ants in my laundry

When I lived in OKC back in 2000, my sister and I rented a small house two bedroom house on the east side of the capital.  Our closest main street was Martin Luther King Blvd.  She was working full time and I was working part time and doing drag as much as I could around the city.  I had finally bought a car from a local garage.  I used my recent tax refund and paid 800 cash for the cart was over ten years old, but it ran great and looked good too. I wouldn't have to ride the bus anymore or walk to the store.  I had a car, a place to live and a job.  I was content.   I also bought a washer at a used appliance store. My goal was to buy a set, but only had money for one, so I just bought the washer for 50 bucks.  My mother had hung clothes on the line for years, so I was no stranger to carrying the basket outside.  It was summer and the sun would dry the clothes in no time.  My clothes line was between two trees.  And after a while, the ants were using it as a wire highway to get from one tree to the next.  I would have to shake the dry sheets to get the ants off.  Nobody likes ants in their clean laundry.  I would enjoy my days off, washing and hanging and watching TV in-between loads.  

Just a memory.

When I was a kid, My mom would always make us do chores. Every one did chores. Some time dishes, vacuuming, or laundry.  I always had to throw the trash. That meant taking the tall kitchen trash can room to room and collecting the trash including the bathroom trash. It was not fun. My mother didn't want us dragging the bag by itself, because it may rip and trash would have to be picked up again inside the house.  I remember that the upper rim of the can was about eye level with my 8 year old body.  And I remember how the can would stink when the bag came out.  Oh the stink of household trash, So gross.  Especially if it had been in there for a few days.  I would literally drag the can up the gravel driveway out to the dumpster.  It was a feat of strength to lift the can up and dump the trash in.  There were a few times the bag didn't slide out and the entire can would fall in. Crap!  Imagine me standing on a milk crate, trying to retrieve the tall kitchen can.  Mama would have been mad if I had returned with out it.  I also remember bring the can back empty, thinking my job was done.  Most time it was done but occasionally my mother would say, "get the broom and some Joy and scrub the trash can out in the yard.  And of course, I did it.  And would rinse it with the water hose.  
This memory came to me when I was recently in the yard, washing the trash can.

pics

Small gifts

We used to all get in the car and drive down town for Christmas shopping.  We had a few shops and a couple of department stores, so the selection was sometimes slim.  We would each take turns going in the store with my mom.  Everyone else would wait in the car.  She would give us each 20 dollars to spend.  Looking back now, that seems like nothing.  We had to use it to buy a small gift for each of our siblings.  So actually we spent about five dollars on each gift.  You couldn't get a lot for five dollars, even back then.  We only spent what we could afford on Christmas, which was not much.  My mom would bring us one at a time, back to the car with our bags.  She would warn us not to tell our siblings what we had picked out for them.  She would choose one of us to take our turn shopping with her.  Each time we would return with our purchases in a bag.  We would always try to guess and look through the opaque plastic Dollar Store bag to see what the others had.   I protected mine with my arms and held it against my chest so no one could see.  We would each go home and take turns wrapping our little presents. We would put them under the tree.   Usually they were small action figures, toys, or dolls for my sisters.  I remember once I got gloves.  They were simple kit gloves that would keep my hands warm when I walked to school.  There were many times we didn't have Christmas at all but when we did, those small gifts made Christmas special.  

College

I often went with my college buddies to the mall, movies and even a few night clubs.  We had fun together. It was me, my roommate James,  Jay and brothers Marc and Andrew.  I meet all these guys at MSU.  I was a freshman and did not have any classes with friends from high school.   I had to make all new friends.

James was the only one of us with a girlfriend so he didn’t always go place. He was usually busy spending time with his clingy girl friend to hang with the guys.   Lord knows how many times we would sneak Brandy into the dorms afterhours.  James sand I shared a room that was directly under the view of the security cameras.  It was like having a private entrance that only required you had to jump a three foot brink wall to get in.  Sometimes we opened the window for girls we didn’t even know but they wanted in to see their boyfriends on another floor.  Looking back now we should have charged five buck and used the money to buy beer on the weekends.  Imagine 19 year old me, barely out, enjoying the freedoms of college including clubs and my first taste of alcohol.  The word alcohol sounds too classy, really it was cheap beer.

