The Love Song That Wasn't — Lost & Found hop + #BoTB

"Every new beginning comes

from some other beginning's end."

~ Seneca

(Seneca, yes. Not Semisonic.)

Note to BoTB-ers: To skip the preamble and go straight to the Battle, scroll down to where the long Lost & Found banner is :)

When people of my generation think of love songs, they might think of Bryan Adams or Bangles or Peter Cetera or Air Supply or Richard Marx (if they're mainstream). The "pseudo-rocker" crowd might list Journey, Bon Jovi, Bonnie Tyler, Meatloaf, or Heart, while the "real" rockers might go for Def Leppard, INXS, U2, The Cure, Scorpions, Cheap Trick, REM. The really alternative ones might go for The Smiths or Billy Idol or Leonard Cohen or Fiction Factory or Cutting Crew or David Bowie or Echo & The Bunnyman or ... let's face it, we wouldn't have known them anyway.

Lost & Found: Valentine's Edition (a blog hop)

Love... Even the word sounds like a sigh. But is it a sigh of contentment—or of regret? If you've found it, the world shines in colors vivid. If you've lost it, life fades into grays and shadows. There's nothing quite as intense as falling in love. Or as the feeling of loss when it ends.

This is a blog hop to celebrate love: lost, or found, or—both? Whether in short fiction, or a brief essay, or poetry, or even (especially for us Battle of the Bands participants) via a song, tell us a love story. Whether it's of loss or a happily-ever-after is up to you—as is the genre. Sci-fi, thriller, comedy, memoir—it's all good. "Love" is, after all, so much more than just "romance". On Monday February 1st, it's all about love, in all its forms. The only limit is your creativity.

The Lost & Found: Valentine's Edition blog hop was born as a collaboration with Arlee Bird, and we're thrilled to have enlisted fabulous help from co-hosts Denise Covey, Yolanda Renee, Elizabeth Seckman, and the Ninja Captain himself, Alex Cavanaugh.

Sign up to the Love Lost & Found extravaganza at the linky below. See you on Monday February 1st!

#BoTB: The Christmas Special

If you grew up in the 80's, chances are you already have a favorite in this Battle of the Bands.

First up: 25 November 1984, Bob Geldof's Band Aid records Do They Know It's Christmas to raise funds for Ethiopia. (WARNING: tough, tough images.)

#BoTB: Por Mujeres Como Tú (aka The Mexican Chauvinist Anthem)

Welcome to another Battle of The Bands! Get your sombreros and your bottle of tequila, because it doesn't get any more Mexican than this.

Us Mexicans, we take the sombrero very seriously.

When I say serenade, what's the image that comes first into your head?

a) Moonlit night, starry-eyed Juliet on her balcony, starry-eyed Romeo below singing sweet songs of everlasting love with a soulful guitar?

b) A broken-hearted drunk with his staggering-drunk buddies shouting up abuse at an empty balcony?

A, right? Of course. That's the image perpetuated by Tom & Jerry and black & white movies of the 1940's. And, in truth, it can be like that.

#Cherished: If This Teddy Could Talk...

On a bookshelf behind my desk, out of sight unless you know where to look, sits a toy koala bear. He's old, dusty, and faded. The hair on his ears is matted. His eyes are scratched, and the tan felt of one eyelid has peeled off. The plastic pear he wears as a nose needs to be glued back on. Again. And yet his grin remains. A tad sardonic maybe--not surprising, given the degree of abandonment he's put up with. But there's real bonhomie, too. Good-natured patience. I'm here, that grin seems to say. Whenever you remember.

Is there anything as sad as a forgotten once-beloved toy? These cast-offs speak of lost childhoods, changing priorities, the ephemeral nature of our attachments, even the ones that feel, at the time, forged in steel. Most of all, I suppose, these little personalities -- for who can deny them that bit of humanity? -- remind us of the selves we've left behind.

Curacao up for Best Caribbean Beach!

Cor and I at Seaquarium
Beach a few months after
that fateful Trafassi concert

The Seaquarium beach--aka Mambo beach--is one of Curaçao's most well-known, most-often-photographed, and probably the only one of all the island's beaches (yes, there's a lot) that every single visitor to the island goes to. It was certainly the first one I saw when I came here, so this smallish, man-made strip of sand is responsible for turning what was originally a six-month stay into a total about-face in my lifestyle that's lasted over a decade. And counting.

At this beach, one Thursday night in a long-ago October, during a Trafassi concert (in which I heard a song about "big washes, small washes" for the first time), the man that's since become my life partner and my best friend kissed me for the first time.

#atozchallenge: Kiss & Tell

2014: A Year In Stories
A twelve-volume anthology published by Pure Slush Books

My first kiss was beautiful. Maybe even Disney corny. It happened after (not during, mind you; that would've been sleazy) seeing the movie Some Kind Of Wonderful at the theater on a Thursday afternoon.

