Six years ago, I kept a journal.

My friends encouraged me to write about our adventures in Belize, and turn it into a book.

Since our return in 2005, my life revolves around writing and rewriting; well, that’s when I’m not distracted with side-jobs, because writing isn’t “working” is it? It’s not considered a job–right?

It’s a painful, yet addictive cycle. I won’t bore you with a list of jobs, conferences, classes, and volunteer jobs I’ve been involved with, but let me say, I rarely watch TV or movies, because I want to write. I’ve become a prisoner of my mind. Everything I see, smell, hear or dream, needs to be written down, before the moment escapes me.

Not long ago, I received an e-mail to submit a short story, memoir, essay or poem. It was dedicated to Orange County writers, and I submitted two hours before the deadline. Just go for it, I thought, What do you have to lose?

Thanks to that Gutsy moment, I now have my first published short story with Windflower Press. The book launch is on May 12th, at Paradise Perks in Irvine, from 7-9 p.m. How sad I shall miss that day due to a scheduled trip to Europe to celebrate my father’s 85th birthday. I have learned that baby steps do pay off, and hopefully my journey will bring me closer to publishing my memoir.

My Italian Lover
by
Sonia Marsh

(My middle name is Patti, or is it?)

I have a new lover. His name is Capresso, and he’s Italian.
Like most Italians, he takes great pride in his looks. I can see through his form-fitting Armani silver-gray suit, the interplay of muscles and tendons that remind me of one of Leonardo Da Vinci’s detailed anatomical drawings. In today’s world, he’s the perfect metrosexual. His aroma is addictive, and to me, he’s impeccable.
Every morning, I spend quality time with Capresso, before my husband wakes up. When I sneak into his room, he’s always available and ready for me to turn him on. This morning is no exception, and as I pull out his gold filter, I place four heaping scoops of malty, sweet East African blend Uzuri coffee with its medley of dark berry notes. Capresso thanks me for the filtered water I pour into his receptacle, rather than contaminating his interior with chlorinated water from the faucet.
“Graci mi amore,” Capresso whispers in his sexy Italian voice.
The following morning while I snooze, my husband decides to make coffee for himself. He’s never laid hands on Capresso. Instead of adding coffee to Capresso’s gold filter, he stuffs a brown Mr. Coffee paper filter inside Capresso’s gold cone. He places Folgers inside the paper and hits start, unaware of the deluxe feature which allows for smaller brewing quantities.
“Please don’t use a paper filter in my gold cone,” Capresso says, but Duke doesn’t understand Italian. Even if he did, he wouldn’t listen. From my bedroom I can hear Capresso sputtering and coughing. My lover is calling me for help and as I rush to his side, I see chlorinated water flowing over his sleek physique, like an eruption from Mt. Vesuvius. Hot, sticky, black lava travels down the side of his silver tuxedo and mixes with tears of pain from a blocked aorta.
“Sonia, il mio amore,” he cries, embarrassed by his mess, and tired of being verbally abused by my husband.
“Don’t ever give me coffee out of that stupid, over-priced pile of junk,” my husband barks. I cover Capresso’s ears and clean him up, but worry he needs medical attention. I call his hot-line number and am instructed on how to unblock his aorta.
Capresso and I are still lovers, and I’m the only one allowed to turn him on.

I’ve never been married to any other man than my American husband and I often wonder if I’d married a French man or a Greek man, if he would be a better listener.

(Phivos, perhaps you can answer my question?) Do Greek men listen to their wives? Do they pay attention to them when they speak, even at home after thirty years of marriage? Please be honest.

I owe this post idea to Robert the Skeptic and I urge you to jump over and read his. I commented on Robert’s blog asking him:

Are all husbands the same? I have to keep asking my husband, “Are you listening to me?” when he’s reading his novel as I speak. SO RUDE! Sometimes I wonder if that’s just American husbands or husbands around the world.

Robert’s response to my comment:

Gusty Oh I am reasonably confident that that this distraction is in endemic to the male gender world wide. And… what was the other thing you said now?

It occurred to me how I can guarantee an immediate response from my spouse: send a text or write a note or an e-mail. Does that explain the theory that men are visual and prefer a picture, a piece of paper or a computer screen rather than a voice?

What do you think? I know Robert says women are good at multi-tasking, whereas men can only focus on one thing at a time, however, I also think there’s a question of MANNERS. 

I found a list of 10 things women really want from their spouse and this is one of them:

Listening Well
It’s really disheartening for a wife to share her thoughts and feelings with her mate and then realize that he didn’t actually listen to her. Your wife wants you to not only listen with your ears, but to listen with your heart.

I did a Google search and came across these answers which I’d like to address with you and see if you agree or not?

QUESTION:

Why do some husbands not listen to what their wives say and completely ignore them?
Is it because they are no longer interested in their wives?

ANSWERS:

1. “It’s called “selective hearing”. Almost every guy has it. But sometimes they just have other things on their mind. Or sometimes maybe they think we talk so much, they tune us out.”

2. “I think its how you approach the person and tone of voice.”

3. “I notice my husband listens more if I use a softer voice and speak rationally rather than making demands. Husbands still want to be men and make decisions. They’re wired that way. They do not like to feel like they’re being told what to do.”

4. “No, its just them being MEN.”

5. “Maybe it’s because some wives never shut up and deserved to be ignored.”

I guarantee you that I’m not one of those women. HAHAHA! My husband is an attorney and I’ve learned through 23 years of marriage to get to the point FAST, or he won’t listen. I’ve met a few women in my life who ramble on about nothing, and I’ve told my husband how lucky he is that I’m not one of them, hoping that will make him listen. I agree, a woman who repeats the same thing over and over to get attention, can irritate other women as much as men. Thankfully most of us are not like that.

So are all men the same, or is it just American men?

