Well, Margaret's gone. It feels like I thought it would.
She was packing her stuff into boxes consistently over pretty much the entire month of April. In due time, the boxes completely took over the house - expected, and perfectly reasonable. Her last day of work was Saturday 4/17, and the ten days after that were spent with her packing and with me trying to spend time away from the house so I wouldn't be underfoot. We both had a pretty short fuse for the last two weeks - I just wanted her stuff gone, and she just wanted to leave. Also expected, and perfectly reasonable.
She rented a truck for the morning of Tuesday 4/27, enlisted a friend from work to help her load up her mini-storage locker, drove her car up onto the trailer behind the truck, drove everything all the way across town, and ultimately backed the whole thing up onto our driveway. No small feat, either. This was a 24-foot truck (the biggest you can drive without a trucker's license), with a trailer in tow. Margaret says it took a half hour just to get it backed into the driveway, with enough backs-and-forths to wear out the transmission on a lesser vehicle (and wear out the patience of a lesser driver). Fortunately, we live on a low-traffic street.
I ducked out from work after lunch, took care of some last-minute paperwork with our bank, and bought the pizza-n-beer bribes for our friends, who all came over after work to help with the moving. The friends were helpful, the weather cooperated spectacularly, and overall, a pretty easy loading experience. No one particular item that fought back, like a piano or a gargantuan TV, for example. What she packed, she packed well (she did work at a furniture auction house, after all), and what furniture she took was pretty light. Sent the friends home before news time, and slept like a rock Tuesday night.
Although the goal was to send Margaret off Wednesday morning, there was still quite a bit of her stuff scattered about the house - clothes, tools, plants, small stuff. So I played hooky from work and helped her pack and lug all day, during which a freak warm front moved through the area and sent temperatures to 90 degrees during the day. (What the heck?) We finally got everything loaded by around 9 PM, at which point we went out for a last dinner together. Nothing particularly significant about the dinner; we were there mostly to eat. Food! Now!
This morning, we ate breakfast, packed the remaining flotsam into her car in about ten minutes (inflatable mattress, pillows, hangers, etc.), and she drove off at about 8:30. The truck and car were completely full, to the last cubic inch, and I watched from the driveway as she carefully turned onto our street, carefully drove to the end of the block, then carefully turned left toward the highway. I don't expect to ever see her again.
And I feel almost exactly like I would have predicted: sad. No resentment, no bitterness, no regret. Just sad. My eyes welled up as I watched from the driveway. (I can't speak for Margaret. I'm sure any sadness was tempered by the pure adrenaline of driving the biggest thing on the road. She said that once you get the hang of it, it's a lot of fun.) About six months ago, I cried a bit the first time she seriously used the word "divorce", but this time felt different. Last time, while one half of the brain felt the usual emotions (hurt, sadness, worry, remorse, regret), the other half was racing through the unpleasant logistics (how to tell friends and family, where does Margaret go and how does she get there, how to divide things). This time around, all the baggage, all the ill will, all the bitterness that most people work so hard to forget, just drove off with Margaret. And all that's left behind is sad.
It's the same stupid sadness as when the cat (Pukehead) died last year. You cry a little because something is gone and you know you'll miss it. You don't remember the cat peeing in the corner of the basement, you just remember her sitting on your shoulder and purring. When we finally did put the cat down, I had no regrets whatsoever - we had always heaped as much affection on her as we could, every single day. And those are the memories I take with me - who cares if she peed in the basement and scratched up a few chairs? Margaret and I both have our shortcomings, but at this point I don't feel any compulsion to dwell on them. At the other end of the spectrum, I don't feel any "Oh what could I have done differently to save our marriage?" All that I feel right now is squarely in the middle, somewhere between looking for faults and glossing over them. It's a sadness that some good times that were sclhared with a special person are irretrievably gone, and there's nothing I can do about it. Just like when the cat died.
I'd like to think that the end of our marriage was as civilized as it could possibly be. We both think the settlement was fair, and there won't be any lingering feelings of "I got cheated out of ..." for either one of us. As Margaret heads back to Colorado, I genuinely hope she finds happiness out there. She hasn't been truly happy in years, and I hope she finds out there whatever was lacking here with me. (I'll probably hear from her now and then, if something interesting happens. I'll pass that along, naturally.)
So the two of us have now driven past the proverbial fork in the road. While Margaret heads west into uncharted territory, I apparently stay on the more familiar path to carry on without her.
