Recently in Love Category

I can not believe this shit. Are you fucking kidding me?

My brother-in-law sent along a copy of my brother's speech at grandpa's service, and it was just beautiful. It's funny how the memories my brother chose to highlight in his speech are the exact same ones I would choose: 7-Up in plastic cups, Lincoln logs and wheelchair races in the basement, games of Uno in the dining room. When I think of these memories, they are so powerful that even the smell of them comes to mind. It makes me happy to think of them, even if that happiness is tinged with the sadness of knowing they are over. The funny thing is that I think it has been almost two decades since we last had a wheelchair race, maybe 15 years since our last Uno game, but it is just now that I am saddened at the thought that all of that has come to a close. The three of us -- my brother, sister and I -- are truly blessed to have built such a wonderful repertoire of positive memories with our grandparents. It is wonderful to feel nothing but love for Grandpa after almost 28 years of knowing him. He had such a kind soul, and I think anybody who knew him would attest to that.

I am saddened, too, to think that he never got to meet Mateo. My parents brought him pictures but of course that is not the same. Thinking back on my childhood and the role my grandparents played, I am determined to keep Mateo in my parents' lives just as much (if not more) than I was with my grandparents. I am confident that my mom and dad -- who are kind-hearted in the same way Grandpa was -- will have their own rituals and memories to build with my son. I look forward to discovering what those might be.

And because life moves on, and because Grandpa would have liked to see asmile on his great-grandson's face:

I hope that I am lucky enough to grow old with somebody.

If I've done anything right, maybe that person would be like my grandpa. During visits, I've always been amazed at how much attention he gives me grandma. It is beautiful to see. Pulling up to a restaurant in the car, he would insist on opening her door and helping her to the front door. Not so steady himself, I guess he always figured that, even if he is a little wobbly on his feet, a true gentleman is a gentleman for life.

And that's what he was. Grandpa died on Monday. He was in his 90's and, I think, pretty much ready to go. Of course, if I could buy him some more time I would, and I would go visit him and watch him hold my grandma's hand one more time. Maybe he could fall asleep during another story, or tell us one of his own in his Minnesota accent. Life was slow and simple for him at the end, and we are all grateful that my grandparents were both in decent enough health to be able to stay together, in their own home, for so long.

My family has all flown out to take care of things out there, and to help my grandma who is going to have a tough go of things without her Howard. Although I think we were all braced for this, I am just so sad about it. My grandpa was an amazing sweetheart, and I will miss him.

On a personal note, I am struck by how much this has driven home the fact that I have been so far from my family for so long. I guess the distance doesn't feel so strong until it becomes an obstacle. Now more than ever, I am glad I have made the decision to return to be nearer to my parents and siblings, even if that just means being on the same continent if not in the same city.

I wish I could be with them now.

I am winding down from a whirlwind of a day.

Last night, I had a long conversation with The Boy about the new apartment, what we're doing, why. It turned into a semi-argument, before we both decided it was pointless to fight over anything. The main line was: he's not coming to the new apartment with me. I need to accept this. We need to work on moving out. After said discussion, we went to bed and looked at one another in the eyes and said that this is too hard, that this is so weird, what are we doing? And then we fell asleep. So once again: confusion.

This morning, he came with me for the first time to the new place. The Boy is one of those people who rarely compliments -- if he doesn't think of something negative to say, then I usually consider that a mini-victory. Walking around the neighborhood, he said, "Oh, I thought it would be a little more dead. It's pretty lively around here, yet still pleasant and calm." Point one. As we walked into the building, he commented on the ceilings and walls (they have cracks, like every old building in Paris) and he said it doesn't correspond to the photos he saw of the place. Minus one point. Once inside the apartment, he didn't like where the fridge was placed - subtract another point. However, beyond that, he had nothing negative to say. As a matter of fact, he was very positive, and it felt nice to share that with him. I'd say we walked away with 5 or 6 points, total. He was very happy with the new apartment, and it's the kind of place that makes one want to linger for a moment. So we spent awhile just chilling out there, and then we went to the carpet store to find stuff to fit out his house.

We bought the carpet and organized shipping dates, and then motored over to Beaubourg to buy some paint at Leroy Merlin. Oh so many people! Oh so hard to decide on paints! Oh, just get out of my way, Old Man With the Basked Full of Home Deco Goods! But we found what we needed. Then we hustled back to the crib and dropped off our purchases. Tomorrow we have measuring and guesstimating to do... all of this moving is a monstrous task.

