Meanwhile, in the rest of my life…
If my life from 1983 through the summer of 1986 had been a non-stop Nor’easter of a storm, the next two years, by comparison, were more like the calm of a tropical Caribbean paradise.
Regarding work, while I continued my efforts to sell articles and read more books on how to write effectively, my switch to the evening shift and working in the other lab departments was a major improvement. While still a struggle at times, the change offered different co-workers, more variety as every week I worked a different department of the lab, and growing confidence. By getting back out into all the other lab departments, I had a chance to reinforce my knowledge and thus, feel much more skilled at my work.
Hobby-wise, I continued to paint as well as explore other mediums, such as pen-and-ink, charcoal, and watercolor washes. And business-wise, I took the opportunity to refinance my condo mortgage when a better interest-rate was available.
For the moment, my parents were still away, living in Texas, where my father’s job had taken him. That was a relief for me. I could explore my feelings about them in therapy, as well as slowly learn about boundaries and effective ways to live, without the pressure of having them nearby. I will also confess, I didn’t know what I felt about them. A few friends were losing parents, some way too young. And parents whom they loved deeply and had good relationships with. They struggled with why their parents had been taken away. I was struggling with why did I have mine, who had been nothing but pain. Why were mine healthy and alive when I wished to be free of them, and others, who still wanted their parents with them, lost them?
And God? I was still pretty angry at God. For sure, I had no use for any form of organized religion, and I kept God at arm’s length. But…there was a longing for some kind of spirituality. I wasn’t quite ready to delve deeply. But it was there, gnawing at the back of my brain. I just sort of kept the whole area “on ice.”
That said, I was finding a way to be more comfortable with “leaving religion” as an open question to be explored “later.” And now and then, I would open a bit to God. But if there was a relationship wall up at that point, it was with God.
And About Ed…
Here, life was good. Once we got back together, we stayed together. Weekend visits, trips camping in Vermont. Visits to museums and Boston. It was great. He even started accompanying me on Sunday morning breakfast visits to see my great aunt. She was the aunt who had lived on the third floor of my grandfather’s house. She was now living in a senior apartment building. And I had continued to bring her the Sunday paper, and she would make breakfast. I sensed her growing approval of Ed.
One Sunday when he wasn’t with me, she gently asked questions.
“Is he older than you?”
Even though Ed was almost 4 years younger than me, since he was mostly bald, I knew that was why she asked that. So I told her that no, he was actually younger. She seemed pleased,
“Has he been married before?”
I could see growing interest and approval when I answered, “No.”
So, she went for one more:
“Is he Catholic?”
I wasn’t sure how my 84-year-old, Slovak, Catholic aunt would respond to this one, but I said, “No.”
She seemed to consider this for a moment, but then must have decided that “2 out of 3” was good enough. So she always set a place for him at breakfast after that.
Another time, he and I spent a spring Sunday morning exploring a local greenhouse. I checked out the herb plants while describing the herb bed I’d had at home, which I missed. And then there were the concrete bird baths. I had indulged in bird feeders at my condo, and was learning to identify all the different breeds.
Later that week, I came home to a message from him that told me to look on my back deck. There, waiting for me, was the unique leaf-shaped bird bath I’d been admiring that day at the greenhouse. Apparently, after finishing up a job with a software client, he drove across the state to that greenhouse, bought the bird bath, and set it up on my deck – a surprise for me.
He treated me like gold and told me I was “precious.” Every time he would say that, though, I would recoil. I found it impossible to take in that level of honoring. I wasn’t ready yet…and wouldn’t be able to hear that word about me for decades. In fact, only now. But still he kept saying it, and has always meant it.
Metal gas cans, control issues, and “tough trees”
One of the things about crafting a life after being so controlled and abused is that I never wanted to be controlled like that again. So the pendulum swings to the other side for a while. Frankly, even now that pendulum is still moderating. So I have my forceful “declarations” about things and my quirks. Ed will just nod and accept it without interfering. One of the things that has always been a gift is his ability to let me work it out my way, no matter how hard-headed I am about something.
He one time observed that, “When you decide to do something a certain way, there is no deterring you. You will insist on going directly through a brick wall and will pound your head against it until your head is a bloody pulp, before you will finally decide to take the easier way, get up, and walk around it.”
And…he is right. I have mellowed over the years, but I am still struggling. Another time, he noted that when Olivia Newton-John did her song, “Have You Never Been Mellow,” she did a special version for me entitled: “You Have NEVER Been Mellow!”
