remarriage of widowed people

Back from Vacation


 

I am back from vacation as promised. I didn’t really go anywhere nor did I do much by way of organizing or creating a system for order in my life as I thought I would. Basically, I just took a week off. Which is okay. A person needs to do that every now and then. It’s not like blogging is a real job though I must admit I enjoy it more than any real job I have ever had and put more time and thought into it than Idid my last months teaching. Truthfully, I did accomplish quite a bit. My daughter is registered for kindergarten, ballet and is fully supplied, outfitted and raring to go. I tackled the immigration paperwork and have just the medical exam, photo id’s and photographic evidence of the “genuine” nature of my marriage to complete/collect. And in case you were taken aback by the “photographic evidence” part, let me assure you that while it is tempting to take the Canadian immigration authorities literally, I am not. The pictures are a collection of shots, some of which are here on this site, that simply depict our wedding, trips we have taken, and those ordinary celebrations and events in our lives that we all have.

 

We decided on a vehicle. The Chevy Equinox. Rob’s daughters didn’t exactly laugh at our choice but they did insinuate that it was a lame, middle-aged one. That’s okay too. I am middle-aged. In my mind this puts me beyond the need to be cool. I am above it, as I would tell my students. Most of the choices I make anymore are weighed from a viewpoint that puts little stock in being trendy and doesn’t see measuring myself against others as productive or healthy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We celebrated Rob’s birthday. Katy and I threw him a little party complete with decorations and cake, and then later that evening Rob and I met the older girls for dinner in the city. We went to a new place. Tiny and, I guess, chic. The food was excellent and like most little hole in the wall places, the portions were not American-sized but rather took into account what a normal person can realistically fit into their tummies. While we were waiting for the girls to arrive, I noticed a couple just across from us who were obviously waiting for additional dining companions too. They were younger than Rob and I, maybe in their early thirties. Married because I noticed rings. And sitting next to each other with their backs to the wall as though they were two strangers waiting in a doctor’s office. Not touching, Not talking or even appearing to notice the other, but lost in some far away thoughts. I wondered how long they had been married and why she looked so angry and he seemed resigned. It was interesting to me. Rob’s hand was on my knee and our legs were touching from hip to knee, and even though we were both looking at the menu, I was fully aware of him and the look on his face indicated that his thoughts were about as far away as the menu on the table.

 

What else? We watched DVD’s. ElizabethTown and American Dreamz and kept the streak of movies with death as a theme or reality alive for another week. Rob made more progress on the back 

landing. We may actually have the new doors

 in soon. And, I got my hair done. Went to a

 salon/spa recommended by a new friend. The

 stylist was good but like most people here 

when they find out I am from the states, he 

had questions. His were political and I wonder 

what happens to Americans abroad when they 

are asked about our country’s politics and they 

haven’t any answer because the majority of my

 fellow Americans don’t think much beyond the 

sound bites they are fed. 

 

All in all it was a pretty good vacation, but it’s nice to get back to writing. Not that I didn’t write. I finished my first short story. It’s a tiny science fictionish piece that I started a couple of months ago. It still needs tweaking, but I have close to 3,000 words and I got a thumbs up from Jordan, so I am pretty proud of myself. I am like most writers in that I need to be read in order to be happy. I am not the Emily Dickinson type who writes only for herself. I am shameless in my need to be read.

 

So, back day early and hopefully still having an audience. 

 

You’re Radiant


One day last week while we were cleaning up after lunch, Rob surprised me with “You look radiant.” And followed it up with, “I hope you’re not pregnant.” He was teasing about the being pregnant thing, but he wasn’t wrong about the radiance. All last week I felt this inner fire and joy. Sometimes all the stars align and everything seems to be in its place and you can’t remember the last time life was so perfect. Of course life isn’t perfect, ever. Even the best of times have their moments when life’s little details aren’t so little, and everything plus the kitchen sink mounts up with such an unrelenting steadiness of pace that you can almost predict the exact moment the tipping point will be reached. Almost. 

 

This week Rob noted that the radiance in my eyes and demeanor was on the retreat. For no reason and too many reasons all at once. None of them worth burdening my blog with, though my dear husband patiently listened to each one and offered arms and shoulders and many kisses in his campaign to restore radiance. Mindless radiance though is for brides, pregnant women, and very small children. Categories I don’t fall into.

 

Tonight as I was starting the pancakes for supper, Rob arrived home with an armful of roses. He’s a Virgo. They don’t give up easily. Actually, they don’t give up at all. As the pancakes burned to the griddle, Rob and I smooched in blissful ignorance, but later I pondered the question of radiance, wondered  what I look like radiant as opposed to not, and thought back to just a bit earlier in the day as I navigated the Avalanche around Sherwood Park (with a tiny assist from OnStar) and how wonderful that felt, and I decided that radiance should be mindful, a purpose even. It shouldn’t be the emotional equivalent of your Sunday best but worn everyday for no reason at all but to elicit queries and compliments.

The House’s Wife


During the first season of Star Trek: The Next Generation (a truly awful affront to die hard Trekkies in the opinion of my husband, and I whole-heartedly concur) there is an episode where Picard and his crew find themselves saddled with the descendants of a group of space colonists after their planet is threatened with solar flares. They come to discover that the expedition that founded this colony had a sister ship that was lost, leading Picard to search for them in hopes of finding a new home for these refugees who are now setting out to settle one of the Enterprise’s landing bays. His search leads them to a planet of clones, descendants, of sorts, of the missing second ship and it’s occupants. The clones are suffering from “replicative fading” and will die out without fresh DNA  infusions into their society which they try to unsuccessfully steal from the Enterprise crew. At the end of the episode, Picard unites the long separated groups after realizing that each can help the other with their problems. The first group  by “loaning” their DNA through reproduction, and the second by offering a new planet to settle on. What I remember the most about this episode is the scene at the very end when it is revealed that the women in both groups will have to engage in polygamous marriages in order to keep inbreeding at bay. Reverse polygamy by the way, not the kind that is so often forced upon females by religious groups as man and harem, but a woman with multiple husbands.

 

This episode came to mind when I was reviewing my present situation. I am a polygamist. I am Rob’s wife, and I am the house’s wife. I know for a fact that I find the former more satisfying than the latter. My relationship with Rob is a give and take, whereas the house takes. Oh, I know that some would argue the house gives too….in its own way. Shelter. Warmth. Safety. But does it have a choice really? What it takes in time, sweat, and Rob…. from me doesn’t make it’s contributions seem as great. In some ways, Rob is more of the house’s bitch than I am. Where it expects near constant cleaning from me, it demands structural upkeep from him that can be downright hazardous. Tonight for example he is replacing the back landing. Masonry needed to be removed as well as framing and floor. While the house passively observes, Rob saws and hammers, dodging exposed nails and his own efforts too judging from the ripped shirt and the bruised elbow he is confident will bring much by way of sympathy and consolation later on. Ah, to be known so well already.

 

I think the house suspects I don’t love it as much as I do Rob. It was an arranged marriage after all, not the love match Rob and I have. I guess it would be hard to live with the knowledge you will always be second best. Still I do my best to give the house what it needs. It should feel better knowing that I clean it more than I ever cleaned the last house I lived in. Truthfully, I have had a deep fondness for this place from the first night I walked in. Disorganized and in as much need of purging as where I was living at the time, it still said “home” to me and welcomed me. Ghosts and all, I knew I would love this place and I do. But like any polygamist, I have my favorite mate and the house will just have to learn to adjust.