the "Why I'm Still Married" blog

war and love

2006-08-05T10:49:00.000-04:00

It's difficult to focus on personal interactions between couples these days when everywhere one turns war is separating families, marriages, sweethearts. Yet what is a war except a succession of individual tragedies. I am thinking of the thousands of solidiers who have said goodbye to wives or girlfriends, not knowing whether they will come home alive, and not only the wives or girlfriends who are already grief-stricken with loss. Was the man who was struck by a rocket while riding his bicycle home planning to cucumber salad when he got home that night? Did the fruit truck loader who died with his apricots and dates make love to his wife that last morning?
And what about the woman carried her newborn from the hospital directly to the bomb shelter, feeding him as the rockets fell? She'd had a ceasarian and was not allowed to climb the steps out of the shelter once the danger was past; she stayed there for days, the others bringing her food and water. So many of the bridges that once existed between people no longer exist. So many ties severed or permanently strained. So many children too frightened to sleep, unable to play without concern.
It feels, to me, irrelevant, a luxury, to think about who does the dishes in a time of war, when the strife and conflict outside the family is so great. And yet it's that very strife and conflict that put even more pressure on individual marriages.

Relative Fidelity

2006-07-19T14:55:00.000-04:00

At the Q & A following our reading, the first questions is often “What do your husbands think of you writing about them?” It’s at this point we wish our husbands would walk single-file into the room, preferably to musical accompaniment, and then, in the spirit of a game show, the audience have to guess which man belonged to which woman.
Frequently commented is “the open marriage essay,” in which Hannah Pine defends her and her husband’s right to have sex with partners outside their conjugal commmittment. Despite her defense, audience comments often insinuate that Pine’s marriage is somehow tainted or unreal. People tend to have trouble with this essay. In the anthology, hers is the minority view. But recent news testifies that the Pines are not alone.
A new trove of Albert Einstein’s letters were unsealed at Hebrew University, in some of which Einstein writes openly about his affairs with other women to his wife, Elsa. In fact, Elsa was herself the result of an affair Einstein had while married to his first wife, Mileva. What’s not yet known is whether Elsa and Mileva also entertained extra-marital partners while the great scientist was away on his travels.
Maybe it’s something about scientists. Are they providing new research about the human species and our capacity for love and our immunity to jealousy? Annalee Newitz profiles a household of paramours in an article in New Scientist. Although you need a diagram to follow the intracies of who exactly is sleeping with whom and when (as well as who are the biological parents of each child) the point is that these middle-aged couples profess to be perfectly content with their arrangements. Are they a breed apart from the rest of us? An anomaly? Infidelity dressed up to be respectable and on display? Perhaps more data is required.

Packed in the Berkshires

2006-07-12T14:34:00.000-04:00

Last Saturday afternoon, about eighty residents of Berkshire county made their way to the spacious function room in the Bushnell-Sage Public Library in Sheffield, where they poured themselves a Dixie cup of cool lemonade from a glass pitcher before finding a seat in a folding chair. Susan Dworkin, celebrated local author, and the co-editors of WISM were introduced by Eugenie Sills of The Women’s Times (where an article about the anthology appeared the previous week), Rick Kowarek of The Bookloft in Great Barrington, and librarian Nancy Hahn.

The writers read from their essays and then opened up for questions and discussion. A man in the third row was first to raise his hand. “Could each of you name the qualities of an ideal husband?”

Susie Dworkin was quick to respond. To have an ideal of what a husband should be is dangerous for both the man and the woman, she said. In her generation, the ideal husband was the provider, the bread winner, and nothing much else mattered about him. What an enormous pressure that is on husband and wife if the man is valued only for his earning power and the woman is kept sequestered at home. Dworkin said she raised her three children not to believe the husband alone bears the burden of breadwinning.

"How did that turn out?" asked an audience member.

"Just fine," said Dworkin.

Karen Propp spoke about her generation’s expectation that an ideal husband is being someone with whom intimacy and romantic love will magically persist over the long haul of decades, and how she had to kill that ideal in order to see what was real in marriage.

Jean Trousntine said that before she met the man who has been her husband for the past eighteen years she decided that the most important thing for her in a mate was a good communicator. “And did I get a communicater!” she joked, and the audience laughed. “He communicates so often and so intensely that sometimes I want to ask him to please stop!”

Discussion then touched upon the honesty of using a pseudonym when writing about an open marriage, how the essays were chosen for the anthology, the husbands' response to being written about, what's at stake in publishing work that's clearly intimate, the importance of clear boundaries for a good relationship. Afterwards, in the book signing queue, a man recounted the story of a woman in the south who ran a battered women's shelter from her beauty parlor chair. Not only did she counsel women who wanted to leave their husbands but she dyed the victims' hair and disguised their appearance so they could not be recognized on their way out of town.

A woman named Estelle, whom Jean was sure she had once seen in the dressing room of Loehmans, said, “I never get to talk about these kind of things. Even with my closest friends.”

Side by Side

2006-07-06T13:01:00.000-04:00

Maureen Dowd, in her Times column this week, responding to Amy Sutherland's article about training her husband using animal training techniques ("The Samu Maneuver") quotes Helen Fisher, a Rutgers anthropologist and the author of "Why We Love: The Nature and Chemistry of Romantic Love." Helen Fischer says:

"Men and women tend to get intimacy differently. Women get intimacy from face-to-face contact. We do what we call the anchoring gaze. It comes from millions of years of holding your baby in front of your face. Men tend to get intimacy by doing things side by side, because for millions of years they faced their enemy but sat side by side with their friends."

Perhaps that explains why my most intimate talks with my dad, when I was girl, took place in the car where we were not only side by side but temporarily trapped inside a moving vehicle. Even better if we were driving at night, the dark making talk safe. He kept a package of Lifesavers below the dashboard, which I peeled open and handed out. I usually got the coveted red lifesaver, my dad willing to take the green ones. The lifesavers were supposed to help him stay awake at the wheel, but even more helpful, he said, was when we talked. I don't remember what we talked about, but we, or he, were forced then to search for topics we might have in common. School was probably one topic. That would have been obvious. I was an excellent student and he a high school teacher. The drive we talked about, I'm sure--how many more miles lay ahead, and the geography of the trip, which was usually from Boston to New York when my maternal grandparents were still alive, or from Boston to Maine, where we camped every summer near the ocean. What do you want to do when you grow up? was the kind of open-ended, probing question he might come up with. I didn't know, or I did know, but was too shy to admit. We logged the miles. Side by side. We ran out of things to say to one another and shared another lifesaver, both of us tasting the sweetness. We were friends.

