Where Did All My Girlfriends Go?

When you're in a relationship as long as I have been, you tend to fill your weekends with couple activities. On weekends, D. and I usually hang out together.

But tonight D. has gone to a real, professional baseball game with our friend D. And I find myself facing a solo Saturday evening. What possibilities for fun! Only I really don't have a best friend I can call and say "Hey! Let's _______!" What would we do? Get together at a nice wine bar and chat? Head down to the waterfront park and listen to the band? See a summer stock play? Shop? Have a nice dinner?

I can do any of these lovely activities alone. The thought of having an entire beautiful summer evening to myself makes me really happy in a way. I thought I'd probably write, read, go shopping, relax at home, maybe see a movie. I could take our pooch on a sunset hike. I could go for a bike ride. Clean out several closets. Sit on the porch with a big glass of wine. So many choices! I'm free to do whatever I choose.

But I'm not a loner. I'm not an introvert. I love being around people. So what I'd really like to do is call my best girlfriend and hang out with her. But she's in LA.

Note to self: cultivate some friendships.

What's that? The phone ringing? And it's a (new-ish) girlfriend! She, too is mateless this evening and we're going to hang out and drink some wine. And I'm going to ride my bike over.

Perfect.

Forget Jesus, WWAGD (What would Al Gore Do?)

Imagine Tipper Gore buying a Humvee. Or Susan Sarandon going Republican. What would Al and Tim think? How would they feel? What would they do?

What do you do when your mate chooses to act in ways that are against your belief system? What do you do when the person you love the most lets you down? When you start thinking that he or she is a hypocrite? That's a big, bitter pill to choke down. How do you deal with it?

How do you balance your beliefs with another person's freedom to choose? How do you define dealbreaker and how does that definition change from when you're just dating to when you've been living together happily for ten years?

I have been a vegetarian for eighteen years. It's one of the ways I define myself. My mate stopped eating meat pretty soon after we met. He did it completely on his own, after reading Diet For a New America by John Robbins. I was thrilled; not only was I madly in love with a person I admired and adored, he was now a vegetarian, too! I had never imagined having the good fortune to share my life with a fellow veg. Seemed too good to be true, especially after the years of dating meat-eaters who put up with my lifestyle but didn't understand it.

For five years, nary a morsel of meat passed his lips. Then a temptation became too great and, while I was shocked and dismayed, I didn't go ballistic. I thought (or was that hoped?) it was a one-time thing. Trouble is, the one time turned into several more over the years, and lately they're coming fairly regularly.

Pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut? Like that was good when you used to eat meat? Why? Why? Why did you eat that?

I don't get the eating of it but even worse is the doing it behind my back.

My feelings run deep and strong on this subject—and he knows this. I don't harp on others about their eating habits; if you want to eat dead animals, go for it. It's disgusting—to me—and while I don't hate meatheads, I do hold a very special place in my heart for vegetarians. Besides, I learned long ago that people have a hard time giving up the meat, so I gave up the preaching and converting shit years ago. But animal rights and my respect for the little voiceless buggers are just very big to me. I believe that it's wrong to raise and kill animals for the purpose of eating them. But my hub is his own person with his own free will, and I can't make him do anything he doesn't want to do; nor can I ask him not to do what he wants.

Ok. That's one solution. Leave him be and go on my veggie path alone. Recognize the fact that he is no longer a vegetarian. Get over it. Move on.

Or end it. I can't overlook that option. It is not what I want, but it would certainly eliminate what has been making me weep for two days: how can I live with a person who cares so little for me that they keep doing the one thing that bothers me more than anything? And why should I stay with a person who has changed so fundamentally since we were married? What would Al do if Tipper went off the environmental deep end and started leaving every light in the house on, bought a big-ass speedboat and an SUV, and became a raving NASCAR fan? Would he let her live her life as she chooses or boot her energy-wasting ass out the door?

