Finally!
Navigate to other chapters of Homeless... at Home by Shlomit Weber
Homeless... at Home
Table of contents
Chapter 17 - Numb
Chapter 19 - Aftershocks
Nora and I went for one of our walks and settled onto a park bench. Within sight of the one Seth and I sat on, last fall, when I was trying to get him to remember anything at all about how he is with the children when he is depressed.
"That was a ragged sigh!" Nora laughed.
I sighed again and we both laughed. "Nora ... I was just getting so I wasn't thinking about Eden and Avital all the time, when this scary case with Tylor Shanabarger came up. And ... I ... Nora, I can see Seth as either of those fathers. I know it sounds extreme to say your husband could kill your children, but I'm sure neither Etti nor Amy could have brought themselves to say their husbands would really do anything like that. And I’m realizing … well, I just can’t stick around and find out.
"Plus that depressing list of fears I came up with for the family counselor, when I sat down to contemplate staying with Seth.”
Nora nodded. What could she say? Women with good marriages are coming from a different world.
"I made another list of hopes and fears, since then. Instead of hopes and fears about staying with Seth, I listed hopes and fears about leaving him. I have plenty of hopeful predictions about how our lives will be if we leave him. But I also have fears about leaving him, Nora. And these are more scary because they're unknowns. Most of them I guess I can work out ..."
"So, what are the fears you can't work out, Shlomit?" Nora asked, rolling up her mental sleeves to help me tackle them.
"Well, I just can't stand the thought of telling my parents I'm … getting a divorce." I laughed suddenly.
"What's so funny?" Nora smiled in anticipation.
"Oh, I was just remembering how hard it was to tell them that Seth and I were engaged. I had gone home for the weekend with the express purpose of making the announcement. But it never seemed a good time. I couldn't relax and enjoy the visit, and I couldn't bring myself to tell them.
"Finally, Sunday afternoon, Mom and I were having a snack at the kitchen table, and I burst out, 'I have something to tell you!' Mom looked shocked. That phrase usually heralds bad news. I stuffed a cracker into my mouth and told her, around the cracker, 'Suff 'n I ah geing maaied.' It sounded as though I was telling her we were going mad. Well, maybe we were, the way things turned out." I shook my head at the memory. That cracker maneuver must have been some non-verbal part of my brain trying to tell me, 'Don't say it!' Maybe I should have listened.
"But more real than the disappointment my parents will feel when I tell them - where would we live, Nora? Last fall, when we thought we were getting out, the children and I started going to realtors, and we looked at some places. If I really try to spend only half of what we'll get for this house, it will be so depressing. To live in a dinky little apartment. Or an old falling apart one. I want their lives to be better, not worse. Leora says she doesn't mind. When we looked at little two bedroom apartments she was very philosophical about the prospect of sharing a bedroom with her mother, but ..."
"You don't have any financial assets you could draw on, Shlomit?"
"I actually do. What my grandparents left me, and there's quite a bit that Seth and I have saved, too. But I want it to be there when the children need it."
"They need it now, Shlomit." Nora said simply.
Nora thought a moment. "Shlomit, just get these two fears behind you. Neither is insurmountable. You'll be with your parents next month, right? Tell them that there's a chance that you and Seth will split up. Have that behind you instead of in front of you.
"And ... go buy a house. A nice house. Where you and your fantastic children can live and relax and heal and have friends over.
"Shlomit, remember how you said that you consider that the tools and lumber you buy for Eli's carpentry are an investment? Part of his education expenses every bit as much as paying for a tutor or a stack of text books? Well, this house that you are going to buy will be an investment in the emotional health of your children. And your own as well. They've been cheated out of a home. Give them the best one you can afford. You can get a pretty good-sized mortgage on your salary."
I couldn't think of any arguments against this, and a longing grew, in my chest, for this house and home that Nora had described. I wanted to be there right now. Not on the other side of a valley full of real estate agents and contracts and mortgage banks and divorce court and rabbinical court and Seth's scowling face. Where is that Sliders portal when I need it?
"Actually, Nora ... I'll be here alone for a week this summer, after I come back from the States. Seth will be in Europe and the children will be in a fancy hotel in the Catskills with Seth's parents. I could start looking, then.
"Nora?" I turned to her. I could feel that my eyes were opened wide. "I think I'm really going to do it!" I felt breathless. "I think I'm really going to buy a house for us to live in!"
Shani indicated that I was stuck with one foot in and one foot out of this marriage because I wasn't clear about the plusses and minuses of staying with Seth. Actually, it’s only my fears of splitting up that are keeping me stuck.
Well, what keeps me here, specifically, are his periodic promises that he will reform. But I wouldn't be susceptible to them if I were really convinced we will be OK on the outside.
So, as I told Nora, I have written up two lists that Shani didn't ask for. My fears and hopes of leaving him.
Here are my fears:
- The children will be sad. (Though there's no evidence of this.)
- If they fail in life, I will wonder whether staying married would have helped them succeed.
- Maybe nobody will want to marry them if they’re from a broken family.
- Maybe they'll blame me. (But Leora, at least, blames me for staying.)
- Money. (But now, thanks to Dina, I have rights to half of the savings.)
- I'll have to ask the children to live frugally. (But we have had to live frugally all those years WITH Seth. Without him, at least we would be the ones deciding what are the necessities and what we can skimp on.)
- Can I keep myself undepressed? (But that's always been way easier without him.)
- Maybe Seth will go on a rampage and hurt us. (But we are stronger now. The children are old enough to call for help if he tried anything, and strong enough physically to resist. I would no longer be bound by spousal loyalty, and could come out of the closet. The children would no longer be gagged by knowing that they could be separated from me if they report him. We would have resources that we haven’t had as long as we’re keeping it all a secret.)
- If I'm sick, there's only me. (But, he's a hindrance when I'm sick. If he had not been there during my pregnancy with Rafi, I would have gotten help and Rafi would be a healthier child today.)
- I will have to be my best. (Is it good enough?)
- Maybe I'll forget things - to pay bills, etc. (But I can do it. I'm better organized when I'm happy. I'm as smart as plenty of people who manage on their own.)
- Mom and Dad might think the problems are because he's Jewish.
- Mom and Dad would be sad to know that the children and I have been suffering all those years (They sense it, anyway.)
- I might not find a good place for us to live.
And here’s the other list:
- We'll always be happy, as we are when he isn't here.
- I know I can manage. (I did all those years when he was 'out of it'.)
- Problems will be things I can deal with. (Not like the Seth-problem where there were no acceptable solutions, and I ‘wasn't allowed’ to seek help outside.)
