Asunder

I just finished listening to Rachel Cave's CBC's radio one special on divorce. Initial thoughts? Yes, there are "types" of divorce but there are also different attitudes towards divorce that allow some people to walk when they shouldn't. The 2/3 of marriages that can be saved . . . I'm interested in why some people leave when there is potential to work things through. Is it the grass is greener misconception? The sense of feeling trapped? What makes people bolt? I don't think either E or I would have left our marriages. We are the committed ones. Our partners left and I can't help but think they did it because they were both weak and selfish and lacked a strong sense of commitment and morality. They both immediately began other relationships and had babies . . . and I can't help but think they were trying to prove that they could make it work with the right person . . . but I also think . . . give it time. I'm betting those second unions are not as stable as they seem. Meanwhile, E and I are thinking of getting married too. Not right away though. Maybe in a year or two. We'll give ourselves time and think it through. Is that enough? What can ensure that we don't feel so threatened by each other's hold that we bolt? I think we're more mature than our mates, but maybe, with a mate who is our match in terms of stability, we'll feel stifled. What will prove what will hold?

Letter to myself as I was then . . .

I know you are suffering and you can't stop your mind from crashing relentlessly against the shards of your heart. Everything is throbbing and frightening and nothing will ever seem possible again. There is just every hour, maybe, or every moment of sun hiting the walls or your face or just holding her and knowing she is yours and part of you and bigger than any of this turmoil. Whatever he was is lost now, wasn't really there, was a projection of something so desired that you tricked yourself into believing. It was a good dream but not a reliable one. You know that too. It was all about a dream and drifting and wanting something so badly that it came, entirely expected and yet unintentionally conflicted . The fool in the deck. But this is a gateway and you must walk through, stumble if you have to; never believe anyone who says that you must move quickly . . . because the way out isn't fast or easy or done to please anyone but yourself. And there is no going back.

Chekhov; the Black Swan

The other day I was doing my usual run along the river when I looked out across it and in the distance saw a black swan. It was only a few days later that my neighbours, cycling with us back from the park, told me that it was one of the Queen's swans. The other white pair, I knew, spent more time closer to Main Street bridge. The black one, so slight and elegant with its white accent and red beak, has been closer to us lately, beached with the geese and ducks.

A pointed to it, "Is that the mommy duck?" She asked.

"It's the black swan I was telling you about," I replied. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Isn't it beautiful. Why is it bigger?"

"It's a swan. It is a different kind of bird. Usually they are white. That one is special."

A wasn't particularly impressed. We moved on.

I've been reading my old Chekhov paperbacks that I rescued from boxes in my garage. Well, not exactly reading, but perusing. From this vantage point, twenty years on from when I first underlined passages in pencil for my Chekhov class, I can see that at least I was noting the most significant passages. In "About Love" I starred this paragraph: "A great crowd had collected to see Anna Alexeyevna off. When she had said good-by to her husband and children and there was only a minute left before the third bell, I ran into her compartment to place on the rack a basket that she had almost forgotten and then I had to say good-by. When our eyes met right there in the compartment our spiritual strength deserted us both, I took her in my arms, she pressed her face to my breast, and tears flowed from her eyes. Kissing her face, her shoulders, her hands wet with tears - oh, how miserable we were! - I confessed my love to her, and with a burning pain in my heart I realized how needless and petty and deceptive was all that had hindered us from loving each other. I realized that when you love you must either, in your reasoning about that love, start from what is higher, more important than happiness or unhappiness, sin or virtue in their usual meaning, or you must not reason." And then he leaves her and lives alone his huge estate. Love, apparently, is feeling that and letting go.

I imagine this black swan, cruising the river alone, no mate in sight, no appropriate partner, ever, displaced to this muddy river for a few, fleeting summer months and then sentenced to a winter confinement of many more. This bird is graceful nonetheless, preserves its beauty in this backwoods, is conscious of admirers, remains strikingly beautiful among the geese, ducks, seagulls, and discarded plastic bags on the ragged strand of beach.