The Shamu Maneuver redeux

2006-06-28T22:37:00.000-04:00

It's overdetermined. First, I read Amy Sutherland's column in the Modern Love column of the New York Times and thought to myself: Mmmm, perfect for the blog. An hour later, an email from my husband (who was upstairs) pinged into my in box. Monday, an old friend emailed me the same article. Tuesday, a new friend. And today, my co-editor, alerting me to Dr. Tammi Lenski's website, where Lenski blogged Why I'm Still Married back in May, and now has a post about her husband e-mailing Sutherland's article to her. No wonder Sutherland is at the top of the 'most e-mailed' list.
For anyone who has not read the article, the "Shamu maneuver," is a behavioral technique borrowed from animal trainers that Sutherland used on her American husband. Basically, it's a matter of rewarding good behavior--no matter how small--with immediate, positive feedback, and ignoring bad behavior. Note: this may also sound familiar to anyone with a toddler in the house.
How has it worked in my house? We both have been shamelessly using the maneuver on one another. For example. Last night, my husband brought in the empty garbage cans from the curb and put them away in the garage. I rewarded him with a kiss, a smile, and "Great! You put away the garbage cans!" This morning, I got up first and made the pot of coffee. For this I was rewarded with a smile, a shoulder stroke, and "Oh honey, you made the coffee! How wonderful!" You get the idea. We make sure to throw a healthy dose of self-mockery into our delivery. We giggle a little to think we have taken up such silly, desperate measures. But you know what? Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday--it's working. This evening, I came home and the first thing my husband did was to show me the square on the calendar marked August 10 where he'd written, "Audiologist, 2 p.m." Those of you who have read my recent posts will understand what a major breakthrough it is that my appointment-phobic, hard of hearing spouse had taken it up on himself to do what I have been begging him to do for the past six months: get his hearing tested. Perhaps because I was so taken aback by this move, I forgot to throw my arms around him, jump and up down with joy, and say, "I'm so proud of you!" Instead, I reverted to my old ways, and said, "Not until August?" But it was okay. He didn't need my affirmation just then. He was proud of himself.

Get To Work link

2006-06-21T11:31:00.000-04:00

I got to read Linda Hirschman's potent Get To Work: A Manifesto for Women of The World. That's right, after insulting a lot of people by her militant article in The American Prospect, in which Hirschman formed the dangerous argument that well-educated women should use their well-educated minds and bodies for activities other than shaping play-dough or pushing PLAY for the Baby Einstein CD, this mother, lawyer, and professor emeritus has gone and published her thoughts in a book. Like, last week. Deep maroon and about the size of a toddler's board book, it's just the right size to tuck into either a diaper bag or your already bulging briefcase.

What do I think? I'm behind Hirschman's message, and thank her for putting it out there. I wish I had the book to read about twenty years ago, to have someone tell me it was not only okay but necessary to take work (my work) seriously. That would have cut through a lot of my hemming and hawing over the years, and more easily solved my ongoing internal conflicts about work and family. So count me a "yeah" vote on Get To Work.
But even so, I kept waiting for Hirschman to at least acknowledge that it's not always an either/or situation, emotionally speaking, for most women, and that children do need time with their mothers, to differing extents at different ages. In the book, Hirshman ridicules a reader who wrote how much she enjoys climbing trees with her children instead of going out to work. Right there I wanted a bit less ridicule on Hirschman's part and even one sentence acknowledging that at little bit of climbing trees is one of the pleasures of parenting, childhood goes by so fast, etc. etc.
A bit of personal commentary. Yesterday, I took the day off from my freelance jobs and went on my eight year old's annual class trip to the beach. The day was exquisite--sun, surf, wind, gazelle footed children diverse enough to challenge a crayola maker's definition of "skin color." I went because of a promise I'd made my son a year ago, when he'd come home from last year's beach trip and asked please, please, would I go. Ordinarily, I relegate field trips to the stay-at-home moms, feeling both grateful that they are willing to enrich the school and relieved that I--the freelancer with a pile of projects I can do "whenever I want"-- have been let off the hook. So yesterday, I looked around at the other moms who'd also come on the beach trip. And I counted: 1 physician, 1 fundraiser for a major organization, 1 financial planner, 1 woman going back to work as a headhunter, 3 women at home with their kids, and using some of their time for useful volunteer work. And the teacher, a working mother who'd brought along her ten year old daughter. Including me, 6 out of 9 mothers on the beach were educated women doing work in the world for which we'd been trained. Which just goes to show--what? That some of us can have it all some of the time. That flex-time is de rigeur in the professional class. That my son was ecstatic. That it's time for me to get to work.

Hearing Test

2006-06-12T15:36:00.000-04:00

My husband is hard of hearing. He has a genetic kind of hearing loss, one that makes it nearly impossible for him to follow a quiet conversation in a noisy restaurant. Just one of those things we've learned to accommodate over the years. For example: "No, I don't want the fish. I said pass the knishes!"
Not too long ago, he handed our son a slim silver dime.
"Thanks, Dad."
"What do you need the dime for?"
"I don't need a dime. You just gave me one."
"I know you don't need a dime. That's because I just gave you one. You asked and I gave. You don't know how lucky you are to have such a generous father. In my day..."
"Dad--"
"If I ever asked my father for a dime, he would--
"Dad!"
"--make me clean out the garage."
"Dad!! I--did--not-- ask-- you--for-- a-- dime."
"You didn't? That's what I heard."
"Dime?" Dawning awareness on my son's part. "Time, Dad! Not dime, time! I said it's time to let me use your computer."
Conversations like these are not atypical in our house. So when a flyer arrived in the mail offering a free hearing test on such and such a date in such and such a place, you can bet that I called and made my husband an appointment. “The spouse is required to come, too,” said the receptionist over the phone.
When we got there I found out why. My husband was to turn his back to me, so he could not read my lips, while I was to reach aloud a list of words, which he was then to repeat. I said, “shock,” he said, “socks,” I said, “forensic,” he said, “presence” I said, “stove,” and he said, “ovum,” and so on. From a list of twenty words, my husband correctly repeated three. In other words, I had been misheard seventeen times! I had been heard only three times and misheard seventeen. I was stunned. Flabbergasted. Speechless. All these years I’d focussed on our ability to communicate from a psychological/emotional viewpoint and now I’m learning that it’s all physiological?
The audiologist did some more tests, and went on to explain that my husband's hearing loss was such that the most difficult frequency for him to hear were those made by women and children. In other words, the two people with whom my husband lives and loves are the ones that are the most difficult for him to hear.
After the audiologist's results we were ushered into another room where a hearing aid salesman tried to sell us his company's brand. That's when we realized it was a bit of a scam. "No thanks, we have to think about it."
That's as far as we've gotten. I have urged my husband to make an appointment, this time with a real audiologist, for another hearing test. So far he has not done so. I'm not sure he hears me.

Science of Love

2006-05-09T14:53:00.000-04:00

When my husband's issue of New Scientist arrived in the mail he held it up for me to see. "Look, something for you!" he said. The cover has a picture of a man with who has an enormous bouquet of red roses sprouting from his chest. He is leaning backwards, as if under the weight of these flowers, which are of course signifiers for L-O-V-E, the subject of the magazine's special issue.
So I poked inside. Chemicals are responsible for how we bond with our mate. Oxytocin, the chemical that rises in women during childbirth, also rises during for a woman when she is orgasming and in a man when he is aroused. Oxytocin is the love and bonding hormone, and the one to have for a long-lasting, trust-worthy marriage. People given oxtytocin to sniff are also very likely to lend large sums of money to people they have just met and have a sudden feeling to trust. Oxytocin also tends to weaken the decision making part of the brain.
For monogomy you need more than oxytocin. Most couplers in the animal kingdom are not monogamous. They mate, and then move on. Even some of the males that stick around to help care for the offspring have a wandering eye for the females in their area. Monogomay relies on a second hormone, vasopressin. One species of monogamous prarie vole has an abundance of receptors for vasopressin and is thus monogamous, while the other voles are promisicous. Researchers at Emory University were able to turn the wandering promiscious voles into stay-at-home monogomists by injecting them with a virus that carried the gene into their brain cells. A shot for monogamy! Now there's an idea I bet would sell.
I'd heard much of this before, or something like it, and therefore the most interesting part of New Scientist to me was the reaction in my mate. "Did you read about this Gottman guy? He measures the physiological responses in couples when they are near one another and when they fight. He found that fighting induces stress which makes it harder for one person to remember what the other one said. Maybe that's why you never remember when I--"
"I came across that information years ago," I said, which was true. But I hadn't told him then. I'd kept the facts to myself, I don't know why. For now that his subscription has the goods, he is listening.

