Archive for January, 2011


Saturday, January 29th, 2011

I’m sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room…with a good fire going in the fireplace. Winter is God’s way of saying, “Up yours.” The sun didn’t come out all day today. Can’t blame it. It was way too cold. I walked outside to get the mail a little while ago, with my cup in my hand, and by the time I got back inside, I was enjoying a chunk of coffee. You could freeze an egg on the sidewalk. That might be why hens were seen laying eggs from a standing position today. People with high fevers were renting themselves out as car seat warmers. Instead of saying “Have a nice day,” courteous supermarket checkouts were saying, “I hope you go to hell.” Flashers were just describing themselves. Priests all over the arch diocese couldn’t get their cars started, because darn and drat weren’t powerful enough encouragement words. A little while ago, while I was putting a log on the fire, I noticed a little tiny frozen brown spot. The fire hit it just now and it went pop…and for just a moment, it stank something awful. It was probably a little tiny frozen squirrel fart. I’m sorry…flatulence. Can’t be too careful…the forces for good in the community will tie a knot in my microphone cord, and I’ll never be heard from again.

 Here’s a note from Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation. He says, don’t kid around about a flatulence. Remember that a flatulence is an emergency vehicle…that scrapes people off the street and rushes them to a hospital after they have been run over by a steamroller. A Flatulance. Ok…it looks like it was so cold that Louie must have used an ax to part his hair this morning. Sorry. That came pretty close to crossing the line between silly and stupid.

 Silly and stupid are not the same thing. Silly is fun. Stupid is stupid. Silly is hollering “We’re number one” at a football game. Stupid is what they did at Marquette University. They dropped the name of the football team…the Warriors…and said it was out of respect for Native Americans. I thought they TOOK the name Warriors out of respect for Native Americans. They’ve given the Atlanta Braves a hard time for the same reason. The BRAVES ! What’s the matter with naming a team after Native Americans who are brave ? Isn’t this the land of the free, and the home of the brave ? Let’s look at some alternate choices here. Don’t you like the home of the brave a lot better than the home of the fear challenged terminally polite?

 Dick’s Details Quiz. All the answers are in the current podcast.

 1- How do you get holy water ?

2- Why do we really know that we don’t know how many women can stand on their heads un-assisted?

3- Why are Louie-Louie Generation Lads and Lasses so good at keeping secrets ?

Dick’s Details. They take your mind off your mind.

 I am not a fan of frozen pipes, icy roads, and women getting all bundled up so you can’t tell where the bundle ends and the woman begins. But there was one winter…a very long time ago…when the cold was ok. Because my Lady Wonder Wench had just come into my life. There’s a story about that winter in the Lovin Touch personal audio cd. It’s called…”Winter.”

 She was a skier in those days…with long, soft, shining dark brown hair, and a thousand watt smile, and a laugh you could pour over your pancakes. It was a long and lovely spring…that year…and she has made it even more magical every year since.

 “Winter” is from the personal audio cd called Lovin Touch. And it’s in the current podcast. If you like it, you can just keep the podcast. Or if you want a fresh copy, just download it from the icon on the home page.

 If you look hard enough, you can usually find something good about anything. Even this kind of winter. Putting a happy face on ice is hard…so to speak. But I’m a lucky guy…sitting here in my big, comfortable black leather poppa chair in my comfortable living room. Soft, thick blue carpet, sweet pine fire, looking out the window at an absolutely still, star covered winter sky.

 And I’m glad to have your company.

Lady Wonder Wench Writes

Wednesday, January 26th, 2011


The good news is, it’s snowing out and it’s beautiful. The bad news is, it’s snowing out …sigh … and I figure my Louie-Louie Lad will be off in the not too distant future to prove (as that very nice Louie-Louie Lad said in my last blog), “I can, yes I can” do it.

 I know he can, but I don’t want him to.  He could get bored with the thought of all that snow, right?  But bored with his life ?… nah, not him.

 I know the piano guy in the last podcast got bored without his music and that makes sense, although that lassie was taking awfully good care of him.  But music was a real part of his life and without it, he got bored.  With her.  With having nothing to do but keep her happy.  There didn’t seem to be much to keep HIM happy.  (Okay, we won’t go there.)

 Now I’ve been bored … with senseless meetings … at horse shows (although not while I was riding) … with guys who were nowhere near Big Louie’s idea of classy Louie-Louie Lad status … and with non-Louie-Louie Lasses who were bored with their lives.  But I have never been bored with my life.  There isn’t enough time for that.

