Knowing Another

Knowing Another

May I be graced by God to know the love of one,
To opportune the chance to love;
Experience the joy
and intense sorrow
That comes from a lifetime,
though cut far too short;
A "soul-mate" to share life's burdens
(to fortune to carry that of the other).
To sing
  cry
shout
whisper
weep
scream
pass on to another,
The meaning of life that God may bestow,
by knowing another in such a manner as this.

J.P. Wiegand

©Emittravel 2004

Back in 2004, a lady I worked with showed me part of a poem that described the love she had for her late husband. This wonderful lady, aged in body only, shared with me a part of her heart; a love that transcends "till death do us part". It was from this inspiration that the above came to be. Now, you have a part of my heart. -j.p.

©Emittravel 2018

In Your Embrace

The following was originally posted on Renderosity.com on September 19, 2005:

In Your Embrace

Warm hands.

Soft skin.

Tender heart.

I lose myself

(and find myself)

deep in your embrace.

You’ve captured

my thoughts,

and made them

your own.

So much alike,

in love and ideas.

A mirror image

that’s a window to the soul.

If I be asleep,

and you just a dream,

smother my life,

that the dream might not end.

Be this the guidance

of simple fantasy,

or the loving hand

of the Lord above,

I pursue you with vigor.

To surrender my heart,

place them as one.

So one may nourish

the other

(So the other may nourish

the one).

That the two will blossom

on a single stem.

Let me hold you in my arms,

to feel the beat of your heart.

For mine grows faster;

enquickened with love.

When you look into my eyes,

press your lips softly to mine,

and hold me deep

in your embrace.

J.P. Wiegand

© Emittravel 1989

The words you have just read describe the woman I'm about to spend the rest of my life with. She is truly an answer to my prayers. For years now, I have prayed, "Lord, prepare me for my mate, as you prepare her for me." I've (jokingly) thought that she MUST need a lot of work - it was taking so long! (The truth of the matter? It was I who needed the work.) At our 20 year reunion, Lisa and I connected. We knew OF each other in high school, but didn't KNOW each other. Since our reunion, we have definitely gotten to each know one another. So close we have become, that on Friday, September 16th, I proposed marriage - and she (I'm humbled to say) accepted my proposal and has agreed to honor me as my wife.

This one is for you, my love! I give you my forever - this day and always. With all of my heart I am yours. You are the sweetest poem ever written. I am in awe of you. I love you! -j.p.

© Emittravel 2017

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

One of the biggest gripes I hear when talking to people about the love of baseball is that it is such a LONG season. But you have to understand:

Baseball is more than 162 games played in a year.

It is more than a three-game series.

It is more than nine innings in a game.

It is more than three outs in an inning.

It is more than four balls or three strikes in an up at bat.

Baseball is each pitch of the ball; each swing of the bat. For with each pitch, with each swing, an entire game can change. The needed momentum to pull a struggling team up from the bottom to the top can take place with that single strike out, or that single hit of the ball.

According to Gerrit Maus of UC Berkeley, a fastball takes .4 seconds to reach home plate after it leaves a pitcher's hand, but a hitter needs a full .25 seconds to see the ball and react. “Light hits our eye and the information needs to get to our brain. That takes a tenth of a second.”

Baseball is where everything hinges on that moment when the ball leaves the pitcher’s hand and what the batter does or doesn’t do with it when it reaches him.

Is a baseball season long? My God yes. My only wish is that the season could be even longer.

© Emittravel 2017

No More Perfect Love

“There is no more perfect love than that of a pet.” - Lisa Wiegand

It’s hard to believe, but on Tuesday, the 2nd of May, we said goodbye to our 14-year old cat, Harley. He had been going downhill for just over a month. He lost so much weight that you could see all his bones. He stopped cleaning himself (which meant we were constantly wiping the milk off of his face . . . and anywhere he happened to walk after drinking said milk.) And, though he continued to use it, he stopped burying his refuse in the litterbox.

And as my wife said in the quote, there is no more perfect love. A love he never hesitated to share with us.

Here are a few things we are going to miss with Harley gone from our lives:

There isn’t a single place to sit in the house that he wouldn’t “demand” to get comfortable in our lap.

Sleeping in bed with him on top of the blanket, between my legs, across my shins (which meant I slept on my back).

Having breakfast with Lisa in the summer on the sun porch (when “daddy” was at work).

Watching “General Hospital” with Lisa in the summer afternoons.

His standing on his tiptoes, completely stretched towards the counter, as Lisa opened cans (of anything - didn’t have to be cat food) because he thought it was for him.

Our sitting on the back patio as he desperately tried to get to us through the screen door or sun porch windows.

Running down the hallway and watching his belly swing side to side.