I'd been saying for months that I'll certainly miss her, but I won't miss her stuff at all. God must have been giggling when he paired up the neat freak with the pack rat nine years ago. Not surprisingly, it's been a sore spot for years. (Let me just state once for the record that she had, perhaps, TOO MUCH stuff. It's not my place to judge, and it's just my opinion. I'm sure that our friends who helped pack her up have their own opinions.) I'll be making a run or two to Goodwill to recycle some of the clothes and books she left behind. (She left behind more clothing than I actually own. No exaggeration. But again, just my opinion.) Then, after our friends get to pick out what they want from the scrap lumber in the garage, the ultimate one-time-only cleansing experience, called...
"F*** It: It's Going In The Dumpster"
It's symbolic as well as practical. But the goal is *not* to completely eradicate Margaret's presence from the house - that would be callous and mean-spirited. Rather, it's a chance for me to properly dispose of some of the stuff that Margaret didn't like enough to take with her. For example, the animal faces made from Sakrete are more than a little creepy, and although I respect that Margaret put a lot of work into them, I don't want them prominently displayed in the backyard anymore.
It could be that Sakrete just wasn't Margaret's best medium for these things. She could draw beautifully, and our friends gladly snapped up some of the sketches she made back in college, rather than see Margaret throw them out. They're very good, and I hope Margaret takes up drawing again. (She never drew me, though. Too twitchy, she said.) Likewise for painting - she let me keep the Georgia O'Keefe copy she made that's been hanging in our living room. That thing is beautiful, and I'm thrilled that I can use it as the centerpiece for my new living room, when I eventually get some new furniture. (I'll also be keeping an old hair brush that she used to use - apparently, I have a sentimental streak. But not for the Sakrete animal faces.)
At present, I have enough furniture to marginally outfit a one-bedroom apartment. (Not a complaint, mind you. She wanted everything she took, and I glad let her take everything she wanted.) The house looks mighty empty, and I'll be soliciting input from my local friends on what pieces I should buy and where they should go. I have no eye at all for these things. Details to follow.
Actually, I'm a little concerned for the cat, Stinky. Suddenly, her mommy and all the good toys are gone. And I'm away from the house during the work day - what's she gonna do? I tried to console Stinky by telling her that mommy "was with Pukehead now", but to no apparent effect. I wonder if she even remembers who Pukehead was. I'm toying with the idea of a new kitten or two to keep Stinky company, but it seems way too soon for that. Additional details to follow.
(Written about three weeks later.)
Well, the morning after Margaret left, I had a dental cleaning. Well, something looked not quite right on the X-rays, and they told me I'd need a root canal on one of my lower front teeth. What?!? Could I be having a worse week? What was next - food poisoning for lunch? Apparently, something had caused my tooth to die. The dentist suggested a sudden blow to the tooth, like getting punched in the face. You'd think I would remember something like that, but no.
The test he used to check the tooth was pretty straightforward. He sprayed some stuff on a Q-Tip that made it very cold, then applied the Q-Tip to each of my lower front teeth: Cold! Cold! Nothing. Cold! Apparently, when you can't feel cold on a particular tooth, that's bad.
A week later, I had my first experience with any dental procedure that isn't a routine cleaning. I've gone 35+ years without a single cavity, and now my perfect-teeth streak is over. Fooey! For those of you who have never had one of these done, it's pretty straightforward (although not the most pleasant hour you'll spend in a chair): the dentist drills out the root, cleans it out, and seals it up with a UV-cured epoxy. The epoxy is very similar to what we used to assemble optical components, where you basically take your time getting everything in place, then you zap it with a light source for thirty seconds or so to cure it. Neat.
It's all done with novocaine, so you're fully conscious during the whole procedure. You can't ask questions, though, because your mouth is held in place by a little rubber guard. I do know that he had to drill down 20 mm (about 3/4 of an inch), and I found out that once you've had one of these done, you'll forever see a bright streak in the X-rays on the affected tooth.
The novocaine wore off in 2-4 hours, and actually I didn't feel any soreness or ill effects at all afterwards. My friends and I even went out for dinner, and I slept like a rock that night. Apparently, the whole thing is invisible to the naked eye, because I can't see a thing where he did his work.
In another week, I go back to get a crown put on the tooth (another fabulous new experience for me). If you don't get a crown, the tooth may discolor or get brittle. I'm sure that won't be nearly as much fun as the root canal...
And in the fine Gerber tradition of saving perverse souvenirs (like my wisdom teeth, Margaret's gallstones, and my emergency room wristband from when I had the bubonic plague), the dentist let me keep the actual files he used during the procedure. So I scanned them in for your viewing pleasure! They're actually quite flexible, unlike drill bits, so I'm not really sure what they're made out of.