Each time D. has eaten meat over the past few years, I've either gotten really really upset and angry (and we've had many discussions over it) or I've resigned myself that there is nothing I can do about it (especially when we're dining with others, and I've had no choice but to keep my mouth shut). BUT. IT'S. NOT. OKAY. It's not ok. It's not ok like he never puts shit away is ok. It's not ok like he's not that great at laundry is ok. We all have our strengths, and dear hubby has many. The reasons I love him are also many. He's one of the finest humans on the planet. He is one of the best people you'll ever meet. This is not about him, however. This is about ME.

The biggest piece of my "who am I?" pie chart is "animal lover/vegetarian". The two bits are inextricably linked together. I have been a vegetarian since 1989. That's most of my adult life. And I've defended it, explained it, and snarked about it for all of that time. I've really had it up to my ass with the whole explanation thing. I hate feeling defensive about it, yet I seem to be put into that position far more often than I ever thought I would. Food is a powerful connection point for us humans. If I reject what you eat, I reject you (or some seem to believe).

So while I care what everyone else eats--in the sense that if they didn't eat the animals, it would do a lot to improve the world—I don't make a big stink about it, and I don't choose my friends depending on their food choices. I make one exception; I very much care what D. eats. I care because I love him and he loves me and we are two peas in a pod making a life together in the world and we've been through oh! so much and we're still here and still strong ten years into it. I care because I live with him and I want him to think highly of me and my ideals. I want him to respect my very very strong feelings on the subject. I care because it matters to me that he not eat dead animals because that pretty much disgusts me to no end and I care because I married a vegetarian and thought he would always be one, only he's not anymore.

D. is not a vegetarian.
D. is not a vegetarian.
D. is not a vegetarian.

I'm trying to come to terms with this.

This is very difficult to reconcile.

So, for the past day and a little more I've been pondering this new reality. It is enough to make me weep. I go back to the choices I can make, based on this soul-wrenching issue that he has presented me with.

And this time, I think, I cannot bear it. I cannot turn a blind eye or pretend it's ok with me because it just is not. It's too big a part of me to not expect--or demand--that my life partner support me and respect me enough to grant me this one, very important request: do not eat the meat.

And then the tears come again because I know he won't do this for me. And it's the knowing that makes me so very sad. The knowing that he doesn't care enough. The knowing that he's not the moral person I thought he was. The knowing that he does not have the courage of his convictions. This, the guy who just a week ago was agreeing with me that we need to brush up on which companies conduct animal testing. Now he's eating the pepperoni.

So what do I do with this new, hurtful knowledge? Ouch. Cry a bit more, take the dog for a run with my Ipod on my workout playlist and cry again when the shuffle hits Save Me by Queen and dear Freddie is pouring his soul into the lyrics and he gets to "How I loved you, how I cried. . ."

And, then I get home and I'm still depressed and I can cry instantly and unexpectedly just sitting on the deck. And I realize that I love D. very much. I love him and I love him and what am I supposed to do with that?

I try to talk to him again. He is hurt that I rejected his previous attempt at reconciliation. I thought he was trying to brush it off, pretend it didn’t happen and nothing was wrong. Our nerve endings are raw and we're not as nice as usual. He suggests seeing our counselor, which is great; I was thinking a check-in with her would be a good way to work through this.

Then I ask the question, "Can you stop eating meat?"

And he says, "Sure."

And I think, why didn't he just say so?

I think we're ok again. And I think this time, he's doing it for me. For me. And that feels really, really good. I'm crying again, but for a whole different reason.

There were two ways for this to have ended; both involved one of us giving in out of love for the other. In the end, love prevails. And you don't get through ten years of marriage without it.

Best Summer Ever!

We have a goal: to have the BEST SUMMER EVER! To that end, we have attended 1 (one) brewfest (see previous post), traveled out of town for 1 (one) weekend (YAY! Portland!), played in 1 (one) extreme croquet tournament (I did not qualify for the next one), had 1 (one) back-yard party, patronized the farmers market a bunch (rode our bikes down once--yeah!), hiked 1 (one) mountain (pathetic, really), visited the lake to let our dog swim a bunch, took 2 (two) days off work, drank 3 (three) bottles of French rose (that's roz-ay) on the front porch one fine evening, and enjoyed 1 (one) spontaneous outdoor beer-drinking afternoon with some friends.

