Waved goodbye to the school bus (Kallan waved happily back and Maj sat ramrod straight in her seat, ignoring me . . . Maj is pissed at me again) and headed back into the house. Thoughtful, but not upset. Trying to see the rosy side of being temporarily hated. Again. It would be nice if the girls could work out their shit without raining it down on me, but that seems to be my role lately. Shit bucket.
OK, that made me giggle. These are some fucked up rose-colored glasses.
Opened the door and stepped into a strangely quiet house. The dogs are here, but sleeping. Mark was here when I walked out just a few minutes ago, so he must be around here somewhere.
His empty coffee cup is on the kitchen counter. There’s a weird sense of vacancy to the space inside our home. As though Mark was standing here finishing his coffee one moment and then the next moment he just wasn’t.
“Mark?”
Nothing.
I walk to the bottom of the stairs and yell, “Mark?”
Nothing.
I step to the top of the basement stairs and yell, “Mark?”
Nothing.
I head back to his empty coffee cup as though I may have missed some clues. But it’s just an empty coffee cup sitting on the counter. I stare at the abandoned cup.
“MARK!!??” shouted once more into the empty house as the now wakened dogs gather at my feet. Stare at me hopefully. One of these days, “Mark” is going to mean treats, and they don’t want to miss that eventuality. Stupid dogs.
Last time . . . “MARK!!??”
Nothing.
OK, so he’s gone.
He was here a minute ago and for the last 24 years, but now he’s gone.
I contemplate my new life without him as I pour myself a second cup of coffee.
It’s not that bad. Quieter.
I sip my coffee and throw the dogs bits of my bagel. Now that Mark is gone, his name may as well mean, “goodies for dogs.” The dogs ecstatically catch the bits of treat and wait for me to yell “Mark” again. They stare at me pleadingly.
“MARK!!??”
Nothing.
I throw the dogs more bits of bagel. They LOVE the new Mark!
We do it maybe twenty times. Mark bagel Mark bagel Mark bagel Mark bagel . . .
The dogs LOVE the new Mark!
A calm little scene. A woman and her bagel-fat dogs. I stare out the window . . . our backyard is so tranquil.
Gorgeous, right?
Inside my head? Less tranquil . . .
I could take a nap although that would be tricky after drinking this second cup of coffee I should have paid more attention when he explained where he keeps the records of all the passwords to his computer accounts I should have learned how to back that fucking trailer out of the driveway because now I’m going to look like an idiot although we could live in the trailer if things don’t work out in Lake Oswego so I should learn how to haul the damn thing ok so not live in it because that’s ridiculous sell it instead but what to do with the girls’ soapbox cars the girls are going to be so pissed when we shop at Costco and there’s no one there to agree that the box of 144 Oreos is a fine idea and when does our Costco membership expire anyway I’m going to have to mow the lawn which means I am going to cover the backyard in grass allergy snot which will blend in with the snail and slug trails so that’s not so bad we could have a garage sale and get rid of some of Mark’s tools because honestly when am I ever going to use a circular saw now that it’s just me and the girls it would not be a good idea to sever limbs in a misguided attempt to demonstrate to the girls that mommy can do everything that daddy did and everything is normal even though your daddy poof disappeared and now your mom has only the one arm and . . .
And then, as suddenly as he disappeared, my husband returns. Steps from the mist back into the kitchen and my life.
He’s clean-shaven, with apologies about white noise in the master bathroom. He runs the fan for an hour or so after showering to control the humidity . . . and the fan in that bathroom is rocket-ship loud. He didn’t hear me calling him.
“Hey! Why didn’t you pour me a second cup of coffee?” He picks up his empty cup and stares into it, looking for answers. There are none there. I checked earlier.
“Why didn’t you pour me coffee?”
Because you didn’t live here anymore is going to require an explanation, so I just go with, “Sorry.”
He pours himself coffee and then creamer and then heads downstairs to the office.
“Mark?”
He pauses, “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, babe.”
“Mark?”
He steps back up the stairs to look at me, “Yeah?”
“I would miss you if you weren’t here.”
“OK, thanks.”
“Mark?”
