I Never Promised You A Rose Garden

J. and I came to this marvelous place a few times together. Once or twice just the two of us, a few times with the kids.  He loved it.

But what I remember now about those trips is not long walks holding hands, or coffee in the hammock swings, or wine on the porch as the sun set.

Sure we did all of those things.  But we also argued. We argued there more than we argued at home. Sometimes bitterly. Always quietly.  But always. 

It struck me one day shortly after an argument with J..  I actually wrote it in a diary that I'd been keeping at the time (before blogging became my public record of my private life!) Those arguments made me question, if only momentarily, what was wrong with our relationship. 

It was almost as if, and I see this now, but had not then, that when all the background noise of everyday life, and the distractions of work and baseball schedules and chorus concerts and scout meetings, and the pressure of maintaining a home and a job were stripped away, what we had left wasn't so rosey after all.

I could see J.'s jealousy.

I could see his male chauvinistic tendencies.

I could see his infuriating insecurities.

I could see a few departures from the truth. 

I could feel him pressuring me. Putting me in positions where I could not argue with him and would have to agree, if only temporarily.

And then we'd return to Real Life and those nagging little concerns seemed brief and fleeting and insignificant. All the good things came into focus again. I'd let all the bad things go.

Until the next trip. 

And the worst part was that I had nowhere to run. We were at my Charlotte and Jack's cottage. With the kids. I could not really throw them out (Moira would be baffled, not to mention upset). And I wasn't leaving!  I had no choice but to have an argument. If we'd been at home, I'd have made a few blistering parting comments, taken my stuff and bombed for home, leaving him to cry in his beer alone.

Somehow I think he planned it all that way. He always had some insecurity or jealousy or issue festering just below the surface and he'd strike when he'd know I could not escape. 

The last time he'd come to visit we'd already broken up. I'd vowed to remain freinds. Invited him to visit us for a day.  He was charming to my mother. He was lovely to me. He asked Estelle if he could take me out for a drink. We'd gone. He trapped me.  Worked me over while we waited for drinks and appetizers. Tried to remind me that I'd made commitments to him. That I'd planned a life with him. And then I'd scrammed.

And I had. At one time. But when he failed to live up to the commitments he'd made, and crossed boundaries and failed me, it seemed as though I was supposed to forgive and forget.

And again, I was trapped into having the conversation. In public. No way to leave. We had his car and I was too far from the cottage to walk.  I'd wanted to vanish.

And I knew that feeling all too well. It was how I'd often felt in my marriage to Lars. I congratulated J. on having achieved the same accomplishment. He'd made me want to vanish.

That was quite a trip. Mom had left early, having tired of us and exhausted her real estate possibilities. J. had left in a huff, mad that I would not cave to his pressure and his charm. And he was naively hopeful that if he kept at it, I'd not be able to resist.

Some people have an overly inflated impression of their irresistability.

And somehow, through all of this, the beauty of the place and the peace it brings me has prevailed. The power of Mother Nature, perhaps.  Somehow the very nature of the place reminds me of who I am in my soul.  No intruder can take the shine from that.

And now I return...two summers in a row, with Scott and his girls. Scott loves the place as much as I do. Would love to buy a cottage. Relaxes and unwinds and enjoys the quiet and the outdoors and all the outdoor things to do.

And just like at home, we have absolutely nothing to fight about.

And without the background noise of everyday life, and the distractions of work and baseball schedules and chorus concerts and scout meetings, and with the pressure of maintaining a home and a job all stripped away, what we have left is rosey and bright after all.