Calling out “I have a blanky” and having him run up to lay on it with you.

Having him tap you on the back so you would lift the blanket so he could crawl under it (while we were in bed).

Saying, “Let’s go out on the sun porch”, and having him sit by the door and wait for you to open it.

Watching him completely comatose in a rocker on the sun porch, laying in the sun.

He would hunker down and make himself as heavy as possible when he didn’t want to come in and you tried to pick him up.

Having to confirm there were “no cats on the sun porch” when closing the door in the evening.

Coming home from anywhere, at any time, and having him go from greeting you at the door to sitting in front of his dish in the kitchen - waiting for his treats.

At the end of the evening, all Lisa would have to say is, “It’s time for bed. Let’s go brush our teeth,” and he would go right down the hall to the bathroom, sit on the toilet lid, and wait for the brushing to be completed.

Those, and so many more, are the things we will miss about our boy.

After Muffin left us, Harley - previously the beta to Muffin’s alpha - started coming out of his shell when company came over. Whereas before he would hide under the bed at the sound of the door opening, afterwards he would come out for whatever loving he could get from the guests.

One of the most difficult parts is that for the first time in almost 30 years, I’m living without a cat in the house. Muffin made it 20 years - and showed Harley the ropes. Oh, we could go down the street to the local pet store or shelter and get another cat, but it wouldn’t be the same. Besides, we need time to grieve.

For about a week before that night, I would sit on the floor in the bedroom, pull Harley’s “trundle bed” out from under our bed (it was the bottom half of a large plastic container. Just big enough for the pillow I slept with under my knees), and tell him, “Whenever you’re ready. It’s okay. We’ll miss you, but we know it’s time.”

Goodbye Harley. You were loved.

© Emittravel 2017

Rest Assured

I dropped my wife off at the Cleveland Hopkins Airport this morning around 04:30. She is spending a week with her parents in Ft. Myers. It's my birthday gift to her. 

For the rest of the week I'll be on my own. It didn't take too long for me to start reflecting on how much I'm going to miss her. 

Even though I'm confident in our love, and have been for a long time, I felt it right to share that confidence with her. The following was written for Sweetest Day a few years ago. It's rather appropriate I share it here. You may want to take a moment to share the confidence of love you have with that someone special in your life too. Nothing like it. -j.p. ©Emittravel 2016

Rest Assured

Sometimes I tell you how much I love you

Sometimes I don’t

But rest assured

At all times

I do love you

Sometimes I hold you close to me

Sometimes I don’t

But rest assured

At all times

I long to hold you

Sometimes I share what is in my heart with you

Sometimes I don’t

But rest assured

At all times

Every heartbeat cries out to tell you what is inside

I love you

I long to hold you

My heart cries out for you

Each and every day

Sometimes I show you how important you are to me

Sometimes I don’t

But rest assured

At all times

I would never want to live without you

Rest assured

J.P. Wiegand

©Emittravel 2007

One Desire Above All

Going through some old posts to Renderosity.com and found one of my poems that seems to only exist on that site. I took a moment to save it in my library and decided to share it with you here. I'm not exactly sure when it was written, so I'm using the date it was posted. 

The notes at the bottom are exactly as written on the site. Please realize that I'd later come to the realization that you have to be content with who you are, and the fact that you may never find someone to share your life with, before you are honestly ever ready for that special someone. In other words, the desperation must be gone - because like fear, it can be sensed. And no one desires to be the object of THAT.

Enjoy. -j.p.

©Emittravel 2016

One Desire Above All

The one thing I desire
in all of life
Is to hold an angel
and call her my wife
To share in romance
to walk in her light
One being together
entwined through the night

The sound of her voice
the touch of her hand
One look from her eyes
and I’m hers to command
To focus my efforts
to please her - to show
Satisfy her longing
of true love to know

My angel is out there
I can sense she is close
Each day my eyes searching
my heart writing prose
One day I shall meet her
the searching shall end
A soul-mate, companion
an intimate friend

Is this hunger I have
that consumes my existence
Passion never failing
worthy of persistence
So, my dear Angel
I’ve one question for thee
As you go through your day
are you searching for me

J.P. Wiegand

5/26/05

Hope. Full of hope. Unsure of the future, but still full of hope. Some of you have already found your angel--with you I rejoice. For others the search continues--with you I hope.

The image is of a young lady I once knew. I don't think she will mind my using her image--she IS now an angel in the truest sense of the word. (I miss you!)

This one is dedicated to my dad; who believes it's not a poem if it doesn't rhyme. Here's one for ya Papasan! -j.p.

©Emittravel 2005

Chapter Seven

"You can't be serious."

It wasn't an accusation. Just a simple statement. A simple statement with a touch of disbelief.

