Even when I am super-pooped and unable to writemuch, I can at least manage this, huh?
Low Point: Rude responses from Si to my e-mail today. Tells me that I think I'm the only one that matters. I told him that wasn't true: that I didn't understand how he could say that I didn't care about my children. He countered that I cared about my children; but that I cared about myself more.
High Point: I love training volutneer tutors. And my favorite thing to teach them about is pronunciation. Next thing you say, stop to ponder the miracle of articulation. It is truly amazing.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Finding the Right Groove
Whew, Nelly! It's late! I'm listening to Bruce Springsteen singing:
Git out the way of Old Dan Tucker,
He's too late to eat his supper!
I've really struggled to write lately. Sometimes I write entire blog entries that I don't publish. Sometimes I start writing and am suddenly consumed by weariness. I need to keep going and work my way through this monumental writer's block. Unfortunately, this means that I may have to just...'blog some more, so see if I can find the stories I used to find so easily.
Eek! What is I have a complex? Do I need to be riled up in my mind in order to write?
Trial and error. First though, tea.
So, a day in the life of a single mom whose kids are out of school.
7:45 AM. My alarm goes off. I turn it off and surrender to the siren of sleep. What did I think could possibly tempt me at this ealry hour?
9:00 AM. I wake up on my own and realize that I have slept for ten hours. Remember when I could thrive on almost no sleep at all? Now I am a total sleep-tramp. What's more, I don't even get up at 9:00 AM. I doze and reflect on life, love and the universe until 10:00 AM.
10:00AM. Enough of this! Rise and shine. Roust Nate, who has also been seduced by his mattress. Oatmeal for him. Cheerios for me. Tea all around. I open my Salt Lake Tribune to this story. Silvia Alfaro is a student in our Adult Education program.
I tidy up the apartment, run a load of laundry, and check the mail. Newsweek again?!? I did NOT subscribe to Newsweek. Much as I like getting it, I suspect I will not enjoy paying for it. I call Newsweek and cancel the subscription (or whatever we want to call it...). I text Sara's Girl Scout leader to find out where they are in their drive home from a weekend camping trip. What should I make for supper? Hmm... chicken soup? I have some chicken that is getting a little freezer-burned around the edges...
11:30 AM to Game Stop! Game Stop! Game Stop! Game Stop! Nathan has been a picture of helpfulness and compliance ever since Chuck told him yesterday about how he can take old games to Game Stop and trade them in for other games. Best! Thing! Ever! (Emphasis Nate's, not mine...)
12:00 PM Text coworkers Melanie (who is Silvia Alfaro's teacher) and Kristen (who helped Silvia pass her citizenship test) and let them know that Silvia is in today's Tribune.
To Smith's Marketplace, for which I have a gift card. Time to buy an iron. I realized that this morning when I looked in my chore basket and saw my unironed skirt in there. I meant to take it up to Aloha Road and ask Cliff for the use of his iron, but I forgot. I figured I would buy an iron and ironing board, but then I found the holy grail of laundry! Finally, after much searching! A drying rack! Now, I have a drier, thanks to Chuck. But a drying rack will do nicely for smaller stuff when the weather is nice and will save me some pennies. OK, but if I buy the iron and the drying rack, that pretty much uses all the money on the gift card. What to do about the ironing board? Nathan and I debate for a while. Should I get one at the thrift store? Will a thrift store ironing board be any good? Why do people get rid of their ironing boards, after all? Not because they have gone out of fashion, or they got a new and improved version for their birthdays. In my opinion, people only throw out their ironing boards when here's something wrong with them. Still... OK, I will check Saver's for an ironing board.
As we leave Smith's Marketplace, Nate asks me where Saver's is. "Oh, just a little way from here. You can almost see it." "Well, let's just walk down there." As we walked along, he asked about why Silvia Alfaro is in the Tribune,and I told him all about the cheating, lying immigration lawyer who ripped her off.
At Saver's I buy a few picture frames for something like $4. No ironing boards today. Fate does not want me wearing that skirt right away, I guess.