- It will end this horrible period of indecision and ambiguity.
- Maybe it will help Seth. (Just the prospect of divorce has caused some improvement.)
So. There I have it. The down side is made up of things that might not happen, or things I can deal with. The up side … well, the sky’s the limit!
So next week when we’re in the US, I’ll get Kay to help me (gulp) break it to Mom and Dad. And a month from now, when I’m here alone for a week, I’ll (double gulp) I’ll buy a house. And finally finally put an end to all of this ambiguity.
Kay and I sat on a nice dry bench while the five children went on the water raft ride. As each batch of shivering wet people came down the ramp, after the ride, we watched for our own.
As I saw my three, my heart leaped with pleasure. There they came, Leora in the middle, describing, with words, whoops, arms, body and facial expression, her favorite parts of the ride. Eli, walking his bouncing lope next to her, was grinning with pleasure and nodding at her descriptions. Rafi was chattering at her other side, skipping, partly with joy, and partly to keep up with his siblings' long legs. Merriweather to their Black Beauty.
Kay's boys weren't far behind, Spencer nodding and smiling at a detailed explanation Tim was giving, of the plumbing and pumps behind the scenes of a ride like this.
As the young people saw us, their faces lit up and they hurried over - the wave of their enthusiasm crashing against our bench with the energy they had absorbed from the raft ride. Expending itself in animated descriptions of how much icy water had whooshed down on them at all the best parts.
They claimed the various personal effects they had left high and dry on our bench, and headed off for their next destination. We followed after, grinning ear to ear, infected with their joy at life.
"Kay? How can he give them up? I would do anything to keep them with me. I would agree to anything. Admit to anything. Change anything, in myself, that I had to. I would never agree to give them up just ... out of pride or stubbornness!"
"Well," Kay reasoned, "it's not as though they're going to die or anything. He would probably be willing to sacrifice to save their lives, or to save them distress. But he knows they will be happy and well taken care of. He doesn't need them as you do. If he sees them a few hours every week or two, it won't be all that different for him, from what he has now. There weren't ever any more positive interactions per week than that. And the children will hopefully be spared all the negative ones, because he will manage to be on good behavior for a few hours at a time. Win-win."
"I guess so."
We glanced into the display window of a gift shop. "Perfect!" Kay exclaimed as she scuttled inside. When I joined her she was peering at an array of prisms throwing rainbows around the store. "I want to buy you one for your new house.
"This one,” she took one off its hook.
"Tear drop." I read the tag. "Oh, Kay, it is perfect. The tear drop shape representing the sadness of the broken up family, but ..."
"The rainbows," she continued, "of the end of the dark scary times - the promise for the future."
I hugged Kay when she handed me the heavy little white bag into which the clerk had put the prism.
My secret.
"Now, you've got to go buy a house to put it in!" Kay exclaimed.
It wasn't, of course, nearly the big deal I have been dreading. Kay and I had plotted a time when she would take all the children to a movie so I would be alone with Mom and Dad. But I managed to broach the subject one morning before the children were up, and the three of us were sitting out on the patio.
Of course Mom and Dad are concerned, as they would be for any of their children facing a major life change. But they don’t seem surprised.
OK. One fear tackled and one to go.
OK. Seth is in the taxi on his way to the airport. I'll be here at home for almost two weeks by myself while the children are with his parents and he is at a conference.
I wondered whether he would have had an epiphany during the three weeks he has been home alone. If he would come to me, like the Seth of my dream last January, determined to really start on the road to a healthy marriage.
But, no. Same old reality-Seth. When I asked whether he had done any thinking while he was alone, he asked, “About what?”
So ... that's that. He has had his last chance and he missed the brass ring.
I've got the phone book here in front of me, open to realtors. As soon as I get home from work, today, I'll call each one on the list and say, "Hello. I'm looking for a cottage on the east side of town for under $300,000." And I'll see what's out there.
Gotta get me a house to put my children in. And my teardrop rainbow!
I’ve been home by myself for a week, and haven’t sat down to write to you, dear diary. But I must record this: I found our new house. Dina is looking over the contract, and we will sign sometime next week.
I’ve been suppressing the phrase I would love to proclaim to the whole world, so it felt so good to go to Dina and announce, “I’ve bought a house!” Her face lit up at all the implications of those two Hebrew words.
I did so wish that I could have had the children’s input. There was a place closer to their friends, but one of us would have had to sleep downstairs in the ‘work room’. I would have loved to have Leora’s enthusiastic exclamations, Eli’s wise observations, and Rafi’s confirmation.
But we won’t be moving for several months, and I can’t expect them to maintain radio silence for that long, keeping such a secret from their father.
Maybe I’ll just fill the rest of this page with, “I bought a house!” “Kaniti bayit!”
Hi Kay,
I just filled out the six month reminder card after my dentist appointment, and realized it will have to be forwarded to MY NEW HOUSE!
I signed the preliminary contract last night, and my lawyer is making up the real one. Target date to move in is 1.December. I’m not saying anything about it to Seth yet, so it’s still a secret.
I'll write soon and tell you all about it.
Love and thanks, Shlomit
G!d is constantly appointing our friends - and even strangers - as deputy angels to help us though our lives, isn't she. Today, unbeknownst to them, she put wings and halos on my officemates.
They gave me a birthday party at our coffee break. Yehudit had brought in a chocolate almond cake, and we brought our cups of coffee into her office, where they handed me a heavy, lumpy package wrapped in paper with a hamsa design.
I got a jolt when I saw the wrapping paper. The stylized hand-shaped hamsa is a symbol of good luck. I'm not usually a 'superstitious girl', but there are factors in my life - with the house and Seth and our future without him - that could go either way, depending on 'luck'.
I got another jolt when I opened the gift and found wind chimes! For our new house, though, of course I haven't said anything to anyone.
"Oh! I love it!" I said over the tinkle of the chimes I was holding up. So our new house won't just have the color and light of Kay's rainbow. And the freedom of emotion of its teardrop shape. It will have sound and music. And breezes. Air to breathe.
"Do you have someplace to put it?" Yehudit worried.
"I will, soon!" I laughed. I had been imagining it hanging off the end of the pergola in back of our new home, just as soon as I get the key.
When we were back at our desks, Shirli handed me another package in the same Hamsa wrapping paper.
"I also got you something just from me," she explained.
"Oh, Shirli - so you picked out the wind chimes? They're perfect!"
"Open this one!" she prompted.