My buddies and I would hang out in the dorm lounge together. We enjoyed watching Beevis and Butt-head on MTV.  They were cool.  Eventually we would gather together during meals in the student cafeteria. We would joke and carry on.  Every time I would show up later than the other guys, it was like an episode of Cheers.  Do you remember when one of the regular patrons would enter the bar….yep my buddies would holler out in unison “NORM!” Everyone in the place would turn and look.  Yep that was a nick name I secretly hated. I was “Norm”  But really, it was nice to be included in the group.  So I would just smile and laugh.   

James was my roommate.  We had been paired together by the housing department. He was from Burleson, just south of Fort Worth.   I had a sociology class with Jay.  So we became friends. He lived on the second floor of my building.   He was from Rockwall, east of Dallas.  Marc and Andrew were brothers from Austin area. I had seen them in marching band but did really know them until we all started hanging out in the dorms.  They lived down the hall from James and I. 

Once, the guys and I went to the strip club. It was not my idea, but I went along. There was a couple of clubs on the shady part of town. I had never been there.  I was barely out as a new gay person; therefore I had no interest in going.  My buddies did not know I was gay, so I played along and went with them.  We arrived about 10pm.  The parking was crowed and dimly lit. I felt unsafe in the neighborhood.  Woman walked up and down the sidewalk, I was pretty sure they were hooker or drug addict looking to make a few bucks for their next fix.  We parked and made our way inside.  We were stopped at the front door and had to show ID.  I got a big  X on both hand but was allowed entrance.  The X signified me being under age and was not allowed to drink. I was a good thing we had a few drinks before we left the dorms.

The music was loud and I felt awkward being there.  It felt like a pervert.  I guess I still don’t understand how a group of men can lust over the same thing and share their private fantasy in such a public place.  We took seats at a table near the stage.  A young Hispanic girl with rather large breasts finished up her dance and collected her small pile of money.  We ordered some drinks. The guys were mesmerized by the topless women who would shake and grind in front of them until they would give up their dollars.  The women were not very pretty, as a gay man,  was looking in their faces and wondering who they were.  It was not unusual to find girls from broken homes or troubled backgrounds. Some has “daddy/self-esteem” issues according to my sociology classes.  Sociology is the study of human social relationships.  These ladies made money by showing their bodies, dancing topless and some even gave lap dances and let men touch them.  Honestly these ladies sold themselves for a handful of dollars.  But to the men in the audience, and my friends it was just a cheap thrill.  I was a participating observer.  I laughed when they laughed and hooted when they hooted and cheered when they cheered.  But the awkward feeling never left the pit of my stomach.  This was a place where men could objectify women, and treat them without respect.  I tried not to show that it bothered me.  To me the most entertaining part was when a one armed woman came out to dance and strip.  I was not sure whether to laugh or not.  She danced mostly to the side so only her good arm faced the audience.  Her other arm was covered with a tube sock with triple bands of red.  Her white lace bra and panties seemed to glow purple under the black lights over the stage.  The guys and I could not believe our eyes when she turned.  A crudely marker drawn smiley face was on the foot of the dirty sock.  We tried to contain our laughter, but the audience of men, all howled.  I imagine the poor girl heard them too.  But still she removed her top and continued to grind on the pole like all the others. She was there to do her job and make her money.  I guess I felt sorry for her.  I had never seen anything so sad. 

I submitted my art for this years Aviation day design contest.  I am a finalist for the second year in to row and really hope this is my year to win. It would be an honor to be recognized. It would be printed on T-shirts and sold on my company's aviation day event.  The proceeds would go to charity.

