''I feel like sometimes the Universe gently sways us in the right direction of where we are meant to go", I said one day to my lovely Canadian friend.
''Yeah, and other times the Universe clubs you over the head'', was her reply.
Over the weekend, I was clubbed over the head.
As I was driving us to my daughter's Girl Scouts skating party, a mortgage broker called about my application. Since I was driving, my husband spoke to him on my behalf, and was told that based on my credit and work history, I would be eligible for a mortgage with a 3.5% downpayment exactly six months after I start my job, bringing us to December 25th. Shopping for a new house for Christmas sounds exciting, as does starting off 2019 with a totally new chapter of my life. I could see it now; spending the winter moving into our new home, painting, unpacking, friends milling around helping, fire going, music playing. And, once we are all settled in, adopting a rescue puppy and naming him Poe. I am thinking a small breed, like a Yorkie.
Later that day, I had to run out to Target for a few things, and for some reason had a strong urge to buy a toy for Poe. For a puppy I don't even have yet, and won't be able to have for at least another 8 months. I decided since I was about to go home and scrub the bathtubs and toilets I owed it to myself, and indulged in a $4 dog toy.
''I am probably going to chicken out, not go through with the divorce, and never have a puppy named Poe.'', I thought to myself. My husband has adamantly rejected the idea of ever having a dog or cat, even though the dog I want will only go up to 10 pounds and I will take care of him myself. Patriarchy much?
A few minutes later I was checking out, and decided out of the 12 or so available registers to go for the one in the middle. The woman in front of me had an enormous tattoo on her arm. Any guesses who it was of?
That's right. It was of Edgar Allen Poe. What are the odds? Who has an half of their arm inked with Edgar Allen's Poe face on it? And how did I end up behind this woman at that exact moment? It was as if I was supposed to see it.
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| Luckily the lady was really cool and let me take a picture of her arm. Then again, I would be surprised if a person with a giant portrait of Poe on their arm was NOT cool. |
Now let me digress for a moment and explain why I love Poe so much before we continue.
During the winter of 2000, he saved me from many lonely nights. That's right; a long-dead author saved me from loneliness.
I was 16 years old, and due to my dysfunctional household and my mom selling our family home, I needed a place to stay for the winter. A friend of hers had a vacant small studio apartment in the middle of no where down in the harbor, and that's where I lived that winter. I would wake myself up and wait for the school bus, so bitter cold that my hair would frost if it was still damp. I had three t.v. channels, one of which was News 12 Long Island, with coverage so thrilling I would rather watch paint dry. Long Island is a magical place to be in the summer, with beaches and sand dunes and lighthouses, but in the winter it is as cold as ice and boring as hell.
I had a disc-man, and I learned every lyric to the Mamas and Papas, Jefferson Airplane, Cranberries, Fiona Apple, Nirvana, and whatever else was knocking around to listen to.
I worked at Dunkin Donuts after school, and primarily lived off of day old muffins and bagels. My much older boyfriend (he was 21) would pick me up and drive me home every day, naturally always eager to ''walk me in'' to my very own apartment, so I wouldn't be ''lonely''. I knew he was positively desperate to be alone with me, but I told him I wasn't allowed to have friends over and definitely not my boyfriend, and so he would be a gentleman and kindly leave after I'd get to the door.
And there I would be, no phone, no computer, no company. All alone.
I had a few books, one of which was a 19th century edition of ''Complete Tales and Works of Edgar Allen Poe'' which I inherited from my Grandfather. It was the only book that I truly loved, that spoke to me, and made me feel like I wasn't alone. Annabel Lee was my favorite. I can still recite it word for word, all these years later.
A couple of years ago, I asked for an Edgar Allen Poe book for Christmas. My husband wasn't sure which one to buy, so he bought every one in the store for me. Isn't that sweet? I had three to open on Christmas morning, and decided to keep one with black binding and purple raven on the cover. It had all of my favorite works of his.
So there I was, later on Christmas Day in my best dress, beside a roaring fire, with snow gently hitting the floor to ceiling windows and the wind blowing the trees in the woods outside, a turkey in the oven, and all of our fancy Christmas food stuffs that I buy every year, like olives and cheese and water crackers and nice wine. And I got to recite my most favorite poem ever, Annabel Lee. All grown up, in my very own home. I sure had come a long way from my lonely nights in that cold studio apartment, with my hot plate, three t.v. channels, stale muffins and ugly-as-sin Dunkin Donuts uniform.