In other news, the whole dumpster process went very smoothly. I called my trash company and ordered a 20 cubic yard dumpster, to be dropped off on my driveway on Thursday, 5/6. I would then have a week to fill it to the rim with whatever non-hazardous stuff I wanted, then they'd pick it up on Thursday, 5/13. Perfect!Now I don't know how good your estimating skills are, but I really had no idea how big or small 20 cubic yards was. They said that 30 cubic yards was the biggest they had, but I balked when they told me the price. So I settled for 20, which was the "medium" of the small/medium/large dumpster hierarchy.
It magically appeared on the Thursday while I was at work. Just so you can get a sense of scale, it was about two car lengths long, about 8 feet wide, and about 5 feet tall. One of the sides unhinged to form a huge door, so you could deliberately ignore the printed warning and play inside the dumpster.
Saturday morning, I woke up around 9, got outside around 9:30, and loaded for pretty much the rest of the day. My mad Tetris skillz finally paid off, and I'd like to think that I was pretty efficient in getting everything neatly into the dumpster without going above the rim, like they wanted.
I should point out that I didn't throw out literally everything in the house or the garage. Margaret left behind a lot of odds and ends (clothing, a whole box of zippers, fabric, etc.) that I didn't want, so I loaded up the car with them and dropped it all off at Goodwill. Then repeated the whole process again with another full carload of Goodwill donations. Two full carloads, and that's just stuff Margaret decided not to pack. I then donated as much as I could to the Reuse Center, sort of a local buy/sell/trade place for old house items, like doorknobs, fixtures, cabinets, window frames, woodwork, etc. That took multiple trips, and the use of Kris's pickup for one of them. And at the end of the day, the Reuse Center gave the stuff a good home and took care of the stuff I donated, and I got the space back in my house plus a substantial tax write-off for next year. Everybody won, and I don't feel the guilt I would have if I'd thrown out some stuff that would have been of use to someone else.
So Saturday I loaded. Everything fit perfectly, and I even threw a pile of sticks and twigs on top to clean out the backyard. I knew that my next door neighbor wanted to get rid of a big pile of paving stones that came with his house, so we threw those on top of the twigs. Turns out, the twigs compacted nicely, and I actually had *more* room after we got rid of all the paving stones than before! The weather cooperated nicely, and I even got a little sunburnt. (Dang! Why can't I ever remember to wear a hat during these things?)
I finished loading around 6, took a shower, ran an errand or two, then went to a poker game for the rest of the evening. Over the course of the evening, I won $1.50, and drank half a gallon of Gatorade to make sure I wasn't dehydrated. A good day.
The next morning, 47,000 people and I participated in Race For The Cure, a local benefit to raise money for breast cancer. We sent a few people from the office, and we chose the 5K walk - more like Casual Stroll For The Cure.
That night, my friend Eric and I went out for steaks (mmm...meat...), and by the time we got out of the place, the sky was kinda green and it looked like the world was going to end. Uh-oh. We drove back to my house (the original plan being to watch Simpsons and other Sunday night goodies), and it started pouring. Our TV festivities were postponed by severe weather updates, including a tornado warning! A tornado??? With 20 cubic yards of projectiles on my driveway??? That I would have to pick up from all over the county??? Thank God, we only got rain, but I was more than a little worried for an hour or two.
On Monday I called my trash place and told them they could have the dumpster back early if they needed it. It magically disappeared on Tuesday, and suddenly, my house and my garage were as empty as they would ever be. (I'd even cleaned out the rafters in the garage, making it even emptier than when we bought the house!) After having my garage look like the Reuse Center for the last 7 years, it's still quite a pleasant shock to see all the space I now have. And the inside of the house is just as sparse. I'm just going to enjoy the emptiness for a few more weeks, before I slowly start to repopulate with new furniture. (I also have to save a little $ for furniture; the dumpster and the non-insurance portion of my dental work were unexpected expenses, and I don't want to spread myself too thin right now.)
This past weekend, I went to a friend's wedding (as a guest, not as the DJ), and it was my first formal event without Margaret. A little strange for me, but certainly not the end of the world. I wound up talking with a group of friends that are all divorced themselves! I guess it's a lot more common than I would have imagined. And I found out that my whole divorce process was a lot less painful and a lot more speedy than what some couples go through. I guess it's a testament to Margaret's civility (and mine too, I suppose) that it ended so smoothly.