Natural Disasters

I survived my third earthquake yesterday. I was at Walmart with my friend, S. The whole building started shaking and at first I thought 'earthquake' until S ran screaming from the bathroom and yelled at me, "P get out of here, now!"

I always listen to directions, so I dropped my groceries back into the cart and ran outside, thinking she must have known something more than I did. Maybe it was a G20 bombing of Walmart or something . . . but, alas, she was just taking precautions and there were no explosions or firebombs forthcoming. I headed back in to buy A her lunch provisions for her school program next week. S waited outside.

On a subdued weekend afternoon in our West End Vacouver neighbourhood, I notice a strange phenomenon. All the cats had gathered in the middle of the street in a circle and seemed to be having some kind of conference. I called to my then boyfriend and he came out to see too. That's when everything started shaking. The cats were well positioned to avoid falling debris. They knew it was coming.

In the middle of my work day at the Talent Agency on Sunset Boulevard the building started to slide left, then shifted right. Everyone in the office was nonchalant. It was just another earthquake. Thankfully, they said, the building was on wheels. That explained the shifting.

So . . . my three stories of the earth rocking beneath my feet.

Today, the sky seemed to fall in. I just made it in off the Queensway where I was driving about 80 the whole way back from IKEA and prayed that my replacement tires would not fail me and Bluebelle. It was like driving atop a river the whole way home. Other drivers, I'm sure, were cursing me, but I didn't care.

I'm usually a terrible talk-back driver. Once when I was driving I heard A in the back seat use a particularly nasty tone of voice as she said, "What are you doing?"

"I'm just driving love, why? What's the matter?"

Her demeanour changed, "Not you, mommy," she explained, pointing to a car. "It's that car. It's not driving properly."

"Oh," I said, realizing that she was mimicking my oft-spoken reprimand to other drivers.

Last week, as I grumbled as a car cut me off, she said, "Is he a fuck, too, mama?"

Yikes! Little did I realize that word ever came out of my mouth in her presence.

"Well, no. Mommy does get mad at bad drivers, though, doesn't she? But that's a bad word, babe. You shouldn't say that word. I'll try not to say that word again."

I can say it when she's not around, though. I may have said it today. It could be the most natural response to my experience of unending disasters . . . but I'll hope they end soon.

No word from my lawyer. Not yet. I'm hoping I haven't caved too much for my sense of self-preversation.

Close

I woke up with a spiking headache, knowing I was to phone my lawyer at 9:00 am (he emailed me late yesterday afternoon to set this up). In order to avoid getting overly worried, I went on a walk and bought some groceries for today, fresh buns, cheese, diet coke, anything to get me through the day. It was nice to move, even if it was damp and overcast. I love this neighbourhood. Mostly, I like sitting here by my window working with CBC 1 on and the birds bickering in the background.

At 9:00 am, I called and my lawyer seemed cheerful.

"We're close!" he announced.

"Well, I'm sucking it up," replied.

"You're watering your wine," he responded.

Whatever that is supposed to mean. This doesn't feel much like wine. Maybe he meant whine.

He then announced that he thought it would settle and that he'd send a modified Offer to Settle first to me and then to the other side. He agreed with certain of my changes and explained to me what Child Support is supposed to cover, which is mostly everything except daycare costs and extraordinary expenses. He should be getting back to me soon.

Am I happy? No. I don't want any of this . . . at the same time, I understand that it isn't something I can really fight, not now. If things are really bad for A, maybe, but now . . . maybe it can be okay . . . as long as she's okay, and that is what I'm worried about. I'll have to go after the assessor when this is over. He's irresponsible and should be held accountable. However, mostly, I have to go on and do everything I can to help A be happy and to keep her close.

E wrote me from St. Petersburg. He spent 2 hours in line to get into the Hermitage. He's off to Pushkin today. He seems happy.