 Whenever I think, okay, I will sit and just vegetate and “be” … someone comes along who needs something I can do or say or fix or … well, you know.  There are books I haven’t read yet and places I haven’t flown to with my Louie-Louie pilot and horses I haven’t watched and granddaughters I haven’t spent enough time with.  There’s a friend in Sinking Springs (if you don’t know, don’t ask) I haven’t shared enough shrimp cocktails with and another on a mountain-side who makes me laugh with her at her work stories.  There are school kids I haven’t read to yet.  There are musician sons I haven’t listened to enough and daughters I haven’t heard laugh too much.

 There’s a grey haired Louie-Louie Lad (who, by the way, is considering going bald – NO!) who isn’t tired of me and makes me feel like a goddess and who has never worn out his welcome and who still wants to spend all his spare time (and then some) with ME.

 Bored?  Come on, piano guy … get a grip … or a music box … or a piece of paper and write … or maybe just let your heart go …

The Big Bad Boring Bully

Saturday, January 22nd, 2011

I’m sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room…thinking maybe it’s time to pray. “Dear Lord, I’ve got to get this podcast and blog done, so lead me not into temptation…I have always been able to find temptation just fine all by myself.” Tonight, “Temptation” is sitting over there on the couch…smiling one of her…very slow… Lady Wonder Wenchy smiles…and looking so beautiful in her blue “Snuggie”… that’s one of those blankets with sleeves…and those furry bedroom slippers…and she just looked over here…and the whole room turned blue. Life is never boring with my Lady Wonder Wench around.

 When she looked over here, I’m pretty sure that she was just having fun with me. I’m also pretty sure she noticed the…viagral reaction I was having as I was watching her. Let me put it carefully…it’s the kind of reaction that…if I were lying over there on the other couch, I wouldn’t have to worry about turning over and rolling off. But she’s having no mercy tonight. She just said, “Go play with your new toy.”

 And I do have a new toy. A brand new microphone. It’s called a large diaphram, condenser mic, with a cardioid pattern. I know I didn’t really need it. The mic I’ve had for years was working just fine. But I saw this thing in a catalogue…on a special sale… gleaming … purring “please put your lips on me…I am a tool you so desperately need to do your job properly. Besides which, I will make you sound…soulful” I recognized what was going on there. It’s what Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation calls a “toy ploy.”

 A “toy ploy” is when a toy successfully passes itself off as a tool…almost always to my fellow testosterone soaked wretches. The estrogen enriched don’t seem to have that problem. Women have very few toys. Some have boy toys, but we’ll get around to that in a minute.

 Now there is a clear distinction between a tool and a toy. A tool is something you need. A toy is something you want, so you pretend it’s a tool to give you an excuse to get it. A toy is not something you’re going to just show off…like a 20 pound gold plated cufflink. That kind of thing is not a toy. I’d call it more of  an ego expander.

 A toy is a just for having fun. Having fun is good. And people who have fun, are usually fun to be around. They are never boring. My Christmas tie is a toy. It has a working keyboard that you can play in a restaurant for a pretty waitress . I did that the other night, and the waitress laughed so hard the tears ran down her leg. I think. Can’t say for sure.

 I have a snow blower…it goes vroom vroom…and it throws snow fifty feet in the air, right over on to my neighbor Randy’s driveway. Randy’s a buddy, so when I do that, I always go over to his place, and blow my snow, and Randy’s snow over into Steve’s driveway next door because I like to marsh his mello. He is the neighborhood born again jerk. I have never seen Steve with a toy. He is not a fun person. He is boring.

 Dick’s Details Quiz. All answers are in the current podcast.


1-    What dd you call a sleep walking priest ?

2-    Speaking of priests, this is true…after murdering his son, what did Ivan the Terrible do?

3-    Why are my dirty friends always happy ?

4-    Why should 93% of male hotel guests ask for a refund ?


Dick’s Details. They take your mind off your mind.

 Toys tickle my testosterone. And I know I’m not alone. Toys for boys is a phrase I have heard often from my Lady Wonder Wench, while she’s talking to her similarly estrogen enriched, Louie-Louie Generation lady friends. But I’m here to tell you that a  boy’s toy isn’t the same as a boy toy. There’s a story about a boy toy in the Night Connections 2 Personal Audio CD. It’s called the Piano Man.