Week Eight (#8) on the Boston Bestseller List!!!

2006-04-03T00:03:00.001-04:00

Week Seven on the Boston Globe Nonfiction Bestseller List!!

2006-03-26T22:10:00.000-05:00

We are #6 this week. The Editors find this pretty amazing.

2006-03-17T12:51:00.000-05:00

I was glad to see Ellen Goodman speak up about the new study from the University of Virginia on what makes a happy marriage. That's the study being used as fodder to promote the ugly, retrograde conclusion that stay-at-home wives are happier in their marriages than wives who work. Goodman points out that the margin of difference between these two “lifestyle choices” is too slim to count. As to the study’s claim that women with lowered expectations make for the happiest wives, we’d be a lot worse off than we are now if generations of feminists had not raised expectations of men and marriage. It’s far more productive for men to raise their marriage performances a notch than for women to lower their marriage expectations a notch. To quote Goodman: “Indeed, women at the demanding, cutting edge may eventually be the ones who reduce the divorce rate rather than raising the unhappiness index.”

2006-03-13T13:08:00.000-05:00

Bad Feminist writes a mean blog and a good review:

As my feminist friends and I reach our mid- to late-twenties, and settle into stable relationships, we find ourselves asking more and more how one establishes and maintains a marriage. How do couples address, and rebel against, traditional gender roles? How do women address the occasional (or frequent) apathy they feel toward spouse and children? How do we address our envy/ anger/ disappointment/ fear/ suspicion that our partners "have it all" with such ease, while we struggle in a sexist world? Now Karen Propp and Jean Trounstine have edited a collection of twenty-four essays, in which women discuss "why I'm still married." The essayists
include authors Julia Alvarez and Erica Jong, women in different- and same-sex marriages, women married fifty years and women married one. Sounds like a must-read for feminists struggling to define themselves within a relationship, to hold onto the selves that existed without, and to have something worth hanging
onto afterward.

FIFTH WEEK ON BOSTON GLOBE BESTSELLER LIST!!

2006-03-13T06:50:00.000-05:00

Newtonville Books

2006-03-10T18:03:00.001-05:00

Last night's line-up at Newtonville Books was Anne Bernays, Helen Fremont, Jean Trounstine. and me. The place was packed! Standing room only--people lined up in the back. Such a great crowd. Anne Bernays' husband, Justin Kaplan, was in the audience, and afterwards in the Q & A, when called upon to answer what has become the inevitable: "What do the spouses think?" he praised his wife's essay in sweet, glowing terms. Also in the audience were my parents, Aunt Gerdy, and several of my mother's friends, who are also my old babysitting employers. (I grew up in Newton.) And Tracy Slater, organizer of the Four Stories' reading series was there in the front row, and of course, Tim Huggins, proprietor of Newtonville Books and a generous soul to writers. Tim introduced the book by saying (I'm paraphrasing here) that it's not a book with answers but a book with questions. And I think that's exactly right.

Boston Globe Review

2006-03-08T14:43:00.000-05:00

The Boston Globe review appeared today. And please join us tonight in the flesh at The Avanti Salon on 11 Newbury Street, Boston. We'll be reading from our essays in the anthology at 7:30 p.m.

Condoms and Chocolates

2006-03-06T12:34:00.000-05:00

Contributor Jennifer Heath writes on her Valentine's Day reading at Boulder Bookstore.

I took a huge heart-shaped box of candies to the event and wore a long, red Vietnamese dress. Michelle Auerbach*, a friend and colleague, also wore red. It was corny, but I've been dying to wear that dress somewhere!!
M. and I paced nervously and at last the place filled up, which was a happy surprise, since we'd expected three people: Michelle's boyfriend and her ersatz in-laws (my husband, who was featured with me in an image on the flyer, was in NYC debuting a new book of poetry...so much for VD).
I had announced in a personal notice (not the bookstore's) that anyone who wanted could bring condoms to contribute to a condrom drive that International Midwife Assistance (a group I spearheaded) was conducting that week on behalf of the families of Bamiyan, Afghanistan. I put a red box on the floor beneath the table where we were reading, and it began to fill with condoms as people came in.
A friend brought roses, which Michelle and I placed between us. We passed around the heart-shaped box of chocs. Someone from the bookstore introduced me. I began by talking briefly about how you two had come to create this book, and I listed all the authors. I then read Grace Paley's poem, and managed to do it without sobbing ("rehearsing" it in the tub that afternoon, I started crying and couldn't get through it! But a coupla glasses of wine and some adrenaline and I was blesedly dry eyed). I noticed someone else in the audience who was not. A little wet glint in her eye and she rested her head on her husband's shoulder. Very sweet.
Michelle -- who I introduced -- took up the baton and read Meredith Maran's piece. She had originally planned to read Erica Jong, but felt that she and Meredith had a deep affinity, sisters under the skin.
Michelle read beeeeeeeeaaaaaauuutifully. I mean gorgeous! And people laughed and gasped and reacted exactly as they were supposed to when a good piece of writing meets a good reader. Everyone applauded happily.
Then I read. And reaction again was enthusiastic. I noticed a few folk in the audience who actually know Jack and me, and they seemed to laugh the loudest. Hmm...
I read the last words, said thank you and nodded my head in my usual little end-of-performance bow, and everyone clapped. And then they sat there. And sat and sat and sat. I wanted to say, "any questions?" but couldn't imagine what they would ask, so I said, "well, Michelle and I are now available to give marital advice," and a few laughed.
Someone said, "is there more?" and since an encore was obviously wanted, I read Maria Hinojosa.
Applause, the end, folks came up to say they loved it, to buy the book, to have me sign their copies, etc., and someone even tried to avail herself of the condoms in the box below our feet. She thought we were giving them away!!! I said, Oh hell, go
ahead take one and have a fun weekend. Michelle made sure everyone after that knew they were for Afghanistan and if folks hadn't brought condoms, it would be fine if they dropped a dollar in the box. In that way we made $60 for family planning.
So there you are. It was a gas and everyone who came had fun. Passing chocolates around is the key to any successful book signing, don't you think?

*Michelle Auerbach’s work has appeared most recently in Van Gogh’s Ear, Bombay Gin, Xcp, and Chelsea . She is the author of the historical novella Alice Modern (2005 Excessive Poetics Press). Auerbach lives and teaches writing and literature in Colorado where she received her MFA from Naropa University. She is also a contributor to Jennifer Heath's forthcoming anthology, THE VEIL.

2006-03-05T12:42:00.000-05:00

The Editors made a guest appearance at The Lyric Stage Company's performance of Edward Albee's THE GOAT or WHO IS SYLVIA? We were invited to lead the talk back after the show, along with the cast. Stevie, the wife in the play, has a tremendous story to tell about her marriage that made us wish she was a contributor to our essay collection. Here's some
lines that Albee gives Stevie. She is speaking to her husband, Martin.

