06/10/2013 by syrbal-labrys
Sunday nights are a bit lonely. After a weekend shared with my husband being here in the Haven for two nights, I am again alone. After dinner and reading or television or whatever we do, he makes his lunch for the work day, and his breakfast, and troops back to the big house. He gets up at inhumanely early hours and refuses to wake me up with his rising. In spite of all the various marital issues over years affected by PTSD and other more ordinary couples issues, he was always unfailingly gallant in this manner. He goes to bed earlier than I do, except on Friday and Saturday nights. He is the morning person, I am the night owl.
So, Sunday nights after he goes back to the other house, I watch annoying things on Netflix, read, eat things I shouldn’t out of sheer nerves and toss and turn my blankets to a tangled froth of pillows and feather beds. I remind myself that in Scandinavia, ages back, the better off farmsteads of the upper class had multiple buildings, too — like my little 1/2 acre here does. The main hall was where the men spent time, generally, and where social events were held and the family gathered there at night. The woman’s house was where the loom lived, and sometimes the brewing for the family was done there if there was not another building. Also, storage of extra clothing and bedding might be located here. Some had special buildings for brewing and cooking apart from either of these. We are not a Norwegian “Jarl” household — we have the main house, my Haven, the Honey House and a wee garden shed. We walk between them all, with work or play in our arms and hearts, the brewing happens where-ever the brewer is!
But of course, it isn’t the Middle Ages any more and I’m not in the main house at night and Sunday nights alone feel like the old days when he went away on military maneuvers – cold and lonely. My husband noted this weekend that even he feels like he barely lives in the main house any more. But this is improvement; it was noted, but not in anger or repudiation. Less than a year till he retires and there will be no more early brutal risings; and no matter which house either of us sleeps within, we can be together every night if we choose. I don’t promise not to banish him, lol, if his snoring wakes me! Nor will I allow him to be kept awake on my nights of true, dire insomnia. We miss each other again, and this summer feels a tiny bit honeymoon-like as we cook in a tiny kitchen reminiscent of our first kitchen. Simple meals, half of them vegetarian, too.
We were tired this weekend, didn’t do any of the heavy chores that were awaiting us. We paid pills, did grocery shopping and cleared off a porch. No tossing paving stones, no tilling, just watering plants, smelling the first honeysuckle blossoms and drinking wine on the cleared porch and coffee on the new paver patio. My son and his Girl Bride are cooking and shopping for themselves, in training for a life they will sometime have some where far away from here. All things are green in Western Washington in June….even hope, and marriage and dreams.