 For a while the piano man really tried to love her. But sometime while they were in Germany, he said he woke up one morning, and…it just wasn’t any fun. He was getting bored. He missed his music. He missed his piano. He missed his life.  

The Piano Man is from the Night Connections 2 personal audio cd. If you like it, you can just keep the current podcast. Or if you want a fresh copy you can download it from the Night Connections 2 icon on the opening page.

I had a Lionel train when I was a kid…and a toy airplane you could sit in and pedal around…and a baseball glove and bat…and a portable radio…lots of great toys. Who could get bored? My Lady Wonder Wench didn’t have that many toys growing up. When her friend Vigi gave her a home made Raggedy Ann doll a couple of Christmases ago, I got to see how her eyes must have looked when she was a little girl. It’s sitting on the back of the couch, right over her left shoulder right now.

 She knows I’m watching her. There goes that slow Wonder Wenchie smile…The slippers have slipped…and there’s lots of room in that blue snuggie…and I’ve about finished playing with my new toy…so I think I may give into temptation…and go over there and see to it that she doesn’t get bored for a little while.

Thursday, January 20th, 2011

There has been an enormous response to the note we published a week ago from my friend Capt. Eric. Most of it via e-mail. Some of it in the “comments” section at the bottom of the blog.

 This final note from Proud Podcast Participant Carole, and Eric’s “summation” are…wonderful. Thank you to everyone who participated in…a little slice of our actual lives. Dick Summer


Dear Dick:

I’ve been reading your blog since you wrote about Capt. Eric, and all the comments including those from LWW, and the two conflicting Louie-Louie Lads, as well as Eric’s email regarding the loss of love, and trust.

As someone who has been there multiple times, I can say that I think everyone is over-thinking this way too much.  Yes – over-THINKING.  You know how sometimes people who care about us will lecture about how we should do this or that thing.  Intellectually, we know they might be right; but emotionally — well, that is entirely another matter.  Simple enough to say; difficult to actually act upon.   

I received my first devastating broken heart at the tender age of 18.  Aside from saying that I thought this was my “soul mate” – and that we were on an unbelievable high when we were together (and even when we weren’t) – the details don’t matter.   He left, I was bereft, and went into a deep depression for a few weeks.  Then I made a conscious decision.  One can either “armor-plate” one’s heart and mind, in an attempt to remain hurt-free, or one can decide to remain open to whatever may come.  In the first approach, one is just existing – not living.   How can you experience life if your heart (and mind) are closed?? (The proverbial “throwing up of walls” for protection of the psyche.)  I realized that after my great love affair and the searing hurt I experienced afterwards, my capacity to feel and to love had actually grown exponentially.   A very wise man once said that “…there is no growth without pain.”   He also said that the true definition of love is “…the willingness to foster growth in a person even if it means that they may lose them…”.

I think what the woman who was paraphrased incorrectly was trying to say is that a lot of folks who are suddenly single become obsessed with finding another partner, and that this doesn’t work.   It’s only when one remains open to whatever might come, but gets on with their life and does not obsess about a new partner, that a new person might magically appear.  I’m sure we all know folks who have experienced this.

I believe that Captain Eric will find his “next one”, if he keeps his heart and mind open.  Most important – he needs to love himself first.  For if we do not love ourselves, how can we love another?

And, for those who might ask, I did find my “other one” (twice!)

Carole with an e

 And this is Capt. Eric’s “summation”:

 My friend, Dick, gently suggested that I might want to break back into this discussion, since my letter is what all the furor has been about this week. Let me say first that I am moved by the response, and by the stories of those who took the time to write.

The loss was worse than death. In a death there may be                survivor’s guilt, anger at being left alone (irrational as that may seem), but not the lingering memory of betrayal that spoils the memory of everything that had gone before.

 This is hard for me, for even as I try to collect my thoughts I feel a strange reluctance.  There’s so much to explain, and I’ve told my story so long and so often that I can’t help thinking that I should be getting over this by now.  My letter was short and driven to a single point, and was therefore one-dimensional.  It displayed a single facet of a dialogue I’ve been carrying on in the background with myself and with Dick for nearly 4 years.  I would therefore caution anyone against drawing too much inference from a single observation, lest s/he be like the blind man trying to extrapolate the characteristics of an elephant by feeling only its tusk.

