Tagged: marriage

Her Idle Hands

In an EMS job (I just learned this during some yearly recurrent CBT), you have to be ready to respond at a moment’s notice. It can make things like “eating” difficult. For example, yesterday I was grazing successfully for the first six hours of the shift, and then boom!, got a call at 3pm, and upon completion of that one, almost having returned to base, got a follow-on call that kept me out until 1059pm. That’s eight hours, folks. Luckily, I carry two Clif Bars, (one regular, one protein) on my person and a Gatorade in the aircraft. Simply put, I survived. (Didn’t even have to crack open the protein one.)

Another aspect of the job is that you leave the office in disarray, not having time to properly cleanup when the call drops. That’s the stimulus for this post.

I was in the middle of some Psalm reading when the call came, the second and third Psalms.

I didn’t really think about leaving the open Bible for my counterpart pilot to see when he came on shift while I was out, but when I got back to the office, after my truly heroic effort to impose security and peace of mind on the public, I saw it again and couldn’t help but wonder if he snuck a peek. He probably didn’t.

But I like to daydream and the following is my daydream.

****

“I saw you were reading the Psalms, Pete. Did you leave that for me to see? You trying to convert me?”

“Ha. No. I don’t think it happens like that. And I can’t say I knew whether or not you were redeemed until just this moment.”

“Touché.”

Pause.

Then he began again, “Why do you read that book? I don’t see the point.”

“Well, it’s like this. First, it’s true. Jesus really is Yahweh, the God of the Bible, in the flesh. And the Son of God. And ‘Ya’ll need Jesus’ as the meme goes. All that is true. But the reason for reading it is best put like this.

“You know my ex wife kidnapped my daughter, right? I’ve mentioned as much, yes?”

“Yup.”

“Can you help me get her back?”

“Uh. Seriously? Or hypothetically? I mean, you know that I am ready to rock’n’roll Taken-style, just say the word.”

“Nice. But without using force. Can you help me?”

“I don’t see how I could. So no.”

“I agree. You can’t help. Don’t feel bad. I’m making a bigger point. Here are the facts. My parents can’t help either. My wife can’t help. My children can’t help. I have no friends who can help. Mediation can’t help. Lawyers, even if they persuade the judge, aren’t ‘enforcement’, and so they can only help on paper. And the Judge also isn’t enforcement, and so he/she can only wish to help. Finally, no law enforcement actually has time or concern to help. It isn’t exactly prime optics to yank kids out of one of their parent’s arms—not to mention domestic disturbance calls are known escalate so quick that no one is interested in being around for the fireworks, regardless of the principles and titles involved.”

“When you put it that way, I do not envy you.”

“Thanks. In any case, I hope you see why I might read the Psalms. Forget Jesus for a minute. Forget history. Forget all the nonsense we chatted about a few weeks ago regarding the misconceptions of the Bible being translations of translations etc. Just listen to this,

He who sits in the heaven laughs, the Lord scoffs at them.

“And,

I lay down and slept; I awoke, for Yahweh sustains me.

“When I see the world, when I see my little situation and extrapolate it out to others’ situations and even the biggest situations, like wars and such, I cannot find any hope. I mean that I despair. Truly. You don’t want to know. But these words—the idea they hold—the idea that the powers I see are not the highest powers, well, these words become my hope and my prayer.

“‘LORD: for whatever reason, there is no hope down here. In a tone familiar to you, ‘None can help me, no not one’. Can you? Will you? Prove yourself.’

“That’s why I read the Bible.”

“Hmm. I can’t say I will get there from here, but I hope it works. Let me know, will ya?”

“I doubt I could stop updating you even I wanted to. Ha.”

****

On the topic, do you want to hear what the mediator (would’ve thought he was supposed to maintain neutrality…) actually had the balls to say to me? He said, “I did want to tell you that I applaud you for trying so hard to stay in your daughter’s life.”

What does one do with that betrayal?

