Life with the boys

I’m struggling with my emotions, but I don’t even know for sure how or why.  Everything about my interaction with the boys seems overpoweringly normal, even in those spots where there is friction.  But it leaves me feeling anxious and irritable.  Or maybe those aren’t the right words, I don’t know.  It’s nothing that overmasters me – I can still smile and exchange a hearty “How are you?” with my neighbor, and I know from experience that if I just let my feelings alone they will get distracted and wander off and decay in time into something else.  But it is recurrent.  And while it’s there, it disturbs me.

We’re talking about little things.  Son 2 snapping at me and speaking to me like I’m an idiot when he’s fidgeting endlessly with something and I take it out of his hands (although now that I reflect on it in peace and quiet I can see that of course he was right because I should ask him to put it down rather than grab it).  Son 1 announcing that he is going to Wife’s house Wednesday morning (12 hours earlier than planned) instead of in the evening after dinner, to help her pack the house when she has done next to nothing in the last month (although I can guess that this plan grows out of his constant willingness to lend a hand, his awareness that she really doesn’t have any idea how to face the process alone, and his basic compassion).  Son 2 making himself a greasy snack and then getting a paper towel to rest it on as he sits down at the table.

“Why didn’t you get a plate?”

“Because I was going to take it back to the bedroom where Son 1 is playing computer games, but then you were standing right there and I figured you wouldn’t like my carrying something greasy into the bedroom.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. It would be nice if you would have thought about that even withoout my standing there.”

“Would you rather I had just answered ‘I don’t know why I didn’t get a plate’?”

“Ummm, … no, I guess not.”

“OK then.”

What else?  Honestly, I can’t remember.  As I sat at the kitchen table after the boys had finished dinner, I felt really low, crazy-talk levels of low … felt, in fact, like maybe it would be better just to send them to live with Wife and not split their time between us … or alternately felt that that would be the wrong thing to do but that it would be a struggle not to.  And now, no more than an hour later – after I distracted myself by washing up the dishes and booting up my computer to write you – I can’t for the life of me remember why I felt that way.  I know that while I was sitting at the table I was trying to tease apart the components of my feelings, and that I found some sprinklings of fear or anxiety, a large dollop of self-pity, and some other ingredients that I couldn’t place.  But now I don’t even remember why I felt that way.  It’s kind of crazy.

Meanwhile in other respects they have been exemplary.  Both of them have been working at my company, and the managers they work for (not me) are consistently happy with their work.  Son 1 made dinner tonight … what’s more, he made a recipie that he himself invented last week while staying at Wife’s, just by experimenting: pork chops sauteed in onions, plus lemon and lime juice. He has taken to cooking as something he enjoys, at least insofar as it is a key to eating a variety of foods.  For example, he will regularly make himself a quesadilla or two for breakfast, where Son 2 contents himself with a peanut butter sandwich unless I feel like cooking him an omelette.

I don’t know why I’m complaining.  I can’t remember what I’m complaining about.  But my emotions are being a little volatile.  I think I had better remember that and watch them ….

An end to finery

Back in March I sent out a quote from Friedrich Nietzsche that I had recently re-found, mailing it to several friends and relatives that I thought might enjoy it.  One of these was D.  The quote ran:

“What someone is begins to show itself when his talent subsides — when he stops showing what he can do. Talent is also finery, and finery is also a hiding place.”  (Beyond Good and Evil, 130)

That was in March.  I also copied her on the e-mail I sent out announcing Plato’s birthday. [link]  But it wasn’t until July 1 that I heard anything from her in reply:

Dear Hosea,

Goodness...the quote is more enigmatic than much of Nietzsche. Humorously, I figure it must apply to you, as my demonstrated talents are fairly limited. In short, you might see through the 'so-called talent' to the genuine person pretty easily. I certainly can't claim any 'finery.'

Many changes...most importantly, I bought a new home, an artist's home, and was forced to downsize pretty drastically. I felt a good deal of sympathy for Wife after purging two thirds of my books, much of my grandmother's china, and plenty of my furniture. That said, the house is unique, with a three story miniature frontier village in the back yard and flaming red granite countertops in the kitchen. We sold the home [that she owned with her husband], and as you might suspect, it's the process of selling a home that is most fascinating.

My job goes very well; the yearbook was universally admired. My talent in this creative process lies in encouraging other more gifted individuals to contribute to the book. You might be interested to know that I commissioned in-depth profiles on "coming out" and chronic depression. Took some heat for the pro-gay story (despite my principal's support), but the girl who was brave enough to contribute her story about depression received many favorable remarks and one parent tearfully thanked me for the story...her freshman daughter has tried to kill herself three times thus far. My students and their parents were enormously kind and supportive, and the administration has been equally affirmative. It's all good.

