I Saw You Standing There

I saw you standing there, putting on your helmet.  A silver BMW. 650 cc.  I approached you.  I was bold like that, even then.  I asked if it was yours, the motorcycle.  You blushed.  Why, yes! Yes it is.  The blush was not for me, the bold young woman, but for your lie.

The bike was your dad's, a man who lied easily, without even the blush.  The one who lied to your mother business trip after trip, denying the significance of late night dinners with young women.  You didn't lie as easily.  Your pale skin flushed each time, punctuating your blue eyes, dimples, while your blond hair swept over your forehead.

The blush, I thought, was your True Inner Self, that you were really Good, but corrupted by Nurture.  I would reveal this True Inner Self.  Because I would really understand him.  And rescue him.  He was truly a kind man.  He had a sweet nature.  It was unfortunate that he was divorced from a wife.  They married too young.  They were so different.  She had their two children and was with her parents.  Bad things happen to good people.

He was sweet. And kind.  And patient.  And I wasn't going to marry him, after all.  It didn't matter that he didn't have the same foundational beliefs about life and death as I did.

So I prayed for him, that he would become a Christian.  Doesn't that seem like the right thing for a Christian girl to do?  No, you see, I prayed so that my desire would be justified in His sight.  Because deep down inside, I knew it was not a good place to be.  Should we do something that we know isn't right and then ask for forgiveness?  That's manipulative, isn't it? Abusing someone's love?  Whether your earthly father or your Heavenly one, should you deliberately get into a bad situation knowing you can get him to fix it?  "Look, I want this (him,) and I want you to make it right."  God the Vending Machine.

The first time I went to his duplex, which he shared with a roommate, I saw a woman's things about.  At my questioning stare, he blushed.  Yes, they're her things.  Well, we're not divorced yet.  Well, we're living apart.  Well, I haven't called a lawyer yet.  No, we're not technically separated.  But she knows, she knows.  That blush.

"It is when a person walks at night that they stumble, for they have no light."

In the dark of night, my fingers coiled around the phone, I paused.  I asked, "Are you alone??" This time, I could almost hear him blush.  I saw more than heard the rustle of sheets.

Of course, his wife didn't know.  This woman didn't, either.

But I did know.  As the dawn approached, exhausted from crying, I stumbled into The Other Woman: me.  Me, the unblushing liar.  I could see myself  standing there, having been a part of all the lies.  But most painful of all, the denial of everything I Believed, and lying to myself.

Towels and Socks

**I'll be back with What I Wore when I get my desktop from the repair shop.**

Until then...by latest brain dump:

The other week, I was in a conversation with 2 other women.  And per my peri-menapausal self, I have no idea who they were.  But I do remember the conversation.  Of course my recollection could be all wrong.  But well, I'm getting a blog post out of it anyway!

One woman was young and was soon to be married.  She relayed that her fiance was very helpful with housework and that they had done laundry together.  She, with a light but nevertheless conspiratorial tone, explained how he did not know how to fold towels.  She contended that a towel should be folded in half then again in half, but then it needed to be folded in THIRDS. 
"I KNOoooow, right?!!"  
The two women giggled at the helplessness and hopelessness of men.  Never mind that I don't fold mine in thirds because a) I'm lazy that way and b) they wouldn't fit in my linen closet. 

Surely you have, or you have heard other women roll their eyes when the dad dresses the children and it's not to the woman's liking.  You know, the sox may not match.  Or GOD FORBID, he put the wrong pink leggings on the girl.  I suppose we women pride ourselves on these trivial matters.  We also judge each other for them.  And hence, we might feel self-counscious, that the mismatched socks would be a reflection on our womanhood.

