9 Years in the Making

My anniversary has come and gone. It was July 15th. My dearly beloved and I have been married nine years. Wow. Not quite a decade. Everyone asked us afterward "Why didn't you say anything?" or "What did you do? Where did you go?"

Ummm. We didn't say anything because it has been nine years and we have two kids and we know we have been married and don't really expect the people around us to keep track of something that happened again, nine years ago. Also- we're not that impressed. We kind of figured we would be married in 2009 when we got married in 2000. Wine and roses, candies and bowls of cherries all the way- yeah, no. But we have always worked under the assumption that we would stay married. When things were hard and words were exchanged that we tried to suck back into the empty space of our lungs- it was still okay. Fights are fights. This is the last time is not always the last time just as the first time isn't always the first. We all know time is indeed relative.

I have always maintained that the ability to call one's spouse a jackass with a smile and alternately a sneer all the while knowing you love them regardless is what makes a relationship. If you were to ask my dearly beloved he would definitely vouch for having been called a jackass under both circumstances. And here we are at the nine year mark. Ta da- jackass.

So where did we go? What magical way did we find to express our triumphant love and joy on that magical night of the 15th?

Well, I had an appointment so I missed dinner but I think the kids may have had a bath. We don't have a babysitter. Wah wah wah waaah. That is the true sound of suck for a parent: "We don't have a babysitter." There are a million ways I could express my sadness on this topic but I will leave it with the understanding that it is wicked, wicked, wicked, wicked crappy.

Okay so we weren't going anywhere anyway and if we were we might have taken the kids. We like them. They are funny and we get served faster when they're around too... Really though I am not sure we would choose to spend money on one night of a sitter and a few hours of pricey alone time with pricey food when we could put that toward something better. We can eek out alone time- even if it is at midnight over True Blood on the DVR and popcorn. But my husband makes the best damn popcorn in the whole freaking world. For real. And popcorn is cheap. And I don't usually have to tip him for bringing extra sodas.

So it has been nine years. I don't mean to diminish them. They have been wonderful in so many ways. I love my husband, he loves me- that works very nicely for a gal such as myself. We have hit many a roadblock as a family, as a couple, as parents and as individuals and so far we always make it to the other side. I don't think that is coincidence or luck. I think that comes from way back in 2000 when we got hitched under an assumption that that was that. A big anniversary will be the one when I am surprised to have made it to that year. I sincerely hope that is a long way away.

In the meantime we are accepting applications for babysitters or in-house sous chefs.

I CAN READ!!

I haven't settled on the exact direction of my direction. Does one want to be a niche writer? Settle on writing about mommy-hood or physical and mental health or craft or cooking or just super-crazy nonsense? Does one write a tell all about their childhood? Maybe a daily diary of caloric intake compared to kilowatt hours used by the household? Quandaries, no? So until then this is what we've got: I CAN READ!

Make me a list of 100 writers or books- the best of the best- honest to god greatness. I've read 60. I've heard of 20 of the others, hate 10 and have not a clue on Earth who the remaining 10 are. I have to figure my stats are pretty good (modesty aside). At least comparatively- although to whom I'm comparing I'm not entirely sure I know. I will note here that I am totally incapable of making said or proposed list. My brain doesn't work that way exactly oddly enough.

I think it also bears noting that the proposed list could be compiled by 10 different experts on literature and have 100 different authors thereby obliterating my statistics. So where do I really fall on the continuum? Probably not where I want to or where I think I do.

I covet books and hold them dear. I read "voraciously" as so many people claim. I don't like to borrow books because most of the time I know I won't return them- just ask the head librarian of any town I have ever lived in. I don't like to lend people books either- even to dear friends. Yes, for all the regular reasons: they could lose them, dog-earing, forgetfulness etc. But also because they are MY books.

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. wrote in a commencement speech for students in April of 2007 - a speech he never got to give as a result of dying 16 days before he was meant to deliver it- bleh- run-on and poor grammar. Writing is a process and I do not claim perfection. Let us now correct ourselves.

Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. wrote shortly before his death an interesting passage regarding books.

" I consider anybody who borrows a book instead of buying it, or lends one, a twerp. When I was a student at Shortridge High School a million years ago, a twerp was defined as a guy who put a set of false teeth up his rear end and bit the buttons off the back seats of taxicabs."

A vivid description at the least and a valid point at the most.

