Twenty-Five Years
September 1st would have been our 25th wedding anniversary.
Every year, our anniversary ends up being one hell of a bummer, and every year I swear I’ll do something awesome the following year.
And then I never do.
This year, I did actually try. In March, I poked around on Vrbo, Expedia, and Hotels.com and just couldn’t come up with anything that felt great. I looked at cottages in Scotland and beach houses in Mexico. I checked out lake houses in Canada and cabins in America.
But I just get so caught up in all the dumb little details. If I have to fly out of Salt Lake City (and you usually do to go anywhere cool), that’s a three hour drive south, that’s parking my car somewhere and paying for it to sit in a lot. That’s flying somewhere just to sit and cry, and then the long drive home after (presumably) an exhausting flight back. It’s living out of a suitcase (which I hate) and sleeping in a strange bed (which I also hate). It’s schlepping my c-pap machine and (probably) forgetting my toothbrush and (almost definitely) losing my phone charger.
I mean, I’m a homebody for a reason. It’s easier.
As September loomed, I halfheartedly looked around at places I could reasonably drive to, skipping the airline idea altogether. But I’d left it too late, and most places were either booked up for Labor Day weekend or had crappier amenities than I had in my own damn house.
So I bought myself roses and made a plan to do some deep cleaning. And that’s what I did. Happy anniversary to me, I now have a clean under-the-stairs closet, a pile of freshly washed movie blankets, and two out of three sparkling bathrooms (I’ll have to get to the third this weekend; my body was wrecked, y’all.)
I mean, it was fine. I didn’t cry until that night when I tried to say the words, “Happy anniversary,” out loud to a photograph of Eric. It’s just so, so, SO stupid that he’s not here.
I did get out of the house on Saturday. A friend had her 50th birthday party and I sat chatting with another friend who I hadn’t seen in a while. She’s a delightful, outgoing extrovert who, at one point, leaned in and told me I was absolutely fascinating because I liked being alone.
And I mean, she’s not wrong. I’m good at being alone. I hate life without my person, but if he were here, we’d be alone together, you know?
I explained that I wouldn’t mind living somewhere else where there was more to do.
“A larger metropolis,” she clarified, her expression relaxing because this makes more sense to her than bed rotting all day every day and liking it.
“Yes,” I said, waving vaguely in all directions. Somewhere with a larger, better library system. More museums. More art shows. More things to go and see and do. Painting classes or whatever.”
“And where is that place?”
I have no idea!
But I like the dream of that idea. I’d like knowing there was more stuff to do even if I never left my house to do it. Here, in rural Southeast Idaho, if I do, occasionally, get a bee in my bonnet about getting out of the house and doing something, my options are slim to none.
And listen, I try. I signed up to volunteer at the food pantry. I joined a ladies-only hiking group. I try to make it to my monthly writer’s groups when they meet — I even offered to host last month & then was relieved when they met at the library instead. I’m going to go lean against a wall at an outdoor concert this month! I get out! Sometimes!
Anyway, I’ve said shades of all of this before. Hermit life, etc, etc.
Do I wish I’d made actual plans and left last weekend? Yeah, I think I do. Will I do anything different next year? Probably not.
Monday morning, my friend Leoh sent me a Marco Polo saying, “Twenty-five years, Jess. Twenty-five years in love with the same man, parenting the same kids, living in the same house you were in [when he died].” It’s a big deal.
And it is. Cheers to us, Eric.
Watching:
The Residence - Murder mystery set in the white house during a fictional presidency (wherein we have Mr. President and the First Gentleman rather than a First Lady, which is very fun!). Recommended by Bethany a while ago, and I’m so glad I finally binged it. It’s so good (the sets are AMAZING) and the mystery had me guessing the whole way through.
Fred & Rose West - Oof, I have to keep pausing and taking long breaks. I read through the Wikipedia page first — sometimes that helps me get through rough documentaries like this one, but this time it just increased the horror. People like this make me really, really hope there is a hell.
The Thursday Murder Club - I thought this was a fun, cozy mystery — it’s based on a book I haven’t read. I enjoy watching an older cast, though wish it had been more diverse — I don’t see why some of the characters couldn’t have been different ethnicities. 🫠
Unbelievable - I started watching this and thought, oh this is about that one girl who was kidnapped and no one believed her! But no, that’s a completely different, but sort of similar story! Anyway, Unbelievable is also a (traumatic) true story with a gratifying ending. Toni Collette, Merritt Wever, and Kaitlyn Dever are all incredible in this. I hope they win all the awards.
Reading:
A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy by Tia Levings. If you’ve seen Shiny Happy People (featuring the Duggars), Tia is featured in it! She also has a popular social media presence. Her story is both chilling and inspiring. If you are leaving or are trying to leave or have left a high-demand religion/marriage, I highly recommend!
The Tell by Amy Griffin - This is a tough read about memories of childhood SA surfacing in adulthood. I have some mixed feelings about it. I do not like rating memoirs low and I believe women, but there are a few things in here I just feel weird about. Have you read it? What did you think?
The Lost Bookshop by Evie Woods - I listened to the audiobook and enjoyed this. It’s magical realism + Brontë sister lore + POV switching from historical to present. It’s kind of kooky, but if you don’t take it too seriously, you might enjoy.