 You see, I know about being “friends first,” and also about marrying your best friend.  I met her when she was 17 and I was 27.  I was her high school English teacher.  We were close even then–as close as 2 people can ethically be under those circumstances.  Love, so it seems, transcends age and circumstance.  It spreads its blanket on the manicured front lawn of your pretense, eats its lunch right there in front of your prejudices, and urinates on the sturdiest pillars of your rectitude.

 We parted ways for 10 years, only to collide again at her high school class reunion like 2 hydrogen atoms at the center of the sun.  We made helium, and emitted light.  In the 18 years that followed she finished 2-1/2 years of college, 4 years of medical school, 5 years of grueling residency, and 7 years of an often turbulent surgical practice during which she had but one reliable friend:  me.  Meanwhile, I did my best to be a stable anchor, adviser, dream catcher, flight instructor, cheerleader…and friend.  We were inseparable.  We were traveling buddies, flying buddies, dinner buddies, drinkin’ buddies, housework buddies, crying buddies, laughing buddies, sleeping buddies, and fucking buddies.  By the time she was tempted away, we’d known each other for nearly 30 years.  We’d covered a lot of ground together.  This wasn’t some 4- or 5-year romance.  This was a quantum jump from that.  This was a whole life together that was terminated sloppily, and without much warning.  It was as if she died one night without even showing any signs of illness.  To answer “aliasJean Fox”:  I didn’t “let it go.”  It was taken.

 My story isn’t unique.  Not long after the break-up I ran into another guy who repeated my own story back to me.  “We’d been together for 15 years,” he said.  “Everyone used to comment on how we still acted like newlyweds.  And then one night, she just walked out.  I was dumbfounded.  It was nearly 3 years before I could think of her without getting butterflies in my stomach.”  Fortunately, this exceptional man is in love again, and–I’m glad to say–happily married.

 I’m not going to write about the details of our final years together–not because there’s anything to be ashamed of, but because it would take too long.  Let me tell you only this:  it wasn’t the picture of the typical tired-out marriage.  There was great sex (unless she was faking, which I suppose is possible), great conversation, shared activities, and plenty of opportunity for her to level with me about anything that was on her mind.  She never did (and that’s as much to her own damnation as it is to mine).  Obviously, there were changes taking place under the surface–and now-obvious patterns in her life that she was bound to repeat–that I can only see now in retrospect.  I only wish she could have trusted me with her real heart, and not just the one she shared with the outside world.  Her real heart is the only thing I ever wanted, all I ever asked for, and the only thing I didn’t get.

 But that is also who she was:  love came easily for her, and probably still does.  To my knowledge, she’s never been left holding the bag, so she can’t possibly know what that feels like.  But that’s also the world we live in:  We waste connection, and the precious jewel of love that grows from it because, I suppose, we believe there is an endless supply.  As Julie Delpy said in “Before Sunset”:  “…when you’re young, you just believe there will be many people with whom you connect.  Late in life you realize it only happens a few times.”  I shouldn’t be surprised:  we live in the most wasteful culture in human history.

 Dick once told me, “one of the reasons I write is because I want people to know that some very (very) Hetero guys, especially of the Louie-Louie Generation, think about relationships with sensitivity and intelligence.”  I agree, and I also think that’s one of the things we don’t get much credit for these days.  If I could say something else to all the L/L Ladies out there–and to anyone else who might think I’ll only be “looking over my shoulder” instead of seeing what’s directly in front of me–it would be this:  Love isn’t a feeling, it’s an ability.  (And, yes, I borrowed that phrase.)  I loved one woman completely and my love stood the test of time–maybe in spite of all the betrayal, it still does.  But that doesn’t mean I’m ruined; it means I’m deeply capable…and proven.  Just because the next One won’t be the first, it doesn’t mean she can’t be the last…and the best.

 Capt. E.

Any comments you want to make…please send them to me at  And…thank you for trusting me with these important insights into your hearts and your lives.  Dick Summer

Wonder Wench Writes

Tuesday, January 18th, 2011

Okay, so this isn’t what I’m supposed to be writing about.  Don’t care.

 “Dickie” is outside.  Yep.  In the rain and snee.  No, not snow, it’s ice and yucky stuff and slippery and … ugly.  But he is a Louie-Louie-Lad and OF COURSE he is now out there doing his thing.  He does, at least, have heavy boots on.  But not heavy socks.  He does have a hat on … but no scarf.  He is, after all, a LLLad.

 Sometimes I get damned tired of that.  HE could get hurt, but hey … he’s a LLLAD!

