Relative Something

It’s funny how easy it can be to live separated from my wife, for varying spans of time, and then, suddenly, it becomes overwhelmingly burdensome.

One thing I noticed this week, that seems to have dragged my spirit down, is a brief call from Cyndie that announced the end of the workshop she had been at; one which had put her out of contact with me over the weekend.

Actually, that doesn’t read right. It wasn’t that phone call that brought me down. That call was incredibly energizing. I knew she would be flying back to Boston that day and I was really hoping she would call. I was absolutely thrilled to receive it and hear her joyful voice, filled with a vibrant sparkle created by her experience at Linda Kohanov’s place in Arizona.

The problem was, it was just a brief check-in to let me know she had safely arrived in Boston. We both had things going on that evening and so we hoped to catch each other later.

It didn’t happen.

Now another day has passed and I expect that she is deeply entrenched in the heavy grind and long hours that is the reality of her work in Boston.

I think the situation that has created my current pouting is that all-too-brief moment of bliss, when I heard her voice, which brought my excitement up, followed by the dashed hopes for more of the same, because the night ended without our connecting.

The higher the high, the lower the low.

Her absence in the days following create a weight on my shoulders. Each successive task seems increasingly onerous. I become less and less interested in the options I have before me, because none of them involve talking with my wife.

I like living alone. It’s just that I’d like to live alone and live with my wife at the same time.

I don’t think they’ve invented that yet.

What a difference a day can make. What a difference a text message can make! Long after I had fallen asleep, around 12:30 a.m. my time, the buzzing of an incoming text message on my phone, woke me. Obviously my concern had gotten through to my wife, as the first words were, “I’m OK.”

She’s alive! What a relief. I was really growing more and more stressed by the silence that was following my attempts to check in.

I still don’t understand the logistics of a day that doesn’t allow one moment for a simple acknowledgement to your spouse (let alone multiple days in a row), but her report was of overwhelming responsibilities and meetings all day, then working into the nights. For all the ‘grumping’ I have been known to do about my day-job, I am finding more and more to appreciate about how easy I have it, in comparison to the undertaking Cyndie has gotten herself into.

Early on, in the days before she had even left home for this new job, I was prone to comparing the upcoming separation to what military couples endure. It was meant to be hyperbole, but now that she is well into the battles of her job, I am gaining ever more insight into the suffering that military families experience when they are not able to communicate with each other for long spans of time.

My current goal is to find a better way to show support, by way of somehow not fretting her inability to stay in contact with me. Yesterday, on the still-fresh rush of having received her middle-of-the-night message, I found myself inspired to send two different love-note texts that were 100% free of any expectation of a reply. The first day is easy. Let’s see how I’m doing after a few days.

There is a real trick to turning a relationship on and off, and quite honestly, I’m not that good at it. If I am in the “on” mode, I want to have interaction. I have written before about my ability at moving into the “off” mode of relating, which thrives in having zero interaction. I am able to do that too well, and have no problem shutting down, but it is difficult for me to seamlessly flow from “off” back to “on” again. My “off” mode is an unhealthy place to be. Unfortunately, it is where I want to go to fend off familiar hurts. I want to retreat behind my emotional shield.

This is my opportunity to exercise a love that gives without expectation of reciprocation.

Can it be called stalking if you are married?

Funny or fantastic things are funnier or more fantastic when you have someone to share them with.

Why won’t she answer?

Jigsaw puzzles become incredibly more difficult to assemble after eyesight no longer focuses short distances.

Back in the 1800s, when February temperatures climbed 20° above freezing in this area, did people worry about global warming?

I wonder if Bradying will become the craze that Tebowing was.

How many text messages is too many when not receiving a reply?

How much can you tell about a person from what they wonder about?

Do drivers who don’t use turn signals to indicate their plan to turn ever get bugged by drivers in front of them who don’t use turn signals?

Is it possible to discern what the last thought is before falling asleep?

How do I know when its just a thought, and not the first dream of my night’s sleep?

Some men would love to have 4-days of the silent treatment from their wives.

Is there an age limit for having imaginary friends?

Was it possible to misspell things when taking dictation using “shorthand?”

What makes a person suddenly think of “shorthand” when they haven’t had a thought about it in decades?

If you don’t think about something, are you less inclined to miss it?

Random doesn’t mean there won’t be a theme.

If you don’t have anything nice to think, don’t think anything at all.

Two can play at this game.

If two are playing this game, how would you know they are both playing?

Why won’t she answer my calls?

