Love, sex and anger

My husband reading my blog. I don’t get it either.

Content Warning: My husband doesn’t ask much of me, but he is rather insistent I write this daily blog. He has been absurdly supportive of my writing habit since day one. I do not wholly understand this as I have not always been supportive of his acting habit. Our marriage is sometimes one-sided. If you are uncomfortable with that, I suggest you stop reading.

This morning I was reading The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green. In the chapter “Bonneville Salt Flats” the author writes about when he and his wife’s gazes meet and entwine as they look at a third thing.

This “meet and entwine” concept is something Green learned about from Donald Hall who wrote about his late wife.

“We did not spend our days gazing into each other’s eyes. We did that gazing when we made love or when one of us was in trouble, but most of the time our gazes met and entwined as they looked at a third thing.”

-Donald Hall

First of all…made love? Keep that to yourself.

Moving on: Hall wrote about the “third thing” first, then Green. My turn.

If I’m understanding Green and Hall correctly, a third thing can be a piece of art, a book, a concert, a play, a child, a mountain or whatever. It’s something that you look at with wonder, then notice your partner looking at it with wonder and then you gaze at each other with wonder. It’s called ROMANCE.

All this gazing and wondering pisses me off. Shared moments. Sidelong glances. Eye contact. Knock it off, people! Or at least stop writing about it.

What if we pushed each other a little more to be independent? What if we didn’t need to discuss and critique and “get each other?”

I want to bring back looking at your partner and thinking any (or all) of the following:





Now these are the moments that make a marriage. My marriage anyway. These are the moments that shake faith, erode trust and create the grit necessary to pack in decades of monogamy. These are the moments that hold secrecy, shame and fear. That’s my kind of adventure!

The alternative:

Symbol by Alexander Liberman stands nearly 50 feet tall on the bike path in Rockford.

Jesse and I go for a nice walk. Jesse looks at Symbol. Then I look at Symbol. Then we look at each other with a love and appreciation of Symbol, Rockford and each other.

No! No, no, no, no, no.

We fight. We yell. We undermine. We hate. We judge. All within one simple, sunny day! And you know what? It’s fine. It’s a part of marriage. Ours, at least.

Thanks for reading. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make love to Jesse. -Connie

P.S. This blog is an example of what you shouldn’t write about: your marriage, your sex life and your anger. It could scare people!

Symbol’s undercarriage.

The Scent of a Stranger

Dirty, disgusting and smelly. Feel free to judge me; I deserve it.

I woke up around 1:30 in the morning with the scent of a strange man all over my body. I have no idea what this man’s name is. All I know is what he smells like. Even after showering, I can still smell him all over me.

It is my fault, my sin. I still haven’t told my husband about this but I know he’ll understand. He knows how impatient and impulsive I can be.

Last night, I was shopping with my oldest daughter. She needed new jeans and my husband wanted a new pair of warm pajamas. While Jocelyn shopped in the teen section, I ventured to the men’s section and quickly found a pair on the clearance rack for $19.99. They were Jesse’s size and I knew he’d look good in them so I bought them.

When I got home, I took my nighttime shower. I toweled off, moisturized and dried my hair. Instead of crawling into my own jammies, which are actually my husband’s sweatpants and college sweatshirt, I decided to wear the jammies I just bought him. I couldn’t resist. They looked so warm and inviting. Jesse is still in Las Vegas for work so he wouldn’t need them for another week. I told myself he’d appreciate it if I broke them in for him.

I got into bed; sleepy, comfortable and content. I said “good night” to my kids, and talked to my husband on the phone before falling asleep. That’s our custom when one of us is out of town. I didn’t tell him about the new pajamas. He went to bed thinking I was sleeping in what I always sleep in, the old orange and greys sweats.

I’ve been wearing Jesse’s sweatshirt and sweatpants to bed every winter for 17 years. Time for a change?

I startled awake at 1:30 a.m. It wasn’t a loud noise that woke me up; it was a strange smell. I immediately realized I was wearing dirty pajamas. Those nightclothes I bought on clearance had obviously been worn by a heavily-cologned man before being returned. My God, they reeked and so did I.

Still do. I can’t get this strange man’s smell off of me.

I should have known better. I worked in retail for six years. I know full well that people frequently return merchandise after they wear it. And I know you’re supposed to wash the clothes once you get home. I know about cooties, COVID and chemicals. But last night, I was selfish.

And cold, lazy and tired. I saw my husband’s pajamas and ignored all the warning signs. Let my mistake be a lesson to you all: Wash your clothes after you buy them, before you wear them!

I’ll tell Jesse about it tonight when we have our ritual “good night talk.” But now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish laundering my sheets, blankets and new jammies. Thank you for reading! -Connie