Friends

My mother used cook at several places around town.  She has spent years in local restaurants and in later years she cooked at the junior high in Electra.  She enjoyed her job and worked in the late eighties for the nursing home in Electra.  She had several coworkers and made friends with the residents there.  The small nursing home provided 24 hour care to seniors with varying levels of care needs. My mother had to prepare different menu items to meet the nutritional needs of the residents.  She had to cook, serve, and clean after every meal.  In fact I think my mother learned to make large meals, a skill that she used family parties.  My mother could feed a small army.

My mother always tried to get along with all her coworkers.  In fact my mother was well liked by most of them.  She would also help cover for the housekeeping and laundry staff when they needed someone.  My mother’s coworkers were also her friends.  I guess it was natural since she was with them 40 hours a week.  I remember many names of my mother’s friends.  Nancy was her boss. Pat a nurse aid.  And Kevin was part of the kitchen staff. 

Kevin was a gay man who lived in the country with his lover. His old house was between Electra and Burkburnett.  It was an old farm house in the middle of a field.   They enjoyed the privacy out there; gay men were not accepted by everyone in town.   I meet him a few times at my mom’s job.  He was a young white man, in his late twenties.  He had brown hair and feminine mannerisms.   He reminded me of John Ritter from Three’s Company.  My mom told me in the car after first meeting him, that he was different.  What she was trying to tell me was, he was gay.  I was not too sure what that meant.  But she explained that some men were gay, and they had attractions to other men.  I was not sure about my own sexuality at that point, but looked to my mother to know how to respond.  Did she think it is wrong, or gross?  I responded, “Is he your friend?”   She said, “yes, you can be friends with someone, no matter how different they are”.  I saw that as a true sign of who she was.

In the summer of 1989 the nursing home staff booked the public pool after hours for an employee cook out.  The pool was located in the city park so employees invited to bring their families. The adults grilled burgers while the kids enjoyed the pool.   The husbands gathered around the grill and drank beer out of red solo cups.  We kids were not supposed to know, but I knew the amber liquid was not apple juice.  I knew the smell well.  After all, beer was like water to my Dad and my uncles.  The mom’s monitored the children at play and hovered over the serving table.  My Dad was not there, he was not a social type.   But regardless, my mother enjoyed socializing her work friends. 

The party was in full swing and the children could be heard splashing and jumping and most of all laughing.  My mother’s coworker, Kevin was late to the party.  He wore a casual tank top, shorts and some worn rubber flip flops.  He was met at the entrance by some of the men.  It didn't take a genius to realize that the men were uncomfortable with him being there.  I assume they were threatened by his feminine mannerisms.  Electra was a small town and queers were not welcomed.  After a brief exchange, he walked past the men and inside to wear the woman were.  He talked to a few people. I overheard the conversation.  He told about how the men told him that he was not welcome, they called him faggot and queer.  They did not want him around the kids nor did they want him in the poor for fear he may give them AIDS.  He was obviously dress to enjoy the pool but never set foot past the lobby door.  He was upset and left.  The women chattered about what had just happened.   A couple of women went out front to get the truth about what the men had said to him.  It was true; they did not want him there.  That was the bottom the line. And they had gotten their way.

My mother was upset to see another person treated badly.  It only took a few jerks to ruin the party for her.  I can only imagine how Kevin felt.  My mom eventually had enough of the chatter and decided we should leave.  She said goodbyes but I could tell it was not heartfelt.  She was just being polite.  I asked her why we had to leave, the party was not over.  I’m not sure if she meant to tell me, but she did.  It was a conversation that was above my understanding.  She told me that Kevin was disliked because he was gay.  They didn't want him there because he might “hurt” one on the kids.  They felt he could not be trusted around young children.  Apparently they thought that being gay made you inclined to be attracted to children.  I know now that this is stupid.  But close minded people will make up excuses to justify their fear.
The conversation continued with my mother.  She told me that Kevin had AIDS.  I didn't really understand what that meant.  I knew it was a disease that many people in the country were dying from, mostly gay men.  I knew my mother cared about her friend but found it hard to speak out.  Kevin was a nice guy, but if you are gay, it seemed that people would hate you regardless.  And if you had a disease like AIDS, you will lose your friends.  That seemed sad to me. 