It is good to know that you are enjoying Plato and encourage others to celebrate his birthday with a variety of ideas! ….

The most stunning material I have read recently comes from Edward Thomas:

I at the most accept

Your love, regretting

That is all: I have kept

A helpless fretting

That I could not return

All that you gave

And could not ever burn

With the love you have,

Till sometimes it did seem

Better it were

Never to see you more

Than linger here

With only gratitude

Instead of love—

A pine in solitude

Cradling a dove.

I think I understand your decision now. Yet you will always have my friendship. Perhaps someday, that will be worth celebrating.

Know that I think of you very often and wish you nothing but happiness. Without asking, I also hope Wife is doing well, and that you are enjoying a summer with Son 1 and Son 2.

Take care, be well.

D

Is it just me, or does anybody else think this letter sounds arrogant?  She claims to feel sympathy with Wife for downsizing her possessions, but of course what she feels is nothing at all like what Wife felt: D was at any rate in control of the process of downsizing, while Wife felt like we drove over her heedlessly.  I don’t say Wife was right to want to keep all the antique dust bunnies, but at least I recognize that she felt deeply victimized by D and me.

Besides, D’s new house is “an artist’s home” and “unique”.  Plus everyone at her job is supportive and thinks she’s doing brilliantly.  Maybe I’m being an old curmudgeon here, but it really sounds like all these things all mean, “Admire me!”  I wanted to be a little kinder than that when I wrote back, but I have also lost patience with simply not saying anything.  So I decided to be coy about it.

Dear D,

The opening of your letter made me smile with fond reminiscences: your staunch disclaiming of any “finery” followed by two paragraphs of pure finery was so delightfully in character that it took me straight back.

So you have a new house?  I had better ask the address.  I keep thinking that you must want that lovely photograph of yourself up in a tree, but somehow my days always end up busy and I tell myself I will mail it back “tomorrow”.  And now it seems just as well that I never sent it to the old address, as it might have gone astray.  That would have been very bad….

I’m not at all sure how to understand the poem from Edward Thomas, nor your more or less cryptic remarks immediately after it.  I almost think that you mean it as some kind of description of what happened between us, but it’s hard for me to see how that can be right.  Somehow it doesn’t sound like the poem speaks for you, although I don’t want to put words in your mouth.  But it surely doesn’t speak for me.  On my side things were a lot simpler than the subtle, nuanced feelings that Thomas spells out so delicately.  I broke off the relationship because it wasn’t working for me, simple as that.  And the more distance I have, the more facets or elements I can see that didn’t work.  In retrospect I have to smile a little ruefully that I didn’t see the bigger picture at the time; but it’s often hard to see a big picture when you are too close to it.  So all I could talk about at the time that I broke up with you was a vague unease.  Only now can I see that the vague unease was a symptom of bigger things.  I don’t want to descend into list-making so I’ll stop there, saying only that I have come to see that the things I needed out of a relationship were different from the things I was able to get from ours.  Maybe if I had been a different person (or had understood my own needs more clearly) things could have been different.  I apologize for the confusion.  I apologize that I had no idea what I needed out of a relationship … maybe only now am I starting to get a partial answer to that question.  At the same time, I have to say that I learned a lot from our relationship that I would probably not have learned any other way – and for that part I will always be inestimably grateful.   

I hope this finds you well.

All the best, ever and always,

Hosea

It’s true that I am grateful.  I certainly learned a lot of sexual techniques that I can now use to great profit with Debbie, that I would never have learned with Wife.  On the other hand, I had more than my fill of D’s hair-trigger temper or her desperate craving for flattery and ego-reinforcement.  At one point I scrolled back through the posts I wrote in this blog and realized that, while our affair lasted for four years (from late 2008 to mid-2012), I started trying to break it off after only two (November 2010).  I never knew the term “narcissism” before D explained to me how it applied to Wife; but D’s own insistence that I reflect back to her the story she chose to believe about herself made me understand that it applies to her just as strongly.

So it is no surprise that she took … let’s call it a dim view of my letter.  And I think that her reply finally brings our correspondence pretty much to an end.  Oh, she says things in it that I would love to contradict or correct, if it were critically important to me to have the last word.  But it’s easier to let her have it, and I see no profit in trying to clarify further.  She wrote me:

Dear Hosea,

Provocative, as always.

I was embarrassed by your first paragraph...I didn't see the irony until you pointed it out. Later, I realized I wasn't being dense; I don't see my home or my job as "finery".  Who I am is very much determined by what I do, and while work and possessions can never capture an entire person, they have importance and worth. Certainly the tragic life of Nietzsche offers no guidance. I suspect an average life, as mine surely is, is better for maintaining a warm, inviting home, and it is no bad thing to help others achieve their dreams in my professional life.