Happy is easy enough if expectations are modest, I suppose. I'm happy enough with coffee, exercise, quiet, fresh air, a modest home, work, and close, steady love, not in that order. I'll never be one to seek unrealistic highs or take foolish risks. Like E, I'm prudent. That may not be terribly exciting . . . but I don't need excitement, I need contentment, which is different. Maybe for each of us happiness is somewhere on the scale between the two.

OK

I usually talk to E several times a day by phone. We both mostly work from home, so we take breaks and check in and it is almost like having a water fountain. He's not around this week and I'm waiting to hear from my lawyer and it isn't easy to plow through work without interruption. This is a crucial negotiation time and I'm not getting any information and now I have no one to complain to about it, so . . . I'm ranting here. I want this thing settled. I want to go on. I want to have something other than conflict consume my energy and time. I want A to be fine, even as she says, "I don't want to spend more time with my Daddy." Now, I've resorted to saying, "You'll always be welcome to spend time with Mommy. Mommy will always love you and want you with her." What else can I say? I can't prevent the inevitable. All I can do is try to make this arrangement work and hope for the best. But nothing is arranged yet. It has to be soon . . . and I'm waiting . . . the phone isn't ringing and my emailed questions go unanswered.

For E on his way to Russia . . .

I wish I could be with you
through these white nights
reading Chekhov
quaffing vodka
the streets of St. Petersburg
glistening liminal light

Slide!!

Yesterday I stopped in at the local ToysRus after buying A some sunscreen and decided to see if they had the elusive large slide I've been looking for. After a 15 minute wait . . . success!! There was 1 large slide left from their latest shipment and they were going to set it aside for me. I followed the instructions to go through numbered parking lots and down a steep ramp, turn left and look for the red door and then, as time ticked away towards pick-up, I was able to claim the prize slide I've been promising A ever since we moved, and right in time for Summer!

The problem was putting it together. It was worse than IKEA furniture production, especially with A swarming me and jumping on every slide part as I attempted to assemble it. Several sweaty minutes later (maybe 30) it was done. She slid down it twice forward, once backward, then crawled into the box to enjoy the shade. Typical.

I hope the slide gets used. I'll keep my fingers crossed. It is a perfect match for the plastic kitchen I picked up off the side of the road last week, so I kind of feel like I got a 2 for 1 deal. At least she has things to play with in our yard, which will keep her in it while I can catch up on emails and watch her out my bedroom window.

Father's Day

I'm back home, having taken E and his kids out for a crowded and mediocre bruch buffet for Father's Day. E is a wonderful father to his children. Since his wife left, he's stepped up and taken things in hand, parenting alone on his time, doing all the homework, arranging all the classes, taking his kids on trips, and making every effort to ensure that their time with him is special. He's everything you'd want in a dad and is an exemplary ex-husband.

We talked about Sarah Hampson's article "You Can't Get Away From the Exes When You Marry the Divorced," this morning. He disagreed with the thesis (title), but I could relate. I have a hard time getting his ex-wife out of my mind, try as I might. However, the part of the article I found most interesting was her friend's discussion about how much she learned about her partner from how he treated his ex-spouses: "There were also valuable insights into his character if she looked at how he handled his previous divorces. 'You see signals for how a person handles conflict. You see if he's fair. If he holds grudges. If he is able to forgive.'" This struck home with me, because I see everyday how E is courteous and respectful with his ex-wife, even when she dumps things on him at the last minute or makes unreasonable demands on his time. I told him how much I appreciated him because of this and he said, "I don't think I'm a great ex-husband, you're comparing me to your ex, who is about as bad as they come." I agreed with him about my ex, but he devalues himself, judging himself harshly for his inability to call to wish his ex a Happy Birthday or Mother's Day or talk to his children about their new step-sister. What I love about E is that he is humble, he is dutiful, he is honest, and he is such a fundamentally good man.

I know I'm lucky to be with E now, but I can't help wishing it was only ever him and I could erase my ex from my past and not deal with his haunting, hostile presence. At least I'm glad that I'm the only one who feels that way, because E's oblivious. He knows I love him and appreciate him and that even if my ex is a phantom in the corner of our new love story for me, he isn't ever present for E. When I ask E about how he feels about his ex re-marrying he says, "I don't think about that. I'm happy with you," which, of course, is the desired answer.

