Partnership With Complications

(advice from a happily married woman)

One thing that never ceases to annoy me is when people talk about having babies as though it will "cement" their love for each other. Or when they think that having babies will fix the problems they already have. There is nothing guaranteed to make things more challenging for a couple than having a baby. Already have a baby and having some marital problems? Having more babies will simply make whatever problems already extant even more amplified.

I'm not saying that children can't remind parents of their love for each other. I'm mostly saying that if your marriage is already troubled, bringing in another human being into your relationship who's going to have a hundred urgent daily needs to be met is not going to make life get smoother. I'm also saying that loving someone is not a good enough reason to have a baby with them. Women have been known to love the most unsuitable men who would make the most deplorable parents. A man who is good in bed and makes your heart do somersaults isn't automatically going to deal well with no sleep, and boobs that are no longer his, and having a baby's needs come before his.

Choosing a spouse that fits your needs is as important as any life decision you can make. Here are some criteria that I think are very important when choosing a spouse:

• He/She should be a good companion. This is the number one thing I think is important. Romance is all well and good but will ebb and flow, maybe fade altogether into something more permanent and solid. Sex will also experience that ebb and flow, even for people with normal sex drives. What should be the steadiest thing between you is your desire to hang out together, to talk, to share experiences, especially the "mundane" every day experiences. So he/she should be someone you would consider your best friend.

• He/She should be flexible with life plans. Life rarely goes as planned. If you marry someone who has one very rigid idea of what will make them happy, chances are they will end up disappointed and you will both feel it deeply. If the only thing that will make a person happy in life is to have their own biological child, well, that's not an unreasonable desire unless it turns out that fertility is an issue. Then what? Will this person be willing to adopt? Or find other things to satisfy their desire to be around children? If this person's only ambition is to become president of the united states and they've never even gotten an acting job before?* What happens to your life together if they don't become president? Flexibility in navigating the twists and turns in life is an essential ingredient to finding happiness.

• He/She should not be a jerk. Yeah, because as surprising as it seems, getting married doesn't turn toads into princes. A marriage license is a lot less like a magic kiss and a lot more like an invitation to get more comfortable farting in front of your partner. So if he/she is a jerk already, getting married just means that you will be legally bound to a jerk. And no, a good woman cannot change a chauvinist pig. I don't care if your hoo-ha is made of solid gold, only a jerk can change themselves into someone decent and it won't happen as long as there are plenty of solid gold hoo-has that will take them just as they are.

• Being good in bed is NOT the next most important thing in choosing a spouse. It is more important that you choose someone you can (and already do) respect because living intimately together for all eternity will test your mutual respect like nothing else can. If the respect is solid then you can weather all kinds of indignities with kindness and with love. If that respect is like a thin cheap veneer, it will snap the first time your spouse experiences incontinence after having a baby or becomes a complete baby when struck down by a cold.

In fact, being good in bed isn't important at all because if you find your prospective spouse attractive and you have all these other great feelings for each other and your communication is great, you can both become exponentially better in bed as you navigate each other's very private preferences. Being good in bed is a skill and if the person you love isn't good in bed, that's no reason not to marry them because most people are motivated to improve in this area if it means they might get more sex. There are books and videos that can help you with that. It might be a good idea to find out (before tying the knot) if either of you have fetishes or fantasies that the other one finds repugnant.

• I have said before that I am not into S&M or any other kind of kinky or dangerous sexual practices and it would go very hard for me if my spouse could only really be satisfied by a woman wearing a French Maid's costume brandishing a horse whip. So as a last point I would say that in choosing a spouse, be sure to have some very intimate talks about the kinds of things that get you off. And also? If you're not gay, you might want to make sure they aren't either.

Wait...one more thing...if you don't really want to get married or your prospective spouse doesn't really want to get married? I think you should not get married.



*Ha ha.

Marriage

This is a close up view of one of Philip's pieces of art. I know, he's a genius. It's what he tells me all the time.

I've been thinking a lot about what makes a good marriage lately. Philip and I have certainly had our rough patches and although it's true that we speak different languages (mine is completely based on logic and is a true clear communication while his is based on visual symbols that only other artists understand) we generally have what I would consider to be a good marriage. What does that mean to me?

