I didn't plan on posting again today, or any time within the next few days, for that matter. I will blame it on Stephen King. I used to read his books repeatedly. Repeatedly, as in, I read books like It at least five times. I lost my passion for horror for a bit there, though. Then he released his new compilation of short stories. My brother got it, read it in two days, and loaned it to me. In one of the stories, he talks about the secret life of a marriage, consisting of ordinary day-to-day things that speak about that life and that relationship. Simple things, like where he puts his toothbrush, what side of the bed he sleeps on, and so on. If you are in a committed relationship, then you know what Mr. King means. I think it also encompasses things like those decisions you make together: the big ones such as where to live and the smaller ones, like what furniture to buy. Only the two of you know every step and detail that happened during that decision-making process. It's a life that's secret from everyone else, because only the two of you know the intimate details of it. His story got me thinking about that life that Rick and I shared. As usual, when the grief hits one of the bottomless ocean pits, it helps me to journal about it. I had my cry, then came up to my computer and journaled. Then I felt that internal push to put that journaling on a LO for his memorial album. Unfortunately, my design mojo is vacationing right now, probably someplace warmer than it is here in Maryland. So, I went hunting for a sketch to kick start the process. I found the new sketch, posted today at Sketch Support. It's sketch #15 and suited my purposes perfectly.
Perfectly matched oak furniture, found after much hunting and discussion. Simple gold lamps. Rotation of the items displayed above the tv. The maroon crocheted throw. The green throw pillows. Your toothbrush on the shelf. Hairspray clouds in the bathroom. The sound of your shaver. Colorless walls, covered in pictures we spent so much time choosing and hanging. These are just some of the things that made up the secret life of our marriage. I bought new furniture, removed the matching lamps, remodeled the bathroom, replaced the pictures, and painted the off-white walls. Part of me thinks that I did these things to prove to myself that I could move forward; to prove to myself that I could get past this, even though sometimes, I’m not so sure that I can. Sometimes, I miss you so much that I want to take it all back to matching furniture and eggshell walls, just so I can hear your voice again, disagreeing with me on the merits of mixing patterns.
As always, thanks for stopping by and have a wonderful Thanksgiving!