 Doesn’t anyone care but me that he could slip and break a leg (his neck doesn’t count) and then need to be taken care of?  I don’t mind being a nurse … it’s the constant “but I don’t want to take my medicine” that will drive me mad if he gets hurt.  That, and the “I have to get up and do … ” that will probably make me commit mayhem on what’s left of his body. 

 There seems to be some sort of magic “I can do it ‘cause I USED TO BE ABLE TO!” that drives every LLLad in existence.  Doesn’t apparently mean anything that times have changed … along with muscles and stamina and other things like balance and eyesight and strength and … and NEED.  He doesn’t HAVE TO do this stuff.  Not today, certainly, since neither of us has to go anywhere today.  (Now that, in itself, is a VEERRY nice thought but he is, after all, a LLLad …)  Joey next door would be more than happy to do what’s necessary in the yard … he has said so a number of times.  But he is not anywhere near being a LLLad, so …

 Am I kvetching (to borrow a word from a friend of mine)?  Yep.  Big time.  And by the time anyone sees this, it may just be sunny and nice out.  But it is still winter in the East and the snow and rain will still be filling our days … and nights (sigh) … so …

 Don’t get me wrong.  I love my LLLad and wouldn’t swap him for anyone.  That is, I repeat, ANYONE.  But there are times …

She Said “Nothing”

Saturday, January 15th, 2011

I’m sitting here in my big, comfortable, black leather, poppa chair in my living room, doing what Louie-Louie Generation guys have been doing since Adam met Eve, and Desiree. Most people don’t know about Desiree. But I figure she had to be there, because otherwise…well think about it. As Big Louie, his own bad self, the Chief Mustard Cutter of the Louie-Louie Generation always reminds us…Adam and Eve had two sons. Cain and Able. Period. Unless we’re talking a pretty kinky Old Testament family life, there had to be another woman strutting around, showing off her fig leaves for the benefit of the two boys. Louie and I both like the name Desiree.

 In the very beginning, Adam had things pretty good. Which was why he figured he was in Paradise. So Eve and Desiree had to do something to get even. That’s where we get the word Even by the way…from the scheme Eve cooked up to cut down old Adam’s… social advantage… She wanted to even the score. And since she came up with the idea, she gave it her name. Ever since then, women have been getting Eve-n.

 The two ladies understood there was no way to avoid the competition for Adam’s Viagral contribution to the continuation of the human race, as well as his ability to squash spiders, and dispose of the trash. And so, they decided that although they would be in direct competition with each other  for some things, it would make them feel better to help each other as much as possible with other things…like wiping the smile off Adam’s recently evolved face, by communicating with each other in their own secret code language that no testosterone soaked human would ever understand.

 However…although that feminine code will never be completely broken, Louie-Louie Generation gentlemen, such as myself, have come to understand some non – specific, general translations. For example, when my Lady Wonder Wench says no, she means no. Yes can also mean no…but most often it means maybe. When she says, “It’s not you, it’s me”…it’s not her, it’s me. She once said, “I need some space”…she meant without me in it. But tonight, she hit me with the female firestorm.

 She was absolutely quiet all during the evening news with Brian Williams. Very unusual. She didn’t even comment on the probable lack of a marriage certificate on the part of the parents of some of the political hacks who were avoiding answering Brian’s questions like a bunch of second graders who hadn’t done their homework. I couldn’t help but notice. And when Brian said, “I hope to see you tomorrow night. Good Night,” I asked her again. I said, “What’s wrong.” And she looked at me…and she said it. That one awful word no guy ever wants to hear when he asks his woman, “What’s wrong.” It’s the word that makes a guy want to pull his head down his neck, all the way deep into his chest…to hide. She just gave me that Lady Wonder Wenchy look…and said it…quietly…which made it even more awful. Yes…guys…you know what she said when I asked her, “What’s wrong.” She said…”NOTHING.”

 When Lady Wonder Wench says, “I’m sorry,” she means “You’re going to be sorry.” That’s bad enough. When she says, “How much do you love me,” I know that means she did something that I’m not going to like. I remember when she said, “This kitchen floor is hard to clean,” I realized she meant she wanted a new house. I had a woman once say to me, “Can’t we just be friends?” And I knew she meant there was no way she was going to let any part of my body touch any part of her body again. All those things, I could understand, and deal with in my own Louie-Louie Gentlemanly way. But you guys know…when you ask a woman, “What’s wrong,” and she says…”Nothing”…something is really wrong.