1:15 PM - Drive back home and make a little lunch. I make a shopping list and do a few more little chores: water plants, clean out the microwave. I am hating my sofa. I detest the baggy, dingy slipcover almost as much as I loathe the ginormous holes in the upholstery. Today I took the cover off and put it in the wash. Then I looked at the holey sofa and thought: holes or no holes; I kind of like you better without the fucking slipcover. I'm telling you: this sofa is so bad that I often see sofas in dumpsters that would be an improvement.
2:30 PM - Sara is sin Scipio. I get some frozen dough out to thaw and rise for rolls. Fold a load of wash. Change into my running clothes.
2:45 PM - I go over to Cottonwood and run my favorite hill-route; mindful of the time, because I have to take Nathan to soccer practice at 4:00.
3:55 PM - I am very pleased with my timing as I pull in the driveway of the apartment complex I won't be able to shower before I drive Nathan, but I should be able to take a quick hand bath and -
I get a text from Sara. "Hi, I am at the Scout Leader's house. Can you pick me up n 20 minutes?" I am frustrated because the scout leader lives in Cottonwood, and I was within 100 yards of her house while I was running. Now I am about 15 minutes away and I have another pressing engagement. Wishing very much that they had told me that the plan was for mothers to pick up the girls rather then drop them off, I realize that I will have to drive all the way to Draper to drop Nate off for soccer practice, then drive to Cottonwood to get Sara, then return to Draper. Oh, barf. Can you hear the gas being slurped out of the tank?
Nate is not ready to go, despite the fact that, beofer I left for my run, I told him to pay attention to the time and be prepared. I notice that his milky, empty cereal bowl in still on his bedroom floor, when I had admonished him to wash it up over an hour ago. Despite the lateness, I sit on the end of my bed and tell him that we are going nowhere until his cereal bowl is washed up.
4:10 PM- I pull out with Nathan. He remembers that he left his cleats in the apartment and has to go back for them. I still managed to get him there on time somehow.
4:30 PM - Drop off Nate at soccer practice in Draper. Back up to Cottonwood. I knock at the screen door and Julia, the Scout Leader answers. The girls are playing Wii downstairs. Julia is a major talker! She recounts some of the high points of the trip. Do I have time to look at the photos? "Well, actually, I still need to get groceries and make it back to..." "Oh. that's right, you have a busy schedule," she says, getting out her camera regardless. I love Julia and enjoy looking at her photos, but the little voice in my head wants me to remember that we have a DEADLINE! Yeah, yeah, OK.
Sara and I drive over to Macey's for groceries, then back to Draper. The traffic is tight. I am sweating it with the clock. Again, though, I pull in at precisely 6:00 PM.
Home. Set Sara to unpacking and cleaning up her camping stuff. Homework as well, while I bake the rolls and make soup.
7:30 PM - I text our friends Mike and Mark Wolf and ask them if they are ready to hang out. We jump in the truck and drive up to the Avenues to see them. Mike just got a driver's licence again, after working to recover from a brain injury. We pile into his car and make him drive us to Hire's for root beer floats.
9:30 PM - After stuffing ourselves with root beer floats and bullshitting for a long time, we figure we had better get home. School tomorrow.
10:00 PM. Home sweet home. Showers, sack lunches. Kisses good night. Accounts and bill-paying.
I have also been working on another piece of writing, to which I dedicated an hour or so. And where are we now? 2:00 AM. It doesn't mater that I just about slept the clock around last night, I am done in. Night-night.
Git out the way of Old Dan Tucker,
He's too late to eat his supper!
I've really struggled to write lately. Sometimes I write entire blog entries that I don't publish. Sometimes I start writing and am suddenly consumed by weariness. I need to keep going and work my way through this monumental writer's block. Unfortunately, this means that I may have to just...'blog some more, so see if I can find the stories I used to find so easily.
Eek! What is I have a complex? Do I need to be riled up in my mind in order to write?
Trial and error. First though, tea.
