Every Day A Chore

 July 12, 2021    9:05 AM

Sigh. The anniversary dinner ended up being a 3 cocktail adventure for me.  I had intended to have a rye Manhattan, and leave it at that.  We had a lovely table outside at Daniel's in Leschi.  The sun was gentle, the wind light, the sky clear, and the views infinite.  The mountain was out.  It was a perfect summer evening in Seattle. I had made reservations some time ago, and requested an outdoor spot, willing to risk the vicissitudes of Seattle weather, hoping that we would be lucky.  I did not buy an anniversary gift, nor an anniversary card, although I did bring a card, a blank I had purchased at Safeway with an artist's wire rendering of the NY skyline. 

We exchanged cards.  For some reason, the Happy Anniversary card I received from Jenny turned my stomach.  I have always hated cards with canned emotion drafted by someone or now likely drafted by algorithm, and punctuated with pablum received by the giver.  Anyway, it set me off. 

The waitress came and gave us paper menus.  As we were looking at the menus, Jenny mentioned that some friends were trying to get a retired teacher, Ike, to dinner at Serafina.  Jenny used to regularly go to dinner at Serafina (less regularly than I thought, it proved a great alibi), with Ike and a few other teachers, including Eric.  Ike always paid.  This sparked something in me that I had forgotten.  They would often substitute Serafina with Daniel's Broiler on Lake Union.  And here I was, at dinner, at Daniel's on Lake Washington, a reservation I had made, and motherfucker what an idiot.  I mentioned to Jenny that this really bothered me, that I couldn't believe I was sitting at fucking Daniel's with her on our anniversary. She shrugged it off and said, "I have only been to Daniel's on Lake Union."  My mood soured.  She didn't see it.  I just stopped wanting to talk, hating myself for being so absent-minded.  It's like I was trying to make myself more miserable.  To be fair, I tried to make reservations at Water, a restaurant on Lake Washington.  There were no reservations available--which was fine.  It turns out, I learned, that Water is at the Hyatt Regency in Renton, a favorite spot for their trysts.  Well, one of many.  I was miserable.

I had a Maker's with my steak.  I barely ate. At some point Jenny started crying and apologizing for what our lives had become. As far as apologizing for the affair, it is meaningless, although not devoid of truth. I hear it often. I remember growing up with alcoholic adults, they often apologized, in-between benders.  But they never gave up the boozing. They feel bad in the moment, but not bad enough to give up the drink.  That is a physical addiction, not an affair, so I am fairly more sympathetic to the drunk.  And I have about zero sympathy for drunks and the damage they wrought.  However, and last night was no exception, Jenny is constantly apologizing for having a terminal illness. It makes no sense. She can't seem to help it, and genuinely feels guilty for having cancer.  I feel terrible for her, and tell her that this illness isn't her fault, that I am not angry or blaming her for being ill. She knows this, and the apology isn't because she thinks I am angry, but because she feels bad, and doesn't know what else to say. Over the last week, and last night was no exception, she said, "I have to live a long time in this house."  I hope she does.

After dinner, most of mine I had boxed up, we ordered dessert.  I also ordered a grappa to go with mine.  The server and bartender had no idea how to serve it, and came back with a wine glass full of it.  A wine glass full of grappa.  Ewww.  I sipped a bit of it, but wasn't dumb enough to drink the whole thing, or even half of it.

We walked along the lake for a bit after dinner, as the sun set.  A river otter was busy near to shore.  People were leaving boats from marinas to head home, teenagers at the makeshift beaches were preparing to leave. Looking across to Mt. Rainier, as we headed back to the car to go home, I tried to understand how all of the experiences of the last 23 years of marriage led to this lonely place, walking next to someone who is more a stranger than a partner, someone who I have been with for more than 30 years. 

Entry 2    7:17 p.m.

Willow's garden.

Our backyard has become a lovely sanctuary. It will be missed, until I can figure out a way to create similar space in the new home.  The willow tree must be 70 years old, and is the biggest tree in the nieghborhood.  We keep a hammock underneath it in the summer, which is a great place to relax.  The gardens have

matured, finally producing an ambience of quietude.  I filled the flower bed under our bedroom window with wildflowers.  It is so lush, so sweet.  New things are blooming all the time. The dahlias are stunning this year as well.  Everything is, really.  Pumpkin, more pumpkin than some small countries have, are growing in my back yard, watched over by a bevy of giant sunflowers, and one lone regular sunflower.The hillock that Willow loves has

strawberries, more than ever, perrenials, annuals, and two volunteer pumpkin plants.  Its lush and green. It will take a good deal of work to create something like this at our new home.