Oxytocin = No Sin

The handy dispenser that let's you say 'no' anywhere.

This recent article in the Atlantic might save a lot of marriages if big pharm gets with it. I'm just not sure who should carry it--the husbands or the wives. Maybe it could be piped into every workplace in America. Perhaps clothing could be impregnated with it--everything from neckties to hard hats. Chastity belt shaped air-fresheners could be hung from review mirrors. And maybe coffee places could infuse their coffee beans with it.  

The Dark House

There we were, the ex-husband and I. We were in a small chapel. People were milling about. There was nowhere to sit, and so we sat by each other. He slipped me some kind of note or paperwork. He panicked for a moment, thinking the papers he had given to his partner were the ones he'd meant for me. He wanted us to get back together, and it was still a secret. He had his wife and his children to think of, but we'd been sneaking around, he and I, meeting for lunch and for sex. I had my own guilt to deal with. I was going to have to break the news to the man who loves me. Tell him that I might be getting back together with my ex-husband.

And then I woke up, thank god. Feeling guilty and weird that I'd dreamed such a thing. That's what I get for watching Bergman's "Scenes from a Marriage"home alone.

I first saw the movie in the mid-70s not long after moving to L.A. I saw it with my ex-husband--who was just my boyfriend then. In my memory it was all shot in close-up in a white room, the lights blaring into the faces of the husband and wife, their tight smiles dissolving into loathing. I didn't care for it much back then. I had no idea, I suppose, how people who appeared so happy on the surface, could be swirling in so much subterranean turmoil. It was utterly fascinating this time around. I had to turn it off for a bit after the scene where Marianne calls her friend to tell him that Johann has left her. He already knows--had known for quite a while that Johann was planning it. My own humiliation came back to me, so palpable and present, that I got up from my chair and stood in the bathroom doorway wondering if in a second I'd be kneeling on the tile in front of the toilet. But I was okay. It was good to be reminded, in a way, of my debilitating un-doing. To contrast then with now. To see where the path began and where my feet are planted now.

As for Marianne and Johann and their dark night in a dark house where they lay in bed cheating on their present spouses, that's not a house I ever want to inhabit. That house burned down, and nothing will rise from its ashes.

While I remain silent for a bit...

...take a look at some of my favorite blogs in my side bar. I especially enjoyed The Perils of Divorced Pauline as she muses on the pitfalls of turning 50.

Rising

A day bursting with Spring things. Colored eggs (real--not plastic) on a green lawn. Tiny lizards no bigger than my pinkie.                                                                                                        

                                                                                                                    A riot of blooms. 

Add to this the joys of good company, beer golden in the sunshine
and....





art.

This is Rubens' The Women at the Sepulcher. Critics do not agree on the identities of the women present at the door of Christ's tomb. Which one is Mary Magdalene, which is Mary Jesus's mother. Who is the woman in red? I don't really care, but the painting captures me. The rendering of divine light, the range of emotions on the faces. I see disbelief, the lingering numbness of grief, joyful anticipation. These feelings come into play as we persevere through the long darkness of winter and find the earth finally awakening to spring. The wealth of what the California landscape has to offer amazes me every morning. I have a tree bursting with apricots (green now & the size of olives). I have blueberry bushes with so many blossoms I can't quite imagine how many bowls full they will fill.

But my new life hasn't come fully out of the tomb. The unfinished business I have with Mr. Ex holds me in darkness. More of his lies have recently been revealed, and I find the deceit chilling and eerie. The man I loved died a long, long time ago. I was living with a ghost and didn't know it.

Tiger's Tail

It's true, I think, that we are a nation of Puritans obsessed with sex--especially sex that other people are having. I don't know why we feel so entitled to poke our noses into other people's bedrooms. Tiger cheated on his wife, and because he is a public figure, we think it's our business. I'm not sure he or his wife need our intervention. She did a pretty fine job of going after him with his golf clubs. If he's going to apologize to anyone, it ought to be to her and in private.
HOWEVER, I think there is something about bad behavior within certain "trusted professions" that shouldn't be tolerated. Clergyman shouldn't have carnal knowledge of their parishioners. Doctor's either. Or psychologists. Teachers should sleep with other teachers, not their students--or at least wait until they graduate. Cops shouldn't patronize hookers unless they are going to forego rounding them up. And lawyers....I think their word--personal & professional--should be good and that they should uphold it as if it were the law.
Years ago when Mr. Ex was getting ready to graduate from law school and was interviewing for jobs, I remember that the wife of one of his classmates had her own take on which firms were most suitable for her husband. She didn't care about salary or clients or prestige. She wanted to know how many of the partners were still married to their original wives. If there was a culture of divorce at a particular firm, she didn't want her husband to work there. I don't know if they are still married.
I didn't worry about Mr. Ex. back then. I was sure he loved me. He was terrified of both hell and herpes, and I figured that alone was enough to keep him from cheating on me. But big L. A. lawyers are easy prey. The same sense of entitlement that overpowers celebrities can take them down, too.
I don't really care what a golfer does with his balls or his putter, but it seems to me that an attorney is professionally obligated to give his ex-wife what is rightfully hers under the law.

photo credit: Kaboodle.com

Really?

I feel so naive sometimes I don't know what to do with myself.
The scene: A party.
The speaker: A gorgeous young woman. Tall. Centerfold body. Pretty face. "Men cheat," she says. "that's what they do." I've gleaned from the previous bits of conversation that her ex-husband is a producer. She has a couple of kids with him, and they're not exactly divorced. Separated, but they live in the same house or something like that...sort of.
I hear this and think, "What if?" What if people were honest and then just coped with the honesty? What would that mean? In my particular situation. I can't quite imagine it. Would Mr. Ex have treated me better if  he could have had his new young thing and me and I'd said, "Well that's what men do..." I don't know. But I do know I wouldn't have wanted that.
Lack of imagination bothers me. Imagination is key. Now that I've been cut loose, I imagine my future with  many different scenarios. But accepting a cheating man isn't one of them.  But then it's not quite cheating if you admit to it up front. Still, I don't like the idea. Not one little bit.
And I don't really believe that's "what men do..." unless they are crazy Hollywood producers, or sheiks, or are part of Mr. Ex's law firm.

The Style Award

I got my hair cut today at the salon I've gone to for the last several years.  The salon is in the L.A. suburb where I used to live with Mr. Ex and one of his partner's wives goes there, too. Turns out that a week or so ago the partner's wife told her stylist that her husband will soon turn into her own Mr. Ex. He cheated on her and dropped the big D-I-V-O-R-C-E bomb on her right before Christmas. They have three little kids.  Honestly, most of the partners in this firm should get some kind of an Oscar for best performance as cheaters and liars.  It's a style thing. This is what they do. And they do it well. Speak into the microphone, guys. Let's hear that acceptance speech. Who ya gonna thank?