Some part of me sticks on how things have shifted though, how I've ended up here now with E, a man who is obviously better-suited to me, and how my ex is with his new partner, apparently much better for him than I was. I remember a conversation I know I had with my ex where I said, "I think we're too much alike. It might have been better for us if we had married other people who were more complementary to us. They could be the responsible ones and we could be the expressive, creative ones in the relationship." I was on to something with that I think. I recognized that we weren't right for each other tempermentally. It wouldn't have lasted, most everyone who knows me said, but it happened and it is never fully over. It's a Gothic theme, the stranglehold of that past on my present. I just hope I've learned what I should have from it.

What I have learned, I think, is to pay attention to signals about someone's character. The more I learned about my ex, the less I liked him. Time reveals the truth, which is why I am giving this relationship with E lots of time, and space, and consideration. I will continue to pay attention, all the while appreciating what I see of his qualities, particularly his huge capacity for care.

Random thoughts . . .

*a year on and I love E more and more (what a relief!)
*A's face is changing from baby to girl and I peer at her looking for what she'll become
*I must buy a weed wacker to trim the almost-hedges of grass around my manually-mown lawn
*Alice Munro's vision seems to be darkening
*some icky unidentifiable bugs are eating all my basil and I don't know what to do, but just seeing them swarming under the herb pot sickened me
*the river is a constant reminder to flow and I need that now more than ever, except fear (reading Munro) the darkness of the other
*green damp smells and shade soothe me on my tired-ass run
*the weekend beckons and we will be with our kids, celebrating everyday as always, which is all I've ever wanted

Too Much Happiness

I've been up since dawn reading Alice Munro. This latest collection disturbs me, as it should. What I love about Munro is how she gets under the skin of things. She lays bare perversions and shadows that most people cover with high-gloss concealer.

Last night I went out with a long-time friend to celebrate her 42nd Birthday. We've known each other almost 30 years. We met in grade 9 math class where our teacher, Mr. Garrett, would says things like, "Battle back, gang. Battle back," when he peppered us with math questions. T and I would sit at the back of the room and slump into our chairs at this admonition. We were not the battling types. Yet, here we are, 28 years later, both struggling with ex-husbands who do everything they can to incite and harass us and evade responsibility for their kids.

We saw Letters to Juliet after our dinner. It was long on car shots and short on substance, making too little use of great actors. Destiny also figured prominently in this love story, which, in this case, made me feel decidedly put off, because real life can't measure up to the expectations that films like this promote. Perhaps destiny is just the label we apply to what we feel we must sanctify.

Not sure. Not sure of much these days. I have to reply to court documents and can't. I prefer distractions.

I read 10-10-10 by Suzy Welch on the weekend. In the concluding chapters somewhere she talks about meeting friends at an event and them trying to compile a list of 12 truly happy people and how hard it was to come up with that many names. She counted herself and her husband in, but had trouble with others. She credited her own happiness to her use of 10-10-10 thinking, which involves considering the consequences of one's decision in relation to a 10 minute, 10 month, and 10 year time frame. This isn't a terribly revolutionary concept, but she claims it changed her life and countless others. I often consider the outcome of my actions, but the problem is attending to my thoughts about that outcome. Strangely, Welch doesn't really admit to doing this herself, even about the most important decision of her life . . . having and affair with a married man, her now husband, Jack.

If only decisions could be made easy. I don't believe they can, because we are always the ones making decisions and our motivations are far more complex than we can explain or anticipate.

Is happiness a matter of degree?

School

I finally registered A for school and I feel so relieved. This was my biggest concern with our move, that she would end up suffering because I moved her out of the cachement area for a highly-rated school and into a neighbourhood where the local public school is rated a 0.1 out of 10 by the Fraser Institute. However, now I can breathe a sigh of relief because she'll be attending a program (unrated at present by the Fraser Institute) that is entirely in line with my values and educational philosophy.