“Mmmm hmmm?”
“Really.”
He steps over to wrap his arms around me, “I love you too.”
A moment passes, and then, “Kris?”
“Yeah?”
“Why are the dogs drooling?”
I toss the last bits of my bagel at the two Pavlovish dogs.
“Ok, here’s the thing . . .”
Okay so you crack me right the hell up! I’m laughing all the way through. Oddly enough my hubs is Mark too.
That makes 5 things I have learned we have in common since we met a few hours ago:
1) We’re both funny (or in my case, try to be)
2) We both think the other is funny
3) We both swear
4) We both married Mark (but not the same one)
5) We both make lists.
Last list. I promise.
OK, I don’t want to be morbid, but as you know my first husband was killed in a plane crash. One minute he was there, then he wasn’t. But the funny thing was…and I think this is funny…he had our checkbook with him and all the bills for the month. We was going to pay bills on the plane. So after he died, I had no idea how much money was in the account or what bills he had and which ones he had paid.
He was in a pissing match with Con Ed and hadn’t paid our electric bill in months…I kind of remember a vague conversation about this…so in the middle of trying to figure out what to do with my life…they turned off our electricity. I wasn’t home, but it was reported to me by my friends that were taking care of the cats. I had to talk Con Ed into turning it back on without penalizing me. I played the death card…it worked. So I spent a lot of time calling him every name in the book. It is much more humorous now than it was at the time…but learn from my lesson, make sure you learn how to back up the trailer.
I wondered if you would weigh in on this one, and I am glad you did. How blessed am I that I get to have a little moment of anxiety and then turn around to find my puzzled husband standing right there? I would be lost without Mark, and we would be sitting here in the freezing silent darkness as first one utility and then another punished me for my inaction and inability to access our accounts.
I will learn to back up the damn trailer.
Good girl. You might want to know the passwords to his computer, too. That might help when they turn off your electricity.
Oh, and don’t let him go on long trips with the checkbook!
Oh this is one of my favorite post from you. Too funny.
In my marriage I am the one who keeps track of all the bills,passwords,bank accounts, everything, you name it I have it. My husband is just not that organized. So god forbid if anything were to happen to me, my husband would be SOL.
It’s not that I don’t know what’s going on with our finances, because I do. It’s just that Mark likes to organize everything on his computer (and that I do not like to do). My bill paying process looks a lot more like the show “Hoarders.” At least that’s what Mark tells me as he enters another Quicken item and clears another bit of paper off of his sparkling desk.
I’m glad you’re reading and enjoying!
Kris,
I have to say I found this hilarious. No offense, Lanita; but my first thought was, ‘Hey! Kris has herself a ghost! Welcome to my world, sister!”
Not to mention that I have two dogs, a husband feels he must be in control of everything (including bills), is pissing on my last nerve and soon may be living in our outbuilding; IF I don’t kill him first. Which; in my case would be a horrible idea, since he’d constantly be hanging around; haunting me and I’m not about to have that!! I think whenever he’s at work I’ll give the dogs treats… lot and lots of treats; screaming my husband’s name every single time. Primal screaming good for me; dogs will love the treats! I figure it’s a win-win situation; at least for the dogs and I!! Thanks for the excellent idea!
Alright, I do not know you at all, but from our limited interactions, here is what I pictured in my head about you before reading this comment:
No dogs, maybe cats. Or a bird. No husband. No children. No bad temper or swearing. No murderous impulses. Lots of afghans. Television shaped like crystal ball (like in Wizard of Oz).
Which just goes to show again that I have no psychic abilities whatsoever.
Unless you are lying. I’ll ask Lanita.
Oh, you have her so wrong…Quiet my ass, not a cat in sight, is a Beetles fanatic…not to mention she sees dead people. That by the way is her favorite movie line…..”I see dead people.”
SHIT! I think my whiny, controlling baby just woke up! I MUST RUN AND HIDE!!! There will be lots of car dancing today; maybe to some Alice Cooper, this time. Unless, I can think of someone who put on a more violent act… OHH!! WAIT!! Ozzy Osbourne! I can play some of that!! He ACTUALLY bit the head off a bat. I’m still debating in my mind.. will get back to you later on which one I choose! NOW I MUST HIDE!!!! AAAEEEE!!!!!!
