calling up from the valley of strangeness

It rests in the valley of strangeness. I am tossing brightly colored bell peppers stuffed in a thin plastic bag into the cart and he asks, "Is that for your house or mine?" I pause caught off guard.
It's not only our new reality bursting through that throws me, it's also the oddity of us shopping together at all. If I can help it I don't shop. When it became clear that BC's job was happening I had 3 worries, #2 "shit! who's going to do the shopping?!".

I would dare say the grocery store is the one place I show the most lasting of the damage. The last place I think to take back control of my life. I can't cover the emotions and/or impulses that arise as the last of the ceiling of my old life breaks off exposing blue sky above me.
Like the day I suddenly realized I could buy jello if I wanted to and there was nothing he do about it anymore. It was later at home placing 15 boxes of lime jello in my cupboard that I thought to ask the most obvious of questions, do I even like jello?

I understand it is not normal for a grown woman to walk into a store and have to remind herself she can buy whatever she wants as long as she can afford it. At first the thought makes me smile, then I see the stupidity in it and the guilt and embarrassment creep in.

If I can recover form that we have food, if not I turn around and leave the store empty handed. So for years BC has been our shopper. He doesn't ask why and he doesn't question my sporadic contributions to the household or the way I cling to buying food from alternative sources like the co-op and the farmer's markets.    

But BC asked if I would come along shopping and knowing he was leaving again I agreed. In fact I agreed twice. But I should never be allowed in Costco. I am completely useless among the giant isles. There is just too much there to make any sense of any one thing. I follow him and stand looking lost as he asks me questions: do you need bread? cheese? chicken?

I don't know, do I?

It's the same muteness produced by the damn of words lodging in my mind when I am asked a question I can't answer.

BC asks me to get laundry detergent. I stand in front of the row of boxes looking for something I recognize. Then I watch the other customers picking theirs and I look in their carts and wonder about their life based on packages of pre cooked chicken and frozen ready make potatoes. BC circles back for me, picks out the detergent he asked me to get, and we more on.

I watch him watching me. I know he wants to say something to me about all this but he doesn't know what. Honestly neither do I.

When we are done he lets me surf on the back of the charts while he runs dragging it full sprint through the parking lots. People younger than us stop to give us dirty looks.

And after I had spent most of the morning in bed with a horrible headache, and I shopped with him twice, he took me up the canyon. We hiked in the shadows. Across ice. Over mud. Up through the scrub oaks until we broke out onto the ridge. There we could see straight into the twisted valley below us. He stood. I sat. And separately together, listened to the calls of the search and rescue teams combing the mountain for the lost man they were sent to search for.

me? I believe I know exactly where they should be looking...

Pro Se

BC's next return date to Utah [sic] has been pushed out to at least the end of the weekend and now hoovers suspended in fog of We Will See Land. I say his return to Utah because on Monday he called and kept saying "when I get back to Utah" I had to remind him the western states were not like the eastern ones; when you are in Utah you are generally in it for a very long time. Needless to say he was overly tired and possibly over whiskey-ed as well. 

I talked to his mom, assured her he would be here for Christmas because no one else will be willing to work. That was the only reason he came home for Thanksgiving. 

Overall things are going well even without him. The 3 parents legally tied to the 15 yr old all agreed that he is doing the best he has ever done for the longest sustained period of time. And yet they managed to say that he and I together is in fact working without giving me any of the credit for it; you are welcome. 

I however am giving credit to me and to the boy. We are doing better than okay. Family life is fun and wild, as it should be. The house is mostly clean, the animals cared for, dinners are late but they are good, and the school isn't calling me. 

I've gotten him hooked on This American Life and he keeps busy fixing the things I keep breaking- like the van door.

We did have a break-in. It was my mother-in-law dropping off a case of cake mixes. In the name of security all I'm going to say is she went to great lengths to get in the house. (she scares me)

Yes, overall the daily is going fine.

It is the nights that are long. They lack definition or perhaps boundaries. On my own I find I don't have the sense to go to bed when I should and I can't stay asleep even when I do. 

BC calls me with the construction reports, when I close my eyes I can see the walls rising. When this is all over, months from now, spring I am guessing, I want us to drive out beyond the sand dunes, down the long dirt roads of the west desert to slopes of Desert Mountain so I can catch up on all the dreaming I am missing.

  

strings of lights

For 12 years, every step of the way I have fought & resisted all the logical arguments, laws, and facts that would define us as US. 

And in the end I have found without you I am simply not me. 

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. 

I will meet you there. 

~Rumi

BC, Thank you for holding all our faith and for talking the tree lot guys into opening at 8:30 am for her so the 2 of you could together find her perfect little tree among all the-too-big-of-ones in a real tree lot.  