 Dick’s Details Quiz. All answers are in the current podcast.

 1- Why did Big Louie take me aside, and leave me there?

2- What modern job can you do in your sleep?

3- What problem don’t I want with Lady Wonder Wench ?

Dick’s Details. They take your mind off your mind.

 I said, “What’s wrong,? and she said, “Nothing”. It wasn’t the first time a “Nothing” bomb got dropped into our lives. There’s a story about that in the Bedtime Stories personal audio cd called, “Nothing Happened.”

 It was was about something that happened on a date with my Lady Wonder Wench a very long time ago. She was wearing a plaid skirt with pleats all around, a silky gray sweater with blue horizontal stripes, a pair of beaten up old sneakers. She took a quick breath, she tilted her head to one side, and her eyes turned up to stun. The whole room turned blue. The story is in the current podcast. If you like it you can just keep the podcast…or if you want a fresh copy, just download it from the Bedtime stories icon on the opening page.

 Eve and Desiree did a lot better than just even-ing the score with guys. Think about it. A woman almost never has mow the lawn or shovel the snow, or fix a car. They look good in shorts. My Lady Wonder Wench looks VERY good in shorts. If a guy is all sweaty, it’s kind of just stinky. If a woman is all sweaty…it’s sexy. Same is true if a guy isn’t wearing underwear, he’s just disgusting. If a woman isn’t wearing underwear, she’s wild and sexy. Lady Wonder Wench did that at an amusement park one evening. I didn’t know about it till we got home to her place. Maybe I’ll tell you about that sometime. But probably not.

 So…something’s wrong. I’ll deal with it…like a Louie-Louie Generation gentleman. Because not even  Nothing is ever going to get between my Lady Wonder Wench and me.

Wonder Wench Writes

Thursday, January 13th, 2011

This is about what Capt. Eric wrote. But I think you Louie-Louie Ladies will understand…and I hope Eric does too. Because Dick and I like him.

Dear Eric … It isn’t easy to try to tell someone else how to live their lives.  Matter of fact, even Big Louie would probably say “oh well” and let it go.  But you’re a friend, and a Louie-Louie Lad, and I want you to be happy.  So here goes.

 Get a girlfriend first… then worry about whether or not she’s the “one.”  A girlfriend … that is, a female you enjoy spending time with, who can be … a friend.  She can laugh at your silly jokes (I know they’ll be silly ‘cause you’re a friend of His Own Bad Self) … and she can hold your hand at the movies or walking down the street … and she’ll get pissed at you for no apparent reason (that YOU can think of) but get over it and maybe cook you dinner … A friend who’s female, Buck, someone you enjoy spending time with even if you’re not sure it will be forever.  SOME time together is worth more than lots of time alone.  Trust me, I know.  (Does losing someone hurt?  Ye gods, of course.  But is it worth it?  For the memories … YES!)

 Always remember … there are times with the one who’s gone that you should never forget.  You taught her to fly. Remember her first solo flight … you felt like god, I’ll bet.  Nothing can ever take that away from you.  No matter what she does or where she goes, every time she flies, YOU GOT HER THERE!  Don’t forget the good times; just put them in their place.  Nice memories.  BUT NOT YOUR LIFE.

 Is there a one for you?  Well, I know you so I’m biased but … yes, I believe there is.  Will you meet her?  Now that is a tough one to answer.  I know very well that we don’t all always find that one in the right time or the right place.  Sounds like a novel, doesn’t it.  Just don’t ever stop believing.

 If you are good and behave yourself (well, not too much) and acquire and care for a girlfriend … even if you know she’s not the one … enjoy your time together and NEVER let her see that you are still hoping for “her” to come along.  Your “Girlfriend” just might surprise you.

Dickie-Quickie #3

Tuesday, January 11th, 2011

Two conflicting Louie-Louie Lads:

I figured I wasn’t the only guy in the world who fell hard only to get dumped.  All I can say for the poor guy is, ” She didn’t think they ‘were really right for a relationship”?  “Excuse me, ma’am, but what did you THINK you were having, then?”  What IS a relationship if it isn’t “supporting each other through our good times and bad”?  I don’t know anything about him, or her, but I’d be willing to bet a hundred bucks that he did most of the supporting, and that when it came time for her to reciprocate, she split.  Hundred bucks says I’m right.

