Set Free

Call Dropping

Yes, we are now three for three on the dropped calls. At least the Google Chat works.

Over the River

Guess who these two end-of-the-Baby Boomers listened to while driving to Thanksgiving dinner?

There will be a prize for the right guess and for the funniest guess (which will be totally subjective, naturally.)

Locking the Door

I lived alone with my children, in three different places, for six years. I know how to take care of them, and a house, and pets, and in some ways even myself.

Last night, I went upstairs without turning the lock on the front door. It's one of those things Pure Luck does when he's at home, and even though for 51 nights I did it myself, last night I did not think about it until we were upstairs in bed. I asked if he had done it not because I thought he might have forgotten but because it gave me pleasure to hear him say he had turned the lock.

This morning I read a blog post by a woman whose theology differs vastly from mine. She has never been married, but thinks she understands men because she read a book about marriage from a "Christian" perspective. In it she learned that we are never to question our husbands, but to respect their knowledge and affirm their rightness in every way.

It frightens me to think how closely my own mother's philosophy of marriage resembled the theories in that book. I went into marriage the first time determined to be a pleaser. But in those years of the first marriage, I went on to develop ideals about what marriage could be, coming to believe in what the Jungian analyst Adolf Guggenbuhl-Craig wrote about marriage as a crucible in which the interaction between individuals brings both further on the individuation path. I believed I was called to partnership, but I didn't really know how to live into it. And in the end I pleased no one.

It came as a shock the first night I had to lock the door myself, the deadbolt at that other house a symbol for all I had to take on as a suddenly single parent.

It took time, but I learned to cope, and heaven knows, I can cope when Pure Luck is away, whether I want to or not. This time it went well. There were no major vet emergencies or car or appliance catastrophes. We achieved a new normal, The Princess and I.

But I find I'm happy to let him do the things he did before he left: unload the dishwasher, take out the trash, turn out the lights we forget, and lock the door at night. Each material act, no matter how small, represents a partnership forged and refined, expanded and deepened. We feed one another, and help each other let go of the things we no longer need. He helps me see what I have missed, and I hope I do the same for him at times.

In letting him lock the door, I am letting him care for me, not giving over my safety in a helpless or submissive way, but finally, utterly, trusting as day passes into the quiet intimacy of night.