So, a day in the life of a single mom whose kids are out of school.
7:45 AM. My alarm goes off. I turn it off and surrender to the siren of sleep. What did I think could possibly tempt me at this ealry hour?
9:00 AM. I wake up on my own and realize that I have slept for ten hours. Remember when I could thrive on almost no sleep at all? Now I am a total sleep-tramp. What's more, I don't even get up at 9:00 AM. I doze and reflect on life, love and the universe until 10:00 AM.
10:00AM. Enough of this! Rise and shine. Roust Nate, who has also been seduced by his mattress. Oatmeal for him. Cheerios for me. Tea all around. I open my Salt Lake Tribune to this story. Silvia Alfaro is a student in our Adult Education program.
I tidy up the apartment, run a load of laundry, and check the mail. Newsweek again?!? I did NOT subscribe to Newsweek. Much as I like getting it, I suspect I will not enjoy paying for it. I call Newsweek and cancel the subscription (or whatever we want to call it...). I text Sara's Girl Scout leader to find out where they are in their drive home from a weekend camping trip. What should I make for supper? Hmm... chicken soup? I have some chicken that is getting a little freezer-burned around the edges...
11:30 AM to Game Stop! Game Stop! Game Stop! Game Stop! Nathan has been a picture of helpfulness and compliance ever since Chuck told him yesterday about how he can take old games to Game Stop and trade them in for other games. Best! Thing! Ever! (Emphasis Nate's, not mine...)
12:00 PM Text coworkers Melanie (who is Silvia Alfaro's teacher) and Kristen (who helped Silvia pass her citizenship test) and let them know that Silvia is in today's Tribune.
To Smith's Marketplace, for which I have a gift card. Time to buy an iron. I realized that this morning when I looked in my chore basket and saw my unironed skirt in there. I meant to take it up to Aloha Road and ask Cliff for the use of his iron, but I forgot. I figured I would buy an iron and ironing board, but then I found the holy grail of laundry! Finally, after much searching! A drying rack! Now, I have a drier, thanks to Chuck. But a drying rack will do nicely for smaller stuff when the weather is nice and will save me some pennies. OK, but if I buy the iron and the drying rack, that pretty much uses all the money on the gift card. What to do about the ironing board? Nathan and I debate for a while. Should I get one at the thrift store? Will a thrift store ironing board be any good? Why do people get rid of their ironing boards, after all? Not because they have gone out of fashion, or they got a new and improved version for their birthdays. In my opinion, people only throw out their ironing boards when here's something wrong with them. Still... OK, I will check Saver's for an ironing board.
As we leave Smith's Marketplace, Nate asks me where Saver's is. "Oh, just a little way from here. You can almost see it." "Well, let's just walk down there." As we walked along, he asked about why Silvia Alfaro is in the Tribune,and I told him all about the cheating, lying immigration lawyer who ripped her off.
At Saver's I buy a few picture frames for something like $4. No ironing boards today. Fate does not want me wearing that skirt right away, I guess.
1:15 PM - Drive back home and make a little lunch. I make a shopping list and do a few more little chores: water plants, clean out the microwave. I am hating my sofa. I detest the baggy, dingy slipcover almost as much as I loathe the ginormous holes in the upholstery. Today I took the cover off and put it in the wash. Then I looked at the holey sofa and thought: holes or no holes; I kind of like you better without the fucking slipcover. I'm telling you: this sofa is so bad that I often see sofas in dumpsters that would be an improvement.
2:30 PM - Sara is sin Scipio. I get some frozen dough out to thaw and rise for rolls. Fold a load of wash. Change into my running clothes.
2:45 PM - I go over to Cottonwood and run my favorite hill-route; mindful of the time, because I have to take Nathan to soccer practice at 4:00.
