It has all come down to this weekend: Here we are, just the two of us, left to our own devices. Isolated, no social entertainment outlets (because really, the town bar is not our scene), no video rental store even. We had always remarked how nice it would be when it was just the two of us in Ross River. “Oh, what time we’ll finally have for each other.” Friday when the work whistle blew, it was on. The moment had arrived. Could we indeed last an entire long weekend, just he and I, without driving each other crazy?
Things could have gone quite cranky. I mean, I had a list of long weekend to-do’s: Replace hallway light bulb, wash truck inside and out, bake a pumpkin chocolate cake and grill a beer chicken. He gets nervous when I make lists, because he knows if he doesn’t look busy, he’ll be assigned a task sooner or later. And then the “you nag me” “well you don’t do anything around the house” arguments begin.
They never did! Saturday we stayed in bed as long as we could, finally letting our growing puppy lie in bed between us. When we did rouse, we made a slow breakfast and decided it would be a nice day to take a drive and a picnic lunch. He was patient as I asked him repeatedly to stop driving and let me get out to take pictures. I cursed him out when he didn’t believe I saw mountain goats, but apologized when I realized he didn’t see them because- duh!- he was driving. We had an awesome picnic lunch by the shallow lake melt, and enjoyed doing something new together while holding hands and stuff.
He helped me clean up after baking my cake and he got supper started. We watched Hitch on TV and laughed together. When he became bored with the movie, he did his own thing and that was that. We laughed at each other for things you all probably would not find funny. But that’s exactly what makes it funny, and kind of special for us, it’s like our own language, our inside jokes that we know only the other will appreciate.
I washed the truck Sunday morning and he was quite firm in letting me know the day was a write-off for him: International hockey and NHL playoffs, of course. When that was over we went to the gym together and though this happens quite regularly, I enjoyed watching him workout. It was kind of like seeing him through different lenses. Noticing him.
We ate supper and he complimented my cooking and thanked me, saying, “That was really good food, I like it when everything tastes good.” As opposed to when it does not? I’ll take the underhanded compliment as it was meant, with kindness.
Even though we are spending the weekend doing things quite in the ordinary, it is just us, free to sleep in, enjoy all of each other, and I love that I can just get up walk over and snuggle into him anytime I want. Six months in and I know that the married life is definitely for me, I’m loving it.
He knows when to hug me and when to let me be.
He knows where to draw the line and he knows when to concede.
He knows how I like the bed made and to put away DVDs,
He knows why I love him and I’m happy he married me.

Labels: love, marriage

I don’t purport to know what it is to be in anyone’s shoes, only to use their circumstances and evaluate what I would do.
I know you’re supposed to stand by your man, and I resign myself to that. I’m fully prepared to be crazy and supportive of husband should he come up with hair-brained ideas or crises, like absolutely needing to pack up and RV across the country or something. I’m down for that. I can provide him logic and play devil’s advocate but really, I’m along for his life’s crazy adventures as well as my own.
I know he’ll count on me when he’s down and when working as a cop starts to take a toll on him, I am more than happy to be the hug he needs at the end of the day. I’ll stand by him if he finds himself on the bottom of a slippery hill, daunted and feeling hopeless. I’ll be there when he wants to crawl in a cave and die.
I’ll be there when he’s on top of the world, under pressure, confused and sick. It’s a partnership and I fully intend to hold up my end of the bargain.
But if he were to renegotiate the terms of that agreement, or violate them without my knowledge, I’m not sure what I’d do. If he were Elliot Spitzer this morning, telling the world he had paid for sex from a call-girl ring under investigation, I’m not sure I’d be beside the podium. Dude is a father of three and while I know being a politician makes him no less human than anyone else, I wonder not what he was thinking (the answer to that, my mother would say, is that he wasn’t) but rather what she is thinking.
What is she thinking standing beside him, following behind him?
Of course I don’t understand what she’s feeling or thinking, I have nothing close to which I can compare shared experiences. But I ask the question: Why is she not holed up with some Kleenex and sweats? Or arranging for their house’s locks to be changed? Or, if she’s going to compose herself and keep a stiff upper lip, why not use that for the good of her children instead of supporting the cheating husband? And not just cheating, but like high-priced prostitute in business trips?
Will she look back on this time and regret standing next to him?
Politics, and especially the life of a politician’s wife, is about keeping up appearances to earn the confidence of constituents. What does it say when she, a modern woman, stands beside her husband as he admits to the world he is rather scum baggy?
I am disappointed in that. Not in her, because I don’t know her. But disappointed that he still gets a wife by his side after doing all that, and that she would model unconditional devotedness to the world. At what cost? Only she will know.
While there are few limits to my own commitment to the husband, and I hope they are never tested, I hope that I can model self-assuredness, confidence and of course love should the situation so require it.
Today, I am glad that their news is a distant headline to my own life and experience. I will drive home after work and feel comfortable in my loving house and share a good hug with him. Understanding of course that a shared human experience dictates the world we live in, I do hope that family comes out of this healthy and happy, one day.

