Over the past couple
of weeks I have written this and written it again, but it just wouldn't come
out right. So I cleaned the house
and put away all the Christmas decorations. Still it wouldn't just write itself. This morning I started the day with a
fibre-rich breakfast of porridge and then a wonderful health-giving salad for
lunch, from there the afternoon went downhill as I ate four of the luscious
Swiss chocolates we got as a Christmas present, finished off the buttery Salmon
risotto I made before Vic left and then had a large bowl of pecan and caramel
ice-cream. Oh, did I say
that? Before Vic left…
That's what has
happened to love's young dream, it's bust, it's over, it's irretrievably broken
and now instead of two laps there is only one and the Westies have to take
turns so I get even less work done, at least we all fit in the bed again.
The last years have
been hard, harder than anybody could really imagine. Our initial mistake with our original builder/architect
followed by the strain of the building works going on and on and on, not to
mention the money going out hand over fist and the long empty times between
visits, when we wrote each other emails every day full of love and promises as
well as news and gossip.
I noticed in the
last year though that we were both getting too good at being on our own. My life here was full of teaching,
building, Westies and going out with the girls every other Friday night. I was content with my own company and
as the house was finally taking shape everything was finding a place, places
that I chose. Vic, on the other side of the world it
would seem, was working ridiculously long hours and on the weekends walking by
the sea and beachcombing, also becoming content in his solitude. His room in the house where he lodged
was his little sanctuary where the shells and pebbles were steadily mounting on
the windowsill overlooking the golf course. He spent his evenings reading or listening to music and on
his weekends, as well as the beach, he explored the town and the quirky little
pubs he found there.
When he came home on
his infrequent visits he would rearrange all my organisation of things. I let him because it should have made
him happy, but it didn't, and then when he went away again I slowly put
everything back where I could find it.
Now my head is full
of all those songs about lost love, "It's too late baby, now it's too late
though we really did try to make it" "It must have been love, but
it's over now". As I wash the
dishes I find myself singing "My love is in America" and I keep
thinking about the little cracks in our relationship that we tried to patch up,
like the settlement cracks in our living room wall, but we couldn’t keep them
patched and now the cracks are canyons.
The walls on the other hand are holding up just fine.
I thought I was
going to feel more excited about being single again, but instead I feel
listless and uncreative. I have
only done house-cleaning really and restacked the wood so that I can get at the
olive. Today I chopped back the
wild tentacles of the fig tree. I
make a list everyday, but find myself doing totally other things that I have
not written down. Most poignantly
I have avoided writing my blog and doing the mending, because I do not need to
mend Vic's favourite jeans now as he does not belong to me anymore, but on the
other hand to mend my own things will only make me feel guilty about not doing
his, so I do none at all and sweep out some furry corner of the house instead
or clean the windows now that Christmas is gone. The blog, well, it was bound to be difficult.
Taking down the
Christmas tree was the hardest part.
It took me three days. The
tree was the first birthday present Vic bought for me. My birthday being on the 5th
of December it seemed apt. I had
no tree and had not really 'done' Christmas for several years prior to our
meeting, but Vic loved Christmas.
I wonder now if he still loves Christmas or will again in the
future. I feel that Christmas is for
children and not having any now, not small ones that is, there seems very
little point when I would much rather go for a long walk in the mountain than
sit down for a huge traditional roast with all the trimmings. Decorating the house only means undecorating
it again when all the fuss is over.
It does mean the house gets a good spring clean mind. So I suppose that has to be a good
thing.
We began with so
much hope and so much love. Where
did it go? (Baby, baby where did our love go?) I can't believe that there is nothing left after all these
years together. But rather sadly
we have simply grown apart and apparently there is nothing.
The last few days
were the most painful. We could
not talk, there was too much to say and no way to say it that would not hurt
the other, so it seemed better to hold one's tongue. On the other hand the silences were like a roaring storm in
my brain that made my head hurt and my eyes water. We had to endure each other's presence until the 31st
of December when Vic got a taxi for the airport and left the house. There was no last minute reprieve and
now he has gone.
So I sit here
finally forcing myself to write.
There is a dog asleep across my lap, another on the axe-cushion and the
third sprawled and snoring at my feet.
The church bells are clanging out
'Amazing Grace' and 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful', which is really rather
lovely. I wish I was not so
stuffed with rice and chocolates and ice-cream. I have left no room for a final sherry to put this
Christmas, which I would really like to forget forever, to bed.
 |
| In happier times when we shared a Big Love as well as all our hopes and dreams…. |