3:55 PM - I am very pleased with my timing as I pull in the driveway of the apartment complex I won't be able to shower before I drive Nathan, but I should be able to take a quick hand bath and -
I get a text from Sara. "Hi, I am at the Scout Leader's house. Can you pick me up n 20 minutes?" I am frustrated because the scout leader lives in Cottonwood, and I was within 100 yards of her house while I was running. Now I am about 15 minutes away and I have another pressing engagement. Wishing very much that they had told me that the plan was for mothers to pick up the girls rather then drop them off, I realize that I will have to drive all the way to Draper to drop Nate off for soccer practice, then drive to Cottonwood to get Sara, then return to Draper. Oh, barf. Can you hear the gas being slurped out of the tank?
Nate is not ready to go, despite the fact that, beofer I left for my run, I told him to pay attention to the time and be prepared. I notice that his milky, empty cereal bowl in still on his bedroom floor, when I had admonished him to wash it up over an hour ago. Despite the lateness, I sit on the end of my bed and tell him that we are going nowhere until his cereal bowl is washed up.
4:10 PM- I pull out with Nathan. He remembers that he left his cleats in the apartment and has to go back for them. I still managed to get him there on time somehow.
4:30 PM - Drop off Nate at soccer practice in Draper. Back up to Cottonwood. I knock at the screen door and Julia, the Scout Leader answers. The girls are playing Wii downstairs. Julia is a major talker! She recounts some of the high points of the trip. Do I have time to look at the photos? "Well, actually, I still need to get groceries and make it back to..." "Oh. that's right, you have a busy schedule," she says, getting out her camera regardless. I love Julia and enjoy looking at her photos, but the little voice in my head wants me to remember that we have a DEADLINE! Yeah, yeah, OK.
Sara and I drive over to Macey's for groceries, then back to Draper. The traffic is tight. I am sweating it with the clock. Again, though, I pull in at precisely 6:00 PM.
Home. Set Sara to unpacking and cleaning up her camping stuff. Homework as well, while I bake the rolls and make soup.
7:30 PM - I text our friends Mike and Mark Wolf and ask them if they are ready to hang out. We jump in the truck and drive up to the Avenues to see them. Mike just got a driver's licence again, after working to recover from a brain injury. We pile into his car and make him drive us to Hire's for root beer floats.
9:30 PM - After stuffing ourselves with root beer floats and bullshitting for a long time, we figure we had better get home. School tomorrow.
10:00 PM. Home sweet home. Showers, sack lunches. Kisses good night. Accounts and bill-paying.
I have also been working on another piece of writing, to which I dedicated an hour or so. And where are we now? 2:00 AM. It doesn't mater that I just about slept the clock around last night, I am done in. Night-night.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
I Need A Good Cry
There are things to do around here.
Chores and obligations. But I'm stuck; sitting here, pondering a feeling of sadness that makes my throat tight.
I'm supposed to be happy.
I'm useless.
I need to keep thinking this through and I need to figure out a plan.
Chores and obligations. But I'm stuck; sitting here, pondering a feeling of sadness that makes my throat tight.
I'm supposed to be happy.
I'm useless.
I need to keep thinking this through and I need to figure out a plan.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
August Ends in Pictures
"HOW DID YOU DO THAT?"
"Well, I drove up to the school building and then I-"
"I mean, how do you know my locker combination?"
"Mom knows all things."
"Did you just walk right in?"
"No, I asked at the office."
"YOU TOLD THEM AT THE OFFICE THAT I NEEDED MY SOCK MONKEY???!?"
"No! Would I do that to you? I told them I needed to drop off your birth control pills."
"WHAT!?!?!?!?!"
OK, I didn't. I told them I needed to drop off a pair of clean panties, for reasons that were strictly between the two of us."
"MOOOOOOOOOM!"
You get the idea.
Went for a run.
...
Chuck, Cliff and Chuck's son, G. You can't see daughter K, outside the frame.
At this point, my photo journal bit the dust. I got way too engaged in visiting with all these fun people, then by baking brownies, then by watching "Raising Arizona", then by doing dishes. More discipline next month.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
There was Always More to It
Simon is angry at me - I mean, even more than usual.
One trigger seems to be Fun. Namely why I'm getting it and he's not.