You have a whiny controlling baby????
I so did not picture that either. It is such a good thing that I am already married and not looking to find love on the internet, because my radar/intuition/judgment is WAY off.
(ME, all flirty): “Yes, rapist murderer puppy-molester guy . . . I would love to go to dinner. Your place? Fabulous!”
I so never want to drink with you two…I think I would have to bring a box of depends because I would be “pee my pants” laughing all night!
That’s my goal every evening . . . laughter and alcohol induced spewage. Too often I am the only one who finds me funny, and I just end up a mess.
Kris,
The whiny baby was supposed to be caring for the dogs, is sleeping like the baby he can be, and totally forgot to turn the alarm on! SOOO…. I am up in the middle of the night; once again and pissed off about it.
WE own a circular saw, so I’m thinking to myself, “OK! Run to the outbuilding, sever HIS arm, Throw the dogs the bone, trash the place up a bit then clean myself up. Hit the panic button on the alarm and when the cops show up I can simply look innocent and say, “Gee, officer! All I know is I heard a commotion and hit the panic button. Don’t know how they got in; maybe because I was asleep and he forgot the alarm… AGAIN!!! AAAHHH!!!!”
Of course, he’d have to bleed out, first; and there again lies the rub. He would simply be around all the time; pestering the shit outta me. That or one of the other psychic investigators I’ve worked with in the past would solve the crime, rat me out, and I’ll spend the rest of my life in a cell with a woman named Roberta who wants to feed me hot dogs.
What to do, what to do… consult my crystal ball, I guess! LOL!!
Ahhhhhhh . . . the joys of NOT being a psychic. We get to act on murderous impulses with impunity.
Although hot dogs can be delicious.
Wow is that photo of your backyard? Its like a forest. What a great place.
That’s the view out the kitchen window — enhanced by an iPhone camera app called Hipstamatic. Nice to see you return, by the way!
Why Didn’t You Pour Me a Second Cup of Coffee?
After just disappearing like that into nowhere?
I’m at the end of March!! :) Today has been busy, and I didn’t get as much ‘Kris-reading’ in as I had hoped. I was hoping to be in the summer by now.
Loved this post – the same things would have been running through my mind about mowing the lawn and tools haha.
How much do I love that you are reading my archives?
So fucking much.
Happy sighs.
Thank you.
years and years ago, I was a bank teller. You wouldn’t beleive the number of sweet old ladies that came in once a month with their passbooks. Do you remember passbooks? It’s what you had back when checkbooks were for rich people and working stiff types only had savings accounts. A passbook was YOUR account record. You came in with your paycheck, deposited it, we wrote it in your book and entered it in the banks records. You came and got cash out, we wrote it in your book and in the banks records. Working stiff types lived in a cash only world back then. When these ladies were younger, their husbands had passbooks for their savings accounts, and now, they were widows with passbooks for their Social Security checks. And tiny houses their cigarette- or blue jean factory-worker husbands had finished paying for just before they retired and/or died. And these ladies hadn’t a clue. They brought in their social security checks, cashed them, paid their water and power (we deposited their payments into the water and power company accounts) and took home enough cash for the month, depositing the rest. They lived month to month, on the same allowance they’d had for decades. In the same clothes they’d had for decades. But they understood frugality and making things last and keeping to their budget. One lady always brought in the entire stack, 40 years of passbooks, she didn’t understand why there were so many. None of them knew how to handle their bank account, just their money. Frugal little old ladies who didn’t really understand all the adding and subtracting in the book, their husband’s had always come down on payday and handled everything.
They didn’t understand they had $80,000+ in savings that they should be spending on themselves instead of leaving to their rotten kids. All their lives they, and their husbands, had saved for their old age, to make things easier. They were still saving for their old age, despite being widowed and on social security, they still saved because they literally did not know how to take money out of the bank.
Only vaguely relevent. Cause I’m sure if you saw the total $80,000 in some account with the late Mark’s name on it you would understand exactly what to do with it.
