Health Boundaries Bite
http://www.health-boundaries-bite.com
Your fingernails reflect your health --
Learn some warning signs --
Karen Kline
Your fingernails reflect your health --
Learn some warning signs --
Karen Kline
Memorable Romance
Years ago I wanted to be a potter. I was firing small pots in my
fireplace in my rented adobe home here in Santa Fe when my kitty,
Hannibal, named after the Carthage warrior who crossed the Alps
with elephants, began to stare out the window. I looked over, and
there was a man looking in my window.
Now, the back of my house had a very narrow walkway between the
house and a back wall, so it wasn't as if the man was passing by and
the flickering light, or
something,
caught his attention.
I didn't see his face
clearly enough to
recognize who it was,
if it was someone I
knew, so I told my
friends about the
experience and
mystery.
My friend Richard, a
geologist, gave me
a tear gas handgun that
I felt wasn't very useful
because if the peeper
got brave, came in and I shot the tear gas, we'd have to leave together.
At the time I was working as night desk clerk at Rancho Encantado
where Grace Kelly, John Wayne, Johnny Cash and the likes, stayed.
So I came home after 11:30 most nights. One night as I parked my
car, I saw that my door was open and a light was on.
As I cautiously approached, Chris, a man I'd at the Ranch came onto
my porch. His dad, owner of 21 Club in New York, had been a
Ranch guest (who said his room was cold enough to hang and age a
side of beef).
I'd been attracted to Chris's coltish eagerness as he all but circled his
father as he carried in his dad's bags. In time Chris had taken me
flying in a small plane and then to Eggs Benedict and champagne for
lunch. Now, I was happy to see Chris, except he was acting oddly.
Clearing his throat and blinking he said he'd come in to wait for me (I
didn't lock my door in those days), had found my gun on my bench
and had fired it into the fireplace. It hadn't looked real, he said, adding
(somewhat needlessly) that the house had filled with tear gas. Did I
want to go for a ride, he asked. With eyes already stinging I said, sure.
The last time I saw Chris he had just picked up a
package with jeans in it which he said was from
his father who had just purchased Levi's, the
company.
Years later in England when I was living in a
derelict building with my little son (not Chris's)
things were periodically bleak, but at the same time there were
lovely, sort of follow-your-heart commercials for Levi's on telly.
They reminded me of Chris Kriendler and made me feel good, happy,
in fact, and lucky.
Fact is, things aren't always what they seem: the derelict building
was a good home for my son and me: the only place you could see
the sky through the ceiling, which
is the definition of "derelict" in
England, was upstairs in our
water closet.
Prior to the derelict building, my
son and I were living on a historic,
preserved street in London that
led to Regent's Canal; I was
dusting one day when I cracked
one of John's stone carvings. I
felt horrible because jade is said
to be so strong. It seemed like a
very bad omen, to have broken
it. What I didn't know was that
the carvings were not jade, but
soapstone, which hasn't the
strength and endurance of jade.
I had given John a copy of
Antione de Saint Exupery's
The Little Prince when I knew
him in Monterey, California -- he
was in a think tank at the time. I
inscribed a note about love and knowing whether it's a true knot or
one that will slip away. I felt he was my true love. He was a
topologist and defined topology as the study of "what's a knot and
what's not a knot." But the love slipped away. The truth of the book,
however, remains, "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
what is essential is invisible to the eye."
Meanwhile, back in Santa Fe when I had the window peeper, I didn't
know that the fruit crate I was sitting on while making my pots had a
black widow and her web in it.
So often what we don't know is what makes all the difference.
I think that if the carvings had been jade, or if I'd known they were
fragile soapstone, John and I might not have broken up. (Much of life
reflects deeper truths, one small thing can reflect the Big Picture.)
That said, it is also true that I did not know a dark thing that was a
secret in my past.
This page makes me thoughtful, it may take me a long time to include
all of the best romances.
fireplace in my rented adobe home here in Santa Fe when my kitty,
Hannibal, named after the Carthage warrior who crossed the Alps
with elephants, began to stare out the window. I looked over, and
there was a man looking in my window.
Now, the back of my house had a very narrow walkway between the
house and a back wall, so it wasn't as if the man was passing by and
the flickering light, or
something,
caught his attention.
I didn't see his face
clearly enough to
recognize who it was,
if it was someone I
knew, so I told my
friends about the
experience and
mystery.
My friend Richard, a
geologist, gave me
a tear gas handgun that
I felt wasn't very useful
because if the peeper
got brave, came in and I shot the tear gas, we'd have to leave together.
At the time I was working as night desk clerk at Rancho Encantado
where Grace Kelly, John Wayne, Johnny Cash and the likes, stayed.
So I came home after 11:30 most nights. One night as I parked my
car, I saw that my door was open and a light was on.
As I cautiously approached, Chris, a man I'd at the Ranch came onto
my porch. His dad, owner of 21 Club in New York, had been a
Ranch guest (who said his room was cold enough to hang and age a
side of beef).
I'd been attracted to Chris's coltish eagerness as he all but circled his
father as he carried in his dad's bags. In time Chris had taken me
flying in a small plane and then to Eggs Benedict and champagne for
lunch. Now, I was happy to see Chris, except he was acting oddly.
Clearing his throat and blinking he said he'd come in to wait for me (I
didn't lock my door in those days), had found my gun on my bench
and had fired it into the fireplace. It hadn't looked real, he said, adding
(somewhat needlessly) that the house had filled with tear gas. Did I
want to go for a ride, he asked. With eyes already stinging I said, sure.
The last time I saw Chris he had just picked up a
package with jeans in it which he said was from
his father who had just purchased Levi's, the
company.
Years later in England when I was living in a
derelict building with my little son (not Chris's)
things were periodically bleak, but at the same time there were
lovely, sort of follow-your-heart commercials for Levi's on telly.
They reminded me of Chris Kriendler and made me feel good, happy,
in fact, and lucky.
Fact is, things aren't always what they seem: the derelict building
was a good home for my son and me: the only place you could see
the sky through the ceiling, which
is the definition of "derelict" in
England, was upstairs in our
water closet.
Prior to the derelict building, my
son and I were living on a historic,
preserved street in London that
led to Regent's Canal; I was
dusting one day when I cracked
one of John's stone carvings. I
felt horrible because jade is said
to be so strong. It seemed like a
very bad omen, to have broken
it. What I didn't know was that
the carvings were not jade, but
soapstone, which hasn't the
strength and endurance of jade.
I had given John a copy of
Antione de Saint Exupery's
The Little Prince when I knew
him in Monterey, California -- he
was in a think tank at the time. I
inscribed a note about love and knowing whether it's a true knot or
one that will slip away. I felt he was my true love. He was a
topologist and defined topology as the study of "what's a knot and
what's not a knot." But the love slipped away. The truth of the book,
however, remains, "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
what is essential is invisible to the eye."
Meanwhile, back in Santa Fe when I had the window peeper, I didn't
know that the fruit crate I was sitting on while making my pots had a
black widow and her web in it.
So often what we don't know is what makes all the difference.
I think that if the carvings had been jade, or if I'd known they were
fragile soapstone, John and I might not have broken up. (Much of life
reflects deeper truths, one small thing can reflect the Big Picture.)
That said, it is also true that I did not know a dark thing that was a
secret in my past.
This page makes me thoughtful, it may take me a long time to include
all of the best romances.
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