(Maybe it was a Monday. Or a Wednesday. What? It was a long time ago.)

It was soft, and intense, and long. And I was in love with the guy even before he kissed me. He was my first love, and we were together for seven years.

But, apparently, I'm a minority. At least as far as the characters of the 2014 project are concerned.

Nadia refuses to count her first kiss as the time Robbie Hill tried to shove his tongue down her throat during a spin the bottle game at school camp. So she jumps forward to when Tom McKinnon kissed her at her thirteenth birthday party, back when he still treated her like his best mate's kid sister, back long before they started going out together. That brief, unexpected, innocent brush of lips across her left cheek, that's the first kiss she wants to remember. (MANDY NICOL)

(Keep in mind that this is not (entirely) autobiographical.) Stephen first kissed Anne standing on the doorstep of an apartment house where their writing group had just met. They had been meeting in the group for more than a year, but Stephen remained oblivious to her interest. Intensely introverted, he had given up on love by this point (he was in his late twenties) and immersed himself in his work and a few hobbies, one of which was fiction writing. He saw Anne as a pleasant fellow writer with a talent for story structure. (STEPHEN V. RAMEY)

Mark Hamilton's first kiss was at 15. He was helping to unload the assistant coach's minivan at an amateur baseball tournament. He was not unaware of girls, but his concentration on athletics did not leave a lot of room for socializing. The assistant coach's stepdaughter stopped him as he was removing a long canvas bag of bats from the back of the van. She stood unusually close to him, her dusty painted toes inches from his baseball spikes, and wrapped her arms around him when he straightened up. Smelling like Pepsi, she leaned in close and pressed herself against him. They kissed, and she whispered, "Good luck today, Marky." Whether coincidence or not, he struck out 12 in 7 innings and hit a home run that day. (MICHAEL WEBB)

Luis Villalobos was ten. There was a girl he sort-of liked, sort-of hated--you know how at that age inter-gender relationships are weird like that--and one day in the school yard he cornered her in the alley between two buildings. He was after her Hershey's chocolate bar, the kind that back then wasn't available in Mexico and had to be imported from the US. But when the girl gave up the bar, he changed his mind and lunged in for a kiss instead. Well, "kiss"... The girl screamed and ran away with a bloody lip, and Luis bore a tooth-shaped bruise on his chin for the two weeks he was grounded. But the nickname Vampiro stuck for much longer than that. (GUILIE CASTILLO)

~ * ~

What was your first kiss like? Did it live up to your expectations, or did it happen before you had any expectations? What is a first kiss, anyway? Do we agree with Nadia that a spin-the-bottle mashing of lips doesn't count? And is a first kiss all that important to begin with?

Thanks for the visit, and happy A-to-Z-ing!

[You guys, I owe you an apology. I'm behind on posting, on replying to comments, on visits... I will catch up this weekend. I will be all over the internet, returning the love you've shared so generously. You're wonderful, all of you, and I'm honored every time you visit. Thank you!]

Say Thank You

Have you ever given a stranger's child a gift? Maybe a colleague invited you to their son's birthday party, or Bar Mitzvah, or Christmas at their place, or, you know, whatever. Say this child is young (so maybe Bar Mitzvah doesn't apply), younger than eight. You hand the child a gift-wrapped box or one of those feisty gift bags with tissue paper arranged just so, and the child's eyes go a little wider, their face a little seriouser. They take your offering somewhat solemnly.

And their mother says, "Say thank you, Robbie"--or Jenny, or Mindy, or whatever.

[At least that's the way it was when I was growing up. Nowadays parents seem oblivious to their kids' manners.]

Here's the lesson. It's not that the child isn't appreciative of your gift. He--or she--is dying to open it, to see what it is. Their heart is racing, adrenaline is flowing, endorphins are kicking in. They can't wait.

Mom, on the other hand, is all about social mores. "Say thank you."

So the kid does, kind of halfheartedly, or maybe a bit shyly if they're older. They'll feel a little embarrassed for the greed they feel, for the desire to get it over with and tear the damn thing open. And you'll nod, say they're very welcome and you hope they enjoy the toy--or book, or sweater, or whatever. You'll turn back to the mom, release the kid to the freedom of shredding paper and ribbons and plastic wrap and cardboard.

Aren't we all like that? Yeah, even the grown-ups? We resent the "say thank you", the obligation to pause in our enjoyment of gifts. Gifts like life. Like health, or family, or an exotic bird chirping on our windowsill, a tiny flower blooming among the weeds.

I don't think the child is wrong. That carpe diem of tearing gifts open, of getting excited over wrapping, over ribbons, is a wonderful thing. But I think Mom's lesson is pretty powerful. "Say thank you." Not because it's socially required, not because the gift-giver deserves the thanks, although they certainly do. I think it's important to say thank you because that pause of contemplation gives the gift depth.