Umm…thanks? I mean, the only thing I ever did to “leave” my daughter was determine that kids cost money, and then apply for a job, accept the position, and go to work as scheduled. I will never understand how that has resulted in “losing” my daughter. Seriously, her mom has literally never worked full time in the last 18 years. Think about that. And the result is the kidnapping of a child, robbing me, and unilaterally influencing our daughter? Idle hands are the devil’s playground, after all, it seems.

LORD: for whatever reason, there is no hope down here. None can help me, no not one. Can you? Will you? Prove yourself.

Marriage and Family: Arty D vs. Louie Lah vs. C Frazier, A Corner-Joint Review of “Through the Magic Door”, “Passin’ Through”, and “Cold Mountain”, by the Aforementioned Three Greats

Sir Doyle’s book is a must-read for book lovers with a personal library (or bookshelf), but definitely can be skipped by all others. The best moments of it are of the nature of the best moments of all of life, which is to say, the best moments are those in which we unwittingly reveal our core beliefs. For this knight, it comes out in his statements about the barbarians or uncivilized (or the like) that still exist today, but of course we stopped labeling them as such pretty much when the likes of Doyle died.

Mr. L’Amour’s book was exactly what you would expect for an author whose works have sold over 300 million copies worldwide.

And then we come to Mr. Frazier’s masterpiece. Oddly, I first heard of Cold Mountain when in the USAF’s OTS in Alabama after college (you need a degree to be a US military officer, and need to be an officer to be a pilot), and had arranged the third of three terribly awkward and resoundingly terminal “let’s meet up since we spent so much time playing SOCOM together online” rendez-vous’. This online pal was a professor’s assistant or something and so I figured it couldn’t be too weird. And it wasn’t. But the only movie worth seeing after grabbing a bite was Cold Mountain. I figured it looked kinda like Braveheart, so I was a bit surprised how it felt so “Notebook-ee” when viewing with a veritable stranger. Not that I regret the meetup. Live and learn, I say.

I watched the movie later in life for whatever reason and fell in love with it. I bought the piano music even. I even, while in Denver, tracked down a “Sacred Harp” group and used to traipse all the way to it when I could, carrying H- in tow. I probably posted about that actually. H- was adorable at those types of things back then. If you haven’t been, the dozen or so participants sit facing each other in a square. And one person stands in the middle and leads the acapella singing, using a particular and simple arm movement to keep everyone on time. When it was H-’s turn, without blinking or thinking, she just stood up and went to the middle, arm at the ready. So funny and instructional. Form the kids, I say. They can do it.

That was close to a decade ago, and a dozen views of the film. As I looked for something to read with my wife (we started with “The Age of Innocence”), I picked up the book. I figured it had to be good if they made a movie. But I didn’t count on how tricky the English is. Most literate native speakers can handle it, if book sales and ticket sales mean anything, but I found that nearly every sentence contained so much meaning—and maybe just to me and my imagination—that I couldn’t read it to my wife and believe that she was following any of it. In retrospect, it was probably more the simple setting of the Civil War American South than anything else that I saw as the barrier. Try explaining the richness of that history to an alien. As I’m sure they (aliens) have—actually we all know they hold grudges longer than we of the West, how else can you explain Africa?—there is just too much passion and indignation and family, not to mention—or dare I mention—principle involved in that great war for the future of America to be captured by words. And folks who don’t interact with the land of America, just the fruits of America—in other words, “the rest of the world”—just can’t “get it”. They can’t. It’s parroting at best, and falsehood at worst.

How do the three relate? Whether Doyle had any idea he was doing so or not, the way his book ended lumped him into the category of the other two, by virtue of climaxing on the concept of marriage and family. I think Louise writes love stories because he knows women read more than men. Frazier wrote his because it was kinda family legend/history. And then Doyle somehow arrived at marriage and family because he randomly began his trek along his bookshelves at such a point that the end of his collection included Stevenson’s works, thus the platform to display awareness that Robert just chose to bypass marriage/family altogether when writing his classics. It lead to Doyle’s best line, “How many [men] go through the world without ever loving at all?”