I remember when Kevin died after being sick for months.  My mother was one of the few coworkers to attend his service.  I overheard the conversation about how hard it was to find a funeral home who would handle the body.  Basically they would not even embalm him and only offered a direct cremation.  There was only a picture of him at the service. I am not sure if any of his family was there.  He great up in Nebraska but spent his final days in Wichita County.  He is buried in Clara Cemetery.  Clara is a small farming community between Electra and Burkburnett.  He was only 30 years old.  He was the first person I ever knew who had HIV and died of AIDS.  It left a deep impression about the need for understanding, compassion to those who are affected and about friendships.  There were no community outreach programs at that time.  There were not charitable organizations helping fund prevention and care for AIDS patients like there are today.   It was friends and family who cared for them until they died.   They are gone but are not forgotten. 

In memory of Kevin James Hull.  Born Sept 21, 1960- Died June 22, 1991.   Thank you for being my mother’s friend.  

Eureka Springs

Scott and I got engaged in December while in Eureka Springs.  It was such a great weekend.  I got to meet his good friend Michele, whom he calls his God Mother.  She invited us to stay with her the weekend of her graduation.  We drove to Springfield and it snowed.  It was beautiful.  And the city was very nice and Michele’s class mates were all friendly at the dinner after graduation.  The hotel we stayed in was spacious and quite nice too.  We then drove from Springfield to Eureka Springs.  Eureka Springs is where Michele lives.  The hour and forty five minute drive took us through the Ozark Mountains across Table Rock Lake.  It was magnificent to see the natural landscapes that differed so much from the plains of North Texas that I am used to.  The roads were slick in spots from the recent snow and a made me nervous for fear that we might slide over the mountain side.  You could sometimes feel the loss of traction when you crossed an icy patch.  I was glad Scott was driving, I had no idea where we were going nor what was around each bend.  Scott got us safely to Eureka Springs.   Scott had been there a month or so earlier for Thanksgiving.  I was in OKC with my family enjoying a slice or two of turkey.  Michele and Scott became friends when she lived in Dallas.  She had moved to the Eureka Springs area several years ago and worked for large Hospital system in the area. 

Crescent Hotel Eureka Springs Arkansas

Eureka Springs was the oddest place I had ever been.  It really was a village. It had been built on the hillsides and hill tops. Each home cling to the hill sides and some looked like they might tumble down if you stomped your feet and made a vibration.  The downtown area was full of Victorian homes.  And on top of the hill was a Historic Hotel that I think was once a hospital then a college.  The Crescent Hotel is a historic hotel in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.  It was built in the late 1800’s.  And from the roof top you can see all of Eureka Springs down below.  The hotel is said to be haunted but the spirits of former patients, and visitors to the former health resort.  There were no real neighborhoods in Eureka, but homes were built along narrow roads from one hillside to the next and into the low valleys.  A few roads were too steep to navigate due to the snow.  The snow made the down town area look like Santa’s Village.  The seasonal decorations and lights made it even more like a winter wonderland.  The streets are parking lots were slick but we braved the elements to enjoy a Christmas Concert at the down town auditorium that night.  The local choir and high school put a very entertaining show.  Everyone seemed friendly; perhaps they were used to strangers since Eureka Springs was a popular tourist town.  There seemed to be a lot of artisan types and retirees in the local landscape of faces.  In fact there seemed to be an open minded attitude toward gay couples. 

Scott and I spent the night at Michele’s home.  It was cold and snowing but the sun came out the following morning.  We had even decided to browse the small shops in down town before leaving to head back to Dallas.  Scott was able to find a few Christmas gifts for friends and family.  I enjoyed our time shopping.  We had also found our way into a jewelry shop. We had talked about getting married but had put those plans on hold a few months before when we had some issues to work out in our relationship.  It was a tough time for us both but we worked hard to recover as a couple.  We were in a great place in our relationship again and the love again was growing stronger every day.  We had again revisited our former plan to get married.  We knew we were meant to be together.  We found two matching rings that were a woven pattern on the band.  They were a symbol of our lives combining into one.  I was so happy to be there at that moment with Scott.  We bought our rings and after a short walk to the car.  I finally put the ring on his finger.  And in return he put one on mine.  I was so happy that we had overcome so much but we were headed in a new direction.  We would spend the next few months planning our wedding and reception.  We were engaged in Eureka Springs. 