Close your eyes.  Fall in love.  Stay there. 

~Rumi  

on the mend (because I say so)

It's hard to imagine that under the circumstances- beer in hand, the soft darkness and shelter of the greenhouse folding around the hot tub like clouds of opal, my head tipped back over the edge to keep my hair out of hot water, BC across the tub smiling at me- yes, it is hard to image under all that perfectness I would be whining but I was.

I admitted everything to him... well, not everything, but a lot.
I told him I am losing this battle of control.
I told him I dread the work and the math of food and I'm at the point where it is no longer worth it to me. 

I'm under pressure I can't seem to shake. It is coming from the insult and ludicrous of being sued for child support for a kid who lives with us full time. From the Season and the wrench thrown in by the way the bank is, or shall we say isn't issuing funds for the Moab job until later; and there is no back up plan. It is from the other season, the crazy mad one of meets and travel. It comes from the feeling of being too comfortable & close to my ex. It is from the backhanded compliments and criticisms, some warranted, some not, like phantom chatter coming in on me from other households. It is the long stretches of time without a strong shoulder to lean my head against so I can really relax and smile.       

I laughed.
Then knowing he would be gone by the weekend I said, "I give up."

It is the weight of water. 

He waited.
I laughed again and said, "I don't want to let Beach down or worry her. This is a horrible time to not be well."

It is the vastness of the winter sky stretched across the mountains.

He waited.
I laughed once more at myself and said, "I know I got this. I'm just tired. And stressed. And lonely. And I know, I have good people around me. It is all here...I just have to figure out how."

His smile widened. "Do you want me to come to the doctor with you? It might help if there is someone there who isn't lying to him." He paused, "I shouldn't say lying, I mean you aren't always completely honest with what is going on with you."

I laughed answering, "No, I'd say at this point calling it lying is fair." 
He laughed too and waited patiently for me to find the answer.

It is the way it has always been.

I have never much cared for my resilience.

My money is on my sense of humor- it is most often my only saving grace.

  

coasting

The conversations aren't going well. He and I simply aren't good over the phone. We never have been. There is too much distance to read.

I try telling him only the good or the bad that is funny. The house is clean, the kids happy and well fed, the animals not dead. 

I don't tell him I have successfully managed to peel off another couple of pounds and in the process jack-up my bad shoulder. He would just worry. 

Last night driving home from the gym in the dark Beach and Sophie laughing and chatting in the backseat I could sense the bottom coming. 

Each little giant on the phone to a missing parent: both talking to dads. I overhear that somehow Beach missed getting her beam score because 'mom wanted to go'. 

That wasn't true. It seemed a completely unfair accusation. But such a minor offense arguing it with BC would be petty. 

I hadn't rushed her, or I hadn't meant to. Not after all the time I put in, all the time she puts in. Yes, I was having an off night. And my shoulder killed and something was in the air I could feel but not name...it doesn't matter. It's just me.
  

So I accepted the phone after she was done and he and I talked. Somewhere in a break of the usual words he asked, "Are you okay?" 

I sort of snapped back because I thought he was asking something else. I thought it was a reference to my cell phone skills or lack there of.  It wasn't. He was honestly asking for the first time if I was okay.

We have suspended our lives for about 9 months. I have missed 2 whole seasons of camping. Held our expectations and waited for the real waiting to begin. 

Standing here at the tip of this I would say: I have put my life on hold. I have pushed aside all my values and wants. Everything I believe about love and family is hanging in the winter wind. 

I have agreed to do this despite all the costs to everyone involved. All for his one chance to follow his dreams. And I would say to him: Of course I am okay- I'm in love with you.  

BC and Scott salvaging a beam from the river.

In the little bits of sleep I stole last night I dreamed of long boarding down the long black river trail. I could feel the cold stinging my eyes, the wind push against my ears, and the uneven burning in my legs from the way I stand and pump. I could even make out the tingling anticipation of a poorly timed peddle or twig jamming beneath a wheel- it's always the small stuff that brings you down.    

I am giving this 'holding down the fort thing' everything I have. And from somewhere, somehow, I would gladly give you even more. In fact, I am sure that moment lays ahead. 

But I do now have a favor I would like to ask of you. I hardly ever ask for material goods but I would really like to have a long board again... sometimes a runner needs a way to stop running without losing ground. 

callus

Do you know how long a pedicure and a manicure takes on a gymnast? Almost 2 hrs. It still only cost 8 bucks (not including tip).  I thought it had taken a really long time, sitting there chatting with the student stylist, a woman about my own age. Under all the make-up and overdone hair she was beautiful and kind. Yes, it had seemed like a lot of time but I nothing to compare it to. 

