Ten-Finger Exercises

everything reminds me

Someone said it was a good thing to stay home to take my mind off the situation. Actually I'm staying home because I'm having trouble doing that. During the past four years, ever since he called to sympathize and give support when I lost my job, we've been more like friends than we ever were before. Not close friends, but someone I knew I could count on if, say, my car broke down while I was shopping in his town. Or talk to about the kids if I needed to. We shared email jokes, some I'd rather not have gotten, but some good ones too. He sent political things sometimes, and in fact I'd sent the Snopes report back to him on one of them the day he died. I don't think he saw it.

Maybe the connection I felt with him and still do was always all in my head. It seemed to me that I could see a gentle, kind side to him, a lonely and hurt side that he didn't let show. Of course I saw the imperious side too, the side that demanded compliance if you wanted to stay in relationship with him. Otherwise he'd turn on his heel and stride off. There was no talking with him, discussing pros and cons. When he made up his mind about something, independently of others' opinions-- except Rush Limbaugh's maybe-- he didn't change it. When he put his foot down, he didn't pick it back up. (Makes it hard to go anywhere in life that way, doesn't it? One foot planted solidly in your own opinion.)

Enough for awhile. I need to go clean something. Maybe even a closet. How's that for a metaphor?