business lessons

We were not dirt poor growing up. We could afford dirt.  But not much else.  My mother would stretch every dollar and learned how to feed our small army of 8.  That included my parents and 6 children.  My parents worked, and the older kids worked too.  My older sister worked at a local Dairy Queen.  My brother and I worked on evenings and weekends with my dad salvaging scrap metal.  As we got older like fifteen or sixteen, my Dad would pay us from the money he got for each load of scrap that he sold at the recycling plant.  Most of what my Dad sold was scrap pipe and steel from old oil leases. We learned to use a cutting torch and how to work hard.  I still have scars on my hands from the work.  Texas had once been a high producer of oil in North Texas.  But the business had declined as the oil wells went dry.  Many oil leases had gone idle and some had shut down completely.  There was not enough oil to make it profitable.  The once needed line pipe, old storage tanks and rusting pump units were an eyesore and often times had been cited by the Railroad Commission.  The Texas Railroad Commission oversee the oil industry in Texas.  Local property owners would then hire my dad and other like him to clean up  and haul off the old equipment bring the oil leases in compliance with the RRC standards.  Sometimes, my Dad would work a deal with property owners to keep the profits from the salvage as his payment.  Most would agree to the terms.  They would benefit from the cleanup, and my Dad would benefit from the profits of the scrap steel.  Other times, My Dad would split the profits with property owner.  But her did not like this arrangement and avoid it when possible.  He would make less money this way.  My Dad’s small cash business was all about making money.  Money he would use for or family and reinvest in to keep the business going.  It reminds me a lot of my own sewing business.  It takes work to keep the customers coming back, the right balance of buying supplies, and you have to work had to be successful.  Most people don’t realize how much goes into each garment or that just because you sold a dress for 200 buck doesn’t mean you made 200 in profit.  You money is tied up in materials.  A 200 dollar dress is usually about 150 in materials in labor.  50 buck is how much I really made and then I have to reinvest in notions and supplies and buy more fabrics to create the next garment.  Plus it takes some work to “hook” a customer.  Sometimes I will not charge for consultation time, or linings materials or zippers or incorporating elements into the design so that the customers fall in love with my work.  They will want another dress and bring me repeat business.  That is the hook.  It’s all part of having a successful business.  I also pride my small business on fair pricing and never over change.  This keeps me honest and customer’s happy.  My Dad was not a businessman.  He did not wear a suit nor work in an office.  He had never even finished high school.  He was self-taught about business and did the best he could to make money for the family.  

I loved to draw

I enjoyed art class in junior high and high school.  I started to explore my love of art as a kid. I asked my mom if I could take a class. I took a ceramics class in town. My mom would pick me up and drop me off.   Nikki Eicker was a local ceramic artist who taught classes.  She was young, about 30, with a family.  I remember thinking that her husband was so handsome.  Nikki taught classes from her studio two days a week.  Her husband had converted their garage into a work shop and art studio. She even had an oven called a kiln to heat the clay body to temperatures ranging from 1800–2400°F (1000–1300°C), depending on the type of clay we were using.  There are different types of clays such as Earthenware on the lower end of the spectrum, and stone wares on the upper. The firing process gives permanency to our work; without it, the beautiful ceramic bowl you just made will turn back into mud as soon as water touches it. There were five of us in the class; the other four students were older woman.  I was just 13. But I enjoyed learned and being creative.   She had many molds in her studio. Some of the other advanced students made greenware molds themselves.  Greenware is the term given to clay objects when they have been shaped but have not yet been bisque fired, which converts them from clay to ceramic. Greenware may be in any of the stages of drying: wet, damp, soft leather-hard, leather-hard, stiff leather-hard, dry, and bone dry.  Greenware is very fragile, and must be very carefully loaded into the kiln for its first firing.
She taught color and painting techniques.  My favorite was learning to add shadow and highlight to my work. It really made the piece come to life. She was very patient after all I was only a kid.   I made several projects including a set of owls that I gave to my mother.  My mother liked owls and collected them.  She enjoyed my art. I enjoyed the classes and being able to do something on my own.  I didn’t get many opportunities to do things alone. It was always a group activity with my other siblings. 