Signs of a good marriage:

• You enjoy talking with your spouse.

• You see yourself growing old with your spouse, not because of your spouse.

• You don't keep score on every detail of your lives together.

• You don't have to spend every second together to feel solid.

• You can laugh when having sex.

• You often speak kindly of your spouse when they are not present.

• If you make fun of your spouse, you make fun of yourself just as often.

• Doing things for your spouse feels like doing things for yourself.

You may all be surprised to know that I am not an ideal spouse. In fact, I'd say that I'm extremely fortunate that I landed the one and only man on earth who could love me and all my interesting foibles. What kind of foibles?

• Until a few years ago I couldn't get to sleep without music playing to mask the sound of night.

• I can't sleep facing another human being because feeling some one's breath on my face makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

• I don't snuggle, I'm not a snuggly person and I find the warmth of other people's bodies overwhelming.

• I need a big bubble of personal space around me at the end of the day and if anyone tries to enter that sphere of space I will attack. It's not pretty.

• I have to decompress from big social events (like parties) for several days (this is much less severe now that I am properly medicated).

• I am restless. I am the catalyst behind almost every move we've made.

• I am demanding and not quiet when my needs aren't being met. Very unfeminine of me.

• I need a lot of alone time.

• I have a very low sex drive and the smallest whiff of sweat can knock the mood out of me.

• I'm also not romantic. Something I constantly feel guilty about.

Being medicated has made it much easier to live with me. Philip admits it. My moods are less fragile now and also less dramatic which makes me less demanding. I am lucky to have him and I know it, but don't think that prevents me from wanting to strangle him once in a while. He's still the person I want to tell everything to and I cannot imagine life without him.

Fuzzy Bunnies and Lint

Here is my Easter bucket. I am still waiting for the candy order, and I still need some cellophane to wrap the whole she-bang in. Because everyone like shiny packages. The nest with eggs weighs about a pound, it's a very realistic little detail that I fell in love with. I don't know about other kids, but as strange as this sounds, it's exactly the kind of thing Max loves.

Seeing that nest right at this moment has reminded me that there is a dead bird in our front yard that I meant to pick up and dispose of. Remembering that sad little tid-bit has brought to mind the mouse that Ozark-the-old killed the other night. I guess he's still paying rent. Good kitty. Though I have to confess that I like mice. I mean, I hate mouse droppings, especially as they always end up in the kitchen, but it's hard for me to look at them as a scourge.

If I was a kid I would want a bucket instead of the usual baskets. I got baskets too, but now I'm kind of regretting it. Can't send them back. I guess I'll pack up a few baskets and sell the rest of them at our first store sale. For mega cheap. A bucket, even a slightly small one like this, has many uses post Easter morning excitement. A wonderful beach item, for example. Or if you are already using your children for slave labour (just tell me how you do it, by the way, I haven't figured out how) then this bucket is ergonomically better for the little scrubber than a full sized one.

Yesterday I went to Portland with Lisa E. (of Dundee) to visit the knitting store called Lint. Wow. I really resent knitting stores because I don't have time to spend knitting right now, yet the balls of yarn are like powerful magnets of color. I can think of a thousand ways to use good colors. But I don't have time right now. Dammit. (I don't really resent knitting stores, in case anyone didn't realize my real meaning there. Seriously, I could eat an entire knitting store because they are so delicious looking)

Lisa is fast becoming an incredible knitter. I don't know if she had a serious passion before the needles, but I can tell that she has certainly got a passion for knitting. It's a beautiful thing, to see friends become consumed by such positive passions. Passions that put such gorgeous functional objects into their lives. And sometimes mine. She's knitting the way I write. (Except that you can't get into social trouble for knitting.) (At least, not that I know of)

I am so charmed by this felted hen and her chicks. I want them.

We also stopped by Powell's Book store in the Pearl district and I bought an armload of magazines. I bought the February issue of Mary Engelbreit's Home Companion. I hardly ever read this one because I find it annoying to see so many perfect artist studios and homes. I often end up depressed because my creative process never looks like anything less than a crashed semi spread across three lanes of traffic with all the attending emergency vehicles and rubbish being blown off into the sunset. I realize that the photographers probably do a tremendous amount of arranging to achieve the glory we see in the magazine. Why do this to us all?