Now that my routine has returned to a relative normal, post the holidays, I’m going to provide an update on the status of my solo living. Even though it’s been almost 4-months since Cyndie moved east to accept a position with Boston Public Schools, it still feels a bit new. At the same time, it has been long enough to pretty much figure out what works for me. I have been getting my needs met, and am tending to the needs of the household. With only one person messing up the place, shouldn’t I be able to sweep the kitchen half as often? It does not appear to be the case.

For the most part, I am taking advantage of having groceries delivered to the house. I do my food shopping online. Thus far, I am happy with my ability to avoid relying too heavily on restaurants for my sustenance. In fact, I think I am eating out less than when Cyndie was home. Since I don’t automatically have a companion, that seems like a logical outcome to me. I expect it might be different if I was inclined to eat out alone.

The real staple has turned out to be soup from my good friend and fellow Himalayan trekker, Chef Pam Knutson. I buy soup through her Birdsong Soups business out of the Kitchen in the Market facility. I get a quart each week that her husband, John, generously brings to his work in Eden Prairie where I can conveniently pick it up. This has been providing about 4 different meals a week for me. I don’t think I will be able to eat soup out of a can ever again after this experience. What a treat! This is gourmet level eating that seems like it would only be available in fine restaurants, and I have it in my own kitchen! I highly recommend you check out this community supported soup business, Birdsong Soups.

I have also become just a bit more social since Cyndie has moved out, hosting a number of gatherings of friends at the house, and going out with others. Part of that is a result of friends offering to step up to help fill the void. Thank you, friends!

The one thing that isn’t working so well is my being able to touch base with my lovely wife with any regularity. All too often, multiple days pass where we fail to speak or even successfully exchange a text message. You’d think a one-hour time difference wouldn’t be a big deal, but I find it does complicate things, or maybe it just seems to, because Cyndie’s work hours have been ridiculously long. I was shocked to be unable to reach her on a Friday night, nor the entire following Saturday, only to find out she was working both times and had unknowingly dropped her phone under the seat of the car they provided for her use.

I figure I should be nurturing a relationship with the security personnel in her building so I can contact them to find out where she is if I want to speak to her. Nothing can really replace the small talk that has been dashed from our relationship. I miss how she would politely listen to me talk like a little kid about the excitement I enjoyed at soccer in the morning. Yesterday I would have whined to her about the owie I got when I sprained a finger playing around with a basketball in the gym before soccer started. Then I would have bragged about the success we had making multiple one-touch passes to score lots of goals, or mentioned that I forgot to use my asthma inhaler before playing and noticed some suffering as a result. Tolerable, but noticeable suffering.

Kind of like the feeling of suddenly living separated from your beloved spouse of 30 years.

Dear Cyndie,

The experiment of living in two different cities, 1500 miles apart, is definitely revealing the adage, “You don’t know what you’ve got, till it’s gone.” I am sick with an annoying cold that has turned a night’s sleep into an epic drama, and held me home from work, bed-ridden yesterday.

I am distinctly aware of how, if you were home with me, you would make a special trip, even though I would tell you not to bother, and you would buy a variety of fruit juices and more medications than I could possibly use. You would bring them to my bedside and then cook me eggs or soup to feed me, allowing me to do nothing but rest while you provided every possible comfort.

I know I always thanked you for your tender loving care, but from the vantage point of not having you here to lavish support upon me now, I feel as though I never thanked you enough. You are a true angel.

Love,

John

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We had a great visit on FaceTime this morning where we talked about how the monumental scope of the work she is doing, difficult as it is, seems to align very much with the skill set she has developed, and the many years of experience she has gained. We also reminisced about the earliest years of our relationship, and the many times in which we were separated by thousands of miles, which just might have been creating a foundation for our ability to accomplish this current scenario we find ourselves in.

This is hard, but we think it is the right thing to do. It is something we are both equally interested in successfully accomplishing. I am definitely falling more in love with her as a result her absence from my life, proving one more well-known adage…

It was thirty years ago today that Cyndie and I were married in a morning outdoor ceremony in a garden on the shore of Lake Minnetonka.

As milestones go, each decade seems to hold particular significance, so this is our third time to realize that phenomenon. Last night I took a little tour through my Life Story item, a journal of sorts, which I share with the members of my online community, Brainstorms. I was looking for images that I recall having posted there.

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Shocking as it is, there is this one:

It was taken after the wedding, in the moments before we departed for the north shore of Lake Superior on our honeymoon. People have asked me if we were legal age to be married. The good news about that youthful countenance is that it has held true to this day. People continue to assume us to be a lot younger than we are.

We have had an amazing run at this relationship thing. Most dramatic for me was the period when, and since, we sought couples counseling to get past a difficult time. It worked wonders for us.