Labels: love, marriage, opinion

We met her with a triangle haircut, she was short and quiet and just small. Small voice, small hands, but though she was quiet, she was fun and smiled at you when you smiled at her, and had really fun ideas of games to play at recess.
She joined us in our elementary school folly, playing hide and go seek, truth or dare and eating all the candy we could from our pillowcase sacks after trick-or-treating.
We grew together, us in height, she in character. We went through that god-awful white eyeliner phase in Grades 8 and 9, we had photo shoots in our basements and backyard on our Grade 6 graduation present cameras.
She always wore seed-bead homemade necklaces and when we did get her to laugh, it was big and blaring and her usually squinty eyes were wide.
Her basement held the best big-party sleepovers: Six or so of us preteen skinny girls laughing and doing makeovers, listening to Dance Mix 98 and Spice Girls CDs. I think our Grade 7 Spice Girls party was in her basement. She was the quiet but beautiful Posh Spice.
She went out with a cute boy, whose garage band even wrote a song dedicated to her. It was an awful song, but aren’t all songs by Grade 7 garage bands? She loved it, but tried not to let it show. She played the flute beautifully, and sang with just the same airy, steady voice. Although few knew, because her quiet demeanor kept this feat hidden. When she did sing in public at our high school talent shows and musicals, it was usually a part of a group or choir.
She played a beautiful bobby soxer in “Leader of the Pack,” and though she may not have stood out, she was our friend and we cheered for her because we knew she was good.
She had a best friend who I like to think brought out the best in her. She became less quiet, (though by no means loud) let herself enjoy shopping at the suburban mall and began to believe she was a good performer. She was, but of course, it’s one thing to be good and another to know it.
The two of them promised to move to Hollywood to be big famous stars. They weren’t like the other junior high girls who said they’d be singers or actresses “when they grew up”. Oh no, they were going to do it.
After Grade 8, her family moved to Texas. We wrote back and forth letters with fuzzy and scratch-n-sniff stickers all over the envelopes. We wrote about the parties we started to drink at, the boys we started to kiss and the dramas of being 15 and awkward. I don’t think she kept up with her flute lessons, but she did keep acting on stage, signing and dancing for whomever would cast her at the small-ish town. Every once in awhile, we’d give her a call, usually around a table on new years’ eve or during the summer, lying around our friends’ backyard pool. She visited once or twice, and commented on how cold the summer nights were here, but other than climate, her changes were gradual.
She was more beautiful than before, a little more self-assured, a little more willing to take the crazy high school risks that I lived for.
We got infrequent updates on what plays she was in, on her preparation for prom and college. We did the same, branching off to different schools and area codes.
Nowadays, we hear from her once in awhile through e-mail, or her once best friend. She lives in LA and is still trying to make it. That sounds like she won’t, I know. I believe she can. I also know, though, that it’s not always about how good you really are. They call it a break for a reason, right?
I wonder about her. I wonder if she has a good girlfriend with whom she can still have sleepovers and talk to about the boys she kisses, although these days I guess that’s her fiancé, if the grapevine is correct.
I wonder if she’ll keep going for her dream. Her Grade 7 dream she has chased for so long and all the way to Hollywood. I wonder if she’ll just resign herself to being a wife and tending a house and being OK with that. If there’s any bit of junior high her still around, then she’s built for something bigger. But, like I said, she’s quiet in nature and though powerfully talented by now, I wonder if she’ll let that be her guiding force. The ring on the finger can pack a strong pull. And who can make life plans when that involves waiting tables while waiting for a break?
If she’s reading this, I hope she knows I still think about her often and wait to see her name on a screen sometime. It’s a matter of time, I know it. A matter of time, and who’s to know if she’ll wait it out.

Labels: career, high school, marriage

Labels: love, marriage, wedding