Once we got back to the house we nearly collapsed. There had been so much walking and deciding and pointing and stairs-climbing and the rest, we were just exhausted. We hung out on the bed for awhile and just gabbed -- something we rarely do anymore. It was so nice, and yet so out of place because we had just spent the whole day preparing our seperation, in a way. Relaxing in bed, I thought about what great friends we are, beyond all the crap that is going on in our couple, and how much we make one another laugh. The thought was bittersweet.

Afterwards, I asked him if he would go to my friend's party tonight. It is nearly impossible to convince him to leave the house on the weekends, at it is the only time he gets to work on his own business (during the week he has a paying job to go to). Surprisingly, he agreed. We went to the party, had a lovely time, had a wonderful discussion on the way back, and then we both hung around in the living room thanking one another for such a great, bonecrushing day.

Last night I was feeling really low. I was so upset about the direction of our relationship, the feeling that he was just abandoning me completely. Today, I am much more optimistic. Yes, I believe we will live in our seperate quarters for awhile, or that there will certainly be a huge difference in the amount of time we spend together. But I also know that we are incredibly close, and that he and I are best friends despite all of the troubles we are having right now. Mainly, I am just happy to have spent a great day with him, doing what was technically a series of very painful tasks with a smile.

I know The Boy and I have our problems right now, but I request he do one small, fairly insignificant thing to relieve some of the stress in my life. It's not big, it's not difficult, but apparently it's impossible to actually do.

He has a habit -- oh God, it's so awful - of singing these two lines from some African song he loves. He sings them constantly, all the time, and repeats them throughout the day. I can't reproduce the words here, exactly (because I don't speak the language) but that doesn't matter. Just imagine somebody singing, at least 40 times per day, "Billie Jean is not my lover. She's just a girl who claims that I am the one." And just singing that one part. Just those seventeen words. Over and over and over again. Constantly. But wait! Then, make the tune be to zouk-like music, and change the lyrics to a language you don't speak. And THEN repeat it forty times. Sporadically, too -- never just all in one go.

So ok, it would bother you a little bit, right? I mean, this is a day-in day-out kind of thing, and he doesn't seem to get why it is so incredibly annoying. Plus, it's not like the song he is singing is even good. It's a bad, bad song and I hate it with an even greater passion now that I have had to listen to those same lines at least 4,278 times.

But it's worse than you think. This has been going on for at least six months, as I firmly remember getting into a little tiff about the whole thing while I was still planning my trip to India.

When I can't take it anymore, I say, "Do you think you could at least change the lyrics? Sing a different part of the song? Sing a DIFFERENT song, maybe? I don't care!" and he always answers, all huffy-like, "Does it really affect your life in a negative way if I sing the song?"

To which I answer, "Yes!!! Good Lord, it does! You MUST STOP NOW!!!"

But he doesn't.

Somebody either validate me (for feeling this is totally absurd and that I am not crazy for not being able to handle it anymore and that he needs to stop) or shoot me. It's an either/or situation here.

A few days back, The Boy and I had an all-out, screaming, terrible argument. It's the same all-out, screaming, terrible argument we had a few weeks prior, and the same as the one two weeks before that.

It's funny: I guess I always saw couples and their problems and thought that I just wouldn't be that way. But The Boy and I have some major stumbling blocks, and we both know it. I got mega-upset the other day (perhaps enhanced by some off-kilter hormones... a story for another day) and knew, just KNEW I was easing my way into hot water. And yet, I pushed the issue (rather shrilly, I admit) and he responded with his usual "Oh please, this is just annoying..." One word to the fellas out there: never, ever say that to a woman already bordering on tears. She'll get REALLY mad. And she'll cry. Lots.

Anyway. Post-fight, I spent a long while a bit upset about it. And then I went out to dinner with Kathypath, and she said, "One thing I have to admire about you guys is that you fight so hard to stay together. If there's an effort to be made, you'll both try to make it, even if it doesn't totally work. That's what adults do in adult relationships. They try."

And I realized she's right. We DO work to stay together, even when we're tearing each other's hair out. That's love, I guess.

Today is Sunday, and I spent all night sick and feverish. I took two naps today and I still have a sore neck and back in that way they can get all icky when you're sick. The Boy has been cute; we spent most of the day just talking quietly. We got some work done, and he urged me to take it easy. And we both sort of apologized, without really saying it, by being extra snuggly with one another.

He's a gem. Talk to me in a few days, and I'll probably bitch about him. But I know he's worth fighting for. And with.