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| Bleeding Hearts and Pines Catherine Al-Meten Meyers |
Every day we'd wake up, look at one another and spend much of the day together. When either of us was away, we'd be thinking about one another. There were times during that eight months when we ran into challenges and had to surmount some pretty big obstacles. I was called out of town a few times, and had to leave my love all alone. Pining at home, waiting for me, I hoped, I would return at the end of the day only to discover that nothing had been done while I was gone. Not a thing. No cleaning up messes. No preparation and rest for the next chapter or the much-needed edit. We would spend time in counseling with our Reader-Editor. In our case, therapy with her really helped us out.
Counseling sessions often revolved around trying to remember who had been married to whom, what someone's name had been in Chapter 6 and how it changed 4 times by Chapter 80. Often we found ourselves repeating, verbatim, a conversation and story plot that we had already covered in the past. I often thought bringing up the past over and over was getting us no where. We spent a lot of time counting pages. I hate it when someone keeps track of everything that has happened, but in this case, it somehow seemed relevant, and since we love one another and are in it 'til the end, I figured I'm be tolerant of the list-keeping. We laughed a lot, especially over Renee...a character who seemed to have multiple marriages. Not that I'd know anything about that. But it cause our Reader-Editor-Therapist and I to laugh until we cried.
Coffee, tea, and soda have been important parts of our relationship. I never have coffee at home. Ours is a house dedicated to the tea and the daily and nightly tea ceremonies. But my need for Cafe au Lait mid afternoon and occasionally in the morning, are also related for my need to sit and gaze out the window occasionally. I used to do a lot of writing in cafes, but since my lover and I have been together, we stay at home more. I sneak out to meet friends or just have a quiet time to myself at my favorite coffee shop on the pier. They know me and know how to make my Cafe au Lait just perfectly---more milk than coffee. One sweet gal even adds the right amount of sweeter I like.
Yesterday our relationship changed drastically. I finished writing the rough draft. It's a lot like getting through the first decade of a marriage and being too far in it to get out but not fully into it enough to believe you'll make it to the bitter or sweet end. So before I met the challenges, I rushed off to the coffee shop to share the news of my joy. Then I ran back home and spent some time fantasizing about a long vacation and some rest before getting back to work on fixing things that have to be done before we can go to publication. Plans were made to celebrate with our therapist-editor-reader over a martini at Happy Hour next week, and another friend and I made plans to pop the cork on a bottle of celebratory champagne. I put my head on the pillow last night envisioning a leisurely week of doing nothing but catching up with exercise, housework, and long walks along the river.
This morning though, I woke up late. That cats were sitting one on my pillow the other on the other side of me, both waiting for the first signs of life. Once I opened one eye, they both proceeded to greet me with lots of attention and indicated that they'd waited long enough for me to wake and get back to the business of filling their bowls with kibble, fresh water, and fresh food out of a can, not that half can left over from last night. I obeyed, and then picked things up around the house. Now, I thought, I have time to make that coat rack I so desparately need. I thought this as I picked up, folded, or hung up about 5 jackets and sweaters that had been draped around chairs, over the back of the couch, or hung on a door handle. Around noon I made myself a big breakfast, and the thought I'd just catch up on a movie or read a book or do the dishes again. After doing the dishes for the umpteenth time (I have yet to learn to eat and cook without making a total mess of my kitchen. At this point, I doubt that's going to change), I had these strange stirrings.
What was it I was feeling? I had some time off from writing. I was no longer chained, day and night to my lover. My love was fine where it was, for now. It would just have to wait until I was good and ready to return, and maybe continue on. Today was a free day. The world was mine. I had all the time in the world until I had to be somewhere. But this niggling feeling crept over me, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to pick up my lover and get completely lost in the words and images that I'd grown to love so dearly. To give myself some place to process those feelings, because my Therapist-editor-writer is not about, I decided to write about it.
I have to admit that loving what I'm writing as I do this book, is something unlike any other kind of love. It has taken on a life of its own. And being away from it is not really something I need to do and that's a sure sign that the passion and love affair with a book has the power to keep me captivated and devoted. I know this from other kinds of books I've written and writng I have done, but this journey into fantasy and fiction and imagination is a lover I hope to devote myself to for the rest of my long, lovely life. And I know when this love affair is over, I will be able to return to it any time I want. I will be able to open it at night and look deep into its depths and find pieces of myself that I didn't know existed. I will be able to see the world reflected in places and pieces of conversation. Memories reawakened after years of being hidden or dormant or lost in some maze of expectations or unfulfilled desires...and they will find their place in the context of what is created through this new love. I love that I am the Lover.
