A little more about my wife:
we spent friday night with an old co-worker of carol's, melissa. we sat around the chimenea after adolfo had fallen asleep and drank tecate. i got the chimenea aflame with hardly a problem, even though i couldn't find my long handle lighter. I twisted up a piece of the Houston Chronicle Sports Page, grazed the yard for small dry sticks, and then made a teepee out of larger dry pecan sticks from a recent pruning.
Most of the conversation centered around melissa's recently finalized divorce, and it had me thinking, yet again, about my own father, my new fatherhood, and the relationship that i have with my wife.-- (it also reminded me that i have to finish the current OE book i'm reading) -- Melissa's former husband was just as selfish as my own father was at the time of my paren't divorce. Both of us were hard pressed to understand the thinking that would go through someone's head when faced with infidelity; how one could simply overlook the incredible losses you would face: trust, confidence, respect ...
When i was photogrpahing my wife poking at the chimenea i was at my most peaceful - my most quiet - my most confident - and i thought about what was really there: my wife's (and son's) uncontrollable urge to poke things; my son sleeping peacefully in the bed that was once nude, but is now stained red (and the time that i spent doing that in our new home); my wife's chimenea that came from my step-father who unlike my own father is part of my life ...
and these things - these vast interconnected memories that lie in the most banal items of my daily life - i don't think i could handle losing
I remember seeing bathroom graffitti that puts infidelity in perspective:
"No matter how hot she is....
Someone..
Somewhere...
is sick of her shit."
ha!
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