We women can be so quick to joke about men and their ineptitude about household matters.  We may not mean to be mean, but in the end, the constant, little undercutting is, well, mean.  I wanted to tell this young woman, that this eye-rolling at the trivialities of life is but just the first foundation stone laid for their marriage.  That she won't like the way he does the dishes.  Or dry them.  She won't like the shirt he put on for the party.  Or his favorite chair.  She won't like the socks he put on their child.
She might start relaying these stories.  At the party.  Or correct him in front of others.  Little harmless put downs.
Then she'll fight with him because he won't help around the house.

The Apple of My Eye

Adam was lonely. Despite all the animals. I guess a dog is not man's best friend.  So God made a woman just. for. Adam.  A soul mate.  God who merely thought and it happened.  God who did not ponder and wonder but was wholly complete in thought, word and deed.  He made a creature that would completely fill Adam's needs.

Then the serpent came and pointed to the forbidden fruit.  Eve looked at the fruit and it looked good to eat.  How many things were there in the garden that were good to look at and good to eat?  It was only when the serpent pointed that forbidden one out that maybe Eve started to want it.  It's like going to the mall...you see all these things you never knew you had to have! 

Eve was living in paradise.  PARADISE.  Do you understand the circumstance?

Perfection.  Living someplace that was perfectly designed for her, for him.  Living with your soul mate.  So much so that they had no name for each other.  It was only after the fall, when there was a separation that they needed an identifier.  There was no death.  No aging, no wrinkles, no imperfections. I bet she never had to say, "Adam, does this make me look fat??"

And yet.
And YET.

She had everything, but it wasn't enough.  She had to have that other fruit.  Is the Genesis Garden of Eden a true story, a myth or an allegory?  What does this story say about us as a woman?  Do you see yourself in Eve?  I do.

I pondered this as I tend to do.  Percolate.  Simmer.  I have a wonderful husband, a marriage blessed by God, a beautiful earthly home.  I really cannot ask for a more fabulous husband - one who loves me, who cares for me, takes care of me, is patient with me.

And yet.
And YET.

I want more.  I want him to be neater.  My bedroom usually looks like a laundry bomb went off.  Over the years, I just could not keep up and slowly gave up.  I was going to fight and nag every day or I was going to accept it.  I chose to accept it.  But not really.  It eats away at me in a deep, dark corner of my being.  Dissatisfied, unhappy.  This is my home!  My nest!  My sanctuary!  Blah blah blah.  Yadda yadda yadda.  Am I not just. like. Eve??

Oh, the fruit of a perfectly clean bedroom looked good to me.  And I wanted it.  I recognized that desire for something more than I have, something else to make me happier, even though I am in Paradise!  I have turned away from that fruit and to enjoy all the goodness of my world that God has blessed upon me.

I love you HH.  Even if your chair is piled high with clothes.

New Do

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I hadn't had a hair cut in months.  I've been too busy to make the 50-minute drive to the salon.  A highly skilled hair stylist can do my hair, and anyone else's, but I haven't found one in this here part of the world.  They really need to understand texture and shape; the texture of my hair, the shape of my head, what complements my features.  So I drive to a Korean stylist whose clientele is mostly Asian.

The very hairs on my head are different -  each hair on my head has longer fibres, a rounder cross-section, and is about 40% thicker than Caucasians'.  I've heard that because of its thickness, our hair must be cut directionally, that it, must be combed carefully and cut at a particular angle to keep it laying properly.  (If you think about cutting pencil lead vs a pencil - does that help you envision it?)

HH and I were having a talk one morning before he left for work.  I was saying I needed a hair cut and started to cry.  I was high at the time - high on hormones.  I hadn't had a haircut in months and felt disheveled and unattractive.  I knew I should be able to transcend that and concentrate on my inner self but I couldn't.  I felt badly about myself.  Frumpy and dumpy. 

I heard about a Tom Jones song when I was younger that had a line something like,

'When your woman is feeling bad, Sometimes a woman needs a new dress.'

At the time, those words turned my blood into sour juice that shot through my veins right into my heart and head and nearly drove me to insanity. 

Twenty years later, I see that sometimes, this woman needs a new dress.  Or do
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