Something can happen that's outside the rules, that doesn't relate to The Way The Game Is Played. Death before you're ready to even think about it--that's part of the game. A stroke that leaves you sitting lookng at an eggplant the week before had been your husband--that's another. Emotional disengagement, gradual, so gradual you don't know it's happening, or sudden--but not very often, but occasionally--that's another. You've read about spouses---God! I hate that word!--spouses who all of a sudden start wearing dresses--yours, or their own collection--wives gone dyke. .. but if there's one thing you don't put on our plate, no matter how exotic your tasts may be is. . . bestiality.

Andover Bookstore Reading

2006-03-03T14:27:00.000-05:00

Helen Fremont, Kathleen Aguero, Audrey Schulman, Jean Trounstine, and Karen Propp read last night at cozy, hospitable Andover Books, where we are the #1 seller on their hardcover nonfiction list. Again, we had a robust turnout and a stimulating discussion afterward. One woman in the audience said, "Marriage is a narrow ledge of compatibility." Audrey told us that among the predictors for a marriage to survive are that the man's smell be appealing to the woman and that the man agree with what a woman wants when it is really important to her. She didn't say, however, how often a woman gets to want something that is really important to her. A few people asked Bob (Jean's husband) to sign a copy of WHY I'M STILL MARRIED. He willingly obliged.

Heart News

2006-03-03T14:21:00.000-05:00

I went for my annual physical exam this morning--perhaps that's why this article about the link between hostility, controlling behavior and heart health caught my eye. Bottom line is that a new study finds that hostility during marital disputes is truly bad for women's hearts, while controlling behavior during marital disputes is truly bad for men's hearts. Click to read article.

I always heard it was aspirin held between the knees. . .

2006-03-02T10:20:00.000-05:00

Fourth week on the Boston Globe bestseller list

2006-03-01T11:59:00.000-05:00

Yep. This week we are #5.

The Big Apple

2006-02-26T21:52:00.000-05:00

We went to New York City and read with contributors Nell Casey and Susan Dworkin at The Coliseum Bookstore, where the audience helped create a truly stimulating post-reading Q & A discussion. And a new first: a contributor's mother-in-law (Nell's) was in the audience. Fortunately, Nell read only glowing words about her husband Jesse.

Marriage Cartoons

2006-02-21T20:58:00.000-05:00

Happy Valentine's Day

2006-02-14T20:04:00.000-05:00

A lot of events are happening across the country for our Valentine's Launch, which means a lot of people are finally getting their hot little hands on the book.

Meredith Maran e-mails about the event last night at Cody's in Berkeley, where she and Bharati Mukherjee read from their essays.

The reading was great. Bharati was amazing; the crowd was enthused and interested, and we even sold a few books. I was surprised by the number of married couples (the man and woman kind) who showed up together. I guess it's not just "a women's issue."

A west coast fan reports that Duttons Beverly Hills--where Aimee Liu will read tomorrow night--has the book all over the front window.

At Middlesex Community College in Lowell, Massachusetts, Kathy Aguero, Marge Piercy, Karen Propp (that would be me) and Jean Trounstine read in the Federal Building, a gorgeously renovated old post office. We had an excellent turnout, including note-taking students who did not seem overly surprised to find out about Professor Trounstine's love life.
(I asked.) Kathy read the dialogue parts of her essay, which made for an animated reading. After her essay, Marge read a beautiful poem.

Last but not least, Jean was on NPR's Here and Now! Listen here.

A splendid time

2006-02-12T16:11:00.000-05:00

Thanks to Gail (in photo) and Hayward Zwerling for hosting a splendid book party last night. The Nor'easter held off, the desserts were to die for, and a good time was had by all, including the Zwerling's trained parrot, Uncle Sam, who danced on the table. As for gossip, you'll have to ask Jean what she learned at the party about her husband. And then, this morning, we woke to find ourselves #4 on the Boston Globe nonfiction bestseller list!

The Lowell Sun

2006-02-12T12:56:00.000-05:00

In The Lowell Sun today, an nice article by Nancye Tuttle. Nancye is the reporter who first "introduced" Jean and me in a 2003 Lowell Sun piece.

cn8tv

2006-02-09T12:00:00.000-05:00

Tune in to the lastest segment of The Jean and Karen Show at 11:30 tonight on CN8 Comcast TV's nitebeat with Barry Nolan. The make-up artist was awesome! We were billed as "marriage experts" and titled Great Wives Tales.

The Domestic Chore Issue

2006-02-03T13:37:00.000-05:00

I googled my way to Half Changed World, an intelligent blog with some interesting posts about marriage. In the interests of widening the circle, I'm posting a comment by magikmama which gives a refreshing take on how to solve the domestic chore issue. Not that I recommend her course of action, but I admire how she found the proverbial silver lining to her troubles.

Magikmama says:

My personal solution to the domestic chore issue (which includes but is not limited to: housework, yardwork, car maintenance, personal care of children, meal planning and cooking, scheduling, remembering all of this and keeping track of how it is going, bill paying, check book balancing, tax paying, receipt checking, and keeping tabs on family members) was spending a month in a mental institution.

My husband prior to that had always been very good about doing the 50% of housework thing, sometimes even more, but he never did the keeping track of what needed to be done parts. And he never understood when I complained that I simply didn't have the mental energy to do it all by myself - he thought he was already doing more than his share!

My being completely removed from the picture to be supported on for an entire month made him utterly responsible for, the first time in his life, being aware of what needed to be done. I think the truly, AHA! moment for him was when he forgot his own mother's birthday, and actually got upset with me during the visit that day for not reminding him. WHILE I WAS IN A MENTAL HOSPITAL. FOR A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN.

I pointed out to him the complete absurdity of that viewpoint. #1: It's his OWN GODDAMN MOTHER. #2: He's an adult, get's paid better than me, and is constantly telling me how he does just as much of the keeping track of things than me. #3: Hello? I'm in a mental institution!!!

Of course, he was completely mortified, especially since I told his mother about the whole thing. I wouldn't say that he is yet completely pulling his weight, but he does do at least 30% of the thinking/planning/scheduling/remembering chores now. I no longer have to remind him when it's his week to take out the trash/do the dishes/wash laundry etc. He's also completely taken over keeping track of his family events, and calling his relatives to check on them.

I am still pretty much the one who remembers that we all have to go to the doctor at least once a year, twice for the dentist, and that he works the last weekend of every, bloody, single month. Double argh. Also that stuff like deoderant and toilet paper should be contemplated when making a grocery list.

But I'll take 30% and recognition for how much work it is over a complete ignorance of the existance of the task any day.

Posted by: magikmama | December 02, 2005 at 04:40 PM

Recovery Room

2006-02-02T13:46:00.000-05:00

I haven't been blogging lately because I've been devoting myself to my husband! He went in to the hospital for scheduled, fairly minor surgery. All went well, and I was glad to be there for him. But, really! No internet access from his hospital room. I have a lot to catch up on now. I've been thinking, though, that one reason to stay married is to be able to wake up to someone familiar in the recovery room.

Longings

2006-01-30T13:37:00.000-05:00

Today we feature an excerpt from co-editor Jean Trounstine's essay, The Finish Line, which appears in Why I'm Still Married.