“Never again…until next time.”  That’s pretty much where I’m at, too.  Another friend of mine (a woman, surprisingly) says that I won’t find anyone until I don’t give a shit anymore whether I do, or not.  Suppose that’s the way it is, Dick:  Women are only interested in men who don’t give a shit what they think?  I can’t really believe that.

This whole relationship thing is like a big plate glass window in front of a shop full of glittering prettiness:  I just want to throw a brick through it.  I’m turning into a Visigoth

 Hi Dick,

If Eric made that bet, he’d be out 100 bucks.  She was very good to me, as well.

About 30 years ago, or so, there was in article in Playboy entitled Where Love Has Gone.  It talked about the five phases of a relationship that ends.  First, there’s “discovery,” when each is beginning to learn about the other.  Then, there’s “infatuation,” which is just what it sounds like.  Along comes “things just aren’t the same,” followed by “indifference” and “hostility.”  I think I must’ve still been in the infatuation phase.

Women hope to change men, and men hope that women will never change.  That’s the rub.  Eric’s friend’s idea that women don’t want a man who cares about what they think may be my problem.  I not only care about what the woman in my life thinks, I want her to think.

Dick, I found it very interesting that you referred to me as a gentleman in the best sense of the word.  When I first contacted her on Match, my subject line read “Compleat Gentleman (Archaic Spelling Intentional).”  I like to think of myself as a traditionalist who’s not bound by tradition.

So…who…if anybody…do YOU trust?  REALLY TRUST ? Yourself ? Email is

Dickie-Quickie #2

Monday, January 10th, 2011

A Louie-Louie Lady speaks:

I”m almost positive that Captain Eric will find his “next one”.  He’s not closed off his heart, and even though right now he’s hurting, deep down in the darkest depths of his heart that is immune to this kind of pain, a small ember still glows… an ember that will start to burn brighter when the rest of his heart has healed enough to try again.  People like Captain Eric don’t give up, they mourn, they recover, they get thru the hurt and come out the other side, a tad bit wiser, a tad bit gun shy, until one day, he sees beauty in a woman’s eyes.. (yeah.. I know.. I stole that from you!! lol)

And yes, I have and will leave myself open for the “next one”.  I’ve had a painfully broken heart, with all the crushed feelings, and trust broken.  Not when my marriage ended… that was not “the one” for me, but after I turned 40, been thru a few dates, and not so good, or even good for me relationships, when, I pretty much had decided that I could live without being in a relationship, the next “one” came.  And for 7 years, I felt like this was it… this is where I would spend the rest of my life.  And like Captain Eric, for no reason that I could see coming, or still really understand… it was over.  There is no words that describe the hollow heart you have, the hurt that nothing can make go away.  It’s been about 2 years now, and the little ember has started to maybe grow a little brighter. There is more air getting to my heart, there is even a single ray of sunshine that is getting thru the dark curtains I pulled over my heart.  Am I going to meet the “one”, who knows.


Sunday, January 9th, 2011

Capt. Eric’s letter in the current podcast/blog  has opened a floodgate. This is a wonderful example:


Hi Dick,

 Enjoyed your “Who Can You Trust” podcast.  I’ll take your invitation and tell you about a woman that I miss. 

 I met Claudia (yes, that’s her real name) back in late summer of 2007.  We met on, and after our first meeting for coffee, I took her to dinner at my favorite restaurant.  We hit it off in a major sort of way, and grew closer and closer.

 I used to refer to our time as “the closest to Heaven that I’ve ever been.”  We supported each other through our good times and bad, and made many good times for each other.  I remember when I took her to the vineyards on eastern Long Island, and she told me that it was one of the best times she’d had in her life.  My nickname for her was “my last first date.”  I used to bring her fresh flowers whenever we went out, and told her it was my way of making every time we were together special.

 Well during the late spring of 2009, she told me that while there was a lot of love and closeness between us, she didn’t think that we were really right for a relationship.  We’ve been friends ever since, but I realize that I have to keep my distance to keep our friendship intact.  She’s seeing someone else now.  I’d met him before she started seeing him (No, she didn’t leave me for him.), and he’s a nice guy, and I hope she’s happy. 

 She’s still my “last first date,” and I really wonder if I’ll ever be ready to change that.  I tell people that I’ve just “hung up my gun belt” and maybe some day I’ll take it back down.  Like you said, “There was a time that I believed in yesterday…yesterday never comes again.”

 As for your friend Captain Eric, I can only think of the phrase “Never again….until next time.”

 Best wishes for a happy 2011,