Day before yesterday, I had a session with my C, and we sort of did a year-in-review thing. We went back to basics, and he asked why was it that I'd refused so many times to go to marriage counseling when asked in the past? The reason, I said, was that I didn't trust in the process -- knowing my wife as I did -- having experienced this in her repeatedly -- I didn't trust that things said in the therapeutic environment would stay there; anything negative I said would inevitably, as it so often was in the past, be brought home and wielded as a weapon later. Example: In 1990, we had a conversation about lovers past. I described one in particular -- and this is in 1990, mind you -- as having been "great, or so I thought at the time." That came up in May 2009 -- "I don't know why you'd miss anything about me -- after all, I'm not 'great' like Ancient Past Lover was!"
C looked up from his notes and said, "That speaks volumes. You shouldn't have been married to her."
Hmmmmm. I didn't necessarily agree, but it was the brassiest thing I'd ever heard him say.
So I went with it.
And at the stroke of midnight, I indulged one last time in remorse and gave my marriage and the former-Mrs.-SP's hold over me a Viking funeral.
When she went to European Capital 390 days ago, she had already made a New Year's Resolution to "decide about the marriage" (though she didn't tell me that at the time, of course, which -- I think you'll agree -- might have been useful information to have).
Now this was as transparent a bit of self-rationalization as one can imagine, since she had demonstrably decided about it already by having an affair with Signore Schmuckatelli. But be that as it may, that has been her Official Story -- her mission for the New Year of Aught-Nine was to "decide about the marriage."
Three weeks later, off she went on a girls' trip to European Capital. And there, on the day the night of which -- according to her -- she would decide to close the deal and drop the D-Bomb, she purchased a gift for me, a kind of retro t-shirt of my favorite British rock band. She purchased one for herself, as well, though the band was (of course) a different one. There is a photograph of her in that t-shirt, on that night, having made her Official Decision and Announced it to her girlfriends, looking like the cat that ate the canary.
(By the way, one of those girlfriends -- and this is just one of those "how much of a b*tch can she be?" asides -- was dispatched to the Person Home upon her [earlier] return from Europe to drop off one of the soon-to-be-former-Mrs.-SP's bags. Now this is a woman who has known me [and, by her often and repeated invocations, loved me {in the platonic sense}] for 20 years. So you can imagine her discomfort at ringing the Person doorbell, seeing me and the kids, being greeted happily by me - I remember it as if it was yesterday - with "How's my bride doing?" and having to avoid conversation, find an excuse to drop the bag and bolt, knowing full well that only a day before her friend had decide to walk away from the 3 of us at the door. Yeah, that's a nice thing to do to a friend.)
Upon her return to these United States, the soon-to-be-former presented me with this shirt with great fanfare, though she kept her Knowledge to herself, saving it for Valentine's Day -- a far more auspicious day, I'm sure you will agree, for Announcements of that kind.
Well I never wore that shirt, and at the stroke of the New Year Ten committed it to the flames of the past, along with one particular photograph, taken at a summer house party, not long after my return from Iraq, but after her mother's passing, during the time which she (now) claims "it all became crystal clear" to her just what a Husbandly Failure I truly was -- though she looked quite happy and content and affectionate in the photograph.
So to end the annus horribilis that was 2009, I committed that misbegotten shirt to the flames, and to inaugurate 2010 I committed that photograph to the flames. And I downed some fine Spanish cava -- which Smiley's Person prefers to Champagne -- and watched the flames die out. And I turned out the lights on the Christmas tree, and on the house, and I put away the gear Themselves and I had used for our New Year's project (we made stencil-art t-shirts), and I let the dog out and in, washed the dishes, and went to bed -- there to find the Girl-Child.
Well, that was just okay. She'd been sad earlier that night; she was going to miss 2009, she said, because at least she had a whole family for part of the year. All she will have in 2010, she fears, is nothing.
And there it was -- my mission for 2010. To show Themselves that (to borrow a phrase from Hank Williams) if the good lord's willing and the creek don't rise, they will have a complete family in 2010 and every year after. That we, we three, not only can be, but are, a whole family.
Very well. The soon-to-be-former-Mrs.-SP had her year. Now she can keep her hands offa my mojo.
This year belongs to me.
I ain't got no rabbit foot, or no old bone But when I leave you, baby, you'll be so all alone 'Cause I'm a mojo man, yes, I'm a mojo man I'm gonna get my mojo workin', workin' back again