I happily read about 1/4 of it, until my husband said, ''You could read that to yourself, you know.''
And just like that, I felt like an idiot. I had worked so hard to plan for Christmas, sending out cards, wrapping the presents beautifully, buying the neighbors and teachers their gifts, making sure to buy German cookies from the specialty shop for our German mail lady, as I know she gets homesick during the holidays. I even find out how many guys are currently at the rehab where my brother lived and send them all something, like a pair of new socks, in memory of him. I know the holidays were always hard for him, being away from home, and I think he would have liked that. Then there is buying all of the food and drinks, and decorating the house. I go to all of the trouble for everyone else because I enjoy doing it. It makes me feel good, making people happy. I look forward to it every year.
I don't ask for things like jewelry, or anything fancy. This year it was just a book, that meant a lot to me. I realized I needed to be very specific, after the prior year when I said, ''You don't have to get me anything'', and he literally didn't get me anything. I was still expecting something, like a candle, or some truffles, a little something to open on Christmas Day and feel like I was thought about in some regard.
So there I was, after all of the weeks of preparation, and I couldn't even recite one poem, my favorite poem, for all of the two minutes it would have taken me, without being made to feel like it was just an annoyance.
That was a year and half before my diagnosis, and in retrospect the alarm bells should have begun ringing then that my marriage in some trouble.
It wasn't until I had cancer that I decided that I wanted a puppy. I guess the thought of dying without ever having a dog again made me a bit sad. I grew up with a dog, Dakota Blue Sunshine, and she was lovely. For some reason, the idea of a cute, cuddly little pup made me really happy. I fantasized about naming them Poe, and they would fall asleep curled up in my lap while I read a book, or talking them out for a long walk in the woods, and I would buy he or a she a little coat for the winter. ''I don't want a dog eating the moldings and wrecking the house'', was my husband's reply. And so it was decided, under no circumstances was I ever getting a dog.
When I first thought about moving into my own home, I won't lie to you; Poe was one of the first things that came to mind. I know it sounds juvenile, but it's true.
So on Saturday I had the urge to buy a dog toy for Poe, and moments later I see a woman with an enormous Poe tattoo.
The next day was Mother's Day, and I was whisked away to a beautiful vineyard in the mountains called The Fainting Goat. I love the mountains, I love wine (not that I drink often) and chose a white wine with peach notes called Impeachment. I thought the name was quite funny, and Georgia is the place for all things peach. I got to wear my new 1950's swing dress and my favorite pink retro shoes and a pretty new fascinator perched atop my wild curls. It was a really nice day. My husband was wearing a new outfit, baby blue shorts, a matching collared shirt, and new Tom's, with his hair combed to the side. He looked really fine, and still I didn't bat an eye for him. Because looks mean nothing to me. It's what is on the inside that counts. Mr. Wonderful could wear a paper bag over his head and I would still think the moon and the stars of him if we really loved each other.
''You are the most beautiful woman here, it will torment me if you leave me, and I will never find anyone else like you.''
Little doubts began swirling in my mind again. Am I crazy for leaving behind a man who thinks so much of me? Maybe true love doesn't exist. Maybe I should settle for ordinary love, and a lifetime of not reciting my favorite poems, or having the little puppy of my dreams. Maybe I should settle for a man who had not even a card ready for his cancer-stricken wife on our 10th wedding anniversary, or who as recently as two weeks ago refused to cook dinner for himself and our children even after I said I was too sick from my medicine to eat, and wanted to sit down with a bowl of cereal because I had a stomachache and blistered feet. Still I stood there, chopping vegetables for a dinner I would not even consume, my resentment growing.
But I am the most beautiful woman there, and it will torment him if I leave him, and he'll never find anyone else like me. Isn't that enough? I re-played his words in my mind again. Aside from being ''the most beautiful woman there'', it was all about him. The irony is, that is what drove me away in the first place.
It was then that a lady sat down with her dog. And her dog had a name I had never heard of another dog having before.
It was Poe!
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| Poe |
As my Canadian friend so wisely said, ''...and other times, the Universe clubs you over the head.''
Thank you for clubbing me over the head, Universe.
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