Well, maybe they aren't doing this to us all, just to me. In truth, I think you can tell that I am motivated to discontent by envy. Who wouldn't want their space to be just as inspiring as the ideas and objects of desire coming out of the artist's brain? If I had my own magazine I think I would photograph artist studios exactly as I found them. EXACTLY AS I FOUND THEM. Rather than trying to inspire creative people to worry about how pretty their creative space could be with a camera crew around all the time, I would show people how those studios really look mid-project. It would probably help everyone feel just a little better about themselves. Then I would show the products coming out of these spaces in a beautific photo. Be inspired by what is being made in that chaos, rather than worry about the creative space itself.

Having said all that, I will say that developing an organizational system in my studio always helps. I have bins for specific things, this makes cleaning up (when absolutely necessary) much easier and faster. I just don't have time to decorate those bins to look as pretty as the things I'm trying to produce. I don't have time to decorate my studio space at all.

My friend Lucille has suggested I contact Mary Engelbreit to see if I can get a little feature on my business in her magazine. But aside from the fact that I have no clue how to word such a thing, they would never be interested in my studio space as it is about as inspiring as a pile of owl pellets.

"Dear Ms. Engelbreit and minions,

I have a really cool store called Dustpan Alley that I would love to see featured in your magazine. I think your readers would be very interested in the products we make for our own store and featuring us in your magazine would offer salve to all your creative readers who's creative spaces are actually about as beautiful as a pile of owl pellets. Featuring us may also prevent some of them from committing suicide after seeing all the beautiful interiors they can never live in.

Featuring us in your magazine would be a community service.

Let us know how excited you are by this opportunity.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Williamson"

Why wouldn't they jump at the chance?! But seriously, I may just try to write them anyway and tell them why we should be featured. I can't lose anything doing it besides a little bit of time and a piece of paper. For the chance to promote my very slow moving business? I'd be stupid not to try. Lucille has come up with a lot of great ideas for promotion. Her own business, Forest Whimsy, is quite successful. I have a rule about listening to advice from others: If you want marriage advice, always get it from happily married couples. I think the same should apply to business advice: If you want business advice, always get it from businesses that are making money.

So don't anyone ask me for business advice.

But if you need marriage advice, ask away. I've been successfully married for fourteen years and only one time thought about leaving my very good man. Plus, I've only wanted to strangle him a couple of hundred times. Not bad for a fourteen year stretch. (I think he's wanted to strangle me twice that much, but only because he hates it when I'm right.) I wouldn't leave Philip for anyone else on earth. Not even for Nathan Fillion who has a really fantastic nose. (You know all Hollywood actors are really looking for crazy fat unfamous women who have really slow businesses and husbands they already love, so we really have to be careful.)

Being married to a handsome brilliant broody artist like Philip is way cooler than being married to a handsome actor with a great nose who probably really isn't hankering for a romantic alliance with a woman who couldn't fit in a Versace dress to save her life. It could probably destroy an actor's career to be seen by Joan and Melissa Rivers* on the red carpet with a porky chick for arm candy.

Here's my last thought before heading off to play "spy" with Max: I am wondering if mothers and daughters can get a discount on plastic surgery if they get the exact same face? Just wondering. I am also just wondering how on earth fashion has devolved so drastically that two women who have molded their faces with knives to the point where they barely look like real people anymore are now considered arbiters of fashion?** and ***.



*I feel it incumbent upon me to say that I am not suggesting that these two are bad people, or that they don't have a right to rearrange their faces however they like, I'm only suggesting that perhaps they are not who I would look up to for sartorial inspiration, nor would I wish my daughter (if I had one) to emulate their notion of physical beauty.

**furthermore, I feel alright about pointing my fingers at them personally not because they will never see my blog, which I suppose I could be wrong about if hell froze over, but because they have made their living by ridiculing celebrities for their style choices and their pronouncements about these celebrities they have ridiculed are then printed across all gossip rags. I hardly think I need be overly sensitive about their feelings. I do know for a fact that if I ever had cause to be in the public eye, those two would slam me repeatedly for my style choices. And I would consider it a deep honor to be on their list of worst dressed because it would reassure me that I actually have a sense of individual style.

