Post-Halloween scare
On Halloween we went to a friend's party, which I will write about soon. Mr. A picked me up at work so we could drive over together, and after the party we were pulling into our own driveway before I remembered I'd left the other car at my office. No big deal, we decided. I'd ride the bike into town the next day, and at the end of the day just throw it in the back of the car before driving home.
It seemed like a great plan, until it got to be about quitting time and I realized I had forgotten to bring the car keys. I tried calling Mr. A, but there was no answer at home or on his cell. So I puttered around my office for another half hour and called again. Still no answer.
The problem was not that I didn't want to ride the bike home, but that I know he doesn't like leaving the car parked in public, especially overnight. Finally I decided just to go ahead and ride home, and if he was upset about leaving the car in the lot for a second night, we could drive back into town and get it.
But when I got home, he wasn't there. A little background will come in handy here: Mr. A is not the kind of man who will just casually decide to stop somewhere for a few hours after work. He either comes straight home (he's even more of a homebody than I am), or calls to let me know where he is and when he'll be back. He never fails to do this – it's one of the many things I appreciate about him, especially after having lived with someone who would regularly disappear for days without notice. As I waited for Mr. A last night I relived so many memories of sitting up in bed in the middle of the night, ears straining to hear the sound of my ex-husband's Volkswagon chugging up our perilous mountain road, wondering whether he might be dead or in the hospital, or possibly in jail somewhere, or who knew where, exactly ... Those were some awful years.
Which is why I so love Mr. A's thoughtfulness and reliability, and why, by about 8:30 last night, I was really starting to freak out about what could have happened to him. He just doesn't "not show up." And since he gets up so early now, he's usually asleep by 8:30. I had called his brother to see if he might've dropped by (no) and was just beginning to look for accident reports on the web, when the phone rang and it was him.
To finally come to the end of this story, he was in Bakersfield doing some kind of inspection. He'd told me he was going down there this week, but I was at work and distracted when he called and had not clued in that they were going to be staying overnight (usually on these trips they're down and back on the same day).
So I guess this isn't much of a story after all, since nothing really happened. Except, something did happen – I spent several hours thinking about what my life is like with Mr. A in it, and what it might be like if he were no longer in it, and I've decided I very much prefer my life WITH him in it. This was not news to me, but it did sink in last night in a way it never really has before, and left me even more grateful for the blessing of being loved.
Today is Día de los Muertos. Over the last few years it's become hands down my favorite holiday. I love the celebration of life and memory, the candles, the flowers, the music, the food and especially the Ofrendas – altars to honor loved ones who've died. Our museum hosts a show of personal and community altars every year, which opens today, and I usually set up a little one at home, too. It feels good to remember friends who are gone, and to remember that I'll be joining them someday myself. It feels good, because I never want to die; I can't believe I'm ever going to. Knowing that I will makes me pay closer attention to everything, and the more I pay attention, the more I see to be thankful for. Just being here, for any time at all, is kind of amazing.
At this time of year I always think of the lines from that Mary Oliver poem: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?"
It seemed like a great plan, until it got to be about quitting time and I realized I had forgotten to bring the car keys. I tried calling Mr. A, but there was no answer at home or on his cell. So I puttered around my office for another half hour and called again. Still no answer.
The problem was not that I didn't want to ride the bike home, but that I know he doesn't like leaving the car parked in public, especially overnight. Finally I decided just to go ahead and ride home, and if he was upset about leaving the car in the lot for a second night, we could drive back into town and get it.
But when I got home, he wasn't there. A little background will come in handy here: Mr. A is not the kind of man who will just casually decide to stop somewhere for a few hours after work. He either comes straight home (he's even more of a homebody than I am), or calls to let me know where he is and when he'll be back. He never fails to do this – it's one of the many things I appreciate about him, especially after having lived with someone who would regularly disappear for days without notice. As I waited for Mr. A last night I relived so many memories of sitting up in bed in the middle of the night, ears straining to hear the sound of my ex-husband's Volkswagon chugging up our perilous mountain road, wondering whether he might be dead or in the hospital, or possibly in jail somewhere, or who knew where, exactly ... Those were some awful years.
Which is why I so love Mr. A's thoughtfulness and reliability, and why, by about 8:30 last night, I was really starting to freak out about what could have happened to him. He just doesn't "not show up." And since he gets up so early now, he's usually asleep by 8:30. I had called his brother to see if he might've dropped by (no) and was just beginning to look for accident reports on the web, when the phone rang and it was him.
To finally come to the end of this story, he was in Bakersfield doing some kind of inspection. He'd told me he was going down there this week, but I was at work and distracted when he called and had not clued in that they were going to be staying overnight (usually on these trips they're down and back on the same day).
So I guess this isn't much of a story after all, since nothing really happened. Except, something did happen – I spent several hours thinking about what my life is like with Mr. A in it, and what it might be like if he were no longer in it, and I've decided I very much prefer my life WITH him in it. This was not news to me, but it did sink in last night in a way it never really has before, and left me even more grateful for the blessing of being loved.
Today is Día de los Muertos. Over the last few years it's become hands down my favorite holiday. I love the celebration of life and memory, the candles, the flowers, the music, the food and especially the Ofrendas – altars to honor loved ones who've died. Our museum hosts a show of personal and community altars every year, which opens today, and I usually set up a little one at home, too. It feels good to remember friends who are gone, and to remember that I'll be joining them someday myself. It feels good, because I never want to die; I can't believe I'm ever going to. Knowing that I will makes me pay closer attention to everything, and the more I pay attention, the more I see to be thankful for. Just being here, for any time at all, is kind of amazing.
At this time of year I always think of the lines from that Mary Oliver poem: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?"
3 Comments:
I know that sick-worry feeling and that straining of the ears to hear any sort of hint of the return of the missing loved one.
It's awful. I'm glad everything turned out OK.
I'd never read that poem before. And I really love it! Thank you for posting it.
That is a great excerpt from that poem. I've had similar experiences where I realized I was taking someone's presence in my life for granted, and how empty I'd feel if they were not in it.
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