"How can you say that? I’m telling you the truth. A deep, personal thing and you call me a liar?"

"I didn't call you a liar. I said that you can't be serious. Maybe you're imagining it. Maybe you just want to believe it."

"Why would I make something like this up? I didn't want it to be true, it just . . . is."

Then came the silence. That awkward pause. You know the kind. The conversation will either pick up steam, or fizzle out. Someone will dig a little deeper, or change the topic.

We had been on the road for days. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to let her know how I felt. You know, spill my guts. Okay, maybe "perfect opportunity" isn't right. I had volunteered to take her, and a trailer full of her things, across country to where THE job was. And him.

Like I said, maybe "perfect opportunity" isn't right.

She shifted in her seat, looked at me and asked, "How long have we known each other?"

"I don't know, since high school. Sophomore year I think."

"Right. About six years now. And you wait until NOW to tell me this? You wait until THIS moment?"

"Look, I didn't plan it this way. I thought I'd be okay with this. You know, with you leaving. I figured that once you were gone I'd simply move on. But I don't think I can."

"Great. Thanks. This is all I need right now. Not only do I have to deal with my mom's attitude over me leaving, I have to deal with . . . with . . . this."

"First off, your mom means well. And second, I sorta agree with her. You're leaving home and everyone you know all so you can be with a guy you only met your last year in school."

"So it's Richard then. You're jealous of Richard."

"I'm not jealous of Richard. I think he's a swell guy. I just don't think you know him well enough to leave everything."

"Well I do. Besides, you're just saying this because you THINK you have feelings for me."

"I don't THINK. I KNOW. I've known for a long time now. I just didn't have the guts to tell you."

"Because?"

"Because I thought that once I told you how I really felt, it would kill our friendship."

"Pete, don't be silly. Of course it wouldn't kill our friendship. It's just that all this time I thought you considered me more of a sister. And now?"

"You're angry."

"I’m not angry."

"You're angry that I opened my mouth. Hell, I should have kept it shut."

"C'mon Pete, I’m not angry. Just a little confused that's all."

"Wait. YOU'RE confused?"

"Yeah, I mean. Look. I really like you Pete. Really, I do. And at one time I thought that you really liked me too. If I had only known . . . "

"Well now you do. So now what?"

"Now? God, Pete. Don't do this to me."

"Do what?"

"Just forget it. Look. Once we get there . . . I don't know."

And then, with perfect timing, her phone went off.

"Oh, hi Richard. Yeah, we're still on the road. Maybe another couple hours out. Uh huh. Okay. I'll see you soon. Bye."

I glanced at her and asked, "No 'I love you'?"

"What?"

"You didn't say, 'I love you'."

"Yes I did."

"No, you didn't. Freudian slip?"

"Oh, don't start."

"Okay, call him back and tell him."

"Oh, come on, Pete."

"No, really. Call him back and tell him you love him, and give him those kissy sounds people do."

"No."

"So, you really don't love him."

"Stop it."

"Go ahead then. Call him back and tell him. To be honest, I don't think I've ever heard you tell him."

"It doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . I don't. Love him, that is. To be honest, I'm not moving out here for some great job. I'm moving out to be with Richard and HIS job."

"I'm confused."

"Pete. I'm pregnant."

©Emittravel 2016

What's the Big Ideal?

I have a friend who "leaks". Let me explain.

This weekend my wife and I attended the wedding of a wonderful couple: Shaun and Jessica. Lisa and I have known Shaun for a number of years. Shaun and I go back to before Lisa and I got together (over ten years ago). We've shared both times of joy and times of pain. The "highlights" and the "lowlights". Shaun is an "ideal" man. He is tall, handsome, has great hair, is physically fit, plays sports, and works hard. And he "leaks".

At one of our Memorial Day picnics, Shaun came with Jessica. Jessica. Talk about an angel. Jessica is sweet, gentle, funny, beautiful (she has the most amazing eyes), caring, and is in love with Shaun. And Shaun is in love with Jessica. Did I mention he "leaks"?

I said Shaun was the "ideal" man. In the eyes of society, he is. In my eyes, he is that and much more. Shaun is one of those rare men who is not afraid to wear his heart on his sleeve. When he is happy, he smiles so big it looks like his face would break. When he is angry, you instinctively know to give him space. And when he is in sorrow, he is not afraid to cry. And it is that unashamed ability to shed tears that makes him more than the "ideal".

What is it about tears? Why do we cry? I heard it said that the reason we do is because we are experiencing an emotion so tremendous that our very being can't contain it. And we "leak".

When the doors opened and Jessica stepped into the church, Shaun's face showed his awe, his love, and all the pent-up emotions that came to fruition at that moment.

And he "leaked".

