Here’s a truth you don’t often read or hear someone say – (sometimes) I miss my former husband. He’s a truly amazing man, and a part of my heart will remain his until my dying day. He ‘saw me’ when all I could see was him, and I perhaps doubted it was possible to be seen, and he loved me and protected my essential being in a way that honors the Cherokee philosophy at right. With his love I was free to walk the earth unmolested – and that is something precious to know as a woman. I would like to think that our time together truly did connect him with (the) Source.
Since he re-married I have very purposefully respected the boundaries of being his former wife and not called, and only nominally exchanged email or Facebook messages – usually to ask him about his mom whom I love dearly. We saw each other for the first time in a couple of years over the weekend, he took me to brunch at The Revelry in Rochester NY (a yummy meal complete with beet Deviled eggs – almost too pretty eat – and a wicked potion of gin infused with sage and Douglas fir and Chartreuse called a Twin Peaks) we had a great conversation, caught up on our lives, I shared the rationale behind my desire to move to Croatia. It seemed we tripped over some of the same things that we did in the 1980s when we were twenty-something year olds who love and decide to marry. Two very special points came from our seeing one another; his admittance that he didn’t know himself then and his (lovely) expressing once again “you were light years ahead of your peers”. I am sure I am not the only ‘ex’ who still has the capacity to love their former spouse but it still feels special and sacred. But, there’s one more reason no one compares to him, (slightly riffing Sinéad O’Connor’s song that was at the top of the charts as we were divorcing 23 years ago), and that is – pedicures.
Beyond their most utilitarian function of getting me from point A to point B, if I can be so bold, I had (still have) pretty feet and striking ankles and very reasonable legs. When I was about 12 my brother gave me a Clairol pedicure kit for Christmas in which you dropped these massive batteries into to the handle with interchangeable heads for buffing and filing and smoothing – primarily because my mom must have discovered that I was trimming the calluses off the bottom of my feet (from walking around barefoot all the time) with the blade from her safety razor and thought this would be far safer! Later my bathroom would host a plethora of pumice stones, metal files and paddles all with the understanding that, in doing this for myself, I was promoting my optimal overall health through reflexology and the Eastern pressure points but, oh, to have your husband love your feet and treat you like a goddess – nothing compares! Nothing! Nope, sorry $60 pedicures by highly competent technicians are nice – but their efforts are a task to be completed not a sensuous path with an end result of making love.
So, yes, without lusting for him, without even my mentally violating his vows I can express that my ex gave “great feet”!
He brought me a small bag of AA batteries I asked for, along with a bottle of Bowmore Scotch (bliss) – I am sure he thought I needed the batteries for flashlights and smoke alarms (he’s practical that way, always has been) but no – I needed two of them for my new Emjoi! OMG, this thing is a miracle! So, while there is something to be said for a partner taking care of your whole being right down to your pinkie toes in the absence of such being able to slide into bed and think “wow, my feet are as soft as my sheets!” is real DIY bliss. Now, if I could just find someone willing to let me snuggle my icy colds against their thermonuclear furnace of a body my life would be very nearly perfect!
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