Sunday, March 10, 2013

We Were Two Writers Living Together

We did other things too — we ran Reiki, Tarot and Qabalah classes; we gave psychic readings, Reiki treatments, Indian Head Massage and aura drawings in the Sunday markets; we had writers' groups meeting in our homes (we had various homes over time, because we rented) and sometimes I ran writing classes for the local Community College. We lived in places of great natural beauty and we enjoyed them to the full. We went out and about to movies, to theatre, to art galleries, to dine with friends. We shopped and cooked, talked on the phone, read many books (neither of us ever without one), watched TV and listened to music.

But alongside all that, underpinning it, we spent our lives writing. We spent them at our desks, at our computers. We did use notebooks too. When I think of the boxes of notebooks there are, I have to say we used them a lot — but most of our writing has been onscreen.

We spent great slabs of each day, and often night, at this occupation.

So in many ways my life is not much changed. Writing is what I do. Oh, I tend the house and look after the cats; I cook and shop; I meet my friends for coffee; I run a weekly writers' group; I learn Tai Chi; I read and watch TV; I go to movies ... but writing is THE thing I do, just as I always did. Just as he and I always did, not only in our twenty years together but separately long before that too, before we ever knew or dreamed of each other.

I still spend my life at my desk, at my computer. It is very easy, then, to get absorbed and forget he isn't here in his own office, doing it too.

We sometimes shared an office, but mostly he liked to have his own space, when our accommodation would run to that. That didn't mean we were isolated; there was a lot of communication back and forth. But it means that now I can have the illusion that everything is just as it was before, because my part of it hasn't changed. I am a writer before I am anything else; it's the one lifelong constant.

It's kinda weird, and kinda reassuring, to be continuing on as I did when we were together, as if he was not gone. Because if he were present it would be just the same ... almost.




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8 comments:

  1. Hi Rosemary ~~ I cannot begin to imagine how that would be. There are friends I have who are widowed or widowered(??). It isn't exactly the same though as when it happens to yourself.

    I have been divorced, an unexpected divorce. It was pure Hell and I still hold in a stiffled sob sometimes when I breathe in. You have that, I know. I still cannot stand the song, "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling." It was playing at a friend's house last night while we were playing dominoes. It was sad.

    Mrs. Jim came along three years after our split and that helped a lot. Still there was trust that I had to build up. Now we've been married 40 years so perhaps she is here to stay.

    That got long, I didn't intend when my finger began to fly. What I wanted to tell you is about the four widow ladies who went with us on our Alaska cruise/tour. They had the greatest of times and they did have money to do it. I know one of those had been saving and scrimping for it.

    You might travel a bit with your lady friends, just go only where your budget and saved up $$$ will take you. Again, those ladies were having the time of ther lives it seemed.
    ..

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  2. Thanks, Jim. Good thought! I have been getting a few nudges to travel, so you might be the latest instrument of the Universe! :)

    I have been divorced too in the past, so I know that pain also. Well, my last marriage was worth the pain of widowhood. There is grief but few regrets. I'm glad for you and Mrs Jim.

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  3. Oh, Rosemary! Touched my heart. Nothing I can usefully say, just that I'm glad that your marriage was so happy.

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    1. Thank you. What you say IS useful! When all's said and done, I'm glad of that too.

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  4. I would not survive becoming a widower. Long before I could develop the skills one needs to live alone, I'd be long gone.

    Salute.

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    1. I hope you don't have to experience it — but probably one of you does. Perhaps you could learn a few skills now? I was my husband's carer for the last few years of his life, and as he gradually became able to shoulder less and less responsibility, I shouldered more and more. In one way it was good, in that I had time to acquire the necessary skills.

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  5. This is a painfully beautiful post.

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