In the hedonism of "a gift! a gift! a gift!", we forget to appreciate the moment. Moments pass so quickly. Saying thank you is a nod, however brief, to acknowledge it. Before it's gone.

Happy Thanksgiving, USA.

A to Z: Tying the Knot

Are you married? How old were you when you got married? Why did you get married? If you're not married, are you planning to?

Cor & I at the Taj Mahal
September 2008

Most of my same-age friends (I'm 39) are either married or single, and by single I mean they're not in a relationship. As a matter of fact, I can't think of anyone I know that isn't either of these two right now. I have some younger friends (early 30's) who aren't married but in a relationship. Most of those have been in said relationship for less than a year, and most of those relationships are still in the "going steady" stage; only very few couples (two, maybe) share households.

Whereas my dushi and I have been co-habitating for--oh, eight years.

Did we consider marriage? Yep. In 2008, when we spent a few months in India for work (how lucky are we to have done that together?), he proposed. At the Taj Mahal. And I said yes--naturally.

Why are we still legally single? Why haven't we tied the knot?

A to Z: Friendship vs. Love

Ever noticed how much more tolerant we're with our friends than with our lovers?

If your friend cancels a date, it's no big deal. Sure, you wanted to see your friend, maybe had something specific you wanted to talk about with them, or you were just looking forward to spending some time with them. But it's no big deal. You don't get all "so you're saying there's stuff--stuff--that's more important than me?", and you don't give them the silent treatment for days (okay, weeks).

A to Z: Dating

Where I come from (Mexico), dating is a pretty straightforward affair. Assuming, for ease of comparison, that this Boy and Girl that Will Date don't know each other from childhood (very common in Mexico), this is what happens:

• Boy meets Girl.
• Boy asks for Girl's phone number, Girl says no. (Yes, even if she likes him. He's the hunter and she's going to make him chase her.)
• Boy embarks on crusade to get the number--find out who her friends are, see if any of them are friends of his friends, too, and might hacerle el paro (slang for "do a favor").

A to Z: Beauty's in the eye of the (cultural) beholder

Visit the other A to Z Bloggers! http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/

There are various orders of beauty, causing men to make fools of themselves in various styles.

GEORGE ELIOT, Adam Bede

What is beauty? What makes someone beautiful?

Before you jump up like the eager teacher's pet and shout out, "their soul", let me specify: we're sticking to physical beauty today. Call me superficial. Just for the sake of argument, today it's all about the shell and not the meaty and savory oyster flesh, ok?

A woman, for instance. Blonde or brunette? Tall or short? Thin? Fat? Big boobs, tiny waist? Long legs? Tiny feet? Shiny straight hair, a mass of curls? Dark eyes, colored?

A Simple Man & A Complex Woman (The Dushi Ode)

Dushi, happy birthday.  This is probably not the kind of birthday "card" you expected, is it?  You're not a public kind of man, I know, and I'm sorry that I chose this very public forum to say Happy Birthday.  I didn't do it to embarrass you.

You see, words are the only gift I have to give.  And, as it is, they're not much.

We've been together for a long time now, and I like to think you know me pretty well.  You know how intense I am, how conflicted, how voluble and disperse.  I'm sorry for bringing my conflicts into your life, but I'm forever grateful that you understand--how do you do it?  How do you put your own self aside and step into my shoes, so gracefully and quiet, like a shadow?  And--why?

Killer Character Blogfest -- Challenge #3: Antagonist

El Amor En Los Tiempos Del Colera (Love In Times of Cholera, or Love In The Time of Cholera)

Florentino Ariza met Fermina Daza one slow afternoon when she raised her head from a book and met his eyes, "and that look was the origin of a cataclysm of love that half a century later hadn’t yet finished." [My translation]

For fifty-one years, nine months and four days, Florentino and Fermina would not speak privately.  Love arose through letters and chaperoned walks in a park, a love of expected vibrancy given their youth.  But Fermina would soon realize that she’d fallen in love with Love itself, that Florentino was not anything she’d thought he was, and she’d dismiss him from her life to marry a man more in line with her station.

But Florentino did not give up.  He waited patiently, with a debauchery that never threatened the purity of his love for Fermina, for half a century.  The opportunity finally comes, but…  They’re too old, Fermina says.  Florentino’s patience isn’t exhausted and soon, in spite of her disparaging protests, she begins to admit there might still be time for love.  Love, after all, is love regardless of the time or the age.  But it becomes denser the closer one is to death.

Time is the antagonist.  Time is what threatens: Florentino must outlive Fermina’s husband.  Age—evidence of Time’s passage—threatens to make everything pointless.  In the end Florentino thinks he wins: Time, so long against him, is now his ally--not just because proximity to death has intensified everything, but also because the half-century interlude flew them over the trials of love turned routine.  And now…  Now they need only each other.  But Time won't stop, not even on that drifting riverboat with a cholera flag raised.  We're left with the sensation that, however well-lived, their days together will not be many.