Pink Floyd, The Division Bell 1979
And yes, I realize that to many Floyd Fiends that a Pink Floyd sans Roger Waters is NOT an authentic Pink Floyd but rather, some severely diluted, puerile version of what had formerly held one of the most amazing song-writers in rock history. Ahem. Still, I have enjoyed the Gilmour-led Pink Floyd - my main complaint is that the group has not continued to evolve or create anything new, per se, but I do still enjoy their later albums.
I am in a catching up spot here. I have a few things I want to get out of my crammed attic for a brain. In the next few posts, expect nothing more than a disjointed rambling of words loosely held together by the laws of grammar. I am going to blame the stomach virus we had last week. Or rather, the Thanksgiving Special, a limited engagement in which I formed an intimate, enduring relationship with my toilet.
Let no man tear us asunder.
Of course, Manoj was unaffected by the Thanksgiving Special, he of intestinal fortitude worthy of his Sub-Continental Asian ancestors. Arun and his demi-desi colors shone through and he was only slightly queasy on the big day itself. Anjali? Her demi-desi credentials are currently suspect. By Friday night, our little girl was non-stop horking and dry-heaving. Me and my lily-white colon? We spent Saturday curled up in my bathroom, never more grateful for cold, blissfully chilly lineoleum. Cozy! Up with the chuck!
Team Chaos gets a cold here and there, but they rarely hit Ragdoll Status. And man, when they do? It becomes a tug o' war between Manoj and I over who gets to hold the kid. Yes, you read that correctly. Manoj becomes a hardcore Indian mother when his child is sick and will fight me for the right to snuggle that kid back to health. And with Anjali whimpering "Daddy, my tummy feels better when you hold me", there was no way I was winning this particular battle, so I waved a white flag. And offered up a small battalion of clean towels in an offering of peace. Manoj held Anjali all night long while she puked over and over and over again on him. I stood close by with Clean Clothes. It all worked out.
Many bloggers have been writing about those things for which they are grateful. First, I am extremely appreciative of my high-capacity washing machine. A close runner-up would be my husband.
Listen up, Gentle Reader. He drives me crazy. I drive him crazy. Some of it is cultural. Some of it is Man vs. Woman.
Quite a lot of it is just us.
Sometimes, I hate that we are a bickering, squabbling sort of couple. Other times, I appreciate that we do not let dark thoughts lie in wait, festering and rotting away the core of our marriage. I had a friend who never, ever fought with her husband. Their resentments laid patiently. Growing roots. Multiplying. Then, in one grand finale, it all blew up. Spectacularly. You could have sold popcorn, folks.
So, on those days when I send pointed texts to my husband to remind him of important things to ensure that I have a written record of that reminder? I remember that long-defunct marriage of my friends. A marriage that was long gone before it actually ended.
Yes, I am grateful for my husband. He is faithful. He is true. He is an amazing father. He will never understand my need for nights out with my friends (something his mother never, ever did for herself.) I will never understand his need to watch football games when he never, ever roots for a particular team (seriously, why bother!?!) He will shake his head in pity at my knitting projects, all that "lost" time gone to waste. I will shake my head at all those hours he spends working, all that "lost" time gone to waste.
The list could go on, but somehow, we meet in the middle. We make it work. I am quite honest in that marriage is the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life. The constant compromise grates at me. Christ on toast, folks. Will he ever put his damned dirty socks in one, single location in our house?
No. He will not. But, knowing that I am with a man of such compassion, work ethic and integrity has made these last 10 years worth all of that sock retrieval.
Thank you, Manoj.