Shaun and Jessica: May you walk each day unashamed of who you are and who you are together: never hiding what's in your hearts. May you continue to love each other with all of your beings with such intensity that those moments come when words fail. And you simply "leak". God bless you, my friends.

-j.p.

© Emittravel 2015

If I Could Tell You I Love You

 

 

If my heart could sing,
what would be the song?
Would it whisper like the flutter
of a nightingale’s wing;
soft and adoring
with hushed kindness?
Or would it roar like a lion,
with uncontrolled passion?
Both sung with heart enthralled
and soul aflame.

 

If I could tell you a story,
what would be the tale?
Adventurous and bold,
of brave deeds and chivalry?
Or a romance which tells
of sweet gentle caress?
Both told with damp brow
and trembling lips.

 

If I could write you a poem,
what would be the prose?
Would I write you a limerick,
to make you smile and laugh with joy?
Or would it be filled with passion
and sweet words of adoration;
to enhance,
perhaps,
a sigh from your lips,
and a tear to float down
your cheek?

 

If I could tell you my feelings,
what could I say?
I have yet to unravel
the many emotions
which weigh my heart
in troubled uncertainty.
For though I love you sincerely,
from deep in my breast,
I know not your feelings in return.

 

If I sang you a song,
or told you a story,
or even proclaimed my love in verse,
would you not love me in return?
Or would you scorn me for my
presumptuous ways,
and bade me farewell
for all eternity?

 

I am so afraid
to tell you I love you.
For if spoken or written,
the dream might soon perish.
Yet my heart holds too much.
So to you I must proclaim
that “I love you”;
and pause to consider
the boldness of my deed.
May it not be that told
to a fleeting shadow,
but a warm hand
and loving heart.

 

J.P. Wiegand

© Emittravel 1987

This one can be described as pouring out your heart to the woman you love, telling her your dreams and ambitions ... then replacing the picture upon the mantle.

The attempt here is to conjure up as poetic an image possible, without being bogged-down by the sappiness of the moment.

The photo was taken of a perfect stranger sitting along a river's edge. The contrasts captivated me. The breathlessness of the moment pulled me in. What is she thinking? Who is she thinking of?

For the reader: Is there someone who holds your heart, but they don't know it? Maybe it is time to tell them! -j.p.

© Emittravel 2015

Latest and Greatest

Yesterday, on our date night to the B Spot in Crocker Park, Westlake, OH, we did a visit to the Apple Store. Lisa was (finally) ready to upgrade from her iPhone 4 to a newer model. She ended up jumping to the newest, the iPhone 6 (there is a 6 Plus, but it is the size of a small SUV). I wanted to encourage her to move up to the iPhone 6, because whereas I tend to buy the "newest" technology (a.k.a. "early adopter" - wanna buy a Zune, or Surface RT?), she tends to get the almost-obsolete-but-it-will-work technology.

I said she was "finally" ready, because she has been using this iPhone 4 since December 5, 2011 (do the math). Her cell phone had officially died that day, so we went to our carrier and both got set up with the iPhone 4 smartphones. So, that was way past the two-year contract time that Verizon had us tied to, so the option to upgrade has been there awhile.

Sometime in the late spring of 2014 I upgraded to the Lumia Icon (the "flagship" Windows phone on Verizon). Again, latest and greatest. Of course, since then, the only way to get upgrades is to join the Developer Preview, which only helped with the OS upgrades. The firmware still needs to go through the carriers (Microsoft, you guys are morons), so I'm still waiting two firmware versions behind the phone maker.

My wife is using a laptop running Windows Vista. Yeah, I said "Vista". Me? I'm running Windows 8.1 on our desktop and Windows 10 Developer Preview on a laptop (again, "early adopter"). So, you'll understand why I was thrilled that she upgraded to the latest and greatest iPhone.

Why this blog article? Yesterday during date night, while walking into Walmart (what? You don't go to Walmart on YOUR dates?!?), I saw a display of Valentine's items and made the stupid comment: "I hope you like your Valentine's Day gift." She replied, "It finally took me nine years to realize that we don't do Valentine's Day."

Open mouth. Insert foot.

I have said for years that "we don't do Valentine's Day". Why? I believe that a holiday like Valentine's is just a reminder to men to do something nice for their lady, whereas I believe that men should do nice things for their lady all year round.

Husbands (boyfriends, etc.): you want to know how to be good in your "role"? Love her with everything that you have and are. Don't hold anything back. Make it a point to surprise her whenever possible. I make it a point of bringing home flowers when I'm NOT trying to apologize for being an idiot. She always tells me that I shouldn't buy her flowers, but I don't listen. And that is exactly the point. After all, she IS the latest and greatest.

And if doing something nice happens to fall on a holiday designed to remind men to not be idiots, so be it.

© Emittravel 2015