Efficiency as Divine Telos?

Did I mention my mother-in-law is staying with us?

Well, one thing that has become crystalized in my marriage to someone outside the dominant culture on Earth is that without communication, besides all the obvious examples of the profound inability to experience good things, efficiency goes right out the window. This occurs all day, every day.

To hear it is like listening to “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” in the round, but the words are, “Oh, you didn’t mean that? I guess we throw it away.”

And verse two, “Oh, you didn’t mean that? Well, we can’t get that time back either.”

But, and here’s an instance of why I sought this marriage in particular, the question remains, “So what? If we had a perfectly efficient marriage, what would that indicate? Is that what life is all about? Efficiency?”

I say, “No.”

To “Anyone Who Would Listen”

I’m so fucking strong. That’s why Life can’t ever get to me. But as I drove home—daughterless—from the court-ordered, though in the main respect unsuccessful, transfer of child for Christmas (odd years are mine), I couldn’t help but think, “Man. I can handle these things because I’m so strong. But imagine if every, or even just a few, of these other schmucks behind the wheel were dealing with this blow. Surely it would destroy them.”

Good thing I’m strong. That’s all I have to say.

My ex actually answered the door. That was a surprise. I think it’s been over 5 years since I have seen her. I wasn’t sure if her father would make the protective trip like he did last time when she first revealed her desire to kidnap my daughter. H- was still innocent those few years ago and believed the lies they told her about his visit. Ah, the good ol’ days.

Let me just say, for the record, my ex looked terrible. She looked like she had lost her entire sense of humor. The years have not been good to her.

I, if I do say so myself, looked as good as I can get. I had a suit on. Blue, with brown belt and shoes. Grey polo underneath. My nice gold-colored watch. I was going for the “I choose the wrench” look. You know the one, right? End of “Good Will Hunting”? Matt Damon is explaining how his step-dad used to layout the tools from which he, as the step-son, could choose to get beat with? A hose, a stick, a wrench (or similar). Good ol’ loveable Will says, “No, I chose the wrench. ‘Cuz, ‘Fuck him.’” Yup, I want my gold-digging ex to see that she has more to take from me, that is, if she was only smart enough to figure out how.

Which brings me to why I even continue to breathe in air. It’s for moments of pure clarity that the clear mountain air brings to us on mornings like this one. Moments like I had on the drive home.

The Deputy I spoke to when I called in this “incident” told me she (lady cop) didn’t have to come out if I didn’t want her to. I told her I wanted as little drama as possible, but I did want a formal record of the non-transfer-event. The deputy continued to explain that the incident is recorded and she can text me an “incident number” that I can use should I file a motion for contempt of court etc.

Hahahahahaha. Ah, bliss.

If you missed it, that was the moment of pure clarity.

Imagine it. Me, a divorced dad, American citizen, filing a motion of contempt of court against my ex. Hahahahaha. Like that would do anything.

I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. While being terrifically strong, sometimes I think I am not that smart.

There is no enforcement! What is the judge, the Court, going to do? Slap her wrist? Lecture her? Make her pay a fine? I should be a freakin’ attorney for women. “Ahem… Pardon me. Here’s all you need to do. Nothing. You just do nothing. Don’t do a thing. Just think ‘rock on a flatland’ anytime you begin to stress. Don’t move. Not one inch. Got it? Good. Total for today’s chat will be $12,786.42–but don’t worry. He’ll happily pay.”

Now here is the interesting, truly fascinating, part. I used to know this! I did. In fact, I distinctly recall writing, and could probably search for, a blog post about the complete impotence of divorced dads in America. It was like 3 years ago, I think.

But then something odd happened. Hope was kindled. But apparently my iceberg of penguins is so full, that when Hope appeared, the Facts of Life had to drop off the edge, if there was to be room.