Perhaps this discussion about 'vanities' is enough to indicate our real differences.  God knows I have no wish for any kind of 'list' detailing the ways we were not compatible. Your "confusion" caused me a great deal of pain and anguish. If I never understand the reasons for your decision, it is because you withdrew and didn't tell me. Many times, your words and actions during the last year of our relationship were unkind and regrettable. I have no wish to re-visit them, or add to my sadness and self-condemnation….

I have wanted to mail back your thesis and the wonderful picture taken at your college graduation. Surely your sons will treasure both. I suspect the work address will be fine. You can mail back my picture to …. The rest of the gifts exchanged should remain with the recipient. I treasure yours to me and remember the joy and happiness we once shared.

Do take care; be well.

D

The boys meet Debbie

Debbie and I had talked and talked about how Son 1 and Son 2 should meet her, but in the end it was pretty simple.

I collected the boys from Wife’s house the evening of July 3, and the three of us spent the Fourth with my parents.  (Have I mentioned that they have already met Debbie … met her back in mid-June , in fact? We stopped in to visit them on the way back from our meditation retreat. My father asked me discreetly if she would be joining us for the holiday, but I said No.)  Anyway, the boys and I spent a couple days hanging out lazily with my parents and then decided it was time to come back to town.  And I asked the boys if they would like to go for a hike when we got back.

I have been trying to get more physically active lately, and hiking with Debbie has played a big part in this.  So when the boys said they’d like a hike, I suggested that “a friend” of mine would like to come along.  OK with them?  Sure, of course.  And the next morning Debbie came by my apartment to join the three of us on our hike.

We made polite chit-chat while driving to the trail-head and then the boys set off ahead of us, travelling a good bit faster than I could.  (Naturally enough: they are adolescents and active, while I’m fifty and sedentary.)  Debbie and I were careful not to kiss or hold hands except briefly when they were well out of sight.  And it was a pleasant hike.  Afterwards we were all tired and thirsty and hungry, so Debbie sprang for lunch for all of us at one of the better and tastier fast food places downtown.  She asked Son 2 a few questions about Durmstrang, which he answered a little sullenly before lapsing back into silence; and she discussed Scouting with Son 1 at somewhat greater length, since she and her daughter had both been Girl Scouts while Son 1 had spent a couple of years as a Boy Scout after graduating from Cub Scouts with his Arrow of Light.  Then when lunch was over the boys and I went back to my apartment, and Debbie took her leave.

I wasn’t quite sure how the boys interpreted our friendship.  As I said, we were at pains to behave ourselves.  Was it possible that they might have taken us to be “just good friends”?  Or was the mere fact that she is a girl enough to rule that out?  I got my answer in the mid-afternoon.  Son 2 was taking a shower, and Son 1 asked me, “So where did you meet Debbie anyway?”

“Well, …”

“Craigslist?”

“No, umm …”

“eHarmony?”

“No, we …”

“Match.com?”

“No! For Pete’s sake, we used to work together.”

“When was that?”

“Let’s see, … I guess it was before you were born, actually.”

“That must be why I’ve never heard of her before.”

“But we just ran into each other again recently.”

“Uh huh ….”

So much for the possibility that they might guess we were “just good friends.”  Hell, is it that obvious even if we don’t do anything?  On the other hand Son 1 seemed to be in good humor about the whole thing.  I never got a clear reading from Son 2, but his feelings are likely to be more complex and Debbie pointed out that he may not really know what they are yet.  He’s also less likely to say anything about them.

But, for good or ill, that line has been crossed now.  At least they have all met.  We’ll see what happens next.

Any thoughts on how to handle the next meeting?  Differently, maybe?

Property and progress, 2

Wife and I are moving forward on a couple of fronts.

Finally, after long last, Wife has turned in her Income and Expense Declaration, saying how much money she wants per month.  It’s too much, of course, but at least it’s a starting point.  Now we can begin discussing with some kinds of real numbers in front of us.

Also we got an offer on the house.  After a little fussing around we made a counteroffer which the buyer accepted.  Right now he is scheduling his inspections, to see if the place worth buying at all.  But he has already agreed not to ask us to fix anything.  The only question is whether he’ll find something to scare him off altogether.  We won’t make a lot on this transaction, but we should be able to clear the debts and have some loose change left over.  And that’s a good thing.  Cross your fingers for us.

One thing struck my notice.  Of course I realize that it’s a coincidence and all that, … but I couldn’t help counting out the days on my fingers and realizing that escrow will close just one year – pretty much to the day – since I told Wife I want a divorce.  Very ... tidy ... how these things work out!

Sex in church?

A couple weeks ago, Debbie and I almost had sex in church.  It wasn’t as racy as it sounds, but it was still kind of fun.

