As we had long been preparing for, Laura has been staying in New York on weekdays for the past two months or so. We've been doing well with this, all in all. I am holding down the homestead and raising my butternut squash crop. She is out there running a huge school. I am making motor sounds while playing with a balsa wood airplane, and she is running the control tower at JFK. We each have our gifts.
Grocery shopping has been one of the biggest structural changes: I shop for one during the week and for two on the weekends. It takes concentration -- like going from base 10 to the binary system and then back again in arithmetic. Not my strong point. I will say that there has been some overage of romaine and a few emergency banana smoothies.
There are other adjustments: I've taken over the household jobs that once were Laura's, of course. Actually, in some cases I'm foregoing the task altogether. I'm not drinking coffee during the week anymore, since Laura is the one who makes it. When I do have coffee on the weekends (because suddenly there is some), it is like a shot of adrenaline straight up. Coffee is fabulous, wondrous stuff on Saturdays and Sundays.
What is the dog's problem? I wondered early on, before realizing that someone with opposable thumbs maybe should feed him. And I am still trying to figure out if there is a solution to the problem of my side of the sheets being ready for washing when her side is still plenty crisp. I'm not happy with either the over- or the under-laundering solution.
I'm sorry to see Laura drive off on Sunday, but I can get on a chair and stand on my tiptoes and see Friday coming over the horizon, so it's okay. When school started, though, a new feeling took me by surprise. I began to feel like I am missing out on the fun. Cool things happen at school.
One of Laura's advisees, 14-year-old Max, for example, wrote a short piece of music in his music composition course last spring. The teacher asked the Manhattan String Quartet to perform all the students' compositions, and you can hear them by putting sq2012ecfs into your browser. This kind of thing, you've gotta admit, is extremely cool. This is run-of-the-mill cool at Fieldston.
But it's not just happenings and the creative vibe of a school that I am missing. When Laura was at Porter's, my identity was enhanced by being connected to her. Students and faculty would wave to me and greet me because I was the missus of someone well loved in that community. As her tenure there recedes below the opposite horizon of time, I am increasingly anonymous -- just another middle-aged walker passing campus, dragging her starving dog. Students used to greet me with friendly recognition, and now they generally don't see me at all. It's a little bit sad that students no longer care if I see them go behind the AT&T building to smoke. It used to make them nervous, and that was kind of fun.
And since I'm not around Fieldston's campus, I'm anonymous there, too. I don't get the radiant heat that comes with being the principal's spouse. I miss basking in that warmth.
Also there is this: in my profession you make an explicit agreement to keep relationships with clients private. When I run into clients outside the office, I give them a wide berth so they don't need to decide whether to acknowledge me or not. It adds another layer of anonymity.
It's not a problem yet, but I'm tracking this new feeling within me. I think even the hermit up there in the cave kind of liked being known as a hermit. Even the hermit -- who cherished all that alone time -- didn't want to be completely anonymous.
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When I worked with the homeless, they were 'invisible'. In my downward slide to poverty, & with my white hair, I am 'liminal'. As an 'extroverted hermit', it is hard to be 'liminal', so I feel your pain as an 'anonymous'.
ReplyDeleteAn interesting new unknown for you to ponder, p. As always, thanks for the window into the world as you see it. You have a wonderful gift for talking about the simple stuff of life that is so readable and enjoyable and sweet and touching. I hope Bear hasn't had to lose too many meals in the transition :-).
ReplyDeleteThis is a very evocative post for me because it's not only about Change but it's also about the pit of Loss embedded in every change, big or little, good or bad. This has to be acknowledged and honored. You do that, Paula, in this post.
ReplyDeleteAs a widow, I have experienced, in addition to the loss of my spouse, the loss of daily rituals, loss of financial stability, loss of personal security, loss of bed partner, loss of community, loss of status, loss of identity, etc. It's taken years of healing and conscious work to rebuild and reclaim my life.
Many of us cherish alone time. I don't need or want to be with people all the time. But, none of us wants to be invisible. We want to choose the times and amounts of our anonymity. I certainly hope the Fieldston community gets to know you over time. That would be a win-win situation!