…..... .Seven years into my marriage with Bob, I found myself on an airplane heading home from a professional conference. I was surprised when a dark haired man in jeans and tweed jacket seated in front of me turned around to talk. He looked like a runner, but dreamier and more dangerous, the likes of night-time romance novels, dark and brooding, and…he had hair falling over one eye. We’d first noticed each other at that wonderful moment when he put the baggage in the overhead compartment. I’d looked up from reading my Vogue, his body straining just enough for me to see chest muscles under his shirt, and he was staring into my eyes. I loved his leather belt with the big silver buckle and somehow that saved him from cliché. But I told myself to forget it, I didn’t do affairs any more, and gave him an oh-if-only-I-weren’t-married-smile.
After lift-off, he inquired if the seat next to me was taken. I was startled to hear myself say “No,” to be inviting him with every bit of my body to sit down next to me. He was young, maybe thirty-something, certainly younger than my forty-seven years, and so much Al Pacino that I could hardly breathe. He slid by my aisle seat and sat down next to the window. On earth, I might have remembered my vows, but there, thousands of miles above my husband, I wanted seduction, and more than that, I yearned for something I could wrap my mind around, something to take me away. I noticed the way he strapped in his seat belt, secure and certain. I caught a glimpse of the laptop he tucked under his seat. I noticed he had no wedding ring. And without turning my head, I knew the exact moment he would lean across the arm rest, and put his hand lightly on my forearm, asking, sotto voce, “If you weren’t married, would you have had dinner with me?”
The stranger and I talked for hours or rather, he talked and I listened -- he told me about the one who hurt him, the one he couldn’t love, the money that meant nothing without a warm sensual woman like me -- before we introduced ourselves. I even took his card before I got off the plane, imagining some secret rendezvous in a Boston hotel. However, this was not exactly a desire to make real love. I knew where that road went. And God forbid Pacino would see my aging body; he too, probably looked better in clothes. Where would we do it anyway? Crammed into one of those awful airplane bathrooms, or turned sideways under a frayed blanket? No, it wasn’t the flesh that I craved; it was all that passion in my mind.
A year or so after that experience, I started thinking a lot about longing. I was plagued by attacks of pre-fifty jitters, and I was worrying that after fifty, I’d never have another plane experience. Even though I didn’t need to run off, I certainly didn’t want to stop imagining it. And frankly, like other mid-lifers who take off in airplanes, bungy jump, sky dive, and buy new cars, I was yearning. I was yearning for more than unexpected passion. I wanted to fling myself into the illusion that I would live forever. If we can feel all that alive, we can’t get old. If we don’t get old, we’ll never have to die. As Shakespeare says, “Put on my crown; I have immortal longings in me.”

To find out if Jean ever called the number on her "plane man's" card, how she eventually came to terms with her longings, and how she and her marriage were affected by cancer, you have to--you guessed it--read the book!

Cagney and Lacey

2006-01-27T10:30:00.000-05:00

So, we had our TV debut on NECN. To watch it click here.

The funniest comment we heard in the newsroom was, "I'm still married because my parents bribe my wife to stay with me." Also, "I don't know where I'd be without my loving wife."

These comments, both from men, assume that the husband is the difficult one in the marriage, and that they were lucky to be still married. Is this because marriage is indeed better for men than for women? I wonder, though, whether these men were smart enough to know to self-efface before two women editors? (Sort of like the advice I once got from great-aunt Rose to be "smart enough not to show men how smart I am." !!! Only now do I see how twisted is such a strategy.)

Anchor Latoyia Edwards dubbed Jean and me the "Cagney and Lacey" of marriage. Which sort of fits. Jean gets to play the no-nonsense, gutsy, outspoken Lacey, while I get to play the driven blonde who struggles with alchoholism. . . For those of you too young to have watched the TV show about these fiesty women detectives or who are interested in reading more about them click here.

Why Charles Darwin Married

2006-01-26T10:51:00.000-05:00

Charles Darwin wrote up this list while deciding whether or not to marry his cousin Emma.
By all reports they had a long and happy marriage. You gotta love the mention of "female chit-chat" as possessing charm and his estimation that marriage is "better than a dog anyhow."

Marry

1. Children (if it Please God)
2. Constant companion (and friend in old age) who will feel interested in one
3. Object to be beloved and played with. Better than a dog anyhow
4. Home, & someone to take care of house
5. Charms of music and female chit-chat
6. These things good for one’s health - but terrible loss of time
7. My God, it is intolerable to think of spending ones whole life, like a neuter bee, working, working, and nothing after all - No, no, won’t do
8. Imagine living all one’s day solitary in smoky dirty London House
9. Only picture to yourself a nice soft wife on a sofa with good fire and books and music perhaps
10. Compare this vision with the dingy reality of Great Marlboro Street, London

Marry, Marry, Marry Q.E.D.

TV Appearance

2006-01-25T10:28:00.000-05:00

Jean and Karen will be talking about the book on TV this Friday, January 27th!
Tune us in.

Station: New England Cable News
Show: Good Morning Live
Time: 7:45 A.M.

#402 Just Before Midnight

2006-01-25T09:43:00.000-05:00

Our intrepid editor, Jean Trounstine, copied this just before midnight last night:

Product Details

* Hardcover: 288 pages
* Publisher: Hudson Street Press (January 19, 2006)
* Language: English
* ISBN: 1594630178
* Product Dimensions: 8.6 x 5.9 x 1.1 inches
* Shipping Weight: 14.4 ounces. (View shipping rates and policies)
* Amazon.com Sales Rank: #402 in Books (See Top Sellers in Books)
Yesterday: #36,490 in Books

more glory

2006-01-24T20:19:00.000-05:00

We're the second most e-mailed article today in The Boston Globe! Right below Jet Blue serves Dunkin' Donuts Coffee and above Wife snips off husband's penis!!

#414 at Amazon

2006-01-24T16:04:00.000-05:00

The countdown continues.

#414 at 4:06

I'm not obsessed.

#495 at amazon.com

2006-01-24T14:49:00.000-05:00

For the record:
#495 at Amazon.com Books at 2:49 PM

A British psychologist claims that, according to his systematic analysis, January 24th is the most depressing day of the seasonal affective disorder (SAD) year, when people are most inclined to take action (TA) to feel better by, for example, booking a trip to an island paradise. I'd like to suggest that purchasing a book such as WHY I'M STILL MARRIED is a less expensive alternative and may be equally effective. It will certainly work for me.

--Karen

#710 at Amazon

2006-01-24T11:32:00.000-05:00

It's 11:15 a.m.
Amazon.com Sales Rank: #710 in Books
!!!!

2006-01-24T10:20:00.000-05:00

The Boston Globe featured us in the Living Section today! Diana Brown wrote the anthology ". . reads like a collection of philosophies about how an eclectic group of women navigates the bumpy, circuitous, steep, joyous, frightening, dark, and, ultlimately, triumphant road into intimate partnerships." Click to read Boston Globe article.

AND, in the Connecticut Post, Amanda Cuda wrote about us in her article on long-term marriages.

AND the book officially goes on sale today!

Marriage Capital

2006-01-23T10:46:00.000-05:00

Today we feature the commentary of our own Sabila Khan, who is the serials person (officially known as Assistant Manager of Subsidiary Rights) for WHY I'M STILL MARRIED. Read about weddings and matrimony, Pakistani-style.

Sabila reports that she's succeeded in returning from Pakistan UNmatched.