“Oh!” I caught my breath and grinned, tears in my eyes. It was more of a reaction than Shirli had expected over a little key holder you could take off the rack by the cash register at any gift shop in the country. This key holder was a metal Hamsa, with a key ring on each of the three fingers.
"Oh! Shirli! A Hamsa! It's perfect!"
"I saw that you carry your keys on a shoelace ..."
Of course! When I get the key to the house in December, I will certainly want to put it on a more worthy holder than a frayed gray shoestring. And what could be more fitting, for this house in which my hopes are placed, than the Hamsa.
I untied the knot on my shoelace and strung my bike key on one of the rings, and put the house key and gate key on another ring.
"There are three rings," Shirli pointed out. "You can put each key on its own ring..."
"I'm saving the middle ring," I whispered, "Shirli ... I bought a house."
"Really? For ... for you and the children, right?"
I nodded. "So you see? I'll be needing all the luck I can get."
Shirli hugged me and we laughed. Is G!d giving me the go-ahead? Another perfect gift. Our new home will have color and light and music and air and, also, good fortune.
It sounds corny when real estate agents or greeting cards call a house a ‘home’. But when I think of the little town house I bought last week, and I see us all safe and happy in that living room, it’s definitely going to be our home.
This is a strange time. Everything feels unreal. I guess it's the strain of keeping secrets. Sharing your reality with other people makes it more real.
The whole thing was strange anyway - house hunting by myself. It's something that a couple should do together. Happily. Letting all their friends know, and asking if anybody knows about anything suitable for sale. It shouldn't be a stealthy, secretive thing. It's good that I have friends. I guess I hadn't realized how many I have, and how good they are.
The house is two blocks from here. A row house like this one, only smaller. The cheapest house with a yard (not an apartment) I found. I hope the children like it.
I'm not telling Seth yet. I don't want four months of being in a lame duck marriage. (I know - you're asking if it was ever otherwise...) In a way that's not fair to him. Of course, until one of us is dead, there's hope. If he undergoes a complete reversal, I could pay the penalty and break the contract. The fat lady didn't sing yet. But, I suddenly find I'm tired of thinking about him at all. I just want to move on.
Every time I open the drawer of my bedside table, I look at the little white bag containing the crystal you bought me for my new house, and I grin.
Love, Shlomit
Seth brought two books home from his trip: "Divorce Busting" and "How to Say I Love You".
He's trying to say that 'the problem' is just that we forgot how to say, 'I love you'. We didn't have the techniques needed to banish the specter of divorce.
Hey, Seth, what about those little depressions and rages of yours? Anybody home????
"So ..." I looked down at the books he had tossed onto the bed next to me, "This is what you think we need?"
"I thought you would be happy, Shlomit. Never mind. I'll read them for myself." He balanced them on his bedside table, on top of the tower of magazines. By now, the other stuff I have given him to read over the years has been buried, unread, and these books eventually will be, too.
I was starting down the stairs a few minutes ago with the brimming laundry hamper when Seth stomped out of our room and barked, "Stop, will you? Just stop. Take these, too," and he shoved a pair of blue jeans at me.
Then I started on my way down the spiral stairs, and at the same time started on my way down my well-worn little circular reasoning track: "Oh-oh, he's mad at me about something. Did I do something? Don't think so. Then why does he sound angry? Maybe I did something ..."
But I stopped. On the first turn of the stairs and after the first loop of the logical spiral. I don't have to do this anymore, do I? I'm on my way out. I'll soon have a house to go to. I turned and called out to his back, "Seth?"
He turned back to me. "What now!" he barked impatiently.
"Seth is that the way you talked to each other at home when you were growing up?"
"What do you mean?"
"The way you just addressed me. Did you ever hear your parents speak to each other that way? Would one of your brothers have spoken to you like that?"
"I don't know what you mean, Shlomit. I didn't 'address you' in any particular ..."
"That's just it, Seth. That's how you always talk to me. With implied anger and ... disrespect. I never heard anyone in my family talk like that at home. In fact ..." I thought a moment, "Seth, there's no one in my life - past or present – who has ever spoken to me the way you do all the time."
"What way?" he said in just that way.
"That way, Seth. If a neighbor or someone at work, or in a shop barked at me the way you always do ... I would be really shocked."
"You're making a big deal about nothing, Shlomit. I just gave you my jeans to wash. I can do my own laundry if that's suddenly a problem for you."
"Also ... I'm ashamed to have the children hear the way you speak to me. I'm ashamed to have them know that their father thinks so little of their mother. I don't want them growing up to think that's an acceptable way to speak to people. You speak to them that way, too. Pouncing on them with words."
"Look, just give me back the jeans and I'll wash them myself if you're going to make a federal case out of it," he muttered through clenched teeth. "I really don't know what you're getting at. And now I've missed the news." Now that we get CNN, that's always a good conversation stopper.
"Seth, it has nothing to do with the laundry," I said to his disappearing back.
Where did he learn to talk like that? You don't hear real people talk to other real people that way. With that threatening sneer. It's more like something you would hear in a movie - the outlaw in a western. Mafioso in Godfather. An intergalactic warlord in one of his Sci Fi shows.
Well, it doesn't matter, does it. In another few months he'll have no one left to warlord over.
We got back late last night from a weekend at Ruthi's in Qatzrin. It was nice ... once we got there.
It's always a scramble to get to the Golan - nearly four hours away - in time for Shabbat. This time, I really wanted to get to Qatzrin in time to see the movie at the visitor's center.
I had done all I could, Friday morning, so that we could leave as soon as ELioRafi got home from school. I had reminded the children that they needed to hurry right home. I had packed the car. Seth had made a picnic lunch we could eat on the way ...
Ah. Oh. Ah-hah. I could search Word's clipart library for a light bulb of understanding to paste right here.
I had always assumed that people write diaries to record events. But so often, in going over a puzzling occurrence afterwards, patterns emerge that I didn’t recognize the first time through.
These diaries are one reason I remember the things that happen, while Seth erases his memory banks as soon as he does something. Maybe Seth would have woken up to some of his destructive patterns if he had been keeping a diary or even if he had a friend to talk to or write to afterwards.
Anyway, I should have known that by trying to speed things up, I would only cause Seth to slow everything down. And it might have been those sandwiches that ignited his reverse thrusters.
Well, I did know that this used to be true, but in honor of the assumption that his counterproductive tactics are things of the past, or possibly of my imagination, I thought it would be safe to try to expedite things.
The way it went was that I said, not for the first time that morning, '… so we'll leave as soon as the children get home ...' Seth said something about leaving right after lunch, which of course, best case scenario, means leaving right after the dishes have been meticulously washed. So I said, "Oh! But it worked out so well last time when we ate on the way up. I thought we could take sandwiches."
