Fleet Week in San Francisco brings thousands of people to the Bay Area to witness the remarkable feats of air machines that maneuver so nimbly it takes your breath away. I have to conceal my enthusiasm so I only appear to be astounded as the Blue Angels whiz by at near eye level, wing to wing, six planes deep. It’s an exhilarating experience to hear the engines but not see the planes until they rip over the crest of the city, duck behind a building and emerge just above the water as you stand on shore. Even with a one-on-one conversation with a pilot, I don’t believe I would ever grasp what it feels like to fly an F/A-18 over the Golden Gate Bridge and into the bay…exiting out the other end in about 6 seconds.
But I’m open to that conversation, nonetheless. Along with the rest of the female population.
The ferry was my transportation to the city that day to meet Mr. Delicious. It’s hard to call it commuting when you ride the ferry through the bay of San Francisco, past Sausalito and the Marin Headlands, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Alcatraz, with suspension bridges and a gorgeous city reining in the beauty, capturing it in arms of steel.
This is a glorious way to start the day.
Mr. Delicious arrived minutes after me at the Ferry Terminal Building – more marketplace for the love of all things sustenance – giving me a strong hug and a very special bag of gluten free flour especially made for pizza. Foodies are so easy to please. And the pleasure didn’t end there. We made our way west on the Embarcadero to La Mar, a Peruvian cebichería, or restaurant that specializes in ceviche. But it is so much more than that. It was after 11 AM…so we ordered a cocktail. Mr. Delicious went frothy with an egg-white something and mine a tequila spiked jungle version of a fruity tropical drink. More earthy, but still sweet. As with wine, I am not able to recall names, or all ingredients, which is why I call restaurants afterwards for the recipe. (Note to self…)
We had a lot of catching up to do. It had been about six weeks since we had last seen each other. Since that time he moved out of the home he shared with his former fiancé, made a trip back East for a special family celebration, and was enjoying being on his own in a new town with a renewed zest for life. The conversation barely paused as we crunched yucca chips, shared a tasting of four cebiches and revisited our most recent experiences.
After a long walk, we gave up on our quest to find an aircraft carrier to board and made our way to the Pier 23 Cafe; the kind of one-story, bungalow-ish building you’d expect to see in a sleepy beach town, complete with wood cut-outs of palm trees nailed to the facade between double-hung windows with frames painted a Caribbean blue. Round picnic tables clustered around the left of the building leading to the back patio, all with a view of the water. And all were occupied by people staring up at the sky, awaiting the arrival of the Blue Angels, with cocktails in hand, grateful for their front row seat, waterside. We stood on the edge of the seating area next to a couple of parked Harley Davidson motorcycles, whose owners must have been inside the lively bar, where Mr. Delicious ventured on a mission to quench our thirst.
Our walk left me hot. Being that it is San Francisco, I removed my jacket and tossed it and my sweater on the blacktop, leaving me in a tank top with a scarf. It’s four-season dressing every time you leave the house here. After removing my phone, I tucked my black clutch purse under the garments, barely noticing a quiet voice inside that said, You are so going to forget it’s under there.
(I just heard my first clap of thunder in Marin. THAT rarely happens here. So beautiful. And now the first rain storm of the season. Oh, the sound of the ocean spilling out of the clouds…I had to share.)
Pictures cannot capture what it felt like, literally physically felt like, to be buzzed by an F/A-18, or six. But I tried to capture it anyway, turning around and around to spot them, with the sound of their engines guiding my gaze. The glare of the sun made it impossible to tell if I was getting them in the shot, so the camera got tucked away in my jeans and I made it my mission to burn the experience into my mind while my chest echoed their roar. Unlike a motorcycle engine, a sound I abhor, the roar of a jet does things to me that only men and liquid chocolate can do.
Mr. Delicious returned in time to watch the Blue Angels descend in groups of two, cross paths, bank the hill and shoot up to the sky, peeling off in all directions with one spiraling up until it was a glistening tiny tube before it nosedived to Earth. I had to cover my mouth lest he fly right in.
