The beautiful mistake

When Sweet Hubby retired, he decided to take ceramics classes at the nearby community college.  After decades spent in the digital, ethereal world of computers, he wanted to stir up the artistic side of his brain, to work with his hands, work with something tactile and real.

As with everything he does, he was immediately masterful in this new craft, and as a result of his several semesters shaping clay, we now have stacks and piles of large plates, smaller plates, bowls of every size, a soap dish, a syrup pitcher, and all sorts of urns and figurines.  One of my lifelong desires has been to have my home full of things that are unique, hand crafted, and beautiful, so naturally I'm am filled with joy every day as I serve our meals on one-of-a-kind dishes.

One of my favorites of his pieces is a salad-sized plate glazed in shades of earthy white, light blue, and teal.  Some of the teal glaze ended up cracking a bit and pulling away from the clay as the plate was fired, leaving some bare spots and a slight lumpiness on one side.  SH hadn't meant for this to happen and so thought the plate was not a success, but it is this supposed mistake that makes this plate my favorite.  There may be an element in this of feeling especially drawn toward the runt in a litter of puppies, or perhaps it's that this 'mistake' proves that the plate couldn't have been commercially made.  Either way, I just love this piece that is not quite right and so all the more special and lovely.

When I noticed my fondness for this one plate, it got me thinking, naturally enough, that perhaps it is true for all of us that the parts of ourselves we consider ugly or mistaken or different or broken may be the most special parts of ourselves, the parts that make us unique and are most memorable in the eyes of others.  Susan Sarandon, for example, says she spent her adolescence squinting because she hated her enormous eyes.  But it is those large, soulful eyes that make her face so memorable.     

I wish I could say to every kid who has a crooked tooth, a birthmark, big ears, a lisp, or any other physical distinction she feels makes her unattractive, that what she is wishing away in her prayers may very well be the part of her that is most distinct, even most adorable.  I wish I could remember that for myself, that the parts of myself I want to fix may be the me-est parts of me and are to be celebrated instead of polished smooth or hidden.  

A fortunate absence of butterflies

I'm reading a book about romance.  Not the courtly, chaste, hand kissing kind.  This is about passion, infatuation, ecstasy, when you are wildly attracted to someone and, glory of glories, (s)he is attracted to you.  The butterflies in your stomach kind of passion, when your guts turn into hot water and run down your legs, you are dizzy, can't think about anything but your beloved and how tingly topsy-turvy light- headed you feel.  When sparks fly between the two of you and your erotic chemistry turns you giddy and soft and hard in all the right places.  When the world is yours and the future seems nothing but endless promise and possibility.

Sweet Hubby and I never had that.  The first time we met was at a conference and consisted of not much more than "I liked your work" "Thank you very much".  I had another boyfriend so wasn't looking, and had to leave immediately for the plane home.  We had one dinner together a bit later when SH came to my city for work, but I still had that other boyfriend, and, even though I enjoyed our conversation, I still didn't feel any particular fire for the man who became my SH.

Our courtship started not too long after that dinner, and was conducted exclusively by phone and email.  We had long conversations, revealing ourselves to one another a bit at a time, diving deeper and deeper into the other's soul and mind.  By the time we finally got together as a couple, I already knew that we would be together forever.

And then we had our first kiss.  A very nice kiss, lovely and warm.  But no sparks, not much chemistry, no butterflies.  In an instant I weighed what it would mean to give up this magnificent partnership to hold out for the hope of ecstasy, and decided I would go for the best man I'd ever known, even if it meant there might not be much sizzle.  He is wonderfully affectionate, and that goes a long way toward satisfying the hunger for sex.

Now, 15+ years later, I'm having the best, deepest, wildest, noisiest orgasms of my life.

I have come to think that a lot of romantic relationships get into trouble (and this is not just theory but based on my own long history of dating) because so many of them begin with all that heat and fire, which eventually, inevitably begins to fade.  Then one or both of the partners thinks "What's wrong?  Something's wrong.  Why doesn't it feel as good as it did?  Why does she suddenly have flaws?  Why has he started to annoy me?  Where's that chemistry?  I guess (s)he's not the one after all."

