Remember last week when my world was covered with ice and snow? I just got back from a jog around the neighborhood in shorts and a tee shirt, proving that if there is a god she has a sense of humor. It seems that the week has been a microcosm version of the winter of my discontent made glorious summer. My husband had angry words for me, undeserved for a change, and they fell like winter over our hearts. We were forced to actually communicate for a change, as this was not something that could be sucked inside with a pretended forgiveness and left there to fester. So after much conversation we had a thaw, a long warm breath that touched us both. He said the word, “sorry”, and while I have not kept count of the times it has been spoken by him during our relationship, I know I would not need more than one hand to keep track. The weatherman says this false spring cannot last, but do not tell the daffodils. Like me, they know sometimes it is best to ignore the brown and grey world and just toss their lovely yellow heads about in the sunshine for an hour.
Ah dearheart, he's probably jealous of me, and well he should be,as I have never hidden how I feel about you. To defend the man, I direct you back to Valentine's Day and the beautiful pendant and the lovely red shoes.
ReplyDeleteDon't tell him about the e mail where you told me he was the only man for you, that's our secret, and I'm still getting over it. It's a good thing I can outrun him and I have a 3 hour headstart.
Were our places reversed, I'd be jealous too.
CEO: Yes, of course, and at least we're talking. I hate the angry silence. I suppose it's not such a bad thing that after 35 years with me he's still jealous.
ReplyDeleteWait, what secret?
I don't tell everyone what is in the e mail I send and receive, sorry. So, I'd never repeat how I sent you e mail praising your beautiful jewelry, and that you and I happen to be exactly the same age, and got into a conversation about long marriages, which we both share, and how we talked about how much we loved our spouses and how it was so different from the earlly days of the marriage, so much stronger, so different. Or the night of the drunk e mail, where you really went wild about how much you loved him, and I'll leave it there, and then send me an apologetic e mail in the morning. I won't go ANY farther even now.
ReplyDeleteI mean, you do realize that he still is also just as passionate about you as you are about him; the two of you don't seem to have good ways to tell each other, or he's misreading or needlessly worrying about you, or something. However you diagnose it, it's a communications problem, and you can solve those with angry silence. Sorry, that's counter-indicated in the playbook.
Not that I have an opinion, naturally. But if I didn't like you, and him by extension, I wouldn't have bothered to write this much and stick my nose in. This is something that is in BOTH of your best interests to work out amicably.
You know where to find me.
Ah, I am a bachelor so I may never know the peaks and troughs of married life--but I am sure all things will be as they should.
ReplyDelete"The weatherman says this false spring cannot last, but do not tell the daffodils"--A poet whispered to me once, about daffodils when we were riding the train to Georgia. He told me that they signified death--perhaps he acknowledged their frailty? Eh, maybe he was drunk.
Brilliant post my dear!
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ReplyDeleteClay I have been remiss in visiting you. I have let complications in my life intrude. Hopefully I will be able to catch up on everything in the universe over the long weekend. A poet on a train to Georgia...hum... how many lives have you lived my dear?
ReplyDeleteEnthusiasts of the films of Polish director Krzysztof Kieslowski (Blind Chance, Dekalog, The Double Life of Véronique, Three Colours Trilogy, etc) are invited to drop by my chatroom at the Brasserie Alizé on the anniversary of the director’s death, this coming Friday evening, 13 March 2009, from around 1800 GMT. Please pass on the invitation to others and hopefully see you there!
ReplyDeleteI remember the poem from "The Outsiders", Frost? Anyway, craziness seems to be the flavor of the day doesn't it?
ReplyDelete