International Tensions? and The Happiness of Companionship

Mark and I were on our way out a couple of nights ago to get the newspaper. Close to the door of our building we stumbled upon an encounter between a couple with a large, older dog and a man with a tiny, yappy dog. The little dog was straining at its leash and yapping furiously at the larger dog. Evidently there had been words between the two men before we arrived. Just then the fellow with the big dog shouted at the other man: Are you a Canadian? (voice laden with scorn) You MUST be a Canadian! The other’s rejoinder as he stalked off: Fuck you! Ah, the joys of civil society.

I’ve spent much of today on my own. Two of my four brothers-in-law, Bob and Mike Hall, have been staying with us for the last ten days. This morning Mark and the lads drove off in a rented jeep to explore a couple of towns up in the mountains east of here. I thought briefly of joining them but realizing that the ride to these towns is about three hours, I did the math as they say, and hastened to decline. Sitting in a jeep for six hours somehow did not appeal. But they didn’t mind, so off they went. Little differed in how I spent my time today from other days: lots of reading, some walking and grocery shopping, meals, a nap. You get the picture. But not having those small connectors that are part of one’s life with a companion, is actually huge. Things are just somehow more flat. Nobody to natter on to about some incidental exchange at a store or on the malecon; nobody to tease about the minutiae of day-to-day bloopers; nobody to bounce plans or thoughts off. Wow! No fun.

My sister turned 75 last week and I am fast approaching that same vintage. I thought of my mother at her 75^th birthday dinner. A few weeks earlier my parents had been given the news that dad had inoperable cancer. She was facing a fast approaching widowhood. He died two months later. My mother and I were not close – the closest we ever became was during the last few months of her own life, last spring and early summer, when she was so very frail and had lost much of her former tough carapace. She wanted connection and she was pitifully grateful for any show of affection. During the 20 years that she lived alone after dad’s death, I never saw any hint from her that her life was hard or lonely, though I had to assume that it was. Companionship of any nature is humanly essential for a happy life; having one’s own special buddy around is an enormous blessing.