I have a new idea for a book!

When you live to write (as I clearly do at some level, or else why keep Ocean going for so long?), each calamity, each big event, each pivot is an opportunity for a story. 

There is much about my twenty years with Ed that is remarkable and unusual and worthy of pen and paper. We never had a conventional approach to our time together. Many people wondered how I put up with him, and how he put up with me, given that we entered each other's lives with completely different mindsets and worldviews. But we did it, and it was exceptionally grand! Very slowly I learned how his mind works and he learned how I look at things and we found a space where we could live in unity and peace. And love.

This changed three days ago. It's not that things spun out of control. He still is in the same place and I am in mine, but this time and for the first time, a large issue loomed and we could not find a common platform. He is happy to ignore that glaring mismatch, but I am not. My view is that we either work it out or we go on to live separate lives in separate spaces. This is why I am moving. To give us time and distance to figure out if we can still find that common platform.

On the upside (and haven't I said there always is an upside?) -- if we fail, I surely have great material for a book! (When we are together, I'm careful which stories appear on Ocean; that of course is true for all family and friends who make it onto these pages.) 

This morning was like yesterday's morning and the one before that: up before dawn, talking, explaining, trying one last time to reach that platform. But we get stuck again. With a sigh, I go downstairs and commence morning chores.

He comes down for breakfast, but I ate early today. Sorry!

And then I plunge into the turmoil that is The Move. And it is one big mess. I'll give you just one example. I decided to leave our bed in the farmhouse (even though Ed is perfectly happy to sleep on a couch, or even better -- on the floor) and to buy a new one at a discount at Wayfair (for those who dont know it -- it has a large selection of bargain-priced furniture, though with a slight edge over Ikea quality). Because it was cheap, I knew that it would come in many pieces and it would take me a mountain of time to build it, to say nothing of tools and skills which I do not possess. So I opted for their "put it together service." $80, but worth it! Booked for Monday afternoon.

Except that the bed is being delivered early. Like, really early. Like, today.

What's a person to do?? The apartment complex has a delivery room for small parcels. When I chatted with the AI "person" on the Wayfair site, it told me that small parcels will be left behind. I explained to the numskull that a bed was not a small parcel and that an early delivery would not be possible. This got me nowhere. We shall see how this one gets resolved!

You may think that I am spending my day packing. I am not. The kids are still coming here after school and I do not want them to see boxes everywhere. Nor do I even have boxes. Those, too will be delivered. Maybe today, maybe Monday. 

A lot of modern moving requires time on the computer. To set up services, to issue insurance certificates, to sign documents, to ask questions, to arrange meetups, to open accounts. I have rarely typed so much and filled in so many verification codes as I have in the last 24 hours!  

And what is Ed doing at this time? Well, baking pies and washing windows. I have never seen him so... domesticated! (He has been meaning to wash the windows for... a while.)

I watch him and think -- his routines wont change. He'll get up when he always gets up. He wont sit down to breakfast because his presence at the table in the morning is a courtesy, recognizing my love of these meals together. He'll work on his machine designs and listen to podcasts and talk to work colleagues, eating when he's hungry, sleeping when he is tired. On Wednesdays he'll ride his bike, on Thursdays, in the growing season, he'll go to the local market. He moved from sheep shed to farmhouse when I came onto the scene. The guy controls his emotions well. He will be who he is, do what he does.

Me -- well, everything changes: my residence, my gardens, my habit of getting croissants at Madison Sourdough for us. My push to open up the porch in the spring, my Sunday dinners with family and him. My spontaneous bike rides -- with him. Hikes in the local park -- with him. Cooking dinner in the evening while he stays on the couch or sometimes watches the news hour with me. The kids running into the farmhouse, racing each other even though I tell them not to. The kids riding the toy car up and down the living room, Snowdrop picking and eating farmette asparagus, cherries, raspberries, strawberries, peaches, watermelon. Naming cats ("let's call her Dance!"), chasing chickens. Me, moving my computer to the other couch every morning, while he sticks to the big one, the one we picked up by truck together. Me, making salads for two, every night. Me, with Dance besides us on the couch. Me, kissing him good night as I go upstairs before him. 

And yet, I initiated this.

I'm not the first to have something cut short. People get sick, homes burn down, partners die, others get divorced. But here we are, alive and well, in love and I'm moving out, neither of us angry, neither of us different than we were two weeks, two years, two decades ago. And just like that, everything will change for me. 

And he protests: gorgeous, everything changes for me too. My life revolves around you. 

So neither one wants this and yet here we are. I put in a request and it was denied and I can't accept his no this one time. This only time. 

 

In the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop. 

 

 

 

All the kids like Ed, though the Chicago two are understandably more cautious around him. Primrose once asked how come Ed doesn't play with them like the other grandparents. Well, true enough, Ed is a different kind of grandparent. Snowdrop is the one who absolutely adores him. She's not a snuggler, but she'll snuggle next to him on the couch when she plays on the computer, so often his computer. She has been coming to the farmhouse almost daily since she was two days old. She's grown up next to him and he learned to love children thanks to her. There was a time when he did play, upon her request. She'd ask him to act as her husband at her pretend wedding. He'd comply even though he hates the institution of marriage and any ceremony whatsoever. Today, he is extra nice to her, because he knows she is not happy with the situation.

Her days, too, will change, in ways that I can't easily articulate. The farmette is her safe place, as it has been for me.

And yet here we are, stuck. 

 

(this is my favorite farmette view in the late afternoon)

 

Ed and I have one more day -- tomorrow -- before he goes off sailing. It is not going to be an easy day for either one of us.

with so much love...