. I know how to spell it. Hey, I'm a goddam writer!

Samantha Dugan said...

You lie so sweetly my dear. I had considered writing about the nightmare, as in just trying to rid myself of it and let it pour into a Word document and hopefully away from me for good but, well when I told my friend his face let me know that it was as horrible as I thought, so probably best not to share that one. Plus, in all honesty, I didn't want to relive it an extra time. By choice no less. My goal is to try and NOT have it suffocate me any further. And why does it not shock me that once again you and I have a sort of shared or common thing?!

I hadn't heard one peep about the blog awards until I read over at Ron's that he had not been nominated this year. Used to be all over the internet with the people begging.....of course I used to read way more blogs back in the day, but also didn't see anything, not one comment or word, about it on Facebook either. The past three years the only time I've seen it was over on The HoseMaster's blog. You and I have discussed those things before and even though I adored Ron I could not even bring myself to vote for his last year. A million miles from thinking, or knowing that he deserved some kind of recognition for his talent and hard work, but the fact that so many others had been "rewarded" before him, in a category that he excelled in, well it just showed me how full of shit those things were in the first place. Add to that the fact that Steve Heimoff, like him or not, was never awarded anything?! Just a joke. Personally I am thrilled to see them implode....such bullshit, and quite frankly, a joke.

Oh, and you're asking ME about spelling?! Come, on, man.

Thomas said...


The blogger conference takes place a few miles from my home this year.

Re, Steve!: I have no idea what you are talking about. I must have missed something--intentionally.

Samantha Dugan said...

As I said, "like him or not" the guy is prolific and engaging people on his blog and keeps the conversation churning. Best Overall should have been his a couple times running, didn't happen. As I stated earlier, glad to see the whole silly thing implode. Had very little integrity in the first place. Least to me.