I realize that the whole numeral (word) thing above is quite annoying, but once I started, it would have been inconsistent to stop.

So far, we are enjoying our summer--very much, indeed. It's been relaxing, and we haven't done much that we didn't want to do, which is always nice. Installed some new light fixtures in our new/old house. Got rid of the previous owners' nasty IKEA chandeliers (one each in the dining and living rooms). I love you, IKEA, but let's be honest: your lights look cheap and dated after a time, and even you must agree that they are not appropriate for a 1908 Craftsman--right? Especially in the living room! What were these people thinking? We also put up some (period-approved)new house numbers and planted some flowers. We're not into large-scale landscape revitalization right now. The yard needs a HUGE overhaul--but after spending the late winter and entire spring packing, moving, unpacking, painting, and hosting three sets of visitors, we decided to let the yard look like crap this year and do something about it next year. There's a lot of freedom in that decision, which was a difficult one, as both D. and I love the accomplishment of a beautiful landscaping job. But the trade-off would be that we would not have the BEST SUMMER EVER, so there you go.

I drove by our old house the other day; the front bed is in full, gorgeous bloom. Three years' of growth have matured the plantings into a mass of blue, purple, and pink. Shades of grey and silver, yellow and green add depth. The lavender is huge, the variety of grasses are lovely; the coneflower and scabiosa were blowing in the breeze, and our weeping Black Swan Beech tree, Abagail, was looking healthy and stately. So much work went into that bed; now, we have to do it all over again. Sigh.

Today is my dad's 80th birthday party in New York. Sadly, I am not there. I so wanted to be; but the airline ticket prices are ridiculous right now, and I'm not up for a cross-country trip (a/k/a hell on earth) of cancelled flights, uncomfortable seats, screaming crying crotch fruit, and rude, pathetic security personnel. I'll wait until fall to see my dad. And I'll miss the laughs, memory-sharing, and closeness of hanging with my parents, six or so siblings and assorted nieces and nephews. And my brother's home brew. Damn, they're going to have fun. Here's to you, Dad. You are all a kid could have wanted in a dad, and more than I could hope for as an adult. Your devotion to mom and overflowing love for us kids and your grandchildren make us all real happy. We have so much to be thankful for; I'm so grateful for you!

Brewfest

It's the beer, stupid. It's one of the jillions of reasons I love living here. I love beer, and I love living in the area that is home to hundreds of microbreweries, all working hard to make the stuff that makes me happy.

Yesterday, I was lucky to partake of about a dozen damn fine brews at the Summer Brewfest where sixty or so of the best brewers around cheerfully dispensed their best.

Among my favorites:

Big Phatty Imperial Red from Water Street Brewing, Port Townsend, WA

Summer Brew from Snoqualmie Falls Brewing Company, Snoqualmie, WA

777 (Trippel 7) from Scuttlebutt Brewing Company, Everett, WA

3 Grid IPA, from Schooner Exact Brewing Co, Seattle, WA

Afterburner IPA from Flyers Restaurant and Brewery, Oak Harbor, WA (although I have an inherent distrust of a joint that bills itself first as a "restaurant," and whose url is eatatflyers.com)

and of course

Imperial IPA from Boundary Bay Brewery and Bistro, Bellingham WA. Simply the best and within walking distance from my house! Life doesn't get much better than that.

Seen on t-shirts:
Ithaca is Gorges
The Liver is Evil and Must be Punished
I get shit-faced drunk. How do you handle stress?
Save the Ales

So thank you, men and women of the microbreweries, for working hard at your craft, for caring so damn much about the beer and about your consumers, and for being out there on a summer weekend so we can have a little fun and drink a lot of outstanding beer!