Mr. Delicious noticed that two chairs at one of the picnic tables closest to us were vacant. I grabbed my jacket and sweater and we sat to continue our conversation, which likely totaled well over 50 topics by that point, pausing only when we heard the roar of engines overhead.
The skies soon quieted and the clock was signaling us to depart for the Ferry Building where Mr. Delicious had to catch a 6 o’clock boat. We hoped to grab a few oysters or poke around some shops before he boarded the vessel and I ventured off to create the balance of my day in the city. I had originally hoped we would spend the evening together, but the timing was spot on. I was looking forward to a night alone, wherever it may take me.
With a satisfied smile on my face I reached for my jacket and sweater. I should have continued my reach right to the ground to pick up my heart. That’s where it sank when I realized I had left my purse 10 feet away, next to a sign post, where it had been hidden by my clothing until I unconsciously grabbed them, leaving it behind, a prize for the taking.
I cannot believe I am going to have to text The Genius to see if he has a spare key to my car. I would rather walk home. And I had just tapped the ATM! Oh, well. It’s gone. That was an easy grab for someone. They didn’t even have to dig around in a massive satchel stuffed with tampons and sand and chewed gum the kids tossed in, because Mommy’s bag is pretty much a trash receptacle.
At least I only had my driver license and bank card in there.
Mr. Delicious looked at me, blue eyes fixed with concern. I’m so sorry.
Thanks. I KNEW I was going to do that but I did nothing about it. I shrugged it off, but I wasn’t standing as tall, my smile not broad.
I have a track record of leaving my purses out and about. Places where you don’t want to leave purses, like the bathroom of a restaurant, a seat in a movie theater, in the midst of a mall food court in Barcelona. Each time (more than a few, I must admit) it happened when I was with The Genius his reaction was disappointment and aloofness. He never considered the internal scolding I was giving myself. He didn’t console me. I spent a lot of time walking on egg shells around him, especially when I did something that altered the game plan (bag dinner, I have to go cancel cards now), or when I failed at something. He never got angry, and eventually he would laugh about it, like it was a cute little trait of mine (that he despised). But all along I felt judged.
Mr. Delicious did not judge me. He simply felt bad that our day wouldn’t end on a perfect note.
The obvious move was to check inside the cafe to see if it had been turned in, but neither of us had high hopes, although I distinctly remember an urge to not control the outcome. The hostess came up empty, but went to check with the manager. When the manager came out into the bar area I could tell from the delighted look in her eyes that she was about to make my day.
I described the clutch and she pulled it from behind her back.
You are one lucky girl. A woman brought it in.
In a red tank top?
I had seen her straddle a Harley, grabbing her man from behind as they roared off with a sound not nearly as pleasing as the jets. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Now I have a reason to smile when the piercing sound of a motorcycle threatens to make my ears bleed.
Mr. Delicious beamed. She was your angel today. How rare to get your purse back, and with everything still in it!
Yes, she was.
(Thank you, whoever you may be, for being so kind and loyal to your fellow woman. I am certain you’ve been rewarded for your honesty.)
Elated, we walked back to the Ferry Building and took to a bench on the water to await boarding. Our conversation turned to our shared experience with betrayal and the sad state of humankind when it comes to being honest with each other. Where did the loyalty go? The values? The acceptance of and appreciation for the hard times? The desire to weather them out of personal pride and a respect for the commitment made?
Did she give you the ring back?
No. She said it was a gift. And that she wants to keep it as a reminder of what we once shared.
I’m still floored by that spin.
We sat half-facing each other, gazing out on the bay, feeling like throwbacks. Two people who are holding onto a set of ideals that don’t seem to carry much value anymore. Both blind-sided by infidelity. Both cautiously hoping that one day we’ll meet someone who we can trust and love.
The horn on the ferry sounded. I clutched my pizza dough, and my purse (I noticed him keeping an eye on it.) and we made our way to the dock. A day of highs and one almost low was capped off with a sweet kiss and fast hug before the boat pulled away.
