Day 12 in the Country

Today, I set out to mow the lawn early in the day, before it got too hot. I hopped on the mower, and got to work. I started to round the fire pit, and had to go around the bush that G had pulled into the yard with the truck and the chain days before.
I got in close to the bush. The grass was tall.
The grass hid the chain. (See Day 8 in the Country post.)
Wow. Did hitting the chain ever stop the riding mower fast. And hard.
I threw in the clutch and the brake, disengaged the mower, put it in neutral, and thew the key to off, not that it was running at that point, anyway.
I spent the next two hours outside in full sun with my arms under the mower (I know, I know, I know) trying to get the chain unwrapped from the blades. The blades didn't bend (much), but it has to have damaged them a little. Once I finally got the chain free, I got the mower started again. It runs. It cuts. All good.
Except for the nicks in the blade from a frickin' huge chain.
I'm a little tempted to not mention it to him, as he might get pissed at himself for the chain being in the lawn, but it's not like I wasn't there when the chain was deposited in the lawn, so I SHOULD have known it was there. I blame me. And so, I don't want to not tell him, as I want to come clean on it.
And all this is skipping the Day 11 in the Country post, which was really just a bit too much of a day for me. It included cats escaping the house, aerial antennas, and other interesting events that I may, or may not, muster the strength to post.

Day 8 in the Country

It is hot and humid, and G and I are discussing the air conditioners, and which windows to install them. His preference in the master bedroom is a window blocked by a large thorny bush. Because of the thorns, G hates the bush, and dreads installing the air conditioner. However, the other window is over a slope, and is difficult to reach, at best. I mention how a chain and a truck could probably rip that bush out in minutes. I see a light turn on in his eyes. Five minutes later, he has a chain wrapped around the bush and attached to the tow hook of the truck. He is excited. He hops in the truck, backs up some, and then goes forward, swiftly giving the bush a yank. It lifts some, but does not quite leave the ground. He backs up and then gives it another swift yank. It nearly frees from the ground. He stops and backs up again. “You can probably just go now - it’s pretty much free but it’ll come out with just a little tug.” I say. “Oh, I know,” he says with a grin, “but I want to see it fly.” He gives it another swift yank, and it leaps from the ground behind the truck. G keeps going, across the drive, into the side yard, behind the pole barn to the fire pit. He stops the truck there, releases the chain. He is still grinning.

Good fun.

Homeward Bound

G left with my stuff this evening.

It was an odd feeling to watch him pull away, all my stuff in the bed of the truck or the small Uhaul trailer behind. Part of me wished the stuff was just gone, that I was unburdened from it all, that I could just pick up and go, let the wind push me which way it might.

But then I realized that much as I don’t care about the stuff and whether I ever see any of it again, I want to see the man driving the truck away again. Again and again.

So, west I’ll go, to G.

G left earlier than he normally would on a Sunday, both of us knowing it was the last weekend that one of us would leave, and that I’ll be home to stay on Thursday of this week. Those are the words I used, “I’ll be home on Thursday.” He didn’t skip a beat in replying, “I’ll see you at home on Thursday, then.”

That’s a big word: home. He knew what I was saying when I used it, and he knew what he was saying when he replied with it.

I spoke with J on the phone earlier this evening. She’s still in limbo in Ohio with the family farm up for sale, not knowing if it will sell or if it won’t, if she’ll come back for her teaching job or won’t. The not knowing is hard on her. I can understand.

That’s where I’ve been for a long while, too. When S said he was selling the house now instead of in two more years like the original agreement, or even next year like the revised agreement from this March, it killed me to not know what I was doing, and where I’d do it from.

G immediately offered his home, but I couldn’t just agree to that. We’d been boyfriend and girlfriend for only three months, even if we’d known each other a year and a half. To me, that felt powerless, it felt like running to a man to ‘save me’ and I couldn’t work with that idea. I had to find a way to take care of myself without relying on him.

So I said no, and explained my reasons. G accepted them, and let it go. As I continued to stress over how and where I’d live, I found myself repeatedly coming back to why I couldn’t live with him. I looked into my other options, found some, and chose to go with those, even though they weren’t a great choice for me, the cats, or for the others I’d be staying with. But it would have worked, and still will, if I need it to. They’re family: If I need them, they’ll be there for me.

But if I was going to rely on them, why wouldn’t I rely on G? Wasn’t he also a friend, also family?

And then there was that conversation with G, in which he asked “You have choices, and you’re choosing one which will be harder on you, but you’re sure it’s NOT a commitment issue?” As G expected, I couldn’t answer that. I had to reconsider what I was doing and why, and the only reason I could come up with to not live with him, was fear. And as A pointed out, I wouldn’t want to be making my choices from there.

There are still so many questions for me in this move, so much to live my way into the answers on, but where to be in the here and now, where to call home, I finally have figure out. And I’m grateful. Not just for a place to call home, but for the reason I would call it home: G.

I couldn’t walk away from him. Even if he didn’t have all my stuff.

come live with me

“S just accepted an offer on the house,” I say while standing on G's back deck in the afternoon light. He is in the yard, shoveling fifteen cubic yards of dirt for me, for my vegetable garden, while I get started cooking dinner on the grill. “I have thirty days to get out.”

“Good - you’ll be moving in here soon then,” he says, stopping a moment to grin at me.

Later, as he is taking a break on the deck, each of us with a beer in hand, I ask, “You’re really okay with me moving in?” “Yeah,” he says, “I have been for a while. It’s you that’s needed time with it.”

I know that he is right, but it stumps me, regardless, that this relationship is real and really happening; that it's not a trick of the light, an illusion. Abruptly, he drops his shoe to the deck and says, “There - the other shoe dropped. Nothing’s changed,” looking at me sideways with a benevolent grin.

This man has been and continues to be, more than I could have ever dared dream for. How he knows what to say, when to say it, and when to shut up and wait for me to think it through, I don’t know. But somehow, he knows, and soon enough I'm putting myself where I said I would not put myself again.

Mystifies me.

When S and I finally split for good in 2008, I was sure I wouldn’t want to have a boyfriend again until the summer of 2009 at the earliest. I also knew I wanted to see G again, as I’d been attracted to him when he and I met the first time S and I split in 2007.

Fall of 2008, I was open with G that I wanted to see him, but that he could only be my gentleman friend at that time, not my boyfriend. I didn’t want to be in a commitment - just dating. He was fine with that.

I asked him to be my boyfriend two dates later. It was January of 2009.

And, to be honest, brutally honest, I was sure I’d never let G be my boyfriend, because he lived too far away. I knew I’d never leave Ann Arbor, so why get involved with someone from out of town?

Everything is different when it comes to G.

So, here I go again, willingly, where I said I would not go, doing what I said I would not do.