Don't worry though- I do respect economics and understand both the frugality and green-ness of using libraries, book swaps etc to get your reading material. I don't call people "twerps" nor do I imagine my friends who ask to borrow books grinning gumless-ly in the back seat of a cab. I myself rarely pass up a book that is given to me, no matter from where it came. Still, in the back of my head I always want the new copy, the glossy pretty one that smells like fresh ink and paper and can join my collection and make friends. I think I have made it clear that I am a covet-er of books as objects but I should really get back to the original point. The list, the authors, the literature.

Half of my essays ever written have been not just about authors but about my obsession with them. When I like an author I flip to the inside fly pages to find the list of "Other Books Available by "MOST AWESOMEST EVER WRITER FOLK." Then I set out to match my brain with the list and be sure that I have really done the work of falling for the writer and their material. And sometimes when required of me while I was in school I would follow that with a paper that didn't quite match the assignment mostly because it was written to show my breadth of knowledge on the author and his/her work, life, cat's name etc. Not just why "Catcher In The Rye helped shape an image of disillusioned youth culture" or some such nonsense.

But there is a secret component to me having read so many books and for mastering an author so to speak. I don't want to be the wine guy at the party who says "Oh yes, the boldness of the Bordeaux reminds me of a passage in Dante's blah blah blabbbedy blah..." I don't want to be the girl in the back of the poetry reading who points out the connections to Rilke when the speaker said "god" and "flower" in the same stanza. I do want to keep my statistics steady or rising when it comes to that "top 100" list though. I want to eat the words and love them and thrive on them and let them fuel me. But I also want that one other secret thing.

I want to be in the Red Robins not the Blue Birds. Mrs. Abbott simply didn't believe me in 2nd grade when I said I could read as well as I could and I will be damned if she doesn't let me into the stupid, stupid, stupid Red Robins! Damnit- I CAN READ!

Yeah- I guess I can hold a grudge. I have spent all these years trying to out read and prove to everyone that I can read when I am fairly confident they figured it out a while ago. And when it comes down to it, the Blue Birds were reading too. They just weren't reading what I wanted to. In spite of my relatively petty and pretty neurotic need to prove myself to people who didn't need to see- that push really did push me so far that I can think about that list I mentioned about eight billion gobbledy-gook words ago and be a tad bit proud.

Okay so I have to post it in a blog that I can read and that I have read a lot of books but everybody has something they are desperate for people to know about them. Regardless of everything else about me the fact that I can and do read falls into the top five things I want everyone to know about me. It just says so much and leaves so much room for people to wonder and guess, assume and ask questions. How great is that?

I'll get to the other four.

What You Need to Know

Enough about me…
Or have I not yet said much? Hmm. Well there are the basics minus the creepy cyber-stalker clues. I am married and at last bed check counted two children, one boy- age 5ish, one girl- age 3ish. I live in a suburb of Boston that I can probably never afford to buy into but refuse to leave. Renting well maintained first floor apartments in two family homes in a town with good school districts and not having to pay taxes for the plowing, library or the aforementioned good schools works out well enough for me. I do wish the recycling system wasn’t so backwards though. I can rant on that another time. I know- you must be counting the days until that gem of an entry makes its way out!
I grew up in what most people consider a rural town in Maine but the town is definitively not rural. There weren’t sidewalks except for in front of Town Hall; there was only one blinking traffic light, 53 miles of road and a handful of working farms. BUT we were/are not rural. I don’t know quite how to justify that fact but we weren’t and still aren’t. I don’t think. I’ll ask around just in case this is some form of brainwashing delivered by my family or the school system. Mainers are known for being a bit wily.
I have lived in or around Boston since 1995, save for a 2 year stint in Washington, D.C. where I once had my life saved by a squirrel. I have been married for about 9 years and don’t plan on turning the model I got in for a refund any time soon. I like him plenty and he understands why there are certain things that I just HAVE to be the boss of. And he lets me drive a lot and always takes the crappier car to his job (his job by the way makes me super proud of him…gee golly but its true- check out Facing History and Ourselves).
I come from a good sized family, 4 sisters, divorced parents. We are wholly dysfunctional according to any documented source but somehow we manage to function a fair amount of the time which makes me question what “they” mean by dysfunctional.
I have some friends. They are mostly lovely. I used to work in the world where people got paychecks but stay home now. I do have my own craft business from which I am on “leave” and have been for about 2 years. I’m thinking about getting back though.
We’ll see what else I disclose as all this progresses.
Enough about me…