The Larkspur Ferry had just opened the gate on the other side of the building and streams of commuters moved up the dock. Thoughts of a night in the city alone evaporated. I wanted to be on a pullout on Highway 1 overlooking the Pacific in time for sunset to celebrate the day. I jogged (in heels that had carried me miles with no knee pain!) to the boat and weaved my way into the animated crowd. Two men fell in beside me as we walked up the ramp to board.
We struck up a conversation.
Join us in a cocktail! (This can’t be called a commute.) I smiled and declined.
Well, at least sit with us for the ride.
I spent the next hour laughing my tuchus off and listening to the best sales pitch ever as to why I should go on a blind date with a litigator in Los Angeles.
I really need to get out more. For the fun of it.
But not for love.
Love yourself,
Cleo
I work with the elderly and hear this preference for the “olden days” often, and do agree people aren’t considerate anymore. I can vouch for that every morning on my commute into town…jeezlouise people, we are all going to work, YOU are not more special than any of the rest of us!
Like Mr. D’s ex, lots of people justify their actions to fit their particular selfishness or their righteous need for redemption from the wrongs acted upon them at some time in their lives.
We only OWE ourselves, no one owes us any favors. But it’s nice when someone offers one anyway, just for the blessing it is, like your biker-chick. Let’s all hope she reaps some small (or large) reward for her kindness. Its how we should feel when someone is nice.
The Blue Angels demo sounds devine…we’ve had a military plane display over our college football games for certain memorials and it is awe-inspiring.
T,
The mind can justify anything. The heart, though, always knows the truth. I’m struggling with this right now. Doing things that I know don’t support my goals, taking the easy way out. Which is never the easy way, ultimately.
I wish I could shelve my mind and let only the heart lead the way, doing only that which feels good for all the right reasons. Not what I thinkfeels good.
Thank you for taking the time to comment and for being here, T.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Yes! Sweet kisses are wonderful. Hot ones are even better, but baby steps…
Another magical day, complete with happy ending, courtesy of the good samaritan Harley chick. Good karma coming her way, for sure!
I got to experience Fleet Week in SFO six years ago, while doing the amazing drive from Napa and the Bay area down the coast (in convertible!) to L.A. as a 40th birthday trip. The Blue Angels were the highlight of my few days in the city. Well them + seeing Mrs Doubtfire’s house (giggle) and also the fortune cookie factory/store in China Town (yum). And I so know what you mean about feeling those jets right through to your core. Delicious.
Hopefully this blissful day doesn’t require the universe’s need for equilibrium with something not-so-nice from TG. Fingers crossed for more peace and joy. And fun. Lots of fun!
N,
Baby steps, for sure. I want the big feelings of love, the joy of knowing there is a man on the planet that cares for me like no other. Who wants to share in my journey, who will have my back. I must not be ready for him.
Many challenges lay ahead, so much change to navigate. My intuition tells me I must do this first before I round the bend and see him standing there.
I wonder what he’ll look like… Stay close, m’lady.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Dear Cleo,
Your journey is similar to my journey. Sadly, I’m learning, it’s an all too popular club. I am 8 months out from “D” day. My best friend, she herself having gone through her husband’s infidelity, shared your blog with me early on. I read a few of your posts at the time, but to be honest, couldn’t read further because your words struck chords that paralyzed me. So many similarities. I’m 46, my husband’s affair lasted 4 years and he spun enough lies for a thousand lifetimes… Oh and the endless stack of mushy handwritten cards and notes. Ya. Do they all follow the same manual??? Cheating for Dummies?? So familiar, except my husband wants to reconcile. Hmmm I don’t know that I can get past the pain and live with his choices. I know I can get to a place of forgiveness, at some point…but not sure I want to share a life with a man who thought so little of me and our children. As you said… 4 years is a double life, not a tryst.
A few weeks ago I looked into creating a blog and rediscovered HGM. Ready to hear your story, I started from the beginning and read through. And wept. You have a gift. Your words have been haunting, healing, happy, heartbreaking and hilarious. Thank you! You are so strong… it gives me strength. I can do this. I will be refined, not defined by my husband’s über-giant mistake (the understatement of the century).