Newsday review

2006-01-18T11:18:00.000-05:00

NEWSDAY has published a very nice review of WHY I'M STILL MARRIED. Judith Long writes:

"From Anne Bernays, who has 'not the foggiest idea' why her 50-year marriage is intact, to the zipless Erica Jong burning her pre-nup agreement as an act of trust in her fourth (!) marriage, to newlywed Nell Casey, who ends the book with the word "hope," 24 women probe their marriages with humor and compassion, and 24 "whys" are hinted at."

Read the whole review.

Words Can Hurt

2006-01-17T13:34:00.000-05:00

My essay, "Words Can Hurt," is out in the Winter Issue of Lilith magazine. I examine some of the myths and facts behind the little-talked about phenomenon of yes, Jewish men and domestic violence, and ask these questions:

"Are Jewish men more likely to deliver tongue-lashings than to push their wives down the stairs? Domestic violence agencies do not yet have data that compare the incidence of verbal abuse in Jewish households. Verbal and physical abuse are lumped under “domestic violence.” But I think it does matter whether the pain comes from the tongue or the fist. For one thing, the problem demands that we Jews take another look at our much-prized verbal excellence, the proverbial lineage of Talmudists, lawyers, writers, professors, and public intellectuals.
I don’t suggest that Jewish verbal abuse is inextricably linked to Jewish verbal excellence. But I think it’s worth taking a look at how the two may derive from the same source. Can an analytic, critical mind turn his attention from a passage of law to domestic minutiae without becoming an overly critical person? When does a sharp wit become hurtful? To what degree can language be a carrier of suppressed violence? Surely we can continue to demonstrate brilliance in language without having this same verbal facility and acuity transmute into verbal violence."

Truly, I'm interested in any answers, responses, or shared experiences readers may have. . . .

2006-01-15T10:05:00.000-05:00

I just got my hair cut and am happy because my face looks SOooooo much better framed this way and I feel SOoooo much lighter without a heavy hank hanging down my shoulders--which makes me realize that not only do I need to sing the praises of my talented barber Sidney but to thank my husband for introducing me to him in the first place. (Sidney cuts my husband's hair, too.) Come to think of it there are other things to thank my husband for: helping me to buy my first computer, a Mac Classic, which set me on the road to being the technologically savvy lass I am today; e-mailing me articles that will interest me (this morning, Mary Karr in the Times about truth-telling in memoirs); cooking challah french toast on weekends; never forgetting to tell me that so-and-so called (whereas I have a tendency to misplace/forget messages for him); teaching our son about such essentials as class structure, Ghandi, sports on television, making popcorn, Railroad Tycoon, the joke about the joke-tellers convention. . . . that our son calls him"Dad School."

Shakespearean marriages

2006-01-13T11:35:00.000-05:00

"Marriage is a dangerous condition in Shakespeare. Plays that continue beyond the point where comedy ends, with the old fogies defeated and a happy marriage successfully concluded, depict the condition as utterly disastrous."

Thanks to my husband for bringing this quote by critic Stephen Orgel to my attention this morning. And this one, too, by Ann Pasternak Slater.

"As soon as Romeo falls in love with Juliet, his literary fantasy turns into literal reality; the beloved is a real enemy, and many paradoxes follow: the lightness of love becomes a serious matter, and scenes of joy are transformed into tragedy."

These points seem worth bearing in mind, if only as an anectdote to "10 steps to a happy marriage."

Also worth bearing in mind is Diana Brown, the lovely journalist who "discovered" WHY I'M STILL MARRIED and interviewed Jean and me for The Boston Globe. In the long haul of putting together a book, it's easy to lose sight of what it means to connect to real readers, moved by words. Watch for the book in the LIVING SECTION of the Globe!! With a photograph and everything!

2006-01-12T09:36:00.000-05:00

He and I sipped our before-dinner drinks at an outdoor cafe on a temperate evening in June. I was hungry, because we were dining late, and woozy, from the vodka in my glass, and lightheaded, because he and I were sparkling new. Already, I loved his smartness and the way he made me feel alive to the world. His eyes misted when he looked at me. "My parents were sparring partners," he said. "They lived at the top of their voices."
I thought he was just trying to say something clever. If you asked me then what he meant, I might have said that he came from an ambitious, opinionated, and excitable family, and that living at the top of one's voice was fitting for people who hobnobbed with the likes of Moshe Dayan and Golda Meir. Where exactly was, "the top of one's voice?" Did it have something to do with opera?
And then our meal came, and the conversation moved on to other topics, and I felt satiated. It was a beautiful night, scented with geraniums. In his clunky Honda, we sped past a park called the Emerald Necklace. We held hands, and so intent were we on the current traveling between his hand and mine that there was no need to talk. He parked in front of my apartment; I invited him in. Whatever he'd meant about how his parents behaved had nothing do with us.
But now that he and I have been married almost ten years, I know too well what it is to live at the top of one's voice. The truth is that my husband can become ensnared in a rage so lethal it makes me shake just to be in the same room with him. He yells terrible accusations at me and I yell equally terrible words back. And yet I love him. Once his anger passes, he is another person-the smart, warm, funny guy I fell for twelve years ago. The father of our child. The person who believed in me when I had nothing but a sheaf of poems and a fourteen-inch television set. The man who can cook a salmon terrine and Cornish game hen in orange sauce-on the same day.

Thus begins my essay in WHY I'M STILL MARRIED: WOMEN WRITE THEIR HEARTS OUT ON LOVE, LOSS, SEX AND WHO DOES THE DISHES (Hudson Street Press) which will be out in the stores next week. An adaptation is just out in the February issue of Prevention magazine.

To understand why I've posted a picture of a collander, you'll have to read more.

Two Men Talk Family

2006-01-07T15:39:00.000-05:00

A dish washing post from our far flung correspondent, Jesse Winch, who is spending the year in India. His wife's job (Cindy) sent them to India, and so off they bravely went, with three children in tow.

We made Betty Crocker cupcakes tonight. Finally got the oven working after listening to Celina's [hired help-Ed.] advice. I think it also helped to have a full tank of gas, rather than an almost empty one, connected to the oven. Cindy's been doing the dishes tonight - I did them last night. One has to first heat the water (which can't be done when the power's out - it's a separate system from the solar heater on the roof), and set up a washing tub, a rinse tub and a sterilizing tub, then put the dishes through their paces. With no dishwasher, I'm really grateful we have help from Celina. When I was a kid, my mom would point at the dishes on the table and say, "It's the maid's day off." That was my cue to clear the table. Now, it really is the maid's day off.

And click on his name for blogger friend Accidental Turing's humorous account of a "birds and the bees" conversation with his five year old daughter.

Key Words

2006-01-06T16:05:00.000-05:00

KEYWORDS:
Three Women Talk Relationships

Him we us me
We no longer
When we first met we
I’m feeling
Midlife kids work job money
I can’t afford We can afford
A therapist who
My friends are so
I’m lucky that
Over time you
Father mother sister brother
School daycare nanny school
When he goes to sleep I
I told him I
He’s at the point where
I’m at an age where
He said
Just for fun we
I’m tired
Skin wrinkles skin creams
Do you really think that
I read that
My doctor told me
When she was my age my mother
That’s big
I know but
Great to
Promise you won’t
Tell

Our first newspaper appearance

2006-01-05T20:30:00.002-05:00

Boston Globe writer Diana Brown included us in her column on events Northwest of Boston today. Our first newspaper appearance (sigh).