SH and I got it backward, and thank goodness for that.  We started with little chemistry, and no infatuation at all.  We didn't love the other for the way we made each other feel.  We loved each other for who we are, for how well we got along.  Our sizzle came more from sharing jokes, appreciating one another's prodigious intellect, discovering and coming to understand more of each other's psyche and history.  Instead of bursting into flower immediately, our passion grew slowly, with more warmth than fire at first.  Instead of fading, it has continued to blossom as we have learned each other bodies and souls.

Infatuation is great, and I enjoy remembering all those many instances of it in my youth.  I just wish I had learned sooner that it is not necessarily the foundation for what I was really looking for; it can't be counted on to last and it is not to be confused with actual love.  I am so glad I opted for love, thinking I was giving up the zsa zsa zsu.  Now I have both.  How lucky can one person be?

Dad and Mom

Dad was a man of many moods, and some of them were not fun to be around.  He certainly had his fine traits.  He was honest and smart and handsome and had a wacky fascination with horror films, and with movies in general.  (According to him, he started drinking martinis because William Powell in "The Thin Man" made them look so debonair.)  But I remember a lot of my childhood as a time of tension, wondering if Dad was in a good mood or a sour one, if I needed to tiptoe or could dance.  Because he was not a man who could talk about himself (I don't remember a single time he said how he was feeling, either physically or emotionally), I didn't know what were the driving forces in his life, didn't know what he was up against nor what he thought of himself.  Because I didn't understand him, I took his moods personally.  It took me lots of unpacking later in life to see him as a person, someone who was doing his best and simply didn't have the vocabulary to express himself more clearly and lovingly.   

Mom, on the other hand, was sweetness itself, easygoing, cheerful, kind and loving.  I used to wonder how she could have made such a happy marriage with someone like Dad.  I know I couldn't, mostly because I'm too much like him.  I find myself wishing sometimes that she had married an easier man, a man more able to express his love, a man more affectionate and happy.  I keep wondering what her life might have been like if she had married someone else.  

But it had to be her who married Dad.  Not many women, maybe one in eight million, could have made a happy marriage with him.  If he had married a woman who criticized him, or asked for more from him, or tried to make him talk, I believe he would have been terribly unhappy, and his worst traits would have been exacerbated.  I can imagine him sinking into depression and even worse alcoholism.  He needed someone with Mom's temperament, her patience and sunniness, her compliance.  She was the Belle to his Beast.  She alone could see the handsome Prince inside of him.  She alone could love and adore him as he wrestled with his very private demons.  So I just have to believe, or hope, that she was as happy as she seemed, that she had found her own Sweet Hubby.

Not knowing what to say

I had a lovely Zoom recently with my beloved sister-in-law.  She has terminal cancer, so naturally some of our conversation was about about how she is, how both of us are, wrapping our minds around the idea of a world without her in it.  She spoke of how difficult it has sometimes been to talk to other people about - it feels weird and sort of blunt to say it outright, but it would be foolish and forced to talk around it or use a lot of euphemisms, so here it is - about her impending death.  Too often the other person ends up making the conversation about how they are feeling, how the news has affected them, how sad and sorry they are, so that she ends up taking care of them instead of the other way around, which can be exhausting.

She knows that I understand at least some of what she's saying because I told her about a letter I wrote not too long ago to the people in my life.  I haven't sent it, and I don't exactly know how I will convey it when it becomes relevant; maybe I just needed to write it for my own sake.  It's about the, shall we say, the etiquette I would like my friends and family to follow should Sweet Hubby die before me, which I expect would knock me out of orbit for quite a long time.  The gist of the letter consists of "Don't contact me nor visit unless you know for certain that you will be able to be with me exactly as I am, with whatever depth of grief I'm experiencing.  I know you love me but please stay away if there is any chance at all that you will feel compelled to try to make me feel better or will make your visit about how bad you are feeling.  It's all right for you to bring your own feelings with you, and we can grieve together, and I'll appreciate it if you make a meal or do the laundry.  Just don't try to make me feel better, because you won't be able to.  And don't ask me to tell you what you can do, because I won't be able to."

