Fa la la la la, la, la, la, la.

First morning back, I awake with absolute clarity.  

I don't want to live apart from my husband anymore.  

Then Bruno goes off to daycare in the morning, while I head south, south, south to Wimbledon.

photo credit-  Wimbledon Village Stables

At the Village Florist, I can't resist pausing and perusing.

HMMM!

The SA asks if I have far to go, how am I going to carry a 6-foot garland and wreath on the tube.

Ta Da!  

Before I left London, I was obsessing about letters...

"First & Second Drafts..."

The garland turned out to be too heavy and too wide.  My original plan to place it in front of the mirror failed.  The only way forward was to remove the mirror, which then created an interesting situation for me.  The mirror is freaking heavy.  I can't lift it on my own.  I tried and tried.

Solution:  I dragged my mattress in front of the fireplace.   I've seen this concept used in Jackie Chan's stunt work, at the end of his movies, when the credits roll.

Gingerly, engaging all arm/back/core muscles, I slid the mirror down...  then I heaved it aside.

Bruno the Buddha waits patiently...

Using the ladder the previous resident had left behind, I climbed as high as I could, balanced as lightly as I could, with one foot on the mantle, to hang the wreath.

By the time I got done, it was dark outside.

My husband calls me.  I relate excitedly, my ingenuity!  I talk about a second draft and a third.  I interrupt him with the need for fairy lights.  Then I say I need him to help carry the mirror back up after Christmas.

(Fuck.  Wrong move.)

For his voice is like a door slamming in my face.  

Why do you always insists on doing such acrobatic acts?  Do you know how heavy the mirror is?  What if it fell on you?  What if it falls on Bruno?  Why do you have to climb everywhere? What if you hurt yourself when I am not there with you?  How did you carry the garland back all by yourself?  Do you understand that I worry about you?

In the end, to quiet his anger, I cowardly, cried.

I also sent him a visual of my second draft.

Then I realise, that in a long-distance marriage, distance is the mirror, daily reflecting all that the both of us are.  The image thrown back is not a static one. Rather it's constantly shifting.  Sometimes I don't like what I see.  Sometimes I get mad.  Or he gets madder at me.

On Skype, I can press "delete", or the "end call" button.  Over the phone, I can hang up.  Either way, I don't have to worry about him being physically in my space (talk to me, talk to me, don't just ignore me), pushing for a resolution, insisting on peace.

He's not upset with me anymore.  He is saying, he'll try and bring some scrolls for me.  He's making amends.  He is now saying, he'll help me with the mirror.

So I inhale and tell him, Baby?  I hit my head.