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| In memory of the man I Love
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His name was “Crazy Allen.” He was born to a large family and his father had many brothers. Evidently each of these brothers felt the need to name one of their sons Allen, and as the family was a close knit one, the community in which they lived soon found itself with an abundance of Allen Z****s. Soon, my Allen managed to distinguish himself from the others when people began to add the adjective “Crazy” to his name. This was an important distinction for parents who wanted to know which Allen their children would be playing with and which Allen was having a sleepover.
I would sit on the porch with his childhood friends and listen to “Crazy Allen” stories which were sure to be the stuff of legends for generations to come. Of course I always looked on these stories with a jaundiced eye, after all, he was only one man. We hadn’t been dating long, but I had never seen him change shape and he certainly didn’t glow in the dark. In fact the only real oddity I could see is that his socks never matched. This I took as a good sign meaning that my laundry skills would never be called into question.
My opinion of the “Crazy Allen” story changed dramatically a few weeks later when we drove his car into a river. Within that year he also set two cars on fire, and suddenly I had my own “Crazy Allen” stories to share.
I soon learned to watch out for the phrase, “I’m feeling frisky.” That was the clue that the dynamo inside him had reached the breaking point and the energy needed to be spent. To get in the car with Allen when he was “feeling frisky” was to take a chance, one time you could end up at a nice beachfront resort with a belly full of the finest food the town had to offer, and the next time you could find yourself slogging up a river bank in the middle of nowhere watching your car sink and hoping that you will run into some nice psychopath who just happened to be in the neighborhood burying a body so that you won’t have to walk the 26 miles back to town. After all, when one has experienced Crazy Allen, they need not fear a mere psychopath.
Life with Crazy Allen was never boring. Neither was it gloomy or bitter. With Crazy Allen, if you didn’t like the way things were, just wait 15 minutes and it would be different. For years my life went on as a fairy tale, in our huge 5,000 square foot house on an acre of horse property, surrounded by children and racking up the “Crazy Allen” stories. But, as Robert Frost says, “Nothing gold can stay.”
The first winds of change blew in with Allen’s (I have dropped the adjective Crazy on purpose) announcement that he wanted to move to a small, no.. smaller than small, town just over the Utah/Arizona border. It had been founded by our church leaders. All members were being asked, ( I said asked, not required.) to move down there and do their part to make something of the place. If I had known how thoroughly I was going to loose my Crazy Allen, I would have fought tooth and nail to prevent it, but at the time it didn’t seem like any big deal, and I would have followed my Crazy Allen to the ends of the earth.
As the years went by in our new home, and Crazy Allen was usurped by Religious Fanatic Allen, I hung on hoping that maybe I would see my Crazy Allen again. Eventually I couldn’t wait any more. Religious Fanatic Allen’s behavior was more and more unacceptable, and to be honest Religious Fanatic Allen doesn’t like me very much, so one day I moved out. I have tried to meet other men since then, but it’s not the same. I mean, their socks all match. They can drive the same car for years without a single mishap. When they plan to go somewhere, that’s where they end up. And without exception, they all plod through life like plow horses, with their heads down, pushing in the harness and never noticing anything else that life has to offer.
In my future, I see myself as an old maid, the widow of Crazy Allen. Sitting alone in my empty house with my memories. It’s sad really, because Crazy Allen would never tolerate such an existence. The fact is though that men like that don’t come along every day, and once you’ve had one, you just can’t be satisfied with anything else.
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Posted by honesttoblog on 2008-07-01 12:01:32 | Rating: | Views: 59
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Hehe... sounds like your trying to hang on to a memory. If you miss him so goddamn much though, why not call him and let him know that his change has pushed you away... and that if you meant anything to him, he'd do whatever he cold to get you back.
But... wheres a woman like that when you want one? A little excitement in my life like that would be awesome.
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Posted by TheBoneCollector
on 2008-07-01 21:01:18
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Bone collector,
Thanks for the comment. Acutally, I see him every day. And yesterday I had him read the blog too. Our relationship is wierd because we do still love each other very much, but he still wants more than one wife, and I still can't live with that anymore, but I'm not holding him responsible for it, it's the way he was raised. I just wish he'd understand that I wasn't raised that way and I haven't got the tools to live with it. You're right though, I wish there were more men and women like that. Like Crazy Allen anyway. In many ways the world would be a better place. Messier, but better.
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Posted by honesttoblog
on 2008-07-02 16:55:02
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