I will be happy again. My oldest child just went off to college and in her room, I found a hand painted canvass she created. It says “I have decided to be happy because it is good for my health.” Getting it framed! I have to get past this place of feeling stuck. I have to choose happy. Now if only I could lose these panic attacks! Ug.
Between my best friend ( who has been my rock) and your honest posts, I will get through this. Looking forward to accompanying you as you walk the walk… Or hike the hike.
. I am the grasshopper, ready to learn.
S,
I’m so grateful you found your way back here. Thank you for taking the time to comment. You may not realize this, but your words help me to heal. They light up a few dark corners on my path, reminding me that it is up to me as to how I feel on any given day. It has nothing to do with what happens to me, and everything to do with how I respond. And the most brilliant nugget of all: “I have decided to be happy because it is good for my health.” So very true. And the reverse is also true.
We can cripple ourselves with our emotions. It’s crucial to move anger, fear, sadness through the body and out to the heavens. I’ve witnessed what those emotions can do. Dis-ease.
I’m going for ease. Stay close, S. You will be happy again, and then have a sad day, and be happy again…and like many have said before me, the sad days will lessen in frequency as being joyful becomes a habit. You WILL get unstuck – just stay present and literally minute by minute choose happiness, look for the signs, and be grateful. I guarantee you will come unstuck and not unglued.
Thank you for your kind words.
Love yourself,
Cleo
As I digested your words today I thought how fitting that you should find a purse filled with money. Your purse filled with your own money! A gift you left for your little self to discover. As I follow you on your trek to freedom I am astounded at your humanity. You are so kind to all you encounter on your journey, even forgiving TG…. A Herculean task if I do say so! Now it’s your turn to gather the fruits of your random acts of kindness. You have begun to open yourself up to nourishment from the world around you. I’m so happy because I believe you’ve been hungry for a long time. You’ve had a bland diet of Mediocre Marriage and a side dish of Half-Baked Husband. Going forward we’ve changed our menu for a healthier lifestyle using only fresh ingredients from our own garden…..For dessert we are serving Sort Yourself Out Soufflé topped with Sky’s the Limit Crème Fraiche and a garnish of pure happiness! You truly deserve a seat by the ocean Cleo, with your two sweet boys holding your hands. Oh, and need I mention a Clear Conscience on the table as well?
P,
Oh, your words! More! Give me more! You could write about ferrets mating and I would salivate.
Your awareness of the message behind finding my own purse with my own money is priceless. I missed that totally! Thank you so much. The signs have been everywhere, but my sight has been clouded. You landed on a rich one, and I am so very grateful.
When I open my restaurant I’m going to name all the desserts after emotions. You, of course, will receive credit for this and free dessert for life.
Thank you for being here, P. You add a most succulent layer to our little dish.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Cleo,
oh i so relate to this comment you made “Baby steps, for sure. I want the big feelings of love, the joy of knowing there is a man on the planet that cares for me like no other. Who wants to share in my journey, who will have my back. I must not be ready for him.”
I do too. So much. But why? It has not even been one year since I learned of this affair…. , 4 months since divorced final. But 6 years since I learned of his first affair, or the first one I learned of….. I hate to admit it, because in some ways I feel like I should not want this, so soon, but I miss having a partner…I really do. I also wonder if I will ever know what it is like to actually be in a healthy relationship….since I thought I had one…..
I keep getting the message that I first have to be ok with being alone. I still feel low and bad about myself. And i have to figure out why I was with My OLG in the first place, or I will repeat. That thought is terrifying. Especially with two wee ones in my life who suffer so much already..and I think I want to let go of all this, as much as I can, before I get Ina new relationship. I don’t want a new one to help me get through it, I want to get through this first.
And OMG, it is simply stunning or uncreative as you noted, the number of blog followers whose cheating spouse said the same thing as the big G.
