In response: whypaisley, thank you for yesterday’s response to my remembrance, A Gambol Through Life It Wasn’t, and your desire to read the entire story, which, over time, I will be writing, I’ve chosen to go to the end of the story before backtracking, a plot frequently used in many movies I’ve seen over the years. I may have used the following poem early in my blog, but of I did, I think it bears repeating.
I’ve many things that I regret when musing over bygone years.
Though I remember joy and laughter,
it’s those far too many tears I wish I could forget.
Too much work, too little gain,
too many dreams I dreamed in vain.
Too many days I faced despair;
faced burdens more than I could bear.
Too many times you brought me low—even so,
of the things that I remember, of the things that I recall,
the unkindest cut of all?
my deepest pain, without a doubt
is wishing now we’d talked things out.
You led, I followed, seldom balked.
Too late I learned we never talked.
Late summer or early fall, 1959 . . .
I’m a farmer. I’ve always been a farmer
and I’m always going to be a farmer.
That damn one-sided conversation
in which I had no supplication,
were words that tore my world apart.
My giving way to all your needs
was akin to sowing seeds
that sprouted poison in my heart.
How did it start? I wish I knew
how I became a “well-played trout”
Throughout the years I lived with you,
we never really talked things out.
In spite of all, when said and done,
for me, you were the only one.
I’d still choose you, but I declare
there’d be some changes here and there.
The first would be, my farmer-scout,
we sure as hell would talk things out.
With Remorse, Regret,
Forgiveness for us both,
and with Love, Mary
what they say about hindsight is one of life’s greatest truths…
they ought to spend more time teaching us to communicate effectively,, as it is a skill most of us do not possess,, let alone look for when choosing a mate…
i am so glad you are sharing the wisdom and story of your life with us here mary,, i for one look forward each day to being here,, and hearing every word you have to say…….
hi, paisley, always good to hear from you. I once read some advice aimed toward young men: if they want to see what their future wife is going to look like and be like in the future, just study the girl’s mother. Someone should have warned me: if you want an idea of what to expect from your future husband, listen to him when he talks about his boyhood. If he so much as mentions how he did pretty much as he pleased in spite of a domineering mother, he’ll do pretty much as he pleases when a husband. Did I just now make that up? Now that’s hindsight if there ever was.
Oh my goodness. It’s so true. In my own marriage, I started out as you were, compliant, not stating my side of the matter. But through the necessity of work, I’ve learned to be honest. It’s not always easy and often causes strain between us, but I can live with myself much easier. And I know, deep down, this honesty makes me a better wife.
Mary, your fortitude reminds me of my own mom’s path.
writerlulu, when I read your words, ‘it isn’t always easy to assert one’s self’, I found myself asking, ‘why not’? I was reminded of an afternoon, sometime between my husband’s return from the navy and the day he, our two children, one on the way, and his brother first entered the farmhouse on the second of the three farms on which I was to live. Two of Carl’s former class mates from the Delaware Farmer’s School in Doylestown PA. and their wives were visiting. One of the wives said that her husband thought he was looking for a farm to purchase. She empathized the word “thought”. A week or two later the couple returned to their home in California. I followed my husband to the beginning of what I call my years of hell on earth.
I know. It shouldn’t be so hard to do that. I think back to when I was a little girl—the second of five daughters. In the family mix of comedian, high maintenance, mellow, and drama queen, I was the peacemaker. My mom still says that I always wanted to make others happy or please them. But, isn’t that a bad thing at times? I’ve had to learn those skills as an adult, and not always to the joy of those around me. But I’d never go back.
I’d even let my older sister punch my arm when she was having a bad day, just to help her feel better. Twisted, huh?
writerlulu, your comment was repeated, so, I’ve taken the liberty of deleting it and substituting my own. I had three sisters and an older brother. As I recall, there was an almost constant peace between us. Our mother, as patient as mothers come, was a strict disciplinarian. We could make all the happy noise we wished, but at the slightest hint of an argument, she was there to put a stop to it. Peace. What a beautiful word in a world where peace is an almost unknown factor. Mary from Meander With Me