What do women think? How about men reading this? 

 
When I mention my fifteen-year-old son is going to Military school, most parents give me their sympathy look. “Oh, you poor thing, your son has behavioral problems.”
I know this look and before they utter a word, I add, “He wants to go. It was his idea.”

Why do so many in the U.S. perceive these schools as a place to send “bad” kids who need discipline and view military school as a form of punishment? Can it not be regarded as a reward? It certainly costs enough to be considered a huge reward in receiving a better education.

I remember asking my own parents to allow me to attend boarding school in England, when I turned fourteen. Why? Because my school in Paris did not offer the subjects I wished to study. There was also another reason; perhaps the same reason why my son wants to leave home.

As an only child, I felt the need to get away from home. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the close relationship I had with my parents, especially my mother, but in order to grow up and make my own decisions, I felt the need to get away. I think my almost sixteen-year-old feels the same. Now that his two older brothers are out of the house, he misses the camaraderie he had with them. Living with other young cadets, will fill him with
long-lasting friendships and a sense of purpose: belonging to a group that studies together with duties and sporting activities on a daily basis.

I am disappointed with public education in California. 2011 is going to be worse than 2010 due to lack of funding and increasing classroom sizes, 40+ students and teachers who no longer have time to motivate those who are average. My youngest son is one of those, and I hate to see his growing lack of interest in school and college. Disgruntled teachers are not going to create a positive school environment, and I cannot blame them.

Over the Easter holidays, my son and I flew to Albuquerque, New Mexico, and drove 200 miles, southeast to Roswell where the New Mexico Military Institute is located. Driving along a ninety-five mile stretch of road without a gas station, building, or human, with winds blowing my car off the road, made for an eerie start to our adventure.

I would not call Roswell a pretty town. It’s isolated, dry and spooky, and apart from NMMI, and the UFO museum, there really isn’t too much to see. (That’s my opinion.)

A replica of an alien found near Roswell on a ranch from UFO crash in July 1947.

After a morning at the UFO museum, my son had a one o’clock interview and test at NMMI. He passed the entrance exam, and I was pleased to hear that NMMI checks students are not being forced to go there against their will.

Ninety-five percent of all NMMI graduates, both high school and junior college, go on to premier 4-year colleges and universities such as Princeton, Cornell, Stanford, Texas, Temple, VMI, The Citadel, and the nation’s Service Academies.

This is therefore not a school that pushes Cadets to enter the military. The first 21 days are not easy: no electronics, only contact with parents is via good old-fashioned letter writing. They wear uniform, they learn structure and discipline, they have study hall every night, and they also have to earn privileges. What a concept in today’s world of entitlement. The school is co-ed, and they have a beautiful gym and game room for kids to enjoy. My son can paintball every afternoon, as a sporting activity. This is his passion.

So I hope he thrives during the last two years of high school and learns the importance of receiving a good education, despite his desire to become a professional paintballer.

What are your opinions regarding military schools, boarding schools etc?

I know this may not look like much to you, but to me it’s a sign that my husband loves me. Almost every morning, before I stumble into the kitchen, Duke has boiled the kettle, filled up my stainless steel coffee pot and two mugs (one for coffee, one to heat up milk) with boiling water, and placed small covers on each, with a towel to keep the warmth inside.

When I walk into the kitchen, I dump the hot water out of each receptacle and have steaming hot coffee. Yes, I do microwave the milk, and go one step further. I use this device to froth it up. I bought it at Peet’s.

But that’s not all he does for me. Duke also counts my four pills and places then in a nice bowl. (OK, I made this up. He does take my pills out, but I put them in the nice bowl for decoration.)

I believe actions, not gifts, are true signs of love. What do you think? Any loving actions to share?

As a young woman living in Paris, I dreamed of becoming a journalist. Travel and interviewing people from around the world sounded exciting and meaningful. I hoped to be one of the faces on NBC, CBS or ABC, in the U.S., with visions of sharing news from around the world: stories about different cultures, ways of thinking, and making people feel they belonged to a planet that shrank to the size of a marble, the more we learned about one another.

Today I realize how miserable I would be to step in the shoes of Katie Couric or Diane Sawyer. Don’t get me wrong, I respect those two ladies, however, what we see on prime time television, is in my opinion, not news. Yes, I know, we get coverage on Iran, Iraq, Israel and Afghanistan, but when you compare U.S. news to BBC news, or other European channels, we get such a limited perspective on what happens outside the U.S. We learn more about blood pressure medicine, arthritis, viagra, acid reflux, loss of bone density and all the drugs we can take during ten minutes of commercials which interrupt the news, making it seem even more banal. Whenever we hear about other countries, it never seems to give us a positive view on what’s happening there, but rather a positive view on what the U.S. is doing for others.

I realize how ignorant I am about what’s going on around the world, including the country I live in when I visit my family and friends in France, Britain and Denmark. They quiz me on U.S. politics and I never really know what’s happening. I’d have to spend hours reading and doing my own research on various issues to feel informed enough to vote on a proposition, yet many voters base their decisions on thirty second ads they see or hear. That’s the wrong way to vote.

When I travel to Europe, I finally understand what’s going on in the U.S. Is that because I understand French better than English? I don’t think so. Often I see debates and interviews that never appear on U.S. television. When I return to the U.S., I have a fresh view of what’s happening in the world, in the U.S. and even in California. Why is that?

So how did this blog post start? From my European blogger friend, Phivos Nicolaides who sent me a YouTube video of a singer from Portugal. I’d never heard of this singer, and when I told him that, he made a comment which I agreed with:

To tell you the truth, in States they know very little about the other world…
When you are on the top of the world, you think there is nothing else to see, listen and learn…
This happens to every country when she becomes powerful. In the end of course things change one day dramatically…

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this.