It may be that children are born with certain aptitudes and that nothing we do can change that, but I really think nurture matters. I want to give A every opportunity to become the best human being she can be, to be loving and conscientious and informed and able. I know that living between two warring parents will make it hard to be her, which is why I am doing everything I can to lessen the impact of that conflict, but I can only do so much on my own.

Hopefully being in a small, specialized school will be exactly what she needs to feel safe and supported. I wish I could have attended the school she'll be going to. It is beautiful and peaceful and a place where I know bad behaviours will be discouraged.

I'm also happy that I switched A to a home daycare near here rather than leave her downtown at the Co-op daycare, which was chaotic and disruptive. A loves her present daycare provider and is learning French and having fun playing on real grass and going to a bilingual playgroup. The drive there is also much easier than travelling downtown and back during rush hour.

I suppose the lesson for me in all of this is that things do work out as they should. This relates back to my previous post. I believe in destiny in all kinds of ways. E does not. Still, we are happy together and I'm happy with my choice to move into the house and maybe someday I'll be reconciled, if not happy, to A being with me half-time after having assured her of a good start with me over several super-nurturing years where she received my undivided attention. If she's in a lovely, supportive school that I've researched and chosen, I can be happy about that too.

Destiny

E and I went to see Prince of Persia last night with about 5 other people. It was that popular, with reason. It was far less entertaining, despite the similar setting, than Sex and the City 2. The only parts I really liked, aside from Jake Gyllenthal's, were those that addressed the concept of destiny. When we came home to E's place, curled into bed with the lights out, I asked him, "What do you think of destiny?"

"Nothing," he replied.

"Nothing at all? It has no resonance for you?"

"None at all."

I then told him, again, of how on my honeymoon excursion to my ex's co-worker's cottage. On that trip, my ex and I had stopped at E's local mall. I didn't tell him how that moment made me feel. How strange and familiar and odd that stop seemed to me then and why it still resonates with me now. Maybe I am simply revisioning my past with a view to making this present make sense, or maybe I really did anticipate that this place where E lives would somehow become important to me and have something to do with my marriage. Maybe I intuited somehow that this now-familiar and ordinary setting would be tremendously important to my overcoming the pain, failure, and humiliation of that badly-matched, 5-minute marriage.

"Have I told you this before?" I asked E before I started.

"Can you scratch my back?" E replied.

"Have I?"

"Over more."

He had heard but not heard, but I didn't care. I was scratching him and at something that continues to itch, this notion that my life is patterned and that it somehow does point to a sense of predetermination.

Like, for instance, the fact that I am back here, in Ottawa, and as an adult reprocessing the place I fled to at sixteen, when I was really just beginning to feel out who I was as an adult and when I lost something important of who I was as a child. This is a long, convoluted series of reflections, but what I think about in relation to destiny is that I was bound to return here to recover something and heal something and that's why I'm in this horrible, painful emotional conflict with my ex, who represents something bigger than himself, even as he is the most awful human being I think I've ever met.

Anyway, maybe this is all too oblique to relate to, but again, that's because to nail it down might be too hard right now.

E said, "I believe we choose our fate."

"You don't feel destined to be with me?"

"No. I choose to be with you."

Which he does, every day, despite the mess of all of this, and I'm thankful for that. Maybe that's a stronger thing than destiny . . . but I still believe that there is some arc to our lives which is beyond our control and somehow designed, not by us, but by some wiser, richer, more spiritual aspect of us.

Continued . . .

The package sat on the table in front of us while E and I ate. After our salad, I pulled out the documents and we began to read. My ex had written an affidavit, and, much as I suspected, he used it to condemn me for delaying the implementation of what he called Dr. W's "balanced and very insightful" assessment. Well, that phrase made me choke because really, 1. I was given full custody in that assesssment and . . . 2. it was anything but balanced or insightful in relation to my ex's capacity to co-parent. The report was a whitewashing of a blackened character in order to endorse the "law as it exists" and not an ethical position. I will elabrate on this at some future date.

