Sprung At Last

Tale of Woe: The Day After

01.24.2012 by J. Doe // 2 Comments

A funny thing happened the night He left: the dog slept downstairs. Not only that, he did it after spending the entire evening lying contentedly in the living room.

He did it again the next night, and the night after that.

I know this doesn’t sound like a detail worth noting, but this is not what my dog does. What my dog does is spend every evening whining and agitating to get outside. Sometimes he sleeps out in the yard until the wee hours. Sometimes he doesn’t like it outside, and whines to come back in, but then decides he doesn’t really like it inside, and spends the entire evening whining on one side of the door or the other.

Until the night He left, when the dog spent the evening lying contentedly in the living room.

Sad, Sad Tale of Woe

01.23.2012 by J. Doe // Leave a Comment

To begin at the beginning, as one is supposed to do: I separated from my husband of seven years a few months ago. He left abruptly – to say the least – packing his bag right in front of me, my daughter, and my father.

We’d had conflicting schedules that day, which resulted in my father and I spending the day at my daughter’s concert with one set of my friends, and The One Who Should Have Gotten Away spending the day with his daughter at a candy-making class, with another set of my friends. When we all regrouped at home, there was a short argument, which went something like this:

Me: “How was your day.”

Him: “Fine.”

Me: “Was so-and-so at the thing? How was she?”

Him: “Fine”

(Repeat with several additional questions and one-word responses).

(Lengthy, frosty pause.)

Me: “Well, the concert went well. Thanks for asking.”

Him: “I did ask.”

And then he started packing.

I’d had conversations like this before, where he insisted he’d said something that I was sure he was not. Lots of them.

In fact, there was a period of time where we had them daily: I guess I’m old-school, but I think when people enter the house, the other occupants should say hello and ask quaint questions like, “How was your day and/or traffic?”

After you do this a few times, though, two things happen:

You stop attempting to have these conversations, because arguing is tiresome.
You start wondering if maybe it really is you, not hearing things that the other person insists so adamantly that they have said. I’ve seen Gaslight; I know how this works.

But on that night in October, as He packed his bag, I looked at my father, who shook his head: No, he didn’t say a word. I looked at my daughter: No, he didn’t say a word.

And then we three watched him go.

Trolling

01.22.2012 by J. Doe // 2 Comments

Yesterday, I went to see the Fremont Troll.

Why?

Because I can.

I’ve lived in Seattle for a decade now and I honestly couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to: it seemed to me there was nothing to do, and the people were hard to meet and when you finally did meet them, harder to connect with. A very lonely place.

So why didn’t I leave? Well, I was married, you see, and he didn’t want to leave – not Seattle, nor even the house, most days.

Until the day he left: The One Who Should Have Gotten Away.

In the weeks that followed, friends I never knew I had rushed in to fill the vacuum that had previously defined my life. My calendar was not only filled, but overflowing – I’m booking things two to three weeks out. Suddenly, I’m the one who doesn’t reply to emails very quickly because … I’m too dang busy. Who are all these people? I must get to know them.

Seattle is suddenly interesting, too. I walk up the street and where there was once a vast nothingness, there are suddenly restaurants and shops I’ve never seen before. Filled with cool things. Yummy things. Things that make me giggle. People who make me giggle – people who didn’t talk to me last week are suddenly chatting with me like we’ve been besties for years.

They direct me to other things I’ve never seen before, and introduce me to people I’ve not yet met.

Huh.

So yesterday, after being snowed in for a week, The Munchkin and I expressed our gratitude to the universe for the miracle of cleared roads, and hopped into the car to go … somewhere. We heard there was a Troll under the Fremont Bridge, and we wanted to meet it.

This proved a bit tricky – Trolls don’t have street addresses that I can enter into my GPS. Nor, apparently, do their bridges. So I set the GPS for somewhere I hopes was in the general vicinity of the Troll, and off we went.

We drove around in circles. We got lost. We tried to confuse the GPS by impulsively took exits just to see what was there (Look! Mexican food! We love Mexican food!), and driving in the opposite direction of where it directed us (GPS lady was not amused). We got a nice view of the Seattle skyline from someplace that was nowhere near the Troll, but pretty nonetheless.

We got bored driving around, and parked the car near a bridge, which had a pedestrian underpass – so we ignored the steps and handrail and skittered down the hill, through the mud and leaves and under the bridge where we found The Troll.

He was huge and troll-like and awesome.

By the end of the day, we’d met the Troll Under the Bridge, seen The Center of the Universe, eaten sushi from a conveyor belt, and admired the Fremont Rocket. Also, we had pie.

Glorious, guilt-free pie, with extra whipped cream, please.

We even chatted with the pie guy.

We did it all. We’re going to do it all every day. Because all of a sudden, quite unexpectedly, we can.

Tale of Woe: The Day After

Sad, Sad Tale of Woe

Trolling

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