NAVIGATING MARRIAGE: Middlesex Community College professors Jean Trounstine and Karen Propp coedited a new book, ''Why I'm Still Married: Women Write Their Hearts Out On Love, Loss, Sex, and Who Does the Dishes," which will be featured at two events at the college's campuses in Bedford and Lowell. The book is a collection of essays about the passion, joy, loss, friendship, and humor that marks one of life's most challenging and rewarding relationships, the editors wrote. On Feb. 14 at noon, writers and editors Kathleen Aguero, Marge Piercy, Propp, and Trounstine will talk about the book at the campus's federal building assembly room in Lowell. On Feb. 15 at 11:30 a.m. at the Bedford campus East Cafe, writers and editors Elizabeth Graver and Audrey Schulman will join Propp and Trounstine to talk about their essays.

Correction: Karen Propp is not a professor at Middlesex Community College.

Marriage Quiz

2006-01-04T11:21:00.000-05:00

I like this marrage quiz on the Gottman's Institute site because it emphasizes friendship with your significant other. Take away romance, gender wars, politics, economics, and you are left with the enduring fact that marriage is simply knowing another person deeply and well.

I also like the quiz because--despite my gripes and doubts about my conjugal choice--I score pretty high.

Elite Brides

2006-01-02T11:53:00.000-05:00

Here is a cursory summary and brief discussion about the issues raised in Linda Hirshman's important piece in The American Prospect. Hirshman interviewed many of the brides whose wedding announcements once appeared in the New York Times Style Section. Where were they now, these smart, elite women who had been educated at the best schools, who were recipients of MBAs, MDs, and other advanced professional degrees? Hirschman found the majority at home, making organic baby food and popping in another Baby Einstein CD. Hirshman makes the rather startling find that 85%of the highly educated, upper class women now in their 30s and 40s have "opted out" of the workplace and "opted for" staying home with their children.

What's wrong with that? I hear a chorus of voices saying they are lucky to able to afford to be stay-at-home moms, they're glad to be out of the rat race, and motherhood is sweeter than they ever imagined. What's wrong is that an entire squadron of females has entirely dismissed professional training in favor of diaper changing. Society loses the benefit of these women's elite minds. Feminism is made to look like a failure. And the children for whom these women stay home grow up with mothers who send conflicted messages about work.

Hirshman says:

"feminism wasn’t radical enough: It changed the workplace but it didn’t change men, and, more importantly, it didn’t fundamentally change how women related to men."

Here, here. Women shouldn't have to choose work or family. In fact, Hirshman argues against what she calls "choice feminism" and says that if today's young women are indeed to flourish at home and in the workplace, we need less options and more guidance.

The solution, Hirshman posits, is not about only about good daycare and flex-time at work or even about finding partners who are agreeable to doing the dishes. The solution, she says, lies within us women. She advocates a feminism based on guidance rather than choice, and proposes a simple formula to guide young women.

"There are three rules: Prepare yourself to qualify for good work, treat work seriously, and don’t put yourself in a position of unequal resources when you marry."

--I have to say that I wish someone had sat me down and told me these rules when I was in college, and then graduate school in English, and then a doctoral degree candidate in--of all things--poetry. I've come around to these beliefs, but only after much trial and error.

There's lots more to say personally, and politically than I have done here, but hey, it's a blog, and Hirshman's article brings intelligence and complexity to the issues. Just thought I'd open up the discussion.

marriage jokes

2006-01-02T10:59:00.000-05:00

I laughed today at these. . . .

* A lady inserted an ad in the classifieds: “Husband Wanted” Next day she received a hundred letters. They all said the same thing: You can have mine."

* Then there was a woman who said, “I never knew what real happiness was until I got married, and by then, it was too late."

--"Gino's jokes" from a British site Is Marriage Dead

Happy New Year

2006-01-01T11:07:00.000-05:00

Hello? Is anyone out there?

It's the two week anniversary of this blog. I'm suprised to realize that I've written twice about memories that took place before I was married. And I've not only cried twice in the past two weeks but also written about it. Mmmm. . . .

Happy 2006!

Self-Portrait, Christine Wirth

2005-12-29T17:46:00.000-05:00

This is a self-portrait by the painter Christine Wirth. I am posting it on this blog because

1) Christine Wirth is a wonderful painter.
2) Christine Wirth is the worst self-promoter you could ever hope to meet.
3) When I mentioned that I’d begun “blogging,” she said, “You mean like keeping a sketchbook.”
4) Christine Wirth belongs to the sacred circle of women friends I was close to before I married. Many times I listened to how she and Charlie, who had been dating for nine years, were not quite ready to move in together. Many times she listened to me complain about Mister Elusive, Mister Destructive, or Mister Unreliable. But mostly we talked about finding pockets of time and spare energy for creative work. I was teaching at three universities and tending a bookstore on Saturdays. Chris was an assistant to an assistant to an assistant curator at the Museum of Fine Arts. Several times a week we’d meet up in the capacious group house where we both lived. Chris liked to dine on a bag of potato chips and hot dogs cold from the package. I concocted meals from rice, kale, red onion, and vinegar. We found many of the same things funny; for example, the way the kitchen roof leaked whenever it rained and the next-door neighbor was always yelling at one of his thirteen kids. When I think now of that time, I see two youngish women sitting around a claw-footed dining room table in a room lit by a single lamp. There were no husbands yet. No children or pets. Each of us still believed her life belonged only to herself, but already we belonged to one another.

Elegy For My Cat

2005-12-28T06:11:00.000-05:00

I had to put our cat down yesterday. He’d been in the hospital for 4 days and despite the best in animal care his kidneys and heart were failing. In the end it was cancer. In those 4 days I watched him change from a magnificent, spunky, BIG cat to a withdrawn and lethargic creature. Poor, poor kitty cat. I held him on my lap and it was over in less than a minute. Yes, I cried. At home there’s an emptiness without our feline friend. I keep looking around, expecting to find him underfoot.
I could write about children and their pets and death--we visited Figaro in the hospital, my 8 year-old and I, and told him how much we loved him and that everything was going to be okay. Or I could write about the ethical dilemmas of how much to spend on medical care for one’s pet, when there are so many humans in need of food, shelter, and safety.
What I want to write about, though, is all the phrases we used in my house that resonated in weird ways because my husband, is in fact, a cancer survivor. (Although at present his health is not a real concern, in the past it has been a trial.)
About the cat, we said: “In the best case, he’ll come home with medical issues and a decreased life span.”
And: “This is costing way too much.”
And: “He’s out of his pain and at peace.”
Each time we said one these things, my husband said, “I hope that’s not what you’ll say about me if I get sick.”
“Of course not! You’re not a cat,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow, as if to remind me of the times I’d sweet babytalked our most handsome, adorable, good, good kitty cat in his presence. “I wish you’d talk to me like that,” my husband had said. "Could you scratch behind my ears?"
I did, but it wasn’t the same as talking to my cat.
Bottom line, though, is that an ill human is not the same as an ill pet because while an animal knows that he is in pain a human knows that he is in pain AND can imagine and reflect upon what is happening.
We humans are closer today in my house as we mourn our cat.

More on dentists' waiting rooms. . .