The movie version of this diary will have a swell of danger-music as Raquelle Welch, playing me, says that.
Seth said something like, "Whatever you say ..." and went off to make lunches. Usually that phrase turns on a red light because it always means he's shifting into limp toddler mode, but I was too busy to notice the transformation.
When he finished with the lunches, he sat down on the sofa to read Scientific American.
(Ah. Oh. Ah-hah. [Paste another light bulb here.] On the drive up, later, one of the children asked for a cookie. We always take cookies along for the trip. But Limp Toddler Seth said, "I didn't bring cookies - Ima only Told Me to make sandwiches. She didn't Tell Me to bring cookies." It's a good thing I had packed a couple of bottles of water, at least.)
So at noon, the children straggled in from school, and I had them hurry and use the bathroom because we would be leaving soon. I put the cats out. Took the lunch and my pack out to the car.
Seth still sat and read, apparently ignoring us. I sat down to wait for him to finish his article.
I've spent twenty four years in this position. Just waiting for Seth. Not being able to plan my time, because I have no idea how long I'll be waiting. If we're leaving in a couple of minutes, I'll just sit and wait. If we're leaving in a half hour, I'll sort laundry or the to-be-filed box or something. I got down a manual from my cubby, that needed editing, and started marking it up. It's something I can stop as soon as Seth growls, 'Let's go.'
Eli asked if we could have a snack. "Abba packed lunches so we can eat in the car. We're leaving pretty soon ..." I glanced at Seth, but he was floating among supernovas or muons.
"Can we have marshmallows?"
"Sure. Why not. Anybody want marshmallows?" The children and I went into the kitchen and I got out the marshmallows. I put away the drip-dried breakfast dishes while the children ate.
I sat down to have a marshmallow myself, and Leora asked, "When are we leaving?"
"I don't know. When Abba's finished with his article, I guess ..."
"Abba, when are we leaving?" Leora called to him. "I could have walked the long way with Zehava!"
"How should I know when we're leaving?" came Seth's deep, super-bored voice from the sofa, "Ask your mother. She seems to be in charge of this trip, not I." My heart contracted at the 'your mother' instead of 'Ima'. Them's usually fightin' words.
"But you're reading ..." I pointed out.
"I'm just waiting for you to be ready to leave. You keep puttering around. Now you're giving the kids a snack. I thought you were so determined to eat in the car."
Oof!
I started telling myself, ‘Well, don't make a big deal of it. Ignore it, whatever it is, and we'll just go. Better late than never.’
But, darn it! Why not make a big deal of it! This is exactly what I should have stopped doing years ago. I have a house two blocks from here that I'm going to move into before the end of the year. I don't have to grin and bear his games anymore.
"No, Seth. No,” I went out and faced him. “In all the years we've been married, you were always the one to announce when we would leave the house. You have never, in all these years, even given me a definite ETD. Of course I waited for you to make the announcement. What was supposed to make me think you were waiting for me this time? You didn't say anything ..."
"You seem to have taken charge of this trip, Shlomit. I just assumed ..."
"Seth!" the children were watching wide-eyed from the kitchen. This is the second time they've seen me stand up for myself with their father. The first was at the top of the stairs a week ago.
"OK. Forget it," Seth muttered and slid his magazine into his pack, "Let's just go, finally. You've probably missed your movie by now." He waved vaguely in the direction of the kitchen to indicate that it was the marshmallows that had caused the problem.
Yes, we undoubtedly have missed the movie. "No. Seth. Stop. Do you see what I'm saying? You don't want me to talk about patterns and things that happened long ago. This is happening right here and right now. Didn't you hear me telling the children we were ready to go? If you really weren't going to decide this time, you could have said, 'OK - I'm ready any time you are,' or 'What else needs to be done?' or 'Let me know when you're ready to go,' - any normal comment. We're supposed to be communicating normally, now, Seth! Why sit there reading? What did you think was going to happen?"
"Just forget it, Shlomit!"
"No, Seth! You're playing some sort of crazy game, having us all cool our heels while you sit and read. You knew I was hurrying. How many times did I say I wanted to leave as soon ..."
"Exactly, Shlomit! If you decided you're in charge of this trip, I'm certainly not going to try to be in charge, too."
OK. Only a few more weeks of having to dance around this spoiled toddler.
“So, Seth,” Shani finally asked, this session, “It sounds as though you would be happier without Shlomit and the children. You give instance after instance …”
“I’m just trying to show that they’re not perfect, either.”
It’s like the joke about dogs who chase cars – what does he think he’s going to do with it if he catches it?
What is Seth going to do if he 'wins'? If he convinces Shani that ... what? That the children and I are lousy and rotten and deserved it all? If that's the problem, how does he think we’re going to solve it?
Hi Kay,
I'm reading one of the self help books I showed you in the coffee shop - about emotional blackmail. The author was looking in my windows when she wrote it! (Maybe that's why our grass never does well in spite of the relentless Israeli sunshine - it's those hordes of self-help writers milling around out there recording our daily dysfunctionality on their clipboards ...)
Seth flings out such hateful accusations and implications in our sessions with Shani and in our weekly talks. He is painting such an awful picture of me and the children that I wonder why he would even want to stay with us.
According to the book, self-centered people try to devalue the other person if they think that they're going to lose that person, so they don't feel as though they're losing so much.
There are so many legitimate 'tactics' that would have worked, to keep us. Why didn't he try any of those? If you go for a win-win solution, I guess that's not really winning. For there to be a winner, there must be a loser?
OK. Gotta get back to my book. Love, Shlomit
When I worked at my first job, one of the perks was getting safety glasses and safety shoes virtually free. During the months that I knew I was going to be coming to live in Israel, but I hadn't yet told my boss, I made sure not to abuse the freebies they offered.
I had a chance to take a course, but opted out, because I didn't think it would be fair to let the company pay for a course from which they wouldn't get payback. The guys from the group went over to look at safety shoes to wear as hiking boots, but I didn't go along, because I didn't think it would be fair.
I'm in the same situation now. I could outfit the children and myself now with anything we might need for the foreseeable future, while Seth and I are still sharing the expenses. I could get new glasses, new clothes for all of us. Root canals on all my teeth. (Um ... maybe not ...) But that's not fair, because Seth - for reasons known only to himself - doesn't know that we are really going to leave him this time.
So I won't splurge and stock up now. Partly not to raise suspicion. Mostly because one creep in this scenario is enough.