I talked to Margaret on the phone for about ten minutes just after she'd unloaded everything in Denver. She's staying in a house owned by her brother that doesn't have any appliances (oven, fridge, microwave, etc.), and it's in the bad part of town. It sounded like she'll be living out of boxes for the short term, until she finds a place of her own to buy or rent. It's got to be tough just uprooting and starting completely from scratch; I don't envy her at all right now. I'm sure she'd love to be able to talk to someone outside of her family (who's not me). If she's ever needed the support of her good friends, she probably needs it most right now.
As part of the decoupling process, I had to move some stocks around and close some brokerage accounts. Many of you may remember my $50 investment in Pinnacle Micro stock from a number of years ago, and how it doubled in value the next day. Well, the glorious yet tragic saga ends, and I attached a scan of the final transaction. It's a beaut.
Work still goes well at the law firm. There was one particular patent application that I was very proud of, where the invention was a method of selling items seen on TV. I even gave a terrific example of buying Ted Baxter's "conquistador boots" from a particular episode of The Mary Tyler Moore Show! (That example got cut, though, despite my objections. Drat.) And I ran across a patent examiner from the 1970s with the superb name of Trygve M. Blix (pronounced "Trig-Vee"; I think it's a traditional Norwegian or Finnish name). And another patent written by someone named Boyd Hunter. Now say it like you're from New Jersey: Boyd Hunter! That's funny!Crap From The Past also bounces along nicely. I'm getting emails regularly from people at other radio stations who love the show, including the top 40 station Kiss in Chicago! Who'da thunk? If I ever get rich or famous, I'll let you know.
This weekend, a group of 22 of us are going on a huge rafting/camping trip on the Peshtigo River in upper Wisconsin. It's about a 6-hour drive from here, and it's my first time doing any camping. Should be good!
While looking through some old papers, I came across a business card for the Manos Diner in Ithaca, New York. Manos: The Diner Of Fate. (with Food You'll Enjoy!) We ate there eons ago, and it wasn't bad!(A last minute update)
Wouldn't you know it? Tonight I got a message on my machine that Margaret called (her stupid lawyer overcharged her), so I called her back and chatted for an hour and a half.
She sounds really happy, God bless her! The house she's in looks so bad from the outside that no one in his right mind would break in, so security's not really a problem. She got an oven/stove and a fridge from other houses that her brother has, so she's not cooking on sterno. She started work at a Home Depot in the nice part of town, and hopefully they'll pick her up as a full-time employee with benefits. Plus, she wants to take some summer courses for a teaching certificate. I tell you, I heard an enthusiasm in her voice that I haven't heard in years, it sounds like she's going through the same catharsis that I am. A fresh start for both of us, without necessarily wiping out all traces of the old partner. She's gonna make it after all. (Now throw your hat in the air! That clip from the Mary Tyler Moore Show credits was filmed on the Nicollet Mall in downtown Minneapolis - just so you know.)
I got two good stories from Margaret to pass along.
When she got to her new place, she couldn't find the bathmat - it was in any one of a billion boxes. So she used the sports section from the paper. A few days later, she wound up with a nosebleed (mile high!), and bled all over her makeshift bathmat. Rats! A few days after that, she was visiting with her brother, who was used the Arts & Entertainment section of the paper as HIS bathmat. Ah, family!
And she thinks that the house she's in is haunted. Every night around midnight, she hears the kitchen cabinets opening and shutting, and hears cans being moved around - just like someone rooting around in the cabinets. She says there's always the sound of one can being knocked over. This didn't particularly bother her because we're both used to hearing the cats roam around and knock over things downstairs after we've gone to bed. Only now, Margaret suddenly realized, "Wait! I don't have a cat!" And she got a little spooked. She says every morning, she looks in the cabinets and the cans are right where she left them, all upright. And there are no footprints in the sawdust in the kitchen (I didn't ask why there was sawdust in the kitchen.) And it happens Every Single Night. Kinda spooky, but not the Jaws Of Hell Scary spooky, more like Oddball Curiosity spooky. Margaret said that at no point did anything scare the crap out of her, it just continually puzzles her where the noises are coming from. So Margaret - not exactly the superstitious type - was jokingly relating all this to her brother, just as she jokingly related it all to me. And her brother didn't joke back, as I'd done. Why not? Apparently, Margaret was the fourth person who'd heard the spooky sounds while staying in the house.
Cool!
So I'm happy to report her spirits are up (no pun intended), and she'd love to hear from friends and family.
Ron