That, and the fact that, as a strong mother-effer, I have to say that I love proving it. I love flaunting it. Right next to “pure being”, I live to flex. And I love—I think this is why I married two weak women—I love getting punched in the face by puny little children. I feel like Tyler Durden must have when persuading Lou in “Fight Club”. I love it.

So I drove the hour to visit my longest-standing ward. Again, she looked terrible. But me? I drove home unruffled—unlike all the other folks on the road. God help them this Christmas.

There is No Logic in the Human Heart

I tried. I tried to make it simple. I said, “Given: It is wrong for a man to punch a woman. Period. It’s obvious.” I then went on to say, “If you can understand this fact, then you can understand that I believe that when an ex-wife steals the kids and half the retirement from her retired military ex-husband, it is wrong. Period.”

I didn’t say this to be introducing some new concept. I didn’t say this to emote. I said it to move the conversation forward. My punch-to-stealing kids/money equivocation, so I had intended, was preliminary. I wanted to define terms. It didn’t work.

My only, but lovely, two commentators each offered, if tactfully and empathetically, that they believe there are two sides. There are always two sides.

Well, the place that I was going to go probably just involved me renewing bitter claims that us divorced fellas–robbed daily and without our children–are victims, metaphorical punching bags. But if I step outside myself and view the situation, I would never promote that someone should claim to be a victim, so I will not do so here.

We’re not victims. We’re not. No, we’re not victims; we are the optimists.

We are optimists stuck in the muck of this shitty, shitty world that spends its limitless energy on one goal: “Destroy hope”.

****

H-: You don’t have to read these, and I’d ask you not to if reading them means you won’t talk to me. Proceed at your own risk. In the end, please don’t hurt people.

American Divorce: The Way I See It

I believe in writing. I have been at this blog for a decade now. In the beginning, I liked encouragement. These days, I couldn’t care less when someone encourages me about my writing. It always has this air of “I wouldn’t have thought you were a good writer…” and that kinda bothers me. Why not? What about me sounds like bad writing? My job? My hobbies? The things I like to talk about? My clothes? Seriously, there is no signal that suggests that I wouldn’t be able to hold my own with a pen/keyboard.

Now-13.5 H- has shared that she reads these posts, and that the result of my “woman hater” (which would be “female hater” if I want to encourage the child to learn reading comprehension–I do–it’s “female hater” and I define “female” in contradistinction to “woman” in the post, H-) post from the other day is that she doesn’t want to see me or talk to me (at least for now). In any case, and this is the point of this opening, with encouragement, with discouragement, I maintain that writing is good. The rest of this post, then, the part that pertains to the title, is Exhibit A.

The last two posts have been on the topic of men and women and our relationships. In the background, many more thoughts and conversations have been taking place because of these posts and the events which inspired them. So again, I want to write, to catalog. I want to think on them.

The most important result of writing about my friend’s looming divorce (in which his wife of twenty years is going to steal his military retirement and hold hostage his two children in Europe, all with the blessing of Missouri and general American Culture), is my own wife and I have come to a shocking realization and subsequent clarity of our perspectives. We laid in bed the other night and bickered about whether I was claiming my friend was ‘perfect’ when I asserted that ‘he did nothing to make her steal from him’. In other words, we realized that even the two of us, husband and wife, see the eternal institutions of marriage and divorce TOTALLY different. (Makes ya wonder what any of us are even doing.)

(You with me thus far?)

I believe this woman–er, this female–, E-, is a terrible creature–less than human–worse than Hitler. I wrote as much a few days back. She is terrible, not for crimes committed, but for crimes she is going to commit until one of them dies. And I further maintain that my friend did not and does not have any influence on E-‘s decision to commit these twin crimes (to keep it simple, we’ll just call stealing his money and stealing his children the only two crimes–but there are more).

My wife hears me say this and responds, “Oh yeah! I’m sure he is perfect. All your friends are perfect!”

(The point of this post is to report to you, dear reader, not the entirety of the conversation, but the fruit.)