[I think, but don't say, "For fuck's sake, Si: if you want to go camping, go camping!"]
He voiced his disagreement with my taking the kids out of school for two days next week and taking them canoeing. What did I think I was doing, planning a trip in September? Why couldn't I have planned it for summer, when the kids had vacation?
[Uh, because they have had a soccer tournament nearly every single weekend?]
Because southern Utah in the depths of summer is HOT!! That's why!
He pointed out that, since I have left him, I seem to have plenty of time to bug off and enjoy myself. Then it was time for the tired assertion that I never wanted to take time off work to do anything when we were still together. We used to have this fight all the time: "Kate, you won't want to go on this trip because you won't want to take the time off work."
"Says who!? Why do you always say that? It's you who can't find time to do things from October through May because of the ski season When do you want to go?"
"Nope. You won't leave your job."
"Yes, I will!"
"No, you won't."
I know the origin of this ridiculous argument: there were busy years during graduate school in the mid-90s when I would go on trips with him, but feel fussed about the work awaiting me when I got home And there was one year- the 95-96 school year, when it was hard to dislodge me. It was my last year of graduate school; and I was teaching a writing class at the university; and I was Interim Director of Adult Education at Guadalupe School. Why is it that I am now labeled ever after as the girl who doesn't want to go anywhere? The therapist told me that this was an example of one partner growing and changing, while the other partner remains focused on a fixed point in the past. Whatever. It's a pain.
And he's mad that I'm not getting my stuff in the basement boxed up fast enough. He has threatened to put it all in the bulk trash. Lord knows, I'd like to get it done, but it complicates things when he insists that he has to be home before I can enter the house.
"Look, if you want me to get the job done, why won't you let me work on it regardless if whether you're around? I can come in with the kids."
"No way. You may not enter my house if I'm not there."
"What do you think I'm going to do? What are you afraid I'll steal?"
"I don't trust you."
"What do you mean by that? That you think I'm going to snoop in your stuff? Rob you? What?"
"I just don't trust you. 'Cuz you're a liar - it's as simple as that."
"What did I lie to you about?"
"You told me that you were divorcing me for a variety of reasons that simply aren't true. Plain and simple. You left me for Chuck. You saw what you wanted and just took it, with no consideration for anyone else."
"Si you know there were other problems. We had had problems for years!"
"They weren't worth divorcing over. They were the same problems every married couple has. We were happy enough."
[YOU were happy enough.]
"You are forgetting. "What about all the times when I asked you if we could PLEASE just get some-"
"No. Our problems weren't serious. This is all about your selfishness. I'm hanging up now - this conversation is no longer productive."
"THERE WAS A LOT MORE TO IT!"
But he was gone.
So I was feeling low in my mind this morning. BUT! I have half an hour between dropping Sara at her school and dropping Nate at his. I figured, what a perfect time to work on boxing my stuff! Si is generally home just then, so I could go to the house for thirty minutes every day. Packing up my remaining stuff would be a great project for that time frame. Nate and I saw Simon's truck in the drive, so I knocked. No answer. Huh. I knocked again. Finally, Si opened up. He was still in his boxers. I had no idea he slept so late, now!
I explained my thoughts on the half-hour-to-kill, and after initially refusing to let me in, he eventually agreed to let me work in the basement.
I didn't have much time, but I was able to box some things. I encountered the cardboard carton in which I keep all of my diaries. As always, I grabbed one and flipped it open randomly, to see which incarnation of myself would appear. Today, it was my "college Sophomore" self: reading Dante and sweating over my statistics class. I snorted with amusement, then started guiltily. What if Simon came in here and found me reading when I should be boxing? I was putting the diary back in the box when something caught my eye: loose sheets of paper in there. I pulled them out and found myself holding a letter I had written to Simon in April of 1992, three months before we were married, but had never sent. I was living in Poland at the time - the letter was closely written on cheap, soft paper. It was very long and very sad, expressing my dismay at his last letter, which had been hurtful to me. I complained of the mixed messages he was giving me about his love for me and about our future together. I ever mailed it, which means that the moment passed, and I decided to look away from the things he had said to me.
