Our television, stereo, and all related electronic components are ensconced in an antique wardrobe we bought eons ago at a shop in North Carolina, when we first moved there. It is now an Oregonian wardrobe and it fits right in. In fact, barely visible on the two front door panels are faint traces of what look to be the shadows of peeled-off leaf decals. I’ve always imagined them to be, say, maple leaves from Canada or Maine, but the possibility is just as great that some teenager from the 60s really-really liked his mary jane. If so, then yes, this cabinet belongs right here in the Great Northwest. Nestled more or less between its soul sisters Washington and Colorado, Oregon was THIS close to legalizing marijuana, as those states did. Maybe next time. I know our little family voted for it.
Anyway, our cat Horatio loves to perch on the top of this cabinet and has been somewhat at a loss since we rearranged the living room two days ago. I put a stair-stepping bookcase next to it but he hasn’t caught on yet, even with my help. I think the problem is that he’s used to approaching it from the other side. He’s confused, poor guy. I told a friend awhile back that we build the temple to fit our gods and lawdy it’s true: every time I move something I think, “Weell, will Horatio be okay with this?” I won’t be completely comfortable with our new arrangement until he is.
So, today is Scott’s and my anniversary–28 years. It’s weird thinking that I’ve been married longer than I was single, but for me, that’s only a concept and doesn’t feel ‘real.’ I’ve never been a person to live in the past, dredge it up, tell its stories, or even think about it except as it comes unbidden at odd intervals. Reality for me is more and more about the present moment, so things in my past, even my recent past, tend to have dreamlike elements and wisp away into insignificance, though of course they shaped me and were significant in that regard. Just not significant to my Now. Neither Scott nor I are the same people we were when we got married, but thankfully we’ve managed to remain, mostly, on the same page throughout our time together, and I appreciate him more than I can say. He has forever been my greatest cheerleader and support system and I’m so grateful for him. It feels good to be walking together at a steady pace through middle age, on the other side of some deep struggles. We’ve found our sea legs on the companion-ship.
I’ve been sad the past few days because Jess and Amber broke up recently and I hate to see my son hurting, though he has a remarkable outlook and is weathering the storm amazingly, considering. I haven’t talked to Amber yet so don’t know how she’s doing. It sucks. He’s now working on setting up life for himself, which on the one hand is excellent because it’s really propelling him forward on his path, but on the other hand is very painful because he’d invested the last three years in life with another person and now that’s all gone.
Again, not all gone in the sense that it had no significance. But all gone in the sense that it’s no longer happening now, where it matters. There is some comfort in the notion that losing someone you love is on the Universal Top 5 Accelerated Means to Stupendous Personal Growth list, as it shakes you to your very core and knocks you off your axis so you have to find a new way to survive. Losing a beloved has you scrambling for a new perspective. It’s not quite next to being forced by rebel soldiers to hack your parents to death with a machete and boil them for dinner, which some children in the Sudan have had to do, and which probably lands at least at #2 on the list. But it’s still up there. Mostly because everybody who’s ever lived and ever will live has gone or will go through it at some time. That’s a given.
Quick veer off-topic: is anyone else down with the flu that’s epidemically sweeping the nation? Wow, it has kicked our butt here, personally and statewide. I’m working on my second week of sickness now and while I can tell I’m getting better, progress is sloow. It’s been bronchitis in our town, and my chest hurts and I have these monumental coughing fits that rattle my bones and absolutely exhaust me. Now I can imagine what old-timey TB patients used to have to deal with, minus blood on the handkerchief. Pardon me while I retire to the fainting couch with my smelling salts. I have the vapors.
Love love! May you all be well.