It is one of my scars, one I keep trying to ease. But he has never tried to control me, and gives me a lot of rope. That said, he does have his line in the sand, and I know where it is and respect it. When he has had enough about something, I don’t push him.
Regarding “outbursts,” I decided one day I needed to get a gas can for my car. Remembering my escapade in Litchfield when I purposely ran out of gas, I’d been meaning to pick one up. I knew exactly the kind I wanted — one of those heavy-duty, solid metal gas cans. The REAL type of gas can. Metal. But all I could find were plastic ones. I came home in a rage, venting about the demise of a society that no longer offered decent, real, METAL gas cans. That is now a joke between us, and even with my friends. They all know that when I am serious about getting the “proper, well-made” type of item, whatever it is, it has to be a “metal-gas-cans” quality object! And yes, years later, I finally found one…and it leaked! But I did eventually find another one that is solid and doesn’t leak.
Ed’s sense of humor extended to the “control issues,” such as leftovers in the refrigerator or other things I didn’t want to deal with. I would just ignore them until the item rotted, or whatever it was, no longer needed my attention. One day, he left a note on a very old “something” in the refrigerator: “Is this a control issue?”
And he never said anything about the Christmas tree I destroyed by leaving it in the cold garage for a week without water. When he came over and saw it, he asked carefully, “Shouldn’t it be in water?”
I dismissed the question with a cursory, “It’s cold out here. It’s tough. It can take it!” A completely idiotic response, yes. Just because it was cold, that didn’t negate its need for water to stay fresh. And of course, when I did pick up the tree to bring it into the condo, all the needles dropped to the ground like an extreme “Charlie-Brown” tree. He just smiled and then came with me to get a new one. My “It’s-tough-it can take it” comment is another family joke to this day.
He also never said anything about my bumper sticker then, which said, “If you don’t like the way I drive, stay off the sidewalk.” Nor did he lecture me about the speeding tickets, though I still think it was a dirty trick that the state was using snow plows and confiscated Corvettes as the “speed traps.” But all joking aside, yes, there was that sense of rebellion at anything “thwarting” my wishes. Not an attitude I recommend, and one I’ve spent a lifetime trying to heal. I’ll speak more about that later in terms of what I understand now.
My dogs – two small poodles – seemed to accept him. Well, one accepted him. The other battled him for the “alpha male” role.
My mother and the “pissing contest”
By the summer of 1987, Ed moved in with me. We had decided to give things a try at the “next level.” We were still pretty independent in our activities at times. In fact, the weekend he moved in with me, I was away with friends. Looking back, I know that while we had come a long way in bonding, I still needed “space.” But he was fine with that. And where intimacy was concerned, he accepted my boundaries and didn’t “push” if I needed space there, too.
My male dog, on the other hand, was not pleased that Ed moved in. In fact, one night, he resorted to a literal “pissing contest.” Ed was reading in the living room and heard “water running.” He looked up to see my male dog staring him down while he marked his territory right on the living room rug. Needless to say, it was the first of more than one tense moment where Ed had to get down at eye level and let my dog know who was the “top dog.” The other dog was a happy-go-lucky female who just reveled in running around and playing. She didn’t care who was there.
And then there was my mother. My parents returned to Connecticut in late 1986 or 87. Though they never lived in Torrington again, they were in an apartment in Farmington. When she heard that Ed had moved in with me, aside from telling my sister that she hoped Ed and I weren’t sleeping together, she asked me if I did that “on purpose.”
What she meant was that my missionary uncle was visiting for a month right at that time, and she considered my timing to have Ed move in to be an affront to them both. Frankly, it had never even occurred to me. But, at least she didn’t have to be “shamed” by my living in sin too long.
“Happy Birthday”
By the fall of 1987, we were moving toward making our arrangement “permanent.” We even looked at a few rings. One November weekend, right around my birthday, Ed approached me with a small box and, on bended knee, asked me to be his wife.
The ring was beautiful. He had gone to the diamond district in Boston, where he worked with a man to select the stone and a setting. That was so him. Unique. Special. Full of heart and thought.
With no hesitation, and full of love and certainty, I said, “Yes.”
It may have taken me a long time to commit. But once I committed, it would be for good. And that was going to be necessary for the challenges and blessings we would face in the next many years.
Soul Mosaic 
Leave a comment