2005-12-23T12:52:00.000-05:00

Okay, so maybe I stopped my musings prematurely in my last post.
(And/or I’m getting hooked on blogging.) Point of clarification: My husband DID wait for me one time when I had a small surgical procedure to remove a subcutaneous cyst from my neck. But that was before we were married. That was when a 20 minute cut, drain and sew operation still frightened me. And I DID wait in any number of rooms while he underwent a serious, five-hour surgery. But I’m not talking about spouses waiting for one another in times of need, and I don’t think that's what Joan Didion means that when she writes about John Dunne waiting for her in the dentist’s waiting room so they can go to breakfast. I’m talking about couples who keep to the same schedule and experience the same events. I knew a married couple of writers in graduate school who not only shared one desk but one key to their apartment. It was inconceivable to them that either one would come home alone while the other one was not there.

Obviously, we all find our own comfort level.

Perhaps because my husband and I married after both of us had been used to leading a single life, we’ve never assumed that we’d go everywhere together as a unit. And since we became parents, it’s often easier for one of us to go out in the evening and the other one to stay home. Every Thursday night I go out to my writers’ group. He has colleagues with whom he goes out to dinner to talk their particular shorthand of politics, technology, and whatever else. All our interests are not shared.

I think we spend enough time together to stay connected, share a life. We spend holidays together. Both of us always attend our son’s teacher-parent conference, and some school events. We have meals with various families with whom we’re close. We go out to dinner or the movies, though not often enough. We hang out together for most of most weekends.

Does it have to do with one's sense of self? If I were stronger could I maintain my own identity without being afraid to lose myself in a 24/7 merge? Or am I stong because I am able to separate and then come together again? Or maybe it's something else entirely, having to do with one's capacity to love and be loved.

The Year of Magical Thinking

2005-12-22T10:19:00.000-05:00

Apparently a lot of people have been reading The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion, this year's nonfiction winner of the National Book Award. (It's #6 today on amazon.com) It kept me up late the other night, too. The opening pages had me admiring Didion's flawless, dispassionate prose, but somewhere along the way I was surprised that tears were running out of the corners of my eyes. What got me was this, on page 194:

" John and I were married for forty years. During all but the first five months of our marriage, when John was still working at Time, we both worked at home. We were together twenty-four hours a day. . . I could not count the times during the average day when something would come up that I needed to tell him. This impulse did not end with his death. What ended was the possibility of response. I read something in the paper that I would normally have read to him. I notice some change in the neighborhood that would interest him. . . . "

(I've noticed that most of the reviews quote extensively from the book, which I now realize is because of Didion's eloquence.)

Certainly, I can identify with the need to tell your husband something that comes up "during the average day" -- I do that, too--it's what sustains me in marriage -- but at the same time I can not fathom being with a person twenty-four hours a day for forty years. That I could not do. That is not the kind of marriage that feeds me. One of the reasons I chose my husband is because I don't have to be with him 24 hours a day. He tolerates my long silences. He doesn't feel hurt if I need to be alone. Sometimes he needs to be alone.

And then, a little further on in Didion's book, on page 214, she mentions that in leaving her annual December dentist's appointment, almost a year after her husband's death, she realizes, "as I am putting the sample toothbrushes into my bag that no one will be waiting for me in the reception room, reading the papers until we can go to breakfast at 3 Guys on Madison Avenue."

Wow, I think, they were that close. I know those sample toothbrushes; I know people who read more than one newspaper at a time. But I don't think anyone has waited for me in the reception room of a dentist's office since my mother did when I was a kid. It's not something I would want my husband to do or not do--again, it's a marriage experience beyond my own.

Solstice Entry

2005-12-21T13:04:00.000-05:00

A very long time ago, when I knew I was going to move in with the man who is now my husband, I went to a solstice ceremony. A group of us walked deep into the woods and lit a fire. The solstice, the shortest day of the year and therefore the longest night, was supposed to be a time of new beginnings. Like trees that began as seeds, underground, in the darkness of the soil, we were to stand around the fire and announce new beginnings in our lives. The hope was that our seeds would grow into the light of spring. I talked about looking for a place to rent with him. I remember feeling nervous as well as nervy; unsure of what this change would bring. It was a good feeling, though, to know he and I were going forward, and I drew courage from the fire, the snow, and the tall timbers surrounding the grove.

This solstice, launching the Why I’m Still Married blog, I have the same kind of nervous feeling. I’ve never written a blog before. I’ve kept journals and sent email, I’ve corresponded extensively in cyberspace with people I’ve never met, but this is my first blog. This won’t be the kind of blog where I keep a running diary on my marriage, telling everyone, for example, that this morning my husband went out with a pick to chop the ice on our driveway, which made me feel both thankful for his work and thoughtful about the metaphorical implications of chopping ice. This won’t be the kind of blog where I report on other blogs, relaying the news, for example, that despite the fascinating and rich blog literature, I found a dearth of blogs that discuss marriage without also having a political agenda about who should or should not marry who.

In the dark recesses of cyberspace, then, unsure if anyone out there is reading or will ever read this, I launch my blog. For me, it’s a good discipline for writing every day; limbering up before I begin whatever it is I am supposed to be really writing. As for the rest of you, I’m looking toward the light.

Loading The Dishwasher

2005-12-18T15:55:00.001-05:00

I’ve taken an informal poll among friends and relations and it turns out that one of the most common issues couples fight about it is LOADING THE DISHWASHER. So, with this in my mind, and in the spirit of the anthology title, WHY I’M STILL MARRIED: WOMEN WRITE THEIR HEARTS OUT ON LOVE, LOSS, SEX, AND WHO DOES THE DISHES, I thought to open with the slice of my life below.

My husband and I used to fight all the time about loading the dishwasher. I would load the dishes in my normal way. He would then bombard me with fierce commentary on my poor spatial perceptions. What an erroneous arrangement of differently sized drinking glasses! Why hadn’t I unfolded a particular rack? Did I really think that was the best way to stack dinner plates?

I defended my way; I tried to adopt his methods. The bickering went on. Finally it became quite clear to me I would never be his equal in loading the dishwasher. So I quit the job. I told him I refused to load another dish.

Today, my husband is the unequivocal expert dish washer loader in our family. Only he can make room for that extra bowl. He knows when we’ve run out of rinse aid and just how long to run the hot water faucet before starting a cycle. He consults the dishwasher manual. He knows what setting to use for pots and pans and how to stack wine glasses so they will not break. He is the veritable master who has taken it upon himself to unload as well. And me? I get to make sure we always have (biodegradable) detergent in the cupboard under the sink.

What happens in your house?

--Karen Propp

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From PUBLISHER'S WEEKLY:

2005-12-17T18:58:00.000-05:00

Each of the contributors to this thought-provoking collection has terrific stories and wisdom to share, and they all do it masterfully. "Nobody is a perfect match and we have to accept that," writes Marge Piercy....NPR reporter Maria Hinojosa says, "I stay married because this is the one person who understands how to help make me into a better person."You might not agree with everyone's theories–Hannah Pine defends her choice to be a mother in an open marriage–but each one deals with the real problems, and pleasures, of marriage. As editor Trounstine puts it: "[m]arriage doesn't have the excitement of the illicit or the thrill of the daredevil. It's more like the quiet hum of the everyday and the occasional surprise of the sunset."

Starting today...

2005-12-13T11:47:00.000-05:00

The editors and contributors of "Why I'm Still Married" will be posting their ongoing thoughts about the topic of staying married here. The Book is scheduled to be released January 2006 by Hudson Street Press, Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Penguin.com, and will be available wherever books are sold.