Now we are on the verge of a whole new aspect for our relationship as Cyndie prepares to move to Boston, while I will remain in Minnesota. We are enjoying looking back over the years and both feel prepared for what the future holds.

It is not the same milestone, but this day is significant for our son, Julian, as well. He was born on this day in the year of our 7th anniversary. It has been special to share the date with him all these years. Happy birthday, Julian!

Recently I have become increasingly aware of when the sounds of a song show up in my head, seemingly out of nowhere (see “earworm“). Oftentimes, it turns out to simply be a result of walking into the boss’s office where there is music playing quietly in the background. I never seem to realize it is even on, distracted by the task at hand. But then, shortly afterward, as I tend to the next thing demanding my attention, I realize I am whistling some song that often happens to be something I would never choose to be whistling.

There have been enough other times, when I have absolutely no idea what could have triggered a particular song, that I have developed an interest in pinpointing the very first moment I become aware that such a song is in my head. It is a research project in its infancy. Don’t expect the results to be published any time soon.

Last night, as I was doing a quick tour down through my iTunes song list, I discovered that, as I passed by the name of each artist, one of their songs immediately appeared in my head. It was freaky. The songs weren’t always an obvious favorite, just an instant association that arrived as my eye caught the name scrolling past.

When I got to Bruce Cockburn, the song that popped into my head was “Live On My Mind” from his CD, “The Charity of Night.” It is a love song.

It’s your eyes I want to see

   looking into mine

got you live on my mind

       all the time

This month, Cyndie and I are approaching our 30th wedding anniversary. Most of the time, we collaborate on a joint gift for our anniversary. This year, in light of the pending 1,450 miles that will separate our living quarters, we selected a pair of iPad 2′s that will provide convenient visual communication. We ordered them online and are anticipating delivery on the actual day of our anniversary.

I fully expect that it will be her “eyes I want to see” in the year ahead…

Through the advances of modern technology, my son has been remotely controlling our computer at home to work out the kinks and chaos in our music and movie system. Last I was aware, we were experiencing some problem with lag, causing a movie to play jumpy, in fits and starts. Julian said he would try reloading the application next chance he had.

Days passed and I became distracted. During the week that Cyndie was in Arizona, training with horses, I decided to put on some music while working on a project. As I navigated the menu of the application, I discovered the lag problem appeared to be gone. Curious whether the video portion would also run smooth, I picked a random movie and clicked, “Play.”

It seemed okay. The longer I let the movie run as a test, the more engaged I found myself in the story I had launched. I ended up dropping any thought of my project and, unplanned, sat down and watched the whole movie. Throughout, I kept having the thought that Cyndie would have really enjoyed it. Last night, I got the chance to share the movie with her. I was right. She saw the very same things to like that had caught my attention.

The movie is, “Chaos Theory” (2008, Warner Bros.) with Ryan Reynolds and Emily Mortimer. Three things in particular that I liked: the choices made for casting this movie; the cinematography, for its use of scenery and timely artistic presentation of the subject for certain scenes; and the effective, and very likeable, soundtrack.

The overall story offers additional appeal for me, and I think is accessible enough to work well for a wide range of viewers. There is a twist of primary character that occurs right away that I appreciate, although it actually frustrated me at first. Ironically, I think that is part of the reason I ended up liking it later.

The main character has a bit of an average guy persona initially, then goes through some drama and angst, which speaks pretty universally to the trials and tribulations of any relationship. Ultimately, he finds a way to reconcile himself with his situation, and then offers a wonderfully profound lesson. I wish I had written this…

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…there are few things more chaotic than the beat of a human heart. Speeding up, slowing down, a pretty face, a flight of stairs… It’s always changing depending on what’s happening to us out there. It’s an erratic son of a bitch. But underneath all of that bump-a-ta-bump mess, there is, in fact, a pattern. A truth. And it’s love. The most important thing about love is that we choose to give it… and we choose to receive it. Making it the least random act in the entire universe. It transcends blood, it transcends betrayal, and all the dirt that makes us human.

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LOVE! We can choose to give it, and to receive it. One of the simplest choices amid life’s chaos that we should ever face.

Subtle as it may be, spring continues to make inroads. Winds blow. Thunderstorms blossom. Snow fades from view. Hockey season ends and baseball begins. And Paris-Roubaix, the queen of one-day professional bicycle races, one of cycling’s oldest races, held yesterday, in what turned out to be an incredibly exciting competition, brought out the ultimate in springtime emotion. Belgian, Johan Van Summeren, riding for the Garmin-Cervelo team, won the race, got off his bike, and asked his long-time girlfriend, Jasmine, if she would marry him. She said, “Yes!”

Spring is doing its thing.

Photo credit: 2010 Stephanie Rowcliffe