I can't really get into much else here now either, as I must use whatever insights I have to respond to my ex's accusations.

On a happier note, the settlement offer did not restrict my residence to Ottawa, which means that maybe eventually E and I can live together and move into a more positive future with each other and A.

I want more than anything to move on from here . . . there is nothing worse than being mired this bog of betrayal, deception, and ill-will.

Thick of it . . .

I've never really been able to write in the middle of confused emotions. However, here I'll try.
Yesterday, just as I was settling in for a day's work, I got a call from my lawyer's secretary. She's about 80. Same vintage as my Dad. He quite likes her.

"We've got a big package for you here from the other side. I was going to send it out on Friday, but it was so busy, I didn't have a chance. And it's heavy. You'd better come and pick it up."

I said okay and mentally jogged through my day wondering when to make the trek downtown. After my new yogaish class at noon. I called E's cell.

"This is exactly what I asked him not to do, just forward things unmediated to me so that I'm left to deal with all the crap and the anxiety on my own," I fumed.

My lawyer, as I may have mentioned, is on vacation until June 21st. During our almost-break-up, I specifically asked him not to send things to me with an FYI and no direction. So much for that.

"Do you mind coming over and reading it with me, since you'll be around?" I asked, "It is sure to be full of slander and lies and . . . "

"It's okay, sweetie. I'll be there."

The great thing about E is that he is empathetic. My ex didn't even know that word.

Anyway, my morning was shot. I did some work, but in the midst of muttering and fuming, until finally it was time to go to the class that I thought might be a reasonable replacement for my regular yoga fix. It wasn't. It was miked, it was busy, it was exercise, and it bore no resemblance to the calm, focused classes of my yoga past. However, here I am now on the outskirts of downtown and the one reasonable yoga place nearby is too far to walk and slightly too expensive, so.

After the class, I jumped in Bluebelle and headed downtown. I circled and parked, rushed down Elgin, hurried into the elevator (I had 20 minutes on the meter) and up to the law office. I told them I was there to pick up a large package. I thought it might be a box. I watched as the pale blond 70-year-old secretary picked up an eight by ten envelop that was slightly stuffed and handed it to me.

"Big package," I muttered as I took it and left.

My bad mood continued. I made it back to the car (no ticket), and then home, where I threw together a barley and chicken salad minutes before E arrived.

. . . A is calling . . . to be continued . . .

Sex and the City 2

It's a romp! It has a message, certainly, and if that is offensive, well, consider why. But it is fun, even E found it fun. (Isn't he amazing? He came with me.) It also addresses of relevant issues for women, such as aging, motherhood, marriage, social control, etc. I miss the show. I don't have a television, but just the idea of women talking openly about sex and other issues of relevance to them is important. Does that happen now? I'm not sure. I work mostly alone and with my move and this custody crush, I haven't been out much. I haven't talked about sex with anyone but E, but I enjoy that . . .

I'm at home on a rainy Sunday morning and feel no compulsion to go run or do anything too challenging, When A is here it is all about her, when she's not, it's all about me wool-gathering (Alice Munro's word for musing and thinking). I love having a huge expanse of unstructured time. Bliss.

However, there is an important document that must be dissected - the just-arrived Settlement Offer. I received it on Thursday with a note from my lawyer, " I can't deal with this until I'm back from my vacation on June 21st." I didn't look at it until Friday, and then only with someone holding my hand. Yesterday, E and I sat up early in bed reading it through.

"Not bad, babe," he said, "You got most of what you wanted."

I guess. Not really. Not at all. I lose the child I love to someone I hate half the time. How is that getting most of what I want? E thinks in terms of he and I and time to travel. He loves having his kids half-time because that doesn't interfere with his life as a relatively high-profile academic. With my lower profile, making-ends-meet couple of jobs, time isn't nearly as necessary, but still, it would be nice to be able to have time to focus on more of what is important to just me. The work I'll have over the next year is to really find out what that is, what remains of what I was and what is necessary to what I am now and will become.