I drew this while at work.  TCF

 I continued my art classes in high school. I loved to draw and learn art techniques. I took two years of art instruction.    I had a great teacher, Mrs. Beebe.  She was older woman who loved the southwest culture and enjoyed wearing turquoise jewelry.  She was like a grandmother to all her students. She really enjoyed teaching art.  She taught many different mediums including carving linoleum tiles, watercolor, pencil, pastels, and collage /paper art.   My two favorite mediums are pen & ink and charcoal pencils. I spent my sophomore and junior years in Mrs. Beebe’s class.  I was able to complete several projects.  Many of the techniques I learned I still think about when I draw today.  I even submitted some of my class projects into the local art show.  I won first place for an ink drawing I did.  And the small scale miniature house I create received honorable mention.  My true love was drawing landscapes and trees.  I loved the range of light and shadow that you could create with a charcoal pencil drawing.  I still remember Mrs. Beebe’s voice every time I draw a tree. She would remind me to consider the squirrels; Is my tree pretty enough for the squirrels to climb?  And the space where to branches intersect need to be rounded so the squirrel needs a place to sit.  

Maybe I should take another art class.  

Im still here -updated

It’s been several months since I have written anything.  I took a step back from a lot of things including drag and friends. I had even created a simple Face book account using my middle name. I deactivated my drag account for over a month.   I wanted to distance myself from my drag persona.  I need to work on the real me,  I wanted to be a strong man not a weak queen hiding behind the makeup.   I used this time to work on myself self-esteem and mental health.  It was totally worth it.  I have to catch you up on my personal life.  It was hard to face the facts that Scott and I had broken up.  I was so lost and need to find myself again.  Well I am here today to tell you,  I am an amazing guy.  I am worth having and that there are other fish in the sea.  I even met a few.  Each one saw what I was discovering.  I am a great guy,  and the new found changes we shining through.  I was dating a great guy who seem to really care for me.   We would enjoy evenings together and dinner together.  He was super sweet and had even brought me flowers.  We had gone to dinner one Saturday and texted after I went back home.  I was not surprised when my phone rang late that evening.   But it was not him.  A number came up with out a name.  I was surprised and shocked.  It was Scott's number.  I had worked so hard to put all that drama behind me and  now he was calling me late at night.  I knew it had to be important.

I answered.  It was late, but Scott asked how I was.  I knew I was in a more solid state of mind and had really worked hard to get there.  I replied, “fine. How are you”  He said he was fine too.  I moment of confusion came over me.   He said I had been on his mind and he wanted to make sure I was doing ok.  I was more than Ok, I was whole again.  That was nice of him to ask,  but perhaps he was just easing his conscience about the way  he had broken my heart.  I kept my guard up.   I had just gotten home from a date, it was late and now my ex Scott was calling me.  A million things rolled through my mind.  We chatted for a few minutes.  Scott told me that I had been on his mind and he never stopped caring about me.  He also told me that he was glad to hear that I as doing so well.  He could tell from my voice that I had finally found my strength; something that he said was there all along.  He also was glad to hear that I had met someone new, although he seemed surprised.  I was glad that I was able to handle our conversation with our breaking into tears.  He also asked if I would be open to meeting, maybe we could talk and see if we could be friends again.  After all, we were friends for many years prior to becoming romantically involved.  I said yes, I could handle that at some point.  Scott interjected.  “I’d like to see you tonight”. He continued, “I’m on my way to your house now, I just exited on 183”.  I did not know that during our conversation, he was enroute to my apartment in Irving. Scott was only a few minutes I said yes to seeing him, but had no idea that it was happening that night.  I said ok and quickly wrapped up our conversation.  He would be there in minutes.  I threw on some shorts and a t-shirt.  I quickly moved the fresh flowers of the dining room table and put them in the lower kitchen cabinet.  I didn’t feel it was Scott’s business to he details of my current romantic interest.  That guy had given flowers before our date.  I heard a knock, it was Scott.  He quickly gave me a peck on the lips and a hug.  I invited him into the living room.  We stood chatting for a minute and then sat on the couch together.  It was a very awkward feeling. Scott was back in my apartment.  I really thought he hated me.  Or perhaps I was the worst mistake he had ever made.  Why would he want to by my friend?  There were so many issues between us. These Issues drove him to walk out of my life.  I had spent many counseling secessions trying to come to terms with our failed relationship and broken view of myself.  I was stronger by leaps and bounds. I knew it.  I was also happy just being myself again.  I was doing the things that make me happy and honestly I was dating two other guys.  None of them exclusively,  I was not looking to jump in the sack with anyone