Vegas
Karen -
I had such a passbook when I was a child. A blue cover with gold markings. It felt like such a ticket to adulthood . . . all those little written numbers added up as I deposited money. The interactions with the teller. The secret notations made documenting the transaction. The growing total.
A small total. But mine.
I remember having serious discussions with my parents about how I was getting to be a big girl. That I should learn a little bit about handling my own money. I didn’t have much money . . . a $5.00 birthday gift of cash, the accumulated 50 cents per dozen sales of eggs my chickens had laid, small bits of money collected on long summer days picking blueberries in the fields. A small amount, but mine.
I was too young to have a bank account of my own, so my father’s name was on the account as well.
That didn’t work out so well. Turned out he didn’t need me to be present to withdraw my money. Weirdly, I felt betrayed by my father but also? By the nice ladies at the bank . . . sigh.
This is not actually that related to what you have said. I know the women of whom you speak. They lived in Michigan with me. My neighbors. Grandmothers to no one I ever saw. Without a clue . . . just surviving until . . . there was no more need for survival.
Sigh.
And guess what? I would not go to Vegas. I hate gambling.
I would be much more careful than you imagine.
Like those ladies . . . more than I care to admit.
Scared without Mark.
Afraid to do anything for fear of fucking it up.
Afraid.
Hmmmph.
When I went off to college, I still had the account my mom had to cosign on when I had gotten a job a Burger King. She raided the account to pay a bill which really sucked cause where the he’ll did she think I was gonna get any more money before payday. My last bit of financial aid, the amount that should have bought my board card for the dining hall, instead of coming in a lump, came in the form of a part time job at a daycare on campus. So, I couldn’t eat. I started going in early and taking the snack trays back to the kitchen, eating every cracker crumb and draining the tiny milk cups.
In an indirect fashion, my mom may have caused her granddaughter. Because this guy kept inviting me out to eat and we kept ending up in his room. I’ve never told her that.
She never paid me back either, not that I expected it. Not like it was the first time they’d borrowed money. Though at least they had to askwhen I was at home.
Karen -
By the time I went off to college, I was completely financially separate from my mother. My father had been out of the picture for a while. She and my stepfather gave me small amounts of money when they could afford it . . . I remember my mother going shopping with me just before I moved into the dorms . . . she bought me shampoo and writing paper and a comforter for my bed. I was overwhelmed and stunned at her generosity.
So yeah . . . mostly I was on my own. A job in the cafeteria, scholarship, and financial aid. Just me.
And the job in the cafeteria? I would have starved without that job. Pretty sure. They were very generous with meals if you had worked a meal shift.
I worked a lot of shifts. I was hungry.
As for the money my parents “borrowed” when I was a kid? Sometimes they paid it back and sometimes they didn’t.
The money was less important to me than the fact that it could be taken from me without permission.
Like so many things.
Yeah.
there are those moments, when your imagination goes crazy….but then if you are lucky like we are, reality comes back, and you don’t actually have to miss anyone.
i’d be fucked if bobby died. he does all the bills. i just go to work, and don’t spend over X amt of $$ a month.
and i don’t know any of the passwords. or how to back up the trailer that we don’t have. ;)
Sarah -
There was a woman on Twitter today whose husband was injured while out of the country. She couldn’t get at her passport because it was in a safe only her husband knew how to open. And he was incoherent and then in surgery.
It made me realize again how ill-equipped I am to face life without Mark.
Still.
Ugh.
In our relationship Brandy runs the bills because she likes to. I still could never imagine life without her. Mine is more of a emotional tether though. That woman has such a thorough grip on my heart strings. She is my best friend. She is partly responsible for the man I am today. With out her I would be lost. Wondering down a path that was supposed to be my life, but now looked utterly unfamiliar.
Also I would have used the “Because you didn’t live here anymore” line. If only to see the look on his face.
I tell people that my marriage saved me.
I chose wisely and this marriage has saved me.
People think I am kidding.
But I am not.
At all.
I know that feeling very well!
A good feeling.
Safety.
woot woot Pavlov!
Stupid slobbering classically conditioned dogs.
Hee hee!