A ride and a spousal moment
Aug. 7th, 2004 08:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninevirtuesJ and I went for a ride: from Lake Almaden along Santa Teresa, up the Bailey hill and out toward Uvas Reservoir. The ride to Uvas is one of my favorites; if you leave from my old house, it's a seventy mile ride there and back. Perfect. We only went for a few hours today, so we didn't quite make it there, but we went far enough.
It was warm and sunny, with golden hills and a blue, blue sky. The spicy scent of sage and bay filled the air, carried on a steady warm wind. I never realized how much that scent meant "home" to me; I breathed it in deeply, savoring it, memorizing it. Hmm-- "home" is the smell of a bike ride, not the smell of bread baking or meat cooking or my mother's favorite flower. Home is escape, adventure, action... not domesticity. I already vaguely knew that, but on this particular afternoon, that conclusion presents itself here in a tangible, scented way.
I discover, on my way up the Bailey hill (an 8 minute hill if I'm in shape, 12 minutes if not) that my legs ache. I do not want to race tomorrow. Jane discovers that her time spent in England, caring for her sick Mum, has taken its toll on her fitness. We've been in good shape before, and we will be again, but right at this moment, we're not.
On the way back, we make a prearranged stop by my old house to pick up some stuff that T has discovered in an attic. On the way there, I nearly run a stop sign... a sure sign that, while I feel okay, I'm not necessarily okay: I'm preoccupied and thinking hard.
T is the same T: overweight, rumpled, abrupt. (Epiphany #1: If a stranger looking like T asked me for a date, I'd say no.) He's sold the house and is moving out of it on Monday. He'll travel for a while; no particular destination, no particular plans, no end date. (I'm not surprised; he's wanted to do that-- shuck all responsibilities and travel extensively-- for a long time.) The house looks good; he had the back yard landscaped, and the rooms are full of furniture to replace what I took when I moved out.
(Epiphany #2: The plans I had for the beautiful house I loved will not come to pass; the life I envisioned in it is not the right one for me; I'm having the right one for me, which will probably mean a clean, modern townhouse and a life spent working, helping others heal-- not wealth and purposelessness. I like to work. I like my work to have meaning in the larger world.)
I ask Tim what he got for the house. He names a figure much larger than we paid for it. (Epiphany #3: I'm happy and relieved about that. Toward the end of our marriage, Tim always seemed angry with me about something, and frequently that was the cost of renovations on the house-- whether or not he agreed that said renovations were necessary. He made a large profit on the house, so I consider the slate wiped clean between us-- on this issue, at least.
It was warm and sunny, with golden hills and a blue, blue sky. The spicy scent of sage and bay filled the air, carried on a steady warm wind. I never realized how much that scent meant "home" to me; I breathed it in deeply, savoring it, memorizing it. Hmm-- "home" is the smell of a bike ride, not the smell of bread baking or meat cooking or my mother's favorite flower. Home is escape, adventure, action... not domesticity. I already vaguely knew that, but on this particular afternoon, that conclusion presents itself here in a tangible, scented way.
I discover, on my way up the Bailey hill (an 8 minute hill if I'm in shape, 12 minutes if not) that my legs ache. I do not want to race tomorrow. Jane discovers that her time spent in England, caring for her sick Mum, has taken its toll on her fitness. We've been in good shape before, and we will be again, but right at this moment, we're not.
On the way back, we make a prearranged stop by my old house to pick up some stuff that T has discovered in an attic. On the way there, I nearly run a stop sign... a sure sign that, while I feel okay, I'm not necessarily okay: I'm preoccupied and thinking hard.
T is the same T: overweight, rumpled, abrupt. (Epiphany #1: If a stranger looking like T asked me for a date, I'd say no.) He's sold the house and is moving out of it on Monday. He'll travel for a while; no particular destination, no particular plans, no end date. (I'm not surprised; he's wanted to do that-- shuck all responsibilities and travel extensively-- for a long time.) The house looks good; he had the back yard landscaped, and the rooms are full of furniture to replace what I took when I moved out.
(Epiphany #2: The plans I had for the beautiful house I loved will not come to pass; the life I envisioned in it is not the right one for me; I'm having the right one for me, which will probably mean a clean, modern townhouse and a life spent working, helping others heal-- not wealth and purposelessness. I like to work. I like my work to have meaning in the larger world.)
I ask Tim what he got for the house. He names a figure much larger than we paid for it. (Epiphany #3: I'm happy and relieved about that. Toward the end of our marriage, Tim always seemed angry with me about something, and frequently that was the cost of renovations on the house-- whether or not he agreed that said renovations were necessary. He made a large profit on the house, so I consider the slate wiped clean between us-- on this issue, at least.
