"Good morning to you" I say to you as I sit here reading the morning news. It's an old habit now, one expanded to take in newspapers from both coasts and the local and regional ones as well. This morning I left BBC alone, forgot all about LA and New York and just poked around in the Seattle Times, instead. But I can't dawdle, I have a busy morning staring at me in the face. I still have dishes to wash, coffee to drink, a walk to take and beans to boil. I have day's worth of yard work to do and a pot of French onion soup to make. I also have a bottle of chardonnay chilling in the fridge that's calling out my name, a few movies to pick from to watch (well, more than a few!) and a couple posts to polish up and send off into the world. In short, a full day ahead of me.
With all that up front I still woke up and thought of you, thought about your second coda, which, by being second and not really being an ending, says alot about us. I thought of the last time I saw you, that time in passing, there on the road in The Woods. I watched you wave to me as I drove past and haven't seen you since. Then I thought again about the wording in that wee passage you sent back in September of '06, by far not the last thing you wrote me but one where you defined your position, the one where you chose God over the two men who were vying for your heart. Sensible, I suppose, because that Being in our love quadrangle doesn't get a vote. Except in absentium, and His vote is only counted by you.
But I realize that this love of ours does not live a democratic society. It is very totalitarian and you are the head of state and that's just that. I know that I don't get a vote, that for me the ballot box is stuffed or closed or locked. Whatever. But that doesn't mean that I don't get a voice, even if that voice of mine is muted, but muted only because these words here are unknown to you. I know, too, that if you were ever to find these words you would wonder why I just can't set you down and turn away. I know you must wonder, too, why I just can't be "brave" like you, bring my family back into my life and suffer in silence like you do.
With all that up front I still woke up and thought of you, thought about your second coda, which, by being second and not really being an ending, says alot about us. I thought of the last time I saw you, that time in passing, there on the road in The Woods. I watched you wave to me as I drove past and haven't seen you since. Then I thought again about the wording in that wee passage you sent back in September of '06, by far not the last thing you wrote me but one where you defined your position, the one where you chose God over the two men who were vying for your heart. Sensible, I suppose, because that Being in our love quadrangle doesn't get a vote. Except in absentium, and His vote is only counted by you.
But I realize that this love of ours does not live a democratic society. It is very totalitarian and you are the head of state and that's just that. I know that I don't get a vote, that for me the ballot box is stuffed or closed or locked. Whatever. But that doesn't mean that I don't get a voice, even if that voice of mine is muted, but muted only because these words here are unknown to you. I know, too, that if you were ever to find these words you would wonder why I just can't set you down and turn away. I know you must wonder, too, why I just can't be "brave" like you, bring my family back into my life and suffer in silence like you do.
I know from our talks that in losing me you lost your right hand man.I also know from our run-ins that you still care. You know from my words and actions that I've given myself over to the fine and unsettling art of leaving you behind, that I attempted to get the family to come home, that I've done my best to find others to replace you. All of that has mattered and none of it has worked, so now I've gone a different route. I decided to just go it alone for awhile. As far as my writing here is concerned I know that I should find another way to honor our times but I look at this as a sweet form of madness, etchings on the walls of my very public cell, something that's straight out of Dickens, or a chapter or two ripped out of Corellli's Mandolin.
Like those two lovers we, too, were lovers in the old fashioned sense, and like those two lovers we were also forcibly torn apart. I suppose that's where all these posts come from, from that well spring of imagination fed from reading all too many books. Love in the Time of Cholera, The Time Traveler's Wife were just two of the many tales we read together, ones that I absorbed into my being as much as I absorbed you in the days of our times.
SO I read and write and commit myself to words, to meaningless votes, to standing by the side of the road to wave to you as you go by, to living life as I know best as God and The Detective continue to get all the good press. No matter. I know your heart and I know mine. And I felt it jump this morning when I saw that block of information posted below in the travel section of the Times, a chunk of weekend ideas that took me back to our times, to our Lake Chelan moment, to our birding thrills, to our walk in Leavenworth. We had our outdoor adventures, we had our road trips, we had our stolen moments. For that I am glad. Yeah, read all about it!
Your WHMB
Leavenworth offers fun in the sun for outdoor adventurers
Pike Place Market festival once again says "thank you" for ballot-box support
Where to find Leavenworth adventures
Ask Travel: Where to take kids for watery fun? Lake Chelan
Birders' Top Spots: Gorge stroll offers jays, woodpeckers, wildflowers and views
Like those two lovers we, too, were lovers in the old fashioned sense, and like those two lovers we were also forcibly torn apart. I suppose that's where all these posts come from, from that well spring of imagination fed from reading all too many books. Love in the Time of Cholera, The Time Traveler's Wife were just two of the many tales we read together, ones that I absorbed into my being as much as I absorbed you in the days of our times.
SO I read and write and commit myself to words, to meaningless votes, to standing by the side of the road to wave to you as you go by, to living life as I know best as God and The Detective continue to get all the good press. No matter. I know your heart and I know mine. And I felt it jump this morning when I saw that block of information posted below in the travel section of the Times, a chunk of weekend ideas that took me back to our times, to our Lake Chelan moment, to our birding thrills, to our walk in Leavenworth. We had our outdoor adventures, we had our road trips, we had our stolen moments. For that I am glad. Yeah, read all about it!
Your WHMB
Leavenworth offers fun in the sun for outdoor adventurers
Pike Place Market festival once again says "thank you" for ballot-box support
Where to find Leavenworth adventures
Ask Travel: Where to take kids for watery fun? Lake Chelan
Birders' Top Spots: Gorge stroll offers jays, woodpeckers, wildflowers and views
No comments:
Post a Comment