When Mz came to stay four years ago (temporarily, supposedly), I'd thought I'd never want to live with someone again. I'd been living alone for thirteen years, happily.
But after she slept on my couch a couple weeks, I invited her to stay for real. That meant she slept on the couch for another year and a half before the landlord knocked through a wall to make her a bedroom, and she lugged home on the bus a rolled-up mattress.
At the time I met her––first online on a Shatner fansite, then in person walking the Camino across Spain––I'd thought I'd never love anyone new again after my mother had killed herself nine years earlier.
It hadn't been a Garboesque hand-to-forehead declaration,
"I shall never love again!"
Love simply looked like too much work, like digging a garden in a beaten-down yard, and then all the labor of planting, weeding, watering . . .
I didn't have the emotional oomph to want a garden, even.
But this wasn't like gardening. She was like the flash of sunlight off the bell of a tuba in a marching band.
Now that she's moving out, I rather [secretly] wish I could live with someone I love who loves me.
I think of my friend Jill who's getting married in a couple weeks after being single for thirty years. (That's the wedding I'm making 100 German chocolate cupcakes for.)
She says she can't believe how nice it is to live with someone who cherishes you.
I'd like that, maybe. I have the energy for it now. But what sort of human would that be? A lover? A husband-type?
And how do you locate such a one? Dating?
I am not inclined . . .
But after she slept on my couch a couple weeks, I invited her to stay for real. That meant she slept on the couch for another year and a half before the landlord knocked through a wall to make her a bedroom, and she lugged home on the bus a rolled-up mattress.
At the time I met her––first online on a Shatner fansite, then in person walking the Camino across Spain––I'd thought I'd never love anyone new again after my mother had killed herself nine years earlier.
It hadn't been a Garboesque hand-to-forehead declaration,
"I shall never love again!"
Love simply looked like too much work, like digging a garden in a beaten-down yard, and then all the labor of planting, weeding, watering . . .
I didn't have the emotional oomph to want a garden, even.
But this wasn't like gardening. She was like the flash of sunlight off the bell of a tuba in a marching band.
Now that she's moving out, I rather [secretly] wish I could live with someone I love who loves me.
I think of my friend Jill who's getting married in a couple weeks after being single for thirty years. (That's the wedding I'm making 100 German chocolate cupcakes for.)
She says she can't believe how nice it is to live with someone who cherishes you.
I'd like that, maybe. I have the energy for it now. But what sort of human would that be? A lover? A husband-type?
And how do you locate such a one? Dating?
As they say:
I am not inclined . . .
Maybe a lovely new friend will drop from the sky.
If not, I will be happy living alone. After all, I know how to boil potatoes.
____________________________
Moomin cartoons by Tove Jansson
I'd love to have your recipe for potato salad, Fresca.
ReplyDeleteI was going to use that mantra from Field of Dreams, but that didn't feel right. I think what I mean to say is closer to the zen thing about when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. (Aw, hell - just spit it out, Martha!)
Now that your heart is open to Love again, the one who'll love you and cherish you in return will appear. Just keep yourself open to the probability.
Letting yourself love is, as you suggest, a lot like gardening. You've done most of the weeding and have tilled the soil; your field is ready.
(PS: I like the clothing you made your toys - especially the rabbit's belt, so chic.)
“She was like the flash of sunlight off the bell of a tuba in a marching band.”
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful compliment!
Here’s to sunlight and marching bands.
When you have love in your heart, how can you help but see it everywhere? It's the filter through which you see the world. Occasionally gets clogged, but a good rinse and everything starts flowing through again.
ReplyDeleteI've taken that too far, haven't I?
(Z - not as bad as mine, by a long shot! :) )
ReplyDeleteCROW: Thanks for your encouraging words!
ReplyDeleteI don't exactly have a recipe for potato salad---I just add to boiled potatoes whatever flavorful veggies I have on hand (red bell peppers, celery, green olives), maybe some boiled eggs, and a mustard-vinaigrette dressing, (again, with whatever's on hand--maybe balsamic or cider vinegar, but the plainest white vinegar is fine by me).
If I have them, I do love capers too.
How 'bout you? Do you have a potato salad recipe?
I LOVE hot German potato salad, and have never once made it.
MICHAEL: I saw the sun on a marching band tuba the summer Marz moved here and the thought actually came to me, "That's like Marz."
I must watch The Music Man again. The end makes me cry (happy tears).
ZHOEN: Having recently cleaned the a/c filter, I'd say your metaphor is pretty apt!
I like boiling my potatoes in the microwave.
ReplyDeleteI don't have a microwave (I deemed it too big in my tiny kitchen).
ReplyDeleteFrex = Fresca