Leora told me that her teacher keeps implying that she thinks we're poor. Leora thinks it’s because of how she dresses. Or maybe the teacher noticed that Leora’s sandwiches are made on week-old bread, while their classmates eat fresh rolls or pita. And just in general, that hungry, transparent look my children seem to have about them.
Seth is so conscious of other people's opinions, you would think he would want his children to give a better impression. He's very public about his travels and his possessions. He is always alluding to his investments. But it's like someone walking down the street in a designer hospital gown. No matter how nice the front might look, his back end's hanging out. What is there to brag about? People know Seth has a normal salary, and I have 80% of a normal salary. We can spend or save as much as other people who earn what we do. To brag about the things you are spending it on, when it's obvious that there are other normal things that you’re skimping on - how is that supposed to impress anyone?
Dina, my lawyer, was scandalized when she saw the extent of our savings, and compared it to the state of my clothes. My wardrobe and the children's got a major shot in the arm the year we were in the US and I discovered GoodWill and yard sales. The children have mostly outgrown the second hand clothing we brought back four years ago, but mine is still going strong.
Seth expects people to be in awe of the amount of money he has in savings, and the solid teak furniture in the living room, and his LLBean clothes and his expensive vacations. Meanwhile, his wife and children aren't properly clothed and fed, and his wife does her own housework.
Seth does that same thing with the time and effort he spends at the lab. He works an extra hour and a half every single day. He gets more work done than anyone else, and gets awards, and publishes papers.
We have people like that where I work, too. Every place does. And the rest of us, who try to balance our schedules to attend to the needs of the family as well as the needs of the workplace, shake our heads and say, "Well, I pity his family!"
Seth often doesn't tell me about a business trip until days before he flies. When he finally does, he'll say he's going for 'two or three weeks' though, obviously, if he's got plane tickets in his pocket, he knows exactly how long he will be gone. It would be nice to know earlier, but actually, I don't need to know. His absence doesn't require that I make any special arrangements, except that one of the children might have wanted more time to plan a slumber party, or I would realize I could have had book club at my house. It's just life as usual, as far as scheduling goes.
But if I have to stay late for a course or meeting, I have to make sure the homefires are well stoked so they won't go out while I'm not there to tend them. When I went to the US to help my parents with the move, I spent the evenings before, making up schedules and lists of phone numbers. Explaining to Seth some of what goes on in the real world while he's tweaking mirror alignments in the lab. Seth looked at the list of appointments and asked whether I really needed to be away that specific week – when there was so much going on. He didn’t realize that every week is like that.
If I want to go out in the evening, I have to make sure nobody is sick or has a math test next day or a trip that has to be gotten ready for. When Seth wants to go out, he just puts down his magazine, picks up his hat and walks out the door.
He doesn't realize that while people compliment him to his face, many of them are realizing, behind his back, what a bum he is.
The children and I drove down to Ashdod yesterday to swim and visit Jessica and Yehuda. Eli is counting down the months until he is sixteen and a half, and can start taking driving lessons. He has just over fourteen months to go, and he pays great attention when we drive anyplace.
"They're back!" He laughed from the passenger seat.
"Yeah. I noticed. I feel as though I’m being shot at by some giant Indian!"
"Yeah. Grampa was right, huh!"
"Ima?" Rafi asked from the back seat, shifting Sheba so he could lean forward, his daydream world penetrated by the phrase 'being shot at', "Who's shooting?"
Eli and I have always had these cryptic conversations. Our thoughts just seem to run parallel to each other, and we can have whole conversations that sound like strings of non-sequetors to anyone listening in.
Eli turned around to explain. "A few years ago they resurfaced this road. When they resurfaced that side, all the traffic had to drive over here. So ... see those orange arrows painted on the road? Pointing toward us? They painted them to remind drivers that there was two-way traffic. Then when the resurfacing was finished, they just painted over the arrows with black paint.
"But that never works. The black paint just gets worn off by the cars driving on it, and after a few months, the arrows show through again. We saw the same thing in Ohio, and Grampa said that the only way to get rid of highway markings is to scrape off the paint that you don't want, not to just cover it up. Because the top layer of a highway will get worn away, no matter what it is. So if they just try to paint over the old markings, they'll have to keep doing it over and over. It's harder to scrape than to paint, but then once they're really gone, you're done, and you can forget about them.
“This way, it can be dangerous for the drivers, who might see those arrows and get confused. They don't know whether they can ignore them or not."
The chatter moved on to other topics or was replaced by the teasing and shrieking of children who want to interact with each other. Like children let out of school. We're in away-from-Abba mode.
Even though Seth has painted on a surface of socially acceptable behavior - conversing, grinning, kissing, saying the things normal people say to each other - we keep getting glimpses of what's underneath, and it's just the same old stuff. It hasn't really gone away. It's just been painted over.
Like the road crews that have to be called back every few months to repaint the arrows away, it takes constant effort for Seth to keep his facade in place.
Nope, Seth. You have got to get rid of the bad stuff. It's not good enough to just add a veneer.
Wow. Flashback. We were on this same road, on the bus, coming home from furniture shopping in Tel Aviv over two decades ago. Seth was complaining about the living-room bookshelves I had just picked out. And his main complaint was that I had chosen shelves with a teak veneer. Because if it’s only the surface that looks presentable, you always have to be careful not to chip that veneer.
I've been writing more of these diary entries by hand lately. There's something therapeutic about writing by hand. Plus, it's more honest. You can see, afterwards, exactly where you changed phraseology or squeezed extra text into the margins.
The reason I’m off-line is that Seth, more and more, is on the computer late at night and early in the morning. Internet. Playing the stock market. Cashing in on the high tech boom. I guess this is the answer to Leora's query - what does Abba do with 'his' money.
So he doesn't feel that he needs to keep his assets liquid? Doesn't consider that, with the paucity of progress he is making in any reassuring direction, this marriage could be in its final months, and he might soon be needing to set up housekeeping on his own?
Ever since we split up our money with the lawyers two years ago, I have kept mine ready at hand. As the amount has grown, the bank has suggested that I close the money for several years, at better interest. But the specter rises, of Seth back in his angry mode, and our having to go to the bank to break our money out of a long term savings plan before we can get away. I need the money in an account I can access from the all-night ATM.
But Seth? What does he think? That he has stalled me for four years - or twenty four - so he will be able to keep us dangling indefinitely?
It's just our same little dance, isn't it. He goes along with his life as it would be if the rest of us were merely annoying flies. And I do all the bending over backwards.