There was always a lot more to it. My 44 year-old self looks back at my 24 year-old self and thinks, "What would your life be like now, if you had sent this letter?"
I tucked it away and opened the next box, which contained the contents of my night stand and the top of my dresser at the time I moved out. Some things I packed in a "when I have my own home again" box. Odd earrings? A small pile of my children's baby teeth? A seashell whose provenance I don't remember any more? Out. One earring with a gorgeous collection of fiery opals, I put in my "sell it" box, along with my wedding ring. A few things came with me to the apartment. There is a carved wooden box containing a bunch of loose change. I used to horde small coins in case the tooth faerie needed to make a sudden appearance. Also a little, bittie china baby that I think will be a fun addition to my wind chime I am making from junk. Same with the beads. (I knew they were there somewhere!) Ones from shell, ones from wood, African ones. I found an edition of Three Cups of Tea, adjusted for younger readers. My Running 101 book. A whale sicker from Depoe Bay, Oregon; a good photo I took of pictographs a couple of years ago and have yet to frame. My half-marathon training schedule.
There are two index cards on which I listed things that are important to me in considering a new relationship. One was my master list of what I think everyone should expect from a relationship - a reminder to me not to accept a relationship that does not offer mutual... "Loyalty, Protection, Affection, Division of Labor, Caregiving, Supportiveness, Companionship, Freedom, Honesty, Respect."
I honestly never expected to have a relationship with Chuck after I moved out. I think that hovered in the territory of "wishful thinking". I had spent a lot of time considering the world of dating, as evidenced by my many jottings on the subject. Another list seems to be about what couples need to be in accord about.
Money, parenting, sex, relationships with family and friends, religion, household responsibilities, leisure time, careers and jobs.
As I went back upstairs after boxing for 30 minutes, I smelled toast and fresh ironing. I called into the kitchen to thank Si for letting me use this time, and to ask him if I could come at the same time tomorrow.
No. Did I have any idea how rude I was? Showing up? Just knocking at the door like that? And expecting to be let in? Get out, and don't try this again. Go! Leave! Get out!
Si was furious. I felt scared for a moment. He made shooing motions with his hands and I left. The door slammed behind me. i dunno. Seemed like a "win-win" to me...
So my communion with my former selves illustrates a few points. One is that the Kate of 20 years ago was always willing to smooth stuff over, to ignore the red flags in hopes they would go away, to make it work. To write the letter, but never mail it.
The Kate of five months ago was finally aware of the wrongness of that and decided to move on. That old letter took a while to be signed, sealed and delivered; but it is clear. There was always more to it.
The Kate of five months ago was also more than prepared to live alone. To find a new partner... or not. I loved Chuck, but he was not the cause of this. I was the cause of this, because it was about time to reclaim and rebuild the person I want to be.
The Kate of this moment is still a bit screwed up, but I think all the important bits are there and can be reassembled. And Chuck is still here: with his many gifts; his intriguing and endearing flaws; his big heart.
Like I told him one evening last week, when I arrived home to find supper and a frosty gin and tonic waiting for me:
"I'm a lucky girl."
"No, I'm the lucky one."
"No, I think it's me."
"Uh-uh. It's me."
"Sorry, but you're wrong. I am the lucky one."
"Nope. Me."
No, me!"
"Me!'
"Me!"
"NO, me!"
It's my blog, so I get the last word. I'm the lucky one. Long may it last.
One trigger seems to be Fun. Namely why I'm getting it and he's not.
[I think, but don't say, "For fuck's sake, Si: if you want to go camping, go camping!"]
He voiced his disagreement with my taking the kids out of school for two days next week and taking them canoeing. What did I think I was doing, planning a trip in September? Why couldn't I have planned it for summer, when the kids had vacation?
[Uh, because they have had a soccer tournament nearly every single weekend?]
Because southern Utah in the depths of summer is HOT!! That's why!