With this, I finally saw the stumbling block to my wife and I’s communication.

So I began again, in a new vein, “Do you remember that video of the blacks brawling at Disneyland several years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Remember how the dude just punches his girlfriend in the face? He just turns and punches her. It was horrific. I had never seen anything like that ever. That’s why I showed it to you. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember!”

“Okay. Did that woman have anything to do with him punching her? Was there anything she did that caused him to punch her? Were any of his needs not met by her and so he punched her? Is there anything she did that alleviates his punch of its evil?”

“That’s totally-“

“-‘No’. The correct answer is, ‘No. She had nothing to do with him punching her. A man punching a woman is wrong. It is always wrong. It is squarely wrong. It is never her fault. It is never something she caused. It is just wrong.’ And I am saying that, for precisely the same reasons, these women who divorce a man and then proceed to steal from him are likewise wrong. They are likewise committing evil. My friend has no more responsibility for E-‘s evil actions (continual actions keep in mind) than that woman did for her boyfriend’s punch (probably plural). And stop with ‘the Law’. The ‘Law’ has no bearing on my opinion, and, in fact, is the reason I am so adamant about this belief of mine. All these wives hide behind the ‘Law’ and comfort themselves with the thought that they are somehow not accountable for the evil they are committing since it is the ‘Law’. The ‘Law’, in this case, is immoral and needs to adapt to the times. Whatever the reasoning that went into ‘woman gets half the retirement’ was, it is now different. The ‘Law’ needs to change. You can’t take a husband and expect him to somehow ‘prevent’ divorce, when all the while, all that is required for a divorce is the wife saying, ‘I want a divorce.’ The way a wife would prove her innocence, would prove she had endured something terrible, is to not take the money. Just divorce him and move on with your life. ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ What E- and all the wives are doing is morally wrong–evil.”

****

What do you think, dear reader? Think my wife bought my rant? Have I made a dent in your thinking with this analogy, ex-wife collecting retirement as same ‘obvious’ evil as man punching woman? Or do you need it in codified writing? Is it possible for my friend to have been an unqualified good husband and father and this still be the result of his behavior?

Or is the fairer sex just too pure to sow and reap evil? Too feeble to ever work for a living? Too unstable to ever reach old age without the financial backing of a man?

The Coffee Inspires

One more note to share, while on the unending topic of men and women.

“What’s it really like to be married to a woman who barely speaks English (though she doesn’t know it) and hails from one of the least educated countries on the planet?”

In short, if you can imagine how the first conversation with an alien (on his first—and surprise, think emergency landing—visit to the planet) would go, how you would quickly learn that you could assume no shared context or meaning or any easy place to start, then you may have an idea of how every verbal utterance we have plays out.

Don’t believe me? Try this recent experience.

As you know, I value reading and books. I am with TJ when he said, “Books are my friends.” I have tons and tons of books. And I recently got some great bookshelves upon which to display them in the new Colorado house.

Well, anyhow, as we recently were going through the ritual of shopping for home decor, I couldn’t help but notice they had some fake books to purchase. I dryly—too dryly it seems—picked them up and said, “These would be perfect for your new furniture. Ha.”

A week or so passes and then I see her placing a bunch of this nonsense all throughout the room and the fake books are included. When I comment with a hearty, if not literal, “WTF?,” she earnestly rebuts in kind with, “You said you would like them!”

Did I?

Keep in mind this is four years in. And it is not the first time I have pointed out or commented on the concept of fake books when shopping together.

Never assume, I guess.

Quite the life.

I Had It All Wrong

I used to think of emotions, instincts, logic, reason, and other types of decision making as choices. I had it all wrong.

Now, I don’t know if there is a hierarchy, as in, “Reason is better than emotion,” for example. I don’t know if there is ultimate worth, as in, “At least I can say that reason guided my life.” I cannot say for sure that these traits are building blocks, as in, “Only after mastering emotion can you learn to reason.”