It was at the front counter that I understood it had been extravagantly long as I listened to the student stylist try to politely explain: big smile, "she's a gymnasts" dip of the head lower tone "a lot of calluses" the manager nodding while sizing up Beach. While I paid I sent Beach back into the maze of long counter tops, twirly chairs, and mirrors to hand deliver the tip to the poor woman. She never did find her forcing us to leave the money at the counter both of us praying it was in the right hands.

Causing trouble to those helping us seemed to be the theme for the day. At the eye doctors where you might have heard we discovered Beach's frames have been discontinued. Well, that was the least of the girl who was helping us troubles. Giving us the floor model as a replacement she tried to pop Beach's lenses out at the counter. The first one popped right out the second she nearly broke the frame then remarked, "Oh this one is sooooo thick." Turned red and began apologizing. We told her there was no need. 

She disappeared into the back to struggle with it in private. 10 minutes passed. She returned smiled sweetly at us as she walked by then without much thought to the way sound works announced to the girl helping the man at the next station, "I need you in the back this is a total disaster." 

Once the 2 of them got the lenses in the floor model Beach was presented with her glasses only to have to tell the girls that they had inadvertently put the lenses in wrong switching the right with the left. 

After she got it straighten out and schedule us a Sunday afternoon appointment with Beach's fabulous doctor she sweetly took the time to chat with Beach about gymnastics.

This weekend wasn't suppose to be about the kindness of strangers.  It was supposed to be about our little family soaking in the waters of Maple Grove Hot Springs. It was the first weekend were all free to go camping all *summer. The last and the first open weekend.

But instead BC felt he needed to put the trip aside so he could take the kid and a few other kids from the bike team at school to ride in a race down south in St. George. I understood. This is life with kids. Things come up. Plans change. Life goes on. I helped him plan. I helped him pack. We sent them on their way. 

He wasn't here when the little blue eyeglasses bit the dust. He wasn't here when we picked out pumpkins to carve. He wasn't here when I received one of the best gifts I have ever gotten: a single white piece of paper proving I had single-handedly paid for Beach's competitive season. He wasn't here when the little chick with the deformity on its beak finally died. He wasn't here when Beach and I dressed for a fire pit dinner draped in Hawaiian leis and roasted hot dogs, starbursts, and marshmallows. 

Not here, he had driven 302 miles in the big van. Ate all the cost for food and gas. Taken charge of a few extra kids and the care of their gear. Camped in the crowded race parking lot with his ex wife and her whole family near by- dreaming of Maple Grove. All for his kid. A kid who after everything his dad had done for him never even bothered to cross the finish line. Frustrated by a tire slightly rubbing against the frame "slowing" him down he pitched a fit and refused to go the last few yards to finish despite many attempts form the adults and teammates around him to rationalize the situation. 

This morning BC home, tired and sullen drinking coffee listened to the sounds of Beach cleaning. By 8 am she had cleaned the entire main floor and was moving out into the yard... I have always felt down deep inside it is just Beach and I against the world. I'm liking our odds. 

cats at war

I wake to silence. I have said nothing about the way I am feeling but the rate he has been arguing with me I know he knows. 

In my sleep I have tucked my arm between my knees again. This is how I dislocated my own elbow a while back. The joint is only now, months later, feeling healthy. 

"Misty," he is whispering as he untangles my arm from the vice of my knees, "the moon." 

It must be about 5 am. He crawls over me off the bed to the window and stands blocking the view. "Can you see it?" he asks. 

I stare at his back through the darkness. In a few hours he will be gone again. Leaving me here to deal with our life alone.

This moment in time is no different from the life I didn't choose. The juggling act no less precarious, the stress no less real. 

On the farm the cats are at war with each other. They have forgotten they are cats and run their days like mini generals opportunistically attacking. I can feel them plotting and angry, stalking around. I don't want to live in a war zone, even a very small one.  

In my dreams I navigate anxiety in text book ways. I sit with my sister and try to figure out if she is dead or if her being dead is the dream... 

He may know my state of mind but he can't feel it. He doesn't understand, which is why he argues with me. Telling me what I shouldn't do, what I don't have to do. 

He argues about what time I should and shouldn't go to the hospital to see C-Boy's baby, not yet born. He argues about how long I should or shouldn't have stayed at work last night. About what my answer should have been to my editor's request to write for the paper again. 

He uses logic as if it applies to people. It doesn't. Perhaps it should but it doesn't. Like wanting medicine to be a science when really it is not science but an art form.

I tuck back into a little ball knowing if I don't get up now I will wake to regret later. But before I fall back into sleep I say, "It's absolutely beautiful."

Because I am sure somewhere beyond the window there is a lunar eclipse and that its beauty pales in comparison to the image of him standing there.