He pointed out that, since I have left him, I seem to have plenty of time to bug off and enjoy myself. Then it was time for the tired assertion that I never wanted to take time off work to do anything when we were still together. We used to have this fight all the time: "Kate, you won't want to go on this trip because you won't want to take the time off work."
"Says who!? Why do you always say that? It's you who can't find time to do things from October through May because of the ski season When do you want to go?"
"Nope. You won't leave your job."
"Yes, I will!"
"No, you won't."
I know the origin of this ridiculous argument: there were busy years during graduate school in the mid-90s when I would go on trips with him, but feel fussed about the work awaiting me when I got home And there was one year- the 95-96 school year, when it was hard to dislodge me. It was my last year of graduate school; and I was teaching a writing class at the university; and I was Interim Director of Adult Education at Guadalupe School. Why is it that I am now labeled ever after as the girl who doesn't want to go anywhere? The therapist told me that this was an example of one partner growing and changing, while the other partner remains focused on a fixed point in the past. Whatever. It's a pain.
And he's mad that I'm not getting my stuff in the basement boxed up fast enough. He has threatened to put it all in the bulk trash. Lord knows, I'd like to get it done, but it complicates things when he insists that he has to be home before I can enter the house.
"Look, if you want me to get the job done, why won't you let me work on it regardless if whether you're around? I can come in with the kids."
"No way. You may not enter my house if I'm not there."
"What do you think I'm going to do? What are you afraid I'll steal?"
"I don't trust you."
"What do you mean by that? That you think I'm going to snoop in your stuff? Rob you? What?"
"I just don't trust you. 'Cuz you're a liar - it's as simple as that."
"What did I lie to you about?"
"You told me that you were divorcing me for a variety of reasons that simply aren't true. Plain and simple. You left me for Chuck. You saw what you wanted and just took it, with no consideration for anyone else."
"Si you know there were other problems. We had had problems for years!"
"They weren't worth divorcing over. They were the same problems every married couple has. We were happy enough."
[YOU were happy enough.]
"You are forgetting. "What about all the times when I asked you if we could PLEASE just get some-"
"No. Our problems weren't serious. This is all about your selfishness. I'm hanging up now - this conversation is no longer productive."
"THERE WAS A LOT MORE TO IT!"
But he was gone.
So I was feeling low in my mind this morning. BUT! I have half an hour between dropping Sara at her school and dropping Nate at his. I figured, what a perfect time to work on boxing my stuff! Si is generally home just then, so I could go to the house for thirty minutes every day. Packing up my remaining stuff would be a great project for that time frame. Nate and I saw Simon's truck in the drive, so I knocked. No answer. Huh. I knocked again. Finally, Si opened up. He was still in his boxers. I had no idea he slept so late, now!
I explained my thoughts on the half-hour-to-kill, and after initially refusing to let me in, he eventually agreed to let me work in the basement.
I didn't have much time, but I was able to box some things. I encountered the cardboard carton in which I keep all of my diaries. As always, I grabbed one and flipped it open randomly, to see which incarnation of myself would appear. Today, it was my "college Sophomore" self: reading Dante and sweating over my statistics class. I snorted with amusement, then started guiltily. What if Simon came in here and found me reading when I should be boxing? I was putting the diary back in the box when something caught my eye: loose sheets of paper in there. I pulled them out and found myself holding a letter I had written to Simon in April of 1992, three months before we were married, but had never sent. I was living in Poland at the time - the letter was closely written on cheap, soft paper. It was very long and very sad, expressing my dismay at his last letter, which had been hurtful to me. I complained of the mixed messages he was giving me about his love for me and about our future together. I ever mailed it, which means that the moment passed, and I decided to look away from the things he had said to me.
There was always a lot more to it. My 44 year-old self looks back at my 24 year-old self and thinks, "What would your life be like now, if you had sent this letter?"
