Sunday, June 13, 2021

Sunday, June 13, 2021

 

    I've been agitated, obsessively arguing with others in my head. I used to do that a lot before I met Mike. Being ready for the fight was my default mode. That's how I lived with my mom. I was constantly working on getting her to see my point of view; mind you not agree with it, just see it. I didn't understand that she saw that as a threat to her wellbeing. Any difference from hers was considered a put-down. Huh? Mike relieved me of this burden. He both became my protector and my refuge. 

      The first time I brought him to my mom's house for dinner, he did something amazing. I was exhausted from the long drive to her house and the stress of the situation. I needed a nap. I went to my old bedroom to lie down. Mike came up with me, pulled out my desk chair, turned it so it faced the head of the bed, sat there, and read while I slept. If he hadn't done that, my mother would have screamed at me for being rude to our guest. Mike's behavior was so impressive that it dampened her anger besides just inhibiting her from acting it out. While he never had occasion to do something so gallant again, the image of him quietly protecting me remained with me.

      Besides protecting me, he was a refuge from myself as well as others. He helped by not tolerating my complaints about others. Early in our relationship, I was in conflict with a commune-mate. I went on and on and on. One day he said to me, "I love you dearly. You have till Friday to fix it. I don't want to hear about it after that." I remember feeling relief. "You mean I don't have to talk about it?" It was a verbal habit. So is this internal mental one. Unfortunately, thinking about something compulsively has proven fruitful now and then. I have come up with something to say that improved the situation. Sometimes, those arguments in my head helped me see the other person's point of view.

      Mike was also a source of pure comfort. I would say I needed a hug and got one, no questions asked. 

      I called Dorothy to wish her a happy birthday. She is 76 today. She consented to my happy birthday song. She actually complimented it. I                   started singing that way to accommodate Mike's tin ear. He couldn't carry a tune to save himself. We made a virtue out of failing a developed a whole new tradition. 

            I have known Dorothy since she was two weeks old. I was sent to friends in Massachusetts for two weeks before my mother gave birth. No, I didn't feel bad. I was proud as punch to contribute to the family. I also had a great time. I have vivid memories of the month I spent there. 

       Dorothy and I talked about the Great American Songbook. What songs are in it? Who decides which songs make it onto the list? The latest ones are from the early 60s, so songs are added. Why not some more recent songs on the list? Burt Bacharach's songs? I'm sure there are others. 

        I planned to make another copy of the video today. But instead, I spent most of my time reading and napping. That's good too.

 

hile was unusually small. I think this is a story about himself. It sounds like something he would do.

            My blog numbers have dropped from over one hundred to less than ten, and no one is from Turkey. It is more evidence that my blog has become a class assignment; I assume from some teacher teaching the English language in Turkey. Glad I'm doing someone some good.   While my numbers have dropped precipitously, and I even had zero readers one day, they are frequently between two and seven. The first year the blog was public, they ran between zero and two, with more zeroes.

            On writing these updates and entering them a year later to the public blog:  Sometimes, it seems like a burden I'd like to put down, but I know it gives my life shape and some meaning. Putting it down would be the worst thing I could do for myself.