I think I have mentioned that Debbie and I attend a weekly meditation group.  It meets in the evening, in the sanctuary of the Unitarian church that Debbie used to attend back when she was married.  Debbie attended this church for many years, and she still knows practically everybody there.  She also (several years ago) started the meditation group that we are attending.  So as a result she usually hangs around afterwards to pick up and lock up, to turn out the lights and make sure everything is as it should be for the night.  And I hang around with her.

Anyway this one night we finished putting everything away, locked all the doors, and wound up kissing in the parking lot.  Everyone else was gone, it was quite dark out, and still we stood there kissing.  Now Debbie is very sensitive to good kissing; it doesn’t take much to arouse her and we weren’t being especially restrained or prim.  So it wasn’t long before her breathing began to get subtly heavier, and she broke off to look at me.

“You know Hosea, back in my twenties I would have invited you back inside.”

Really? I thought. What an intriguing idea.  I asked her, “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. I’m probably too inhibited these days.”

But I nudged a little more, and truly she didn’t need much nudging.  Quickly she unlocked one of the church buildings – not the sanctuary where we had meditated, but something that looked like an office or classroom – and we slipped inside.  She strictly forbade any lights, lest we be seen from the street; so we made our way to an empty spot of floor and lost our clothes in no time.

In the end it didn’t work.  I felt too rushed to get hard (and I was a little cold, honestly).  Debbie said she was probably too nervous to have come, although I can attest that she did seem to have gotten wet with no trouble.  But she called a halt when a car pulled into the parking lot.  I think it was just turning around, but it was enough to tip her scales in favor of abandoning the idea.  We buttoned up in a hurry – I got my underwear on backwards – and she relocked the building.  We both had an early morning the next day, so we drove off in opposite directions to our respective apartments.

The next day we talked and she shook her head ruefully.  “Hosea, in the time we spent we could have driven over to my apartment and made love properly.”  Maybe so, although I’m not sure.  And of course in some ways that would have been a lot more gratifying.  But somehow I don’t think it would have made such a good story ….

Talking to myself with Sister Failure

They say failure is valuable, and it is.

They say failure teaches you how to succeed.

But I don’t think so.

I have been fired.

I have been laid off.

I never learned how to hold a job forever.

But I learned that life goes on.

I learned not to be afraid of being fired. Or laid off.

I have lived on unemployment. And savings.

And the money from piecework.

And the help of family, and strangers.

I never learned how to be rich.

But I learned that I can get by until the next thing comes along.

I have held jobs that went nowhere.

I have held jobs from which the only road to promotion was to quit and work somewhere else.

I never learned how to rise to the top.

But I watch the guys who make it to the top.

And they spend their whole lives at it.

Day in, day out, they do nothing but work.

They have to work hard, because they are irreplaceable.

When they drop dead, the company replaces them. In half an hour.

And they leave behind a big pile of money that somebody else has to spend.

They never spend it because they are too busy working.

I have failed at marriage.

After many, many years of struggle.

Can it possibly have made me a better husband?

Probably not.

Bitter, not better.

But I learned that I can’t change my wife.

And I learned that I can’t endure forever.

I am only a man, not a god: my power is weak, and if you bend me too far I will break.

It is very freeing to know I am only a man.

I have failed at adultery.

The affair went faster and more urgently than my marriage.

I never learned to be a better seducer.

But I learned not to pick women that are too much like my wife.

That’s worth something right there.

I never could teach my sons to do their math homework.

I don’t know what I did teach them.

They seem to have learned something from me, but never the things I set out to teach.

I guess the only things they learned must have been the things they picked up by imitation.

By habit.

Just by being there.

The things they got by watching me.

And they saw a lot that way.

They saw me lose my temper. Many times.

And make them do stupid things. For no reason.

And argue with their mother. Endlessly. Out of spite.

Every moment of weakness and failure, those are what they saw.

What they learned from.

And what have they become? Young men, like others.

Mixing good and bad. Like others.

I never learned to be a great father.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever learned to be any kind of father at all.

What I know I learned is that children grow up in spite of you.

When you see their faults, you see a mirror.

In a flash you recognize your own faults in them.

But when you see their strengths, you gaze with awe and wonder:

“Where did they learn that?”

“How did they come to be so good and so strong?”

They didn’t get it from me.

And so I learned to be grateful.

Because whatever is good and strong in my children is a gift from God.

Maybe some people learn from failure how to succeed.

Not me.

What I have learned from failure is freedom.

Not how to succeed, but that I don’t have to succeed.

If some time I chance to succeed at this or that – by accident – OK fine.

But if I don’t – and often I don’t – I can walk away.

There’s freedom in that.

And peace.

And quiet.