I do understand, of course, why most if not all of us are clumsy, overly emotional, and downright stupid when we are in the presence of staggering grief, why we say empty things like "I'm sorry for your loss", "How are you?", "What can I do?", "Snap out of it." etc.  It's because we have no fucking idea what to say, no idea what to do or how to be.  We know, if we have lived any life at all, that grief must fade on its own; it absolutely can't be, shouldn't be, rushed nor crushed nor ignored nor sublimated, but must be felt in its entirety for as long as it takes.  And we know that there are occasions for grief coming our way, too.  It's inevitable.  And it's frightening.  Of course it's agonizing to see someone going through what we know we are going to have to go through ourselves and more than once.  Of course we are hoping there is something to say or do that might be healing, might make it not so bad.  But really, there probably isn't.  Or if there is, I haven't found it.

The 3 Questions

At the top of a new year, I like to ask three questions:

1) What was best about last year for you?  

My friends and family and Sweet Hubby will always come first when I reflect on that question for myself.  The other highlights of 2021 are the four trips I took, each one a shining jewel in the crown of the year.  First was to Las Vegas to meet with a cousin and some friends.  We mostly stayed in our adjoining suites, talking, laughing, playing games.  After more than a year of no travel, it felt very strange to fly to another state and city, but I'm glad I braved it.  I was relieved to see that people were masked everywhere I looked.

The second trip was to Goshen, IN to receive an award and see my winning play performed.  A highlight of that trip was seeing a concert by Girl Named Tom, three siblings from Goshen who recently won The Voice.  They are talented and beautiful and, I hope, ready for the new trajectory of their lives.

Third was to Marina, CA to be with siblings and our spouses for early Thanksgiving and my sister's birthday.  So nourishing to be together.  It was an especially precious time because my sister-in-law has terminal cancer, so time with her is meaningful and poignant.  And of course her illness reminds me that we are all terminal at some point.  So important to stay connected.

Fourth was that glorious week in Boise filming a series of commercials.  Everything about that event was good and great, and nothing so great as how familially bonded the other actors and I became.  (Spell Check is telling me that familially isn't a word, but it should be, so I'm keeping it.)

2) What was hardest about last year?

For me, it has definitely been my ongoing anguish, anger, disbelief, and disgust with this new and worsened version Republican Party and its most fervent followers.  All that outrage is exhausting and unhealthy, so I won't feed the beast right now.  But really, how is it possible that it has come to this, with continued deterioration of truth, civic responsibility, kindness, critical thinking?

I also lost three friends this year, and feel diminished by their absence.

3) What would you like next year to be like?

This question is the hardest to answer this year.  Normally I greet a new year with an expansive feeling of promise and possibility, renewed energy, bright visions.  This year, however, I find I look at the coming year not so much with trepidation as with an absence of expectation.  I find a cheery "Happy New Year" catches in my throat.  I don't know that it's going to be a good year.  The political landscape and COVID have dimmed the light of my enthusiasm.  

Of course, we never know how any year is going to unfold.  We didn't know Obama could be President until he was elected.  We didn't know that our lives were going to change in every way and forever because of COVID until it arrived.  When 2021 began, I didn't know I was going to take any of those wonderful trips.  There are always surprises, happy and terrifying both, so I'm talking more about my own approach to the year than to anything I think might happen or not happen.  I don't assume that COVID is going to stop being a factor in our lives.  And I don't assume that our leaders will become wiser or more honest.

In answer to Question #3, if I could wish anything into being, it would be that COVID simply dies off and all politicians start to tell the truth.  Since I can't to anything about any of that, to look at what I would like to see happen that I can actually fuel myself, my answer is what it usually is.  This year I want to write more (I can definitely make that happen) and write better (not sure how much this is within my power, but it's a worthy goal).  I want to be a better friend to my friends, and stay in good shape physically.  And I want to enjoy myself as fully as possible because what's the point of this precious, temporary life if we don't enjoy it?