either.  Scott seemed a little uncomfortable. I could tell he wanted to tell me something. 

He told me that he missed me, and that he was glad to see that I was stronger.  I missed him too.  I was reminded of the note in my wallet.  I had written it down and carried it with me. It simply said, “no matter how much I love you, you were not good for me”   I meant it when I wrote it.  I had faced the fact that the relationship we had was over, and It was not mentally healthy for me.  I knew I loved him. That was the bottom line. I had never stopped.  I had other interest with someone else.  I needed to sort this out for myself.  Scott stayed the night with me and we cuddled.  It was very special.  Apparently he still loved me too and  we both did not know what that meant.  I was unsure of what to do.  Scott and I spent Thanksgiving apart. He and I called and text that weekend.  I had plans to see one of the guys I had met.  I was honest and told Scott.  In fact I think he was understandably jealous.  But why?  After all he had walked out on me, I did not owe him another chance.    How could I reconcile with someone who hurt me so terribly.  I had forgiven him  after that and found myself again.  Other guys eager to date me and so was Scott.  I kept asking my self, what to do.  I wrestled with it for days.  Unfortunately I would have to hurt someone I cared about. I hated being the jerk.  But who would I choose.  How do I decide.  I felt it was best to spend a little time with each. And then eliminate someone.  So I did.  I tried to be as kind as possible to tell guy number one, that I could not see him anymore.  I really meant what I told him, that he was a great guy. And I hoped that some new would come his way.  I knew Scott was trying to patient.  I was now down to two guys.  Both had great qualities but my love for Scott, outweighed  everything else.  I had to call the other guy and let him down. I tried to be as honest as I could.  I also told him that our relationship had been great, and hoped someone new would be the man of his dreams.  I could never be that because I was still in love with my ex, Scott.  Yes, I had chosen to reconcile with Scott and I knew it would not be easy.  But Scott was who I always wanted. When I said I loved him the very first time, I knew I always would.  That is just how my heart works.  We had our issues and deep down were willing to work on it.  It took some time to see how much he had changed and how committed he was to making our relationship work.  I also used my new inner strength too.  I was finally seeing the man I love emerge.  I also tried hard to be the man who was strong enough to handle our new relationship.  Everything I been through had happened for a reason.  I accepted myself, I found my inner strength, and realized that I was worth having.  Scott also had grown as a person and his commitment to our relationship was evident.  We continue to had ups and down but have never been happier.  We also took an extended weekend trip to Springfield Mo and Eureka Springs AK.  It was a great time, and it snowed. Eureka Springs looked like Santa’s village.  We also did some shopping while we were there.  We found some rings and we discussed the idea of marriage.  We decided to honor our anniversary but getting married in April 2014.  We had a new lease on love and a new engagement to celebrate with our first Christmas together.  I was so happy to have him back in my life and even happier to see that no matter how rocky things may get, Scott was here to stay.  He told me that breaking up was not an option anymore.  I am looking forward to our ceremony and reception.  It will held in Dallas and then we will fly to New York City to be legally married.  PS...I threw that note away.