A few months before Eli was born, Seth and I spent a day at the Air & Space museum. I had been following him around for hours. He can spend twenty minutes per exhibit just reading and digesting the specs on the plaques. For me that part was pretty boring, but it meant alot to him, so I was fine just trudging along after him.
Then we went upstairs and came to an exhibit on aircraft carriers. I've always found it to be amazing - that you can land planes on a ship.
One of my favorite stories is of an Israeli pilot who ran into difficulties in the middle of the Mediterranean and needed to make an emergency landing. He thought his choices were between Muhamar Kadaffi and the deep blue sea, when he saw the sixth fleet on the horizon, and made use of an aircraft carrier. As he climbed out of the cockpit to face the furious commander who had rushed onto deck, he put on his best kibbutznik grin, and said, "Sorry, Sir! I thought she was one of ours."
I hurried/waddled over to the entrance to the exhibit and stood at the end of the line. "Oh! This looks interesting!"
"Aircraft carriers???" Seth asked derisively. Ah. Right. That would be a boat. Seth is into planes. It's his brother Jerry who is into boats. Can't admit that Jerry's hobby might be interesting, can we?
"Well, I'd really like to see it, Seth ..."
"Fine, go ahead if you think it's so fascinating," he said, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head as he looked at his watch for the first time all day. "I can’t stop you."
I looked at Seth for a few seconds. That was when I first noticed that any time I want to do something that’s not his idea, he mourns, "I can't stop you," or "Go ahead - you will, anyway." But I didn't have time to ponder - it was my turn to go through the turnstile.
The exhibit really was fascinating. There was a full screen movie of planes landing on a carrier deck, one after another, with a smaller screen showing a close-up of just the cable that the hook on the bottom of the plane must grip onto, to keep the plane from plunking into the sea. The whole bunch of us strangers, standing there, were reacting the same way - holding our breaths as each little plane attempted and achieved the impossible. A dozen people, forgetting that we were on the mall in Washington DC. Gripping that rail, miles out at sea, watching these little doves returning to Noah's Ark because they had no other dry ground to rest on. Haahhh! Another one managed to stop, mere feet from the drop-off into the ocean! Haahhh! Another one! There were the cries of seagulls in between the roar of the incoming engines.
But after a few landings, I unmezmerized myself and hoisted Eli-in-utero down off the rail where he had been resting comfortably, kicking around to register my adrenaline surges. I hurried through the rest of the carrier exhibit, knowing that Seth was waiting for me outside the exhibit.
Only he wasn't. I looked around the whole area. I whistled our whistle. Plenty of other people noticed this pregnant woman wandering around like a dodo, whistling a piercing whistle like some sort of mating call, but Seth didn't seem to be in earshot.
I looked over the rail of the balcony to scan the downstairs. Maybe he would be staying where I could see him from up here? Nope.
If you ever want to know how huge a museum is, just try searching for someone in it. I know, because I've wound up searching for Seth in just about every museum we've ever been to together. As soon as I stop to look at something that interests me, I lose him.
I finally found him, nearly an hour later, in Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Downstairs, at the back of a dark little theater, learning about the Wright Brothers. I had walked right by that theater in a previous pass, deciding that no normal person would go hide in a dark room if they knew they were being looked for.
"I was looking all over for you, Seth!" I whispered as I sat down next to him – as soon as my eyes had adjusted enough that I could be certain it was really Seth sitting there staring at the screen.
"Shhhhh! Why? We would have met up eventually. What did you think I was going to do, just stand there doing nothing while you gawked at aircraft carriers?"
"But I just spent an hour doing nothing, Seth! Just walking around looking for you!"
"Nobody told you to walk around looking for me, Shlomit."
Sigh. There's only an illusion that we're ever doing anything together, as long as I keep toddling along the path he would be taking, anyway, without me. The only time he ever notices the rest of the family is there, is when we make a ripple in his plans.
An older memory is from before we were married, and we went for a walk in a blizzard. I paused to suggest that we turn up a side street, and he just walked off into the snowy December night without me.
Well, this December, a quarter of a century later, the children and I will move out of the house. For me, this divorce is one of the most significant things I have ever done. But ... he'll barely notice, will he. Just fewer dishes to wash. Nobody will have brought in the mail before he gets home. The house won't get messed up. The leftovers won't go away.
I dream of Jeanie. Old fashioned 'special effects' where Jeanie - b-r-r-i-n-g - 'suddenly' disappears from the scene, and you know that all the other actors just stopped moving for a couple of seconds while she walked out of the camera frame. Because we had all done the same trick with our home movie cameras. The children and I will disappear, and Seth won't even do Daren's fake double take.
All these years. Did Seth ever have sleepless nights wondering what can be done to get the family on the right track? Did he ever have days when he was useless at work because his mind was processing the problems at home? He always let work problems wreck his evenings - did he ever allow family problems to impinge on his workday? Has Seth ever invested anything in this marriage?
So often, I will just have digested an idea here in my journal, and the next day Seth will illustrate the pattern I’m recognizing.
In that last entry, I realized that Seth won’t invest any effort in a relationship if the other person will do all the bending over backwards for him. Well, this evening he provided a demo! I was making phone calls for Rafi’s after-school class for English speaking children.
We’re just getting organized for this year, and it’s a scramble to decide on two days a week when most of the students don't have other clubs. We’re always trying to recruit more students, so I call up anyone I hear of, who might want their children in the program - following up leads on anglo families with first graders.
Last night was the second night in a row that I had spent on the phone – calling and re-calling. “I think things are starting to gel!” I said as Seth passed though the kitchen. “There are just a couple of parents I haven’t been able to get ahold of. I wish everybody had e-mail!”
“Do you need something from them, or do they need something from you?” Seth asked.
“Well … they need to know what days and times each grade will be meeting. And that the first lesson will be next week. What to bring. And how much the monthly fee will be.”
He grinned a sarcastic, pitying grin. “Well, there you are. That’s what I go by. If I need something from the other guy, OK, then I have to make sure to make contact. But, hey – if they need something from me – forget it! Why should I chase after them if they’re the ones who will benefit from it?”
“But … they won’t know where or when …”
“So what? So their kid misses the first lesson! What’s it to you? They’ll learn not to just sit back and expect you to do everything.”
“But, I’m in charge …”
“Let them sweat it. Don’t be a freier.” He said as he left the room.
Is he right? It would have been a lot easier to just decide what days are convenient for Rafi, and put a notice up on the bulletin board at school so that any children who noticed it and understood it could copy down my phone number and have their parents call me. But I want it all to work out as well as it possibly can, for as many participants as possible.
