Peaceful Evening

This evening is so calming. The cicadas are chirping. In Charlotte's Web, they would sing, "Summer's over, summer's over." It's a good night for reading. Mom loaned me The Guynd by Belinda Rathbone, which is about an American writer who marries a Scotsman. He has a large estate that has been in his family for centuries. The money to maintain the estate ran out sometime around WWII, but the duty to maintain it continues. She has the fortitude to see it as a place she would like to be. I really enjoy the author's strength and her ability to give herself over to the dream.

Thank you for all of your supportive comments about the situation. Sunday are the worst days for self-pity. I should just turn off the computer on Sundays and do something for people who are truly needy. The Lord's Diner always needs help. Or I should remember that the Ex has divulged information about the Hot Water Closet that would horrify her. It is about human nature. He's probably unhappy and struggling too although he looks pretty damn cheery these days. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

The intermediate crochet class is Saturday afternoon. I'm looking forward to it. I've been practicing the single stitch. Then I realized I don't remember the double or the half-double. I may have to spend the rest of the week preparing for class. I just love that I can spend all week with a hook and yarn and saying I'm studying -- as if it is virtuous. That yarn is such torture.

Gooseberry Pie

I remember picking gooseberries with my cousins. My aunt and uncle lived near a creek that was lined with gooseberries. Five of us could pick the gooseberries for what seemed to be infinity, but in reality was probably an hour. It was well-suited for our favorite make-believe game of Little House on the Prairie. Then we'd go back to my aunt's kitchen, wash the berries (which usually amounted to two cups), and make gooseberry pie. The pie is pretty tart, and the standard 1/2 cup of sugar that I add to fruit pies isn't nearly enough to cut the tartness of the gooseberry. It takes at least 2 cups of sugar. The pie should definitely be served with a scoop of vanilla ice cream -- just in case it is still too tart.

On the subject of pies, Kitty Pi is finished! The Pi dough is loose and stretchy. My assistant tested it by biting it, kicking it, and pouncing on it. He indicated his approval by crossing his paws. I cooked it in hot water for 45 minutes and stretched it over a plate to dry.

Oscar and Norah have both slept in it. Norah hops out when she sees me. She must be too cool to be seen snuggling with something woolly.

The divorce is really bothering me this week. At first, I kept going because of shock and anxiety. I've seen other women go through this, and (please forgive me) I wondered how could it take months and months to realize this person to whom you are committed and whom you still trust is not considering your best interests at all. Of course, he's not going to tell you that. Of course, it hurts him to see you hurt. But you aren't a team anymore. He doesn't have your back.

When I went to visit Atticus last week, I pulled up in front of the Hot Water Closet's (HWC) house. Her yard has never been particularly tidy, but I noticed that it had been trimmed and edged. That was the Ex's job at our house. Inside, her carpets were vacuumed and the tile freshly mopped -- another thing he did at our house. HWC never seemed to care about that before. The divorce seemed so real at that moment. I almost left because I was starting to cry.

Atticus was happy to see me. He meowed, let me hold him and pet him. The Ex wanted me to take the kitty downstairs. HWC wasn't supposed to be home for this visit, but the first floor looked suspiciously as if she had abandoned her drink and tv watching in a hurry. I took the kitty downstairs. He freaked out and howled, which makes sense. These days, whenever someone picks him up, they put him in a cat carrier and he ends up in a new house. Then I sat on the couch, put him on my lap, and he squatted and peed on my lap. He's only peed on me one other time -- the day his brother died. I felt so bad for Atticus. He wants normal as much as I do, and normal will never be the way it was even though the Ex and HWC obviously treat him like the spoiled, princely cat he is. Cat toys are strewn throughout the house.

I really cried then. Everything is so different. I'm tired of coping and I'm tired of handling it. I know I will get a second wind. I know my friends will cheer me up and work will distract me. That evening was just too much. I left.

The Ex sent an email to apologize for the cat having peed on me. The funny thing is, that incident didn't bother me. The cat was stressed out. I got his point. I belong to him. He wanted me to stay, but I didn't belong there.

The apology really stuck in my craw. He apologies for all of the inconsequential stuff. I would like some apologies for real things. While I realize it will be a cold day in hell before I get any apologies, the beginning of my suggested apology list:

1. I'm sorry I ended an eleven year marriage with a note and without discussing it

2. I'm sorry I lied to you for all of these years

3. I'm sorry I ruined your trust

4. I'm sorry I didn't stick up for you with my family

5. I'm sorry I made you wait eleven years for a child and then left (see #1)

I'm not so different from those women who continue to trust their Ex. I thought he still had loyalty to me and to what we had shared for all of those years. Imagine my surprise to have a very personal, very intimate detail about myself mentioned in casual conversation to me by a friend. Thank goodness it was Jill because I almost crawled under the table from embarrassment as in I-liked-to-died kind of moment. She understood my horror when I explained to her that to my way of thinking only two people had known that: the Ex and me. Clearly that is not the case. I thought about calling him and telling him to just shut up, but that would be silly. It would probably hurt his feelings, and he'd tell more people in the process of working through his feelings.