I tucked it away and opened the next box, which contained the contents of my night stand and the top of my dresser at the time I moved out. Some things I packed in a "when I have my own home again" box. Odd earrings? A small pile of my children's baby teeth? A seashell whose provenance I don't remember any more? Out. One earring with a gorgeous collection of fiery opals, I put in my "sell it" box, along with my wedding ring. A few things came with me to the apartment. There is a carved wooden box containing a bunch of loose change. I used to horde small coins in case the tooth faerie needed to make a sudden appearance. Also a little, bittie china baby that I think will be a fun addition to my wind chime I am making from junk. Same with the beads. (I knew they were there somewhere!) Ones from shell, ones from wood, African ones. I found an edition of Three Cups of Tea, adjusted for younger readers. My Running 101 book. A whale sicker from Depoe Bay, Oregon; a good photo I took of pictographs a couple of years ago and have yet to frame. My half-marathon training schedule.
There are two index cards on which I listed things that are important to me in considering a new relationship. One was my master list of what I think everyone should expect from a relationship - a reminder to me not to accept a relationship that does not offer mutual... "Loyalty, Protection, Affection, Division of Labor, Caregiving, Supportiveness, Companionship, Freedom, Honesty, Respect."
I honestly never expected to have a relationship with Chuck after I moved out. I think that hovered in the territory of "wishful thinking". I had spent a lot of time considering the world of dating, as evidenced by my many jottings on the subject. Another list seems to be about what couples need to be in accord about.
Money, parenting, sex, relationships with family and friends, religion, household responsibilities, leisure time, careers and jobs.
As I went back upstairs after boxing for 30 minutes, I smelled toast and fresh ironing. I called into the kitchen to thank Si for letting me use this time, and to ask him if I could come at the same time tomorrow.
No. Did I have any idea how rude I was? Showing up? Just knocking at the door like that? And expecting to be let in? Get out, and don't try this again. Go! Leave! Get out!
Si was furious. I felt scared for a moment. He made shooing motions with his hands and I left. The door slammed behind me. i dunno. Seemed like a "win-win" to me...
So my communion with my former selves illustrates a few points. One is that the Kate of 20 years ago was always willing to smooth stuff over, to ignore the red flags in hopes they would go away, to make it work. To write the letter, but never mail it.
The Kate of five months ago was finally aware of the wrongness of that and decided to move on. That old letter took a while to be signed, sealed and delivered; but it is clear. There was always more to it.
The Kate of five months ago was also more than prepared to live alone. To find a new partner... or not. I loved Chuck, but he was not the cause of this. I was the cause of this, because it was about time to reclaim and rebuild the person I want to be.
The Kate of this moment is still a bit screwed up, but I think all the important bits are there and can be reassembled. And Chuck is still here: with his many gifts; his intriguing and endearing flaws; his big heart.
Like I told him one evening last week, when I arrived home to find supper and a frosty gin and tonic waiting for me:
"I'm a lucky girl."
"No, I'm the lucky one."
"No, I think it's me."
"Uh-uh. It's me."
"Sorry, but you're wrong. I am the lucky one."
"Nope. Me."
No, me!"
"Me!'
"Me!"
"NO, me!"
It's my blog, so I get the last word. I'm the lucky one. Long may it last.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
One of My Many Failings
I haven't been doing well with my writing. One of the many things I seem to be struggling to transition into a new life. The list is long, but it is after midnight. Tomorrow.
Back To School Shopping
I introduced Sara to the joys of thrift shopping today. My reasons for this are two: I'm poorer than I was; and thrifting is fun. I do not like shopping much, but thrifting is more like treasure-hunting. Nowhere else will you find so many ugly teapots all in one place.
We spent $38.60 and got most of what she wants for school.
Nate is not sold, though. As we made our way toward the racks of girls' jeans, and he said, "These are old clothes, Sara."
"I know."
"Those jeans were already worn by another person. Maybe even 'commando'."
We spent $38.60 and got most of what she wants for school.
Nate is not sold, though. As we made our way toward the racks of girls' jeans, and he said, "These are old clothes, Sara."
"I know."
"Those jeans were already worn by another person. Maybe even 'commando'."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)