That’s what he’s going by with us, too, isn’t it. He considers that we need something from him, but he doesn’t need anything from us, so he’s going to let us do the fancy footwork.
Two months until we get out!
Can you believe I could go out and buy a whole house and my own husband - as far as I know - hasn't a clue? Buying a house is high on the list of 'most stressful life events', isn't it? And he didn't sense anything?
Of course, the last thing I want is for him to get vibes and start making his own plans to separate before we are ready to jump ship.
I'm testing out a hypothesis, but it could have disastrous consequences if I’m wrong. Seth claims he is buddy-buddy with Miri, the bank teller in the hoity-toity private banking section. I'm counting on the fact that she is just doing her job and nothing more, and that she won't hint to him that I’m spending large sums of money. Miri obviously can see that something is up. I have transferred tens of thousands of dollars from my accounts here and in the US into my checking account. I'm counting on the fact that she is professional enough not to say, "So, Seth! It's nice to see Shlomit so often!” Or, "Tell Shlomit her transfer from Fidelity came through. Ask her if I should transfer it to the same account as all the rest ..." A couple of years ago, when Seth and I split up our money, and I had to decide whether to leave my half in the same bank, I asked Miri if Seth could have any control over my accounts or get any information about them. If he could come in and say, "While you're printing out my statement, just print out the activity on Shlomit's account over the past year so I can take it home to her." I told her then, that if my account can't be hermetically sealed from Seth, I can't leave the money there. So I haven’t warned her not to say anything to him.
I keep imagining, while I'm sitting there waiting for my turn with Miri, that Seth will come in to the bank, and I'll have to explain my presence. Or that he'll walk by as I pop out of the mortgage bank. Or catch me biking down my new street staring at my new house. Or ask why I’ve been making overseas phone calls.
Of course, he never has to account for his time or his money, but he expects to know every detail of my life. My external life. Of my internal life, my real life, the life I expected to share intimately with my husband, he hasn’t a clue.
We are still going to the family counselor every week. I wonder if Shani-the-people-expert has noticed that I’m transferring my emotional assets to the new house and away from the emotional black hole of the marriage.
I try to just keep the focus of the meetings on our learning to be parents together, and anything she can do to help Seth be a real father - things we will need even if the children and I leave him.
'When' we leave him.
After last week’s session, my ‘homework assignment’ was to give Seth suggestions about how he can get closer to Leora. Other than by requiring him to apologize for the things he does to her or has done to her. Other than by requiring him to change how he feels about her. Set all that to one side, and then have an otherwise open discussion? I guess I’m supposed to suggest techniques that might fool Leora into thinking Seth is a good loving father?
Most of that session was spent on Seth's jolly description of his recent grocery shopping trip with Leora - his latest attempt at fostering camaraderie. He chuckled as he described the pile of goodies the little angel finagled her indulgent old dad into buying her.
(I was about to go back and fix that last sentence to read, ‘buying for her’ instead of ‘buying her’, but I realize that the original wording better expresses what he’s trying to do.)
Of course, he didn't bring up, at the session with Shani, the incident last Shabbat where he shouted at Leora and sent her to her room and predicted that her rotten personality would land her in jail. An outburst that left her imploring me to get us away from him. He wants to pretty up the surface. I guess he thinks that's what the rest of us are doing when we seem to be nice to each other - temporarily glossing over the dark hateful feelings people have deep inside about each other. But he's not fooling Leora.
There. I decided. I am not going to 'do my homework' for next week's session. It's a farce. I can't betray my children's trust to this man who acts like our enemy. I’ll write a note to Shani and drop it off in her mailbox before this week’s session.
I'm not willing to 'do my homework'. I cannot complete the three 'assignments' you gave me:
- I will not help Seth find ways to 'get closer' to the children, specifically to Leora.
- I will not speak freely with Seth about the children.
- I will not talk with Seth about Leora's problems in school.
The children's reluctance to be close to Seth, my reluctance to discuss the children with him, and the children's problems in school - all have a common cause. I want to solve all three problems. But first we must clear up the cause. And no one but Seth can do that.
Leora has good reasons for not accepting Seth. Seth wants to ignore or deny them.
It is not because she's a female, as Seth tried to imply, or because there is something wrong with her. It's not even because of things that happened years ago and are no longer happening. It's because of Seth's feelings toward us, now. He must first work to change himself, and then we will feel positively about him automatically. He won't have to take us to concerts or buy us presents.
At our meeting with you last week, Seth spent ten minutes talking about what fun he and Leora had, shopping. (In the process he managed to describe Leora as stubborn and manipulative, and himself as flexible and generous.)
I was surprised, since we were discussing Seth's relationship with Leora, that he didn't mention what happened between them last Shabbat. Maybe he 'forgot', or decided it wasn't important. The problem is, that to Leora, Seth's outbursts are important. She believes that they show Seth's real feelings for us:
Seth was making Kiddush, and Rafi started eating corn chips. Leora motioned to Rafi to stop (both eating and talking are forbidden while the blessing over wine is being said) but he didn't stop eating. Leora held Rafi’s wrist and tried to shake the chips out of his hand. Rafi just laughed. I was going to wait until Seth finished, and remind them they should pay attention during Kiddush. But Seth jumped up and yelled, "Go to your room!" I didn't know which of them he was shouting at, and neither did they. Then Seth yelled, at Leora, "Some day you're going to hurt someone outside the family and you'll be put in jail!"
Such a strange thing to say! Has someone warned Seth about that? Is that what he worries about, for himself? Does he think that everything he did, all those years, was OK because it was 'just' within the family?
Leora went up to her room. Rafi was saying, "It's OK, Abba! Don't make her go upstairs! She didn't do anything!" I just sat there, as usual. That's the typical scene - one of the other children comes to the defense of the child who is the object of Seth's anger, and I just sit there, afraid of making things worse.
But then, for the third time in my life, I confronted Seth when he was in one of his rages. I said, "I don't think Leora should have to go to her room. Who taught her to hit, anyway?"
Seth turned on me and shouted, "Are you saying that it's OK for her to hit, but it's not OK for me to hit?"
I just stared at him. At his red face. His wild eyes. His flailing arms.
Another strange revealing thing to say! Rafi wasn't afraid of Leora, and she wasn't hurting him. Rafi knew exactly why Leora was upset with him. He could have stopped her at any point, just by dropping the corn chips. This had none of the elements of Seth's abusive episodes. How can he compare a squabble between siblings, to a grown man hurting small children who are under his protection?