There are still so many wonderful things in my life that delight me, and I'm so lucky. Right after Jill's revelation woke me from my stupor, we went down to Twist. Becca, Sugar Bunny and I had decided that Saturdays were good days for spinning. Fortunately Shelly agrees. My wheel started to take up yarn again, magically. Becca's proximity does really good things for my wheel. It always works better in her presence. (She won't take any credit for it either. She's sitting so modestly in this picture; but, she's always modest.) She brought the elegant Victoria.

The lovely Jackie took time to spin. She wears the cutest clothes. They look like they'd be comfortable to wear, don't inhibit activity, and they are fetching. If we were the same size, I'd be truly jealous of her closet. She brought Sage, the cheerful spinning elf. Sage doesn't mind kneeling on the floor to work the treadle on bit. She even looked happy about it. Who needs an electric wheel when you can have an assistant like that?

All in all, it was a lovely Saturday spent with friends. Just the sort of thing a girl needs to snap her out of the doldrums.

Where I have been is where I am

Being a grown-up about getting dumped isn't working for me. Moral superiority, sobriety, and being respectable (whatever that means) suck. Maturity is still a goal. I haven't abandoned it entirely. Each little twist and turn brings me more humility and less pride. The supply of resilience is pretty dog-gone low.

I live very close to where I grew up -- within three blocks. My house is nearly the same floor plan as the house where I grew up. Sometimes I wonder if I never grew up. Maybe that's why I married the man who always said, "No." No adventure, no fun, no spending. Feeling guilty and working was very important. (See Nathaniel Hawthorne for more details.) If he said, "No" to everything, it remained a dream, and I remained the same. Sometimes I wonder why I let his veto stop me.


Last night it poured buckets of rain and this morning was very damp and misty, but I was stir crazy . Since I'm here, in the same place I never left, and I went exploring by my old high school.
The bridge has Indian and buffalo motifs to match the high school, and the work crews have spent a considerable amount of effort repairing it. Construction probably won't be finished when school begins, but it should be closer. The art work looks so different from a few feet away than it does from a car moving at 30 mph. These old relics are historical landmarks, and they are made from local materials that are specific to Wichita.


The Ex was part of the reason I was anxious and wanting to roam around the neighborhood. He visited this afternoon. The visit had been arranged one week in advance. He had some books to bring me, and he preferred to meet in public. That isn't so unusual except that we don't usually meet in public. We meet at my house. We first arranged the visit via instant messenger. He wrote this : "I have some of your notebooks." I responded: "You have my journals?" He must have sensed that I was highly aggravated by this because the display said, "The Ex is typing" for a very long time. When he finally responded, the message said, "It is school notebooks. I closed them as soon as I saw your handwriting." My confidence that he will tell me the truth is dropping.


My Ex moved into his parent's basement. I know that cannot be pleasant because his mother has superior guilt-trip skills. I also know what she thinks about his behavior because she wrote me a letter to say she hoped we would get together and save our marriage. She liked having me for a daughter. Also, she is concerned for his soul. I knew there would be no peace for him in his childhood home. I was okay with that.


When deciding where things began to go badly in my marriage has been difficult. It is like unravelling a sweater. It never really stops until the entire garment is gone. Ex has been involved with another woman although he denies it. This other woman and I have the same employer. I can go months without seeing her, but she walked by my desk last week and had an hour-long meeting at a table near my desk. It was excruciating. Thank goodness my iPod was in my purse to drown our her voice. Make believe can be a good place to go at times like this. A very understanding co-worker named her: Home Wrecking Cunt. He recommends calling her HWC for short or Hot Water Closet.


Here's how the marriage unravels:

11 years ago we were married
10 years ago he met her in grad school
8ish years ago they started an online publication together
6 years ago my mother and grandmother thought I should be concerned about the way she looked at him
2 years ago I expressed my concern and was told that I should feel more secure about myself
1 year ago Ex's best friend started saying that I would get a divorce because Ex and Hot Water Closet were having an affair
5 months ago Ex moved out
4 months ago he said they weren't dating -- they were just hanging out a lot
2 months ago we got divorced


Today he came by to bring the books and told me that he'd moved into her basement. They are roommates. Only roommates. Whatever. I feel so bitter and stupid and used. My bullshit meter is off the charts. For an added bonus, he told me that Atticus, the cat, really likes her house and really likes her. I just hate this wondering if we were ever in love, if anything was ever good about our marriage, and if I imagined it all in my head. At least he told me in person. It would have been much worse to hear it from someone else.


Thank goodness Ms. Naplover knew about the errand and knew that I had really bad vibes about why Ex was visiting. She told me to come visit after he left. I got TLC, knitting, and talking and calmed down. Her daughter is cheery and happy and excited about starting school this week. It's hard not to feel blessed with friends like that. It will get better. I believe it will get better. It's already so much better than I feared it would be.