It seems if so many of us went through this, we should be able to put together a “guide” for getting through and beyond the pain together. “The girlfriends guide to getting through and beyond.” Like a series of practical steps…. From those who have been here and left here:)
Caitlin
C,
You’re getting the right messages, C. One of the most fascinating understandings I’ve had this past year is how everything we do, we are, we desire, we feel is connected. Woven together by the finest threads. We love ourselves, so we feel good, and we treat our bodies well, we nourish our self-worth, we become more grounded and are content to be alone with our thoughts and feelings. We can evaluate what is good for us and what is bad and make sound choices. We will attract those that are like-hearted and pass like ships at sea with those that are not.
Like you, I don’t know if I’ll ever have a relationship with a man where everything clicks in such a way that we are at ease becoming a team for the duration. So, I’m just going to enjoy what I have and be grateful for the encounters.
It comes down to ‘re-labeling’. Our lives are not what we were raised to believe they would be. That can suck. Or that can rock. Let’s make it rock. Throw a party for your intuition, C, and then follow it, making sure to take note of the magic around you.
Love the book idea…it’s been percolating. First the novel, which will be a guide…of sorts. Thank you for being here and for commenting. You rock.
Love yourself,
Cleo
Oh, Cleo, I so need to get out more. My world has shrunk to my daughter, her school and my married mom friends (who are completely wonderful but…)
Little flashes of who I once was come back to me and mock me for who I have become. I attracted this, I know I did because I worried too much I would be just what I am. I am so dull. When I tell the story of my life people find me fascinating…and really, that woman I used to be has a pretty freaking amazing life story until 10 years ago. Then it all stopped and I still can’t really figure out why. It is strange and I know that there is a lesson there but I can’t figure it out. I’m so lost…
But you are helping so much….
Thank you
Cassandra
C,
I read your words and picture you as a beautiful face inside a peony. The outer petals have turned brown and left for the ground, but you are surrounded by all these pink-white, flutter edged petals that are more spry, and just as excited to have their time in the spotlight as those that have sailed south. They don’t want to be ignored, m’lady. They’re tickling your face, and they want your attention.
I’m taking you back to Cleo 101. This time now becomes about you. First up – that fascinating woman has not gone far. She’s inside, she’s probably a tad miffed, and she wants you to rediscover her. CasSANDra – take your self to Limantour. (Are you local?) Alone. Bring water. And walk from the entrance north till you can walk anymore and then head south…until you can’t walk anymore. Let the air and sea give you a spa day like no other and then, when you are so moved, honor the ocean, honor the land, and hug yourself massively. You are every bit as fascinating as you were years ago, if not more so.
Then, three steps (loving yourself is understood):
Replace each negative thought with one of gratitude. You think something crappy and train yourself to immediately move to something you are grateful for – like the little sliver of a moon that looks as if hung on a string as it dangles over the horizon.
Sweat every day. It’s essential.
Once a week (at first, then ramp that puppy up) reach out to someone you don’t know – in line at the grocery store, on the beach, on a trail, email someone who touches you (like you did with me!) in some way. These tiny interactions become life-changing encounters. Aim to make them feel good about themselves or to laugh or to ponder. Encounters, encounters, encounters…
I know in my heart that now is your time. Seize it. And stay close and let us know how you are doing. Don’t let another day go by, my dear. Not another day. I’m so excited for you! I believe in you. Rock it.
Love yourself,
Cleo
What a gem of a story. You’re such a wonderful writer, Cleo!
N,
Thank you so much. Your kind words have me smiling large.
Love yourself,
Cleo
You totally evoked the San Francisco experience. I miss it so much after being away for twenty years, and more so since my Genius and 28-year-old daughter live there again and I’m stuck here on the east coast. I have no desire to be with him again, but I hate only seeing her every two years or so. He and I were supposed to move back together, and then I found out about his Happy Dance Chick(s), so the plan went out the window.
N,
That is a huge compliment. Thank you! As you know, I won’t be considered a local, ever. But by being able to capture the essence of this land I may gain some cred along the way.
If being here satisfies a need for you, you are able to manifest it. I’m living proof. There was no cushy, easy path west for me. But somehow all the pieces fell together because one night I looked up to the stars and said, I need to be there and I’m going to make it happen. The Universe did all the heavy lifting. Thank you for being here, N, and for taking the time to comment.
Love yourself,
Cleo