Nearly Esaped

I nearly escaped. All day long I waited for them to let down their guard, to fall asleep, or to go off on a walk or drive so I could make a break for it. They didn't move. They seemed content to sit close and read their Bill O'Reilly books.

Finally, in the early afternoon, a couple of heads nodded into naptime and I heard a movie playing downstairs. I perked up as the doorbell rang: a golden opportunity! I ran wide-eyed to the door, opened it cautiously and found two women campaigning for Barack Obama. They smiled widely and handed me a brochure.

"Barack! Barack! Do you know Barack? We love Barack! You must read his books! He's smart! He's articulate! He's the answer! I hate Hilary, but I love Barack!"

"Listen," I said, stepping out onto the porch and pulling the door closed behind me, "I'm surrounded in there and you have to help me."

"Surrounded?"

"Yes, surrounded. By Republicans! They're reading Bill O'Reilly! You gotta get me out of here!"

"Ohhhhhhhh. Republicans." They spoke softly. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Can I join you?"

"Have you read The Audacity of Hope?"

"No. I mean, not yet."

"Oh. Well, then, no, you may not."

"Come on, ladies, please! I'm dying in there!"

"Sorry, really." They backed away and turned toward the stairs. "We'll call you later to see how you're doing," they said as they dashed away.

I looked down at the brochure. Happy Senator waving to the crowd. "I thought you were going to save me." Head hanging, I went back into the house, threw the brochure into the recycle bin, and sighed.

Visit From the In-Laws

Help me.

Someone please get me out of here.

I am a prisoner in my own home.

First they kicked me out of my room. They won't sleep on our new $1400 futon.

Now there's a Bill O'Reilly book on my dining room table.

What's next? A testifying intervention? "Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior, Claire? Huh? HUH???? Are we going to see you in heaven??"

They've talked about zits and shingles and they don't know what wheatgrass is and I am trying to keep from running away for the weekend but I don't know if I'll succeed.

Help.

IN MEMORIUM: 1/16/94 -- 3/4/07

My friend:
You were a love, a companion, a confidante, a fixture. You were loyal, loving, funny and fearless. We don't know how we're going to continue without you. Our lives are instantly and forever changed. We wander through the house, reminded of you at every turn. We try to fill the time that we used to devote to your care. Now you're gone, and we have more time. But I don't really want it.

But I didn't want you to suffer for a moment. That was always our deal. I know you were tired. I know you were uncomfortable. I know you were frustrated that you couldn't run and jump and move like you used to. Did you feel trapped in your body? Were you fighting on because you knew we couldn't bear to lose you? Or were you still happy to be here? I wish I knew.

I wish I knew for sure that we did right by you; that we gave you the life you so deserved: did you have enough fun? Enough adventure? Did we take you on enough hikes and walks? There could never be too many walks. Did you have enough lake wading, and tennis ball chasing, and hanging out in the backyard with your sister, warning every pedestrian not to enter or else? Were there enough lazy summer afternoons napping on the porch? Did you like your food? How about your vet? We think she's amazing. . . did you?

I'm thankful that we have been able to bring you to work with us for the past few years. I have so enjoyed that time with you. You loved it too, right? You would run to the car in the morning, ready to go to work. Especially on Mondays. Leave it to a dog to love Mondays like you did.

You provided us so many years of laughter. You were such a funny guy. You used to just sit and stare at me with so much love on your face. I thank you for that. I thank you for the love, the protection, the loyalty, the perseverance, the fighting spirit, the life lessons, the companionship, the pure enjoyment of your personality, the gentle giant that you were. Your spirit shone through and touched so many of us. Everyone adored you. Everyone misses you. Most of all I miss you.

You came into our lives in a big way: physically, you took up a lot of space and your personality filled the house. You howled at police sirens. You hid in the bathtub during thunderstorms. You crashed through the screen door when you wanted to go outside. You turned and left the room whenever we tried to take your picture. Your presence was not to be unnoticed.

You left us as gently as a breeze. I will always remember you. I will always miss you. And I will always, always love you with all my heart.

Good-bye my friend.