I went upstairs to Leora, and she said, "Ima, how much proof do you need that he has only changed on the outside. He still hates us. What are you waiting for? We have to get away from him!"
It's going to take alot of bags of gummy bears and boxes of breakfast cereal to make up for these outbursts. It's not even the anger, so much as that when Seth is angry, he yells hateful things at us that show us what he really feels toward us.
To quote Henry Ward Beecher: 'Never forget what a man says to you when he is angry.'
To expect Leora to 'get close' to him because he buys her things, shows disrespect for her. All those years that I had no money to spend on the children, they loved me simply because I loved them and I showed it. I had nothing to give them, so I just gave them my heart.
To have a discussion with you about his relationship with Leora, and not even mention that episode, shows that Seth is not serious.
Leora said that on the way home from their shopping trip, Seth started saying, "They're going to kick you out of school!" She asked me if this is why he took her shopping - so he could scold her about school. I told her that he wants to do things together with her in order to get closer to her. She said she doesn't want him to get closer - she just wants to stay as far away from him as she can.
I will continue to inform Seth about good things the children do or say, so that maybe he will like them better and treat them better. But I will not inform him about anything negative that he could use against them the next time he gets into a rage. I will not discuss my doubts, or any problems they have, or anything negative a teacher says about them. I will not show him bad test papers. I will not tell him about any mistakes they make.
I was nervous at the start of tonight's session - wondering what Shani would do with the letter I left in her mailbox on Monday.
When we had finished with the how-are-yous, Shani said, "Seth, Shlomit told me about an incident between you and Leora at the Shabbat table that - really - would not have helped your daughter to feel comfortable with you."
Seth let a shocked look flicker across his features and then glared at me. How unfair of me to throw this monkey wrench into his plans. "Well, you should have seen her! She sat there and ..."
"Seth!" Shani giggled. As though she were pointing out a minor slip of the tongue, and that when he realized how ridiculous he sounded Seth would get a good laugh over it, too. "Leora is the child here and you're the adult, right? Any problems between the two of you, of course, are not her fault. In fact, if they're anyone's fault, they're yours. Right? That's basic. We understand that, right?"
"Yes, fine, but she was ..."
"Seth, a few weeks ago Shlomit said that a major problem for her is that you don't take responsibility for these things you do. You promised her, then, that you do take complete responsibility for your actions. I think that what Shlomit means by 'taking responsibility' is just this. That when there is an incident like this, you, Seth, don't seem to realize that your response to anyone else's words or actions is your responsibility. Not theirs.”
Seth looked disgusted at the course this session was taking. I had broken exactly the taboo to which he had referred in his attack on Leora – I had brought personal private family affairs out in public.
I was watching Seth's hands on the arms of his chair. Clenched white-knuckle tight, as though someone were going to try to pry them off and he was determined to retain his grip. I was musing that with all my strength pitted against his willpower, I would never be able to loosen those fingers. My mind merged the two issues. Seth would be totally mortified to say, "It's her fault I couldn't hold onto the chair! She was too strong!" He would never admit that someone had bested him at any contest. So why is he so quick to blame us when he loses control over his temper?
Many of the counseling sessions over the years have continued on the way home. Well, that's legitimate. The sessions are a catalyst, but the real work must happen between the two of us.
Often the apre-session sessions have taken the form of my asking for clarification of something he said that evening. More often, reflections from the session just echo in my head.
I left this evening's meeting feeling dismayed that Seth was trying to blame Leora for his tantrum.
"He is just not a partner. It’s impossible to deal with someone who won't take responsibility. How could it be safe to come to any agreement with him, when he lets these things happen, and then claims that he is not responsible? These explosions are useful for keeping everyone afraid of him, but he doesn't want to be blamed for them. He comes up with all sorts of outlandish justifications."
That's exactly what I was thinking, but those words didn't come from my mouth - or even from my mind. But from the passenger seat of the car. I looked over at Seth, surprised that he seemed to have become my oracle. Eli and I have ESP sometimes, but I have never felt that Seth and I had any sort of psychic connection.
Yet there he sat, ranting on in this vein, pounding his knees with his fist to emphasize his words.
And I realized that Seth was responding to something he was hearing on the radio. In tuning in to my own thoughts, I had tuned out the news report coming from the car radio.
Yassir Arafat had just protested that the Israeli government is trying to hold him responsible for a terrorist bombing earlier this week, when it was carried out by some militants over whom he has no power. He couldn't help it. These things just happen. And we, of course, said that if he purports to be the leader of the Palestinians, and if he expects us to live side by side with a state that he leads, we must be sure that he IS in control of all the factions.
I chuckled to myself and shook my head. Able to enjoy parallels between a terrorist and my own husband, now that I can imagine myself and the children in our new house in a couple of months.
"What?" Seth rounded on me. "What's so funny?"
"Never mind. Nothing. You're right. That is definitely not the kind of behavior you would expect from a real partner, is it."
Dear Kay,
I haven’t moved yet.
No, I didn't cave in again - the old owners need another month until their new house is ready. So - unless there are further SNAFUs, I'll get the key on the second day of the new millennium!
It’s strange to be so close to moving day and not be doing any packing yet. At the beginning I dealt with lawyers and real estate agents and taxes and mortgage, but now it's just waiting and dreaming.
I’ll ask my lawyer what I'm allowed to do/take before I tell Seth. I want the house to be ready to move into before I tell him, and then we’ll just walk out the door, and get involved in settling in to the new place.
Wish me luck! Love, Shlomit
In the next couple of days, pandemonium will break out - in my life and in the civilized (= computerized) world. I will get the key to our new house on the second of January. My twenty fourth wedding anniversary, and the second day of the new millenium! Who knows if we will have electricity or phones or riots or water or grocery stores or gas stations.
For a decade, anyone who maintains software has been scouring their code for instances where dates are stored with two digits for the year. Tomorrow we will find out whether we caught them all.
I canceled the meeting with Shani that was supposed to have been on the twentieth of December. I'm dizzy from going around and around. I just want to go forward from now on. I'm 'moving on'!
I'm counting the minutes until I can turn the key in the lock and walk into that empty house.
Until I can say, "Blessed art thou, Lord our G!d, King of the Universe, who has kept us alive, and sustained us, and brought us to this time."
Tonight, Friday night, when it's already the twenty-first century in a quarter of the world, Seth will, for the last time, sing to me, Eshet Hayil. Woman of valor. Courageous Wife.
Funny that he always stops singing it to me when I tell him I am going to leave. Exactly when I resolve to do the most courageous thing I've ever done.
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Copyright 2020 by Shlomit Weber
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