***Whew! I've been meaning to say that for about six years now.

Get off the bridge you lonely hearts!

So here we are again...landed on the great day of LUUUUUUUV. So many millions of flowers, cards, candy, and ounces of bodily fluids such as spit and other fun stuff will be exchanged in a great show of emotional solidarity. This is the day we can all just unload our love on our sweethearts, which if unloaded on any other day, just isn't OFFICIAL enough to count. Everyone who has a romantic partner or a date is sighing with relief because it's like the mark of an outcast, an unlovable human being, to be alone today.

Those without anyone to celebrate and get funky with are out on bridges all across America asking themselves what they have to live for on a bleak February day like this with no prospects of romance. Either that or they are, at this cheerful hour of the morning, already headed for their local dive bar with the blacked out windows to start in on their sob fest.

I am not a romantic person. Romance and sentimentality make me extremely uncomfortable. If Philip leaned across the dinner table, looked lovingly in my eyes, and said "You are so beautiful my love! Shall we do a slow dance my darling? I've just put on our song..." I would probably instantly regurgitate my last bite of food in total shock. This is the stuff for romantic scenes in movies or books. I don't mind some sappy romance in books and movies, because they aren't real. I can enjoy them for the lovely fantasy.

I have the heart of a grumpy old man. It doesn't get less romantic than that. I played at being a romantic person when I was a teen. Sighing and pining for stupid-ass boys who I thought might be Prince Charming. I wrote romantic letters to them. I ate up the pretty compliments they fed me like "You are the best thing since sliced bread...". I once ate dinner at the house of an older man who pulled out all the wooing stops. He made dinner, which he was very proud of for some reason, and leaned over the candle light all evening to tell me over and over again how beautiful I was. Which felt exactly like being coaxed into a tender stupor so that he could jump my bones. Which is exactly what all romantic scenes like that are about. It feels cheap and tawdry.

Wooing is not love. Courtship is all about closing the deal. It's sex wrapped up in pretty paper. Sex is all well and good, generally enjoyed by all who engage in it, but sex is not romantic to me. Sex is primal. It's funky, it's kind of gross, it strips us of pretension, it puts us at our most vulnerable. Plus is makes you feel pretty great. But it's not love.* I would say it gets mixed up in the whole love melange of a relationship, but it is only a small reflection of the real thing.

Real love isn't about hearts and all things tender and beautiful. To me, real love is when you live with a person day in and day out and even when you are annoyed by them you can't imagine living with anyone else. Real love is looking forward to seeing your partner every day. Real love is not fluttery and light. Real love is visceral and weighty. It's earthy and connective. Real love is not minding giving your just operated-on spouse a sponge bath every morning for a week. Real love is being a team of two. Enjoying sharing things. Developing a common language between you. Real love is not something I think you can express in a card or even in words. Certainly not with candy. It's expressed in the action of living.

For any of you out there not hooked up, I would say, so what? Get off the damn bridge! There is rich enjoyment for you out there. It may be hard to be solitary at moments, since we humans are social creatures, but there is also so much fun and benefit to exploring the world solo. I spent most of my time, before marriage, being single. Since most of my women friends were almost constantly hooked up with men (or women in some cases), I know what it feels like to be surrounded by dating cooing idiots. Life is not just for lovers, it's for everyone. Go out there and be fabulous. Chances are pretty good that you will get hooked up eventually, and when that happens, you'll be so much better for having spent your solo time enjoying yourself and your life. No more excuses, no more sobbing.

As for us, here at the Williamson Ranch...we'll give candy to Max who thinks that's the point of Valentine's Day. We'll probably give each other some fancy chocolate, but not to be sweet, just because today is a great excuse to eat fancy chocolate. Valentine's Day has become more notable for the fact that it is the birthday and wedding anniversary** of my very close friend Chelsea:

Happy birthday you crazy chick! And happy anniversary to you and Jeff!!!

Note: Sorry Chelsea! I always do that! Happy Anniversary in FOUR days!

*Which doesn't mean you can have sex with anyone you want when you are in a committed relationship.

**This is something we have in common. She got married on her birthday and so did I.