Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Alchemy
Karen and I met and courted while studying in the College of Chemistry at Berkeley. Surprisingly enough, at the wedding we didn’t have to endure any hokey comments about “chemistry.” Thank God. Bad enough getting facial cramps from smiling for hours on end; it would have been far worse if we’d had to laugh at dumb jokes, too.
Our courtship ended far too quickly. My feeling of optimistic satisfaction from being around Karen, our hours-long kissing sessions, our talks into the wee hours, the simple joy from knowing I had finally clicked with someone, like finding something I hadn’t even known was lost — Karen’s illness scoured all of it away, and we hunkered down together, converted over to a wartime mentality, us against disease.
After that, we loved each other, but I don’t know if we were in love. Reality had kicked our asses and (MS being what it is) continued to kick our asses with such regularity that we came to expect the boot. Optimism has no place in such a relationship. Stubbornness, commitment, resolve — all ways of saying the same thing — those were the things that nourished us, all of it thin gruel. Now, I’m not knocking commitment. It has kept us together through things which would have sundered a lot of marriages. Commitment is a good thing, but it’s not necessarily a joyful thing.
I’ve never been a soldier, but I imagine those folks have their share of pleasure mixed with terror. The mere act of surviving together creates a bond. Time on leave together, they must enjoy those precious moments of respite, but the pleasure would always be tempered by the knowledge they must return to battle eventually. Even in the thick of it, humor counts for a lot. The two of you laugh, make a joke out of it as much as you can. You make the best of the good moments and try your best not to get crushed by the bad moments.
All of this is my half-assed way of explaining the rut we had gotten ourselves into. Honestly, I don’t know that either one of us saw any other way of being. We’d been that way for so long — over twenty years. And that whole time, we were there for each other, giving each other strength, doing what was necessary to survive, yet not really finding much joy in one another.
I never would have predicted the odd combination of events that has caused a tectonic shift every bit as profound as Karen’s illness. My birthday, our subsequent heart-to-heart, a friend’s health scare — hopefully no more than a scare, but we’re still waiting — all of that doesn’t sound like much, but I guess you never know what sort of potion will transmute lead to gold.
Now we’re in love, and it’s like courtship all over again. Crazy, huh? I’ve been hesitant to say much, pessimist that I am. I’ve been looking over my shoulder, hoping to catch sight of the boot before it kicks me in the ass; I’ve been watching myself, too, thinking, Okay, Hoffman, what are you going to do to sabotage this? But it hasn’t happened and it isn’t going to happen. I guess that’s optimism.
The only question remaining is whether a happy man can still write humor.
D.
Oh, Doug –
You’re crazy as a love bug. 🙂
Well, hell, Doug. If you’re happy, who cares if you can write humor?
Now, dammit, play with the kitten, don’t dissect it. **smooches** and congrats.
I’d vote for happiness over writing any day. I’m really, really glad you’ve found each other again.
I’m with the sxKitten. (In more ways that one, actually…).
If your newfound love means you can’t write humour, write sci-fi.
Speaking as someone who found love relatively late in life, I have to say that I think that love found at 40 is way better than love at 20.
“The only question remaining is whether a happy man can still write humor.”
Sure. Why not. If you mean humor is a product of anger, and right now, you’re happy, remember there will always be intrusions on that happiness.
I find the government has been a gold mine for comedy magic since about 1992. (Well, it was beforehand, but I’ve found them all more clownish since the WWII generation started retiring.)
Hard to say. Only one way to find out! Write. Congrats on being in love all over again.
Thanks, folks. It intrigues me that my throwaway comment at the end is the one that really hooked people. I was kidding! I think. I mean, not all of my humor hinges on depression and pain (not anger, Jim).
I hope.
Anyway, thanks for putting up with my maunderings.
Not necessarily–it was just the easiest to respond to, particularly after I deleted a few hundred words of serious comments. 😉
Here’s the gist: we had a similar seismic shift in our marriage a few years ago. I know what you’re talking about, and I’m really happy for you & Karen.
*sigh* In general. Not specifically. Somebody take away my keyboard, please, until I get some sleep.
I agree w/ sxKitten. Happiness kicks writing’s ass, baby! It’s no contest.
And there’s nothing better than being delightfully married. 🙂 Congrats on finding the doorway through!
{{{{{Doug}}}}}
Cliched as it is, I’m pleased as punch for you. 🙂
So much so that I’m even being genuine and not smart-assy at all — who’d a-thunk? 😉
Truly, very happy to hear that kind of news. Good on ya, mate. 🙂
Thanks, y’all. All those happy faces, just look at ’em.
Personal as it all is, I wanted to get this message out. I felt I had something important to say about the effects of chronic illness on a relationship. I suspect I have a novel’s worth of STUFF stored up, but this post was the concise version.
Nope, can’t write that novel. ‘Twould be serious fiction, and I’ll have none of that.
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