Into the Mystic
"You, my friend, are a victim of disorganized thinking. You are under the unfortunate impression that just because you run away you have no courage; you’re confusing courage with wisdom.”
– The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
I don't think the above statement does what The Wizard intends. He is telling the Cowardly Lion that running away shows lack of wisdom, not that running away is sometimes wise. Had he said the confusion is between lack of courage and wisdom, then I'd say he nailed it.
Abby's opening day for the Wizard of Oz was today. She was the Scarecrow, and nailed it, although she didn't enjoy the show. Jenny and I sat at home and watched it on the giant screen in surround sound, since live streaming was the only option. It was charming, and we'll done despite the enforced social distancing and required mask wearing.
things I might have hoped would fall away with this diagnosis haven't, but it feels petty to continue to describe what I now understand is unremarkable behavior for her.
How is it, you can live someone and not know that person? I don't mean, how is it possible that Jenny has carried on an affair for years--clearly that would be a discussion in itself. Instead, what I have learned in this experiment of living with someone I was connected to by law and choice for 23 years, and 30 simply by choice, is that I am like Jon Snow. I know nothing. Maybe I know nothing about anything, again another long topic for another day. I know more than nothing about Jenny, but there are things I have learned about her, through this intentional distancing, that should have been clear.
The Easter miracle story, as I am wont to call it, where Jenny needed my help to buy Easter supplies, and then she went on the same day and signed up and did deliver for Door Dash is just one example. I have plenty. And as she gets back in the stride of health, that part of her keeps coming to the fore. And How didn't I see it? I think I am asking the wrong question. Because I think I saw it, but kept telling myself I must be failing to do what needs to be done, and this is why she gives me assignments. It is a problem with me, not unreasonable expectations.
Yesterday, I got up and made breakfast for the family. Pancakes. I emptied the dishwasher and filled and ran it again. I cleaned the kitchen and did two loads of laundry. I did other things. And to her credit, she folded the laundry and did a couple of other things. But, and here we go, someone needed to ride with Abby. We had discussed it and agreed days earlier one of us would ride with Abby to MI and come home, and one of us would drive back to MI at the end of the play, and let her drive home. A reasonable plan, and a fair split. As we were waiting for the show to begin, after Jenny returned from Mercer Island, she was notified by Costco that their glasses were ready. Jenny said to me, the three of us can go to Costco after the show. I was puzzled. I said nothing, biding my time. At the end of intermission, knowing it was going to be a problem, I said I didn't really need to go. Jenny's response
was, "Fine, I will go get Abby, but then you will need to make dinner." Sooooo. . . I don't give Jenny assignments. And, one might infer that she is a bit critical of me for not doing work around the house, which is odd, given my day-to-day duties, and my firm recollection that we generally split tasks before she was sick. And, there was a fascinating looking-glass moment. I was in Abby's office mounting feet on a her new armchair when they got back from Costco. Jenny was on the couch watching tv, and called and asked me to get her water. I told her I was not in the kitchen, and she let out an audible sigh. A few minutes later, I came out of the office, while she was up and in the kitchen, grabbed a water, and put it near her seat on the couch. I returned to the office to continue my task, and Jenny went downstairs to grab toilet paper from our laundry room. Our toolboxes were also there. I went and called down, and asked her to look for a screwdriver for me, and she refused. Just flat said no. It feels a bit like Goofus and Gallant hell.
But, I got this. The longer I am keep enforcing distance, the clearer my own shortcomings become, the more stark and obvious is my myopia, the clearer I am now seeing from a parallax view. But I am unsure what kept me from seeing what is so obvious now. I now understand my straining against the yoke was not what I thought it was. That is, I was unhappy, but despite my unhappiness, I still plowed the fields I was told to plow often. And I didn't understand that I had a right to be upset. That, this strife wasn't simply a result of two people failing to see eye to eye, although to be sure it often was, but instead was about me being willing to do whatever I could to keep the fighting, the discord to a minimum. That, is no way to live.
I want to rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float into the mystic
-from Into the Mystic by Van Morrison
When Jenny's dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer back in 2018, Jenny and I, laying in bed one night, discussed what we would do if we were ever diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Besides both agreeing we wouldn't get treated, because you can't beat this disease, we both talked about how we would spend time traveling together while we could. Mind you, we envisioned such a thing happening when we were well older than the 49 years of age Jenny was at diagnosis. Today, I don't know how to spend the time, except to take care of her as best I can. Jenny, some feet away from me on the sectional, was just crying, after we had an exchange where she said she didn't know what to do. I said, its hard, there is no right answer. I told her, again, I know this is hard. She answered back, "No one knows what I am going through, no one is in my body." I can't imagine. I can't. We all will get there, if we are lucky enough to have a death that isn't sudden. So, her experience is sui generis only insofar as it is her own life she is contemplating. I imagined, when we contemplated this back in 2018, that we would have to take the bitter with the sweet. That seems more bearable. Traveling back to Venice, or riding the train to Arosa, the bus to Alajuela, flying to Maui, Montreal or New York. We travel well together.
Given our circumstances, there will be no retrospective travel, no sad but beautiful autumnal lovers floating into the mystic. Instead, we have this stalemate. We have, well what the hell do we have? We live together, yet apart. Our gap has become more glaring the last few days, with Leiney housesitting. Leiney and I usually spend a lot of time together, discussing politics, listening to podcasts about politics, watching videos--about politics. She is a chip off the old block--in fact called me today to tell me she has taken a job with Amnesty Int'l to fill her days this spring, door knocking. She was elated. Her absence though, also means that she isn't glomming onto Jenny, which she is wont to do on those evenings or moments when Jenny is home. So, here we sit, just four feet apart, Jenny and I, but separated by a million miles of bad road. If there was some sort of absolution, something to wash away all the ways we have sinned against one another, to remove the hurt and history, so that we could take that farewell trip together and enjoy each other the way we once did. . . Will I spend the rest of my life regretting something so far gone it isn't salvagable? She will be gone, if this disease follows it's regular course. I will likely remain behind wondering what I could have done, what I should have done, what I would have done differently to hold her heart and mine together. I live my life between lack of courage and wisdom.
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