What I do know now, and know for certain, is that for those who do not act upon reason, it is not because they are avoiding reason. It is because they cannot reason. For these folks, using reason is as unavailable as flight is to a jack rabbit. Sure, they might end up “reasoning”, but they certainly didn’t flap their wings.

This is unfortunate.

But it is not the end of the story.

Life goes on. That’s the end of the story.

What shall be done in the time remaining? How should one communicate with those without reason? How should one live with them?

It calls to mind a line from Tolstoy. He wrote something like, “I could not follow any of the two women’s conversation. But I knew it had to be about something because it was unending.”

Next blog: What to do if your wife is happy everywhere but at home, and then invites her non-English speaking mother to stay at said home with no departure date?

Richer

I haven’t been shy in lamenting some recent marriage and family woes to you.

Today, I want to counter this and slightly elevate the conversation.

Back in 2019, as I took my step-son under my wing, you might say I went a bit overboard in used book buying.

eBay and I were quick friends and used book sets were my specialty. I bought the Children’s Book of Knowledge set, and all 10 annuals. (That’s thirty books.) I bought the Journey’s Through Bookland 10 volume set. And I even found a three volume Family Treasury of Children’s Classics set.

(That’s 43 books—he was 10.)

Anyhow, as my daughter, A-, who is now 2.5 yrs old, arrived, I began doing what I do, which is reading aloud from these classics.

The first volume of the Family Treasury opens with all—and I mean it is the actual collection—of classic nursery rhymes that we all struggle to find in Barnes and Noble’s.

A- is at the age when she is starting to talk and use multi-word phrases. Because I have a knack for these things, I began to test her the other day.

“Mary had a little-”

“AM” she concluded.

“Its fleece was white as-”

“NOOO!” she roared laughing.

Most of you have done similar and we should rightly be applauded.

The other day I came in from a long day of driving. My wife and step-son who, generally speaking, are opposed to learning are sneaking a quick movie since I wasn’t around to stop them.

Mission Impossible III is on the screen. One of my favorites.

I head to bed. I’m tired and not in the mood to point out that my step-son is still not ready for such a film.

The next day, my wife says to me out of the blue, “I didn’t ever know that’s why he said Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.”

To your ears, you probably would’ve heard her thick accent, and it’s very likely she didn’t even say what I wrote. But that’s what she meant.

Despite my having understanding of her meaning—regardless her actual words—I still had no clue what she was talking about.

“Huh?” I asked.

“What?” she asked.

“You said something about him saying Humpty Dumpty?”

Now at this moment in recent conversations, she will look at me and using all her feminine intuition do her best to determine whether I’m in earnest or whether I’m mocking her and usually conclude the latter by saying, “Never mind.”

But this time she said it again.

I still honestly had no idea what she was talking about. Like the Bible, she was not giving me to the antecedents I needed. Who was “he”, I wondered?

She finally said something that made me realize she was talking about the movie and then I recalled the scene was TC drops off the wall as a priest.

“Oh, you’re telling me that in the movie last night you finally understood why he said the Humpty Dumpty line, because A- says it all the time in our reading. Is that what you meant?”

“Yes.”

Keep in mind the relationship is still on edge.

I then say, “That’s what happens to everyone the more we read, Mistiye (or “Mee-stee-yay” which is the phonetic spelling of the Amharic (one Ethiopian language’s) word for “my wife”). Every new book adds to every other book. Reading makes everything better. That’s why I am always telling you to do it.”

A normal husband would stop there, probably acknowledging he had gone too far already.

“That’s what school did to the Bible for me. When I hear Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus, which has the infamous ‘For God so loved the world’ line, I can no longer NOT hear the book of Numbers. I can’t even see how it means anything unless it is involved in what Numbers says.”

****

The question for you, dear reader, is what precisely happened to my wife in the Humpty Dumpty MI:3 moment? She didn’t get wiser. She didn’t get smarter. It wasn’t an increase in her knowledge. What was it?