In Praise of Good Husbands…and a poem.

 

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I have been married for many years to a man who is 8 years younger.  At first, this garnered a lot of ill will from  some family members, especially my mother.

 

Mother….

In spite of this,  we have weathered  the slings and arrows coming our way from exwives (his) and people who should have shut their collective mouths because they had nothing positive to say.  After 28 years, we are doing fine.

Women tell me how hard it is, in middle life, to reconnect with men.  Either they have been seriously hurt, or they have grown used to their own company and making room for a new man is too much work.  I can understand this. 

 

I have no answers. But I do feel blessed with this man.  He is tolerant, patient and a person who champions my activities.  Well, most of them.  Perhaps I am a borderline hoarder of stray animals.  He feeds, pays the vet bills and makes room on the den couch for cats (9), dogs (3) but draws the line at the 5 hens and goldfish in the pond.  On occasion, a few brave hens have come in the back door and perched on his couch.  He’s allergic to the cats and his nose hasn’t stopped running in 28 years but he does take shots. Helps.  Doesn’t help that the cats adore him and try to sleep on his chest and face.  I think they are trying to discern if he also has nine lives…

He is a gentle man and doesn’t stint on affection. I am in constant gratitude for the life he brings to me.  I only hope I can do the same .

Lady Nyo

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POEM OF MY HUSBAND

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“You’re all I have”

Heard in the dark

Heart almost stopping

In an inattentive breast.

–

I dare not look at him

Too bald a sentiment

And too true to bear

A light, comforting answer.

–

What would occasion such words,

Such a piteous sentiment?

–

When one has lived

Within another’s hours, days, years,

The fabric of this making

Can be frayed.

The warp and weave, the very thread

That appears as if out of air

(and it does)

becomes substantial,

it covers and clothes more than the body

and the life blood of sentiment,

Love-

Becomes the river within, unending,

Even transcending the pulse of life.

–

“You’re all I have,”

A whispered refrain

Echoing  in the heart

And burrowing deep.

–

 

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“Poem Of My Husband” to be published in “Pitcher Of Moon, Poems of Gratitude and Blessings” hopefully soon.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2013

 

‘Poem of my Husband’

The Marriage Bed

My husband of two decades is a quiet man, not given to emotional displays.  When he uttered these words that began the poem,   I knew something was out of the ordinary.   I wondered what he was thinking.   Our marriage was secure, our life together not dull.  I realized one can never completely fathom what is going on with another, even in marriage.

He is of German stock and rather traditional in views of marriage. For years we did not have a ‘marriage bed’, (his term)  or more than a few attempts at this, and all cast off as ‘unacceptable’.  He bought two ‘overdoors’ years ago, and as an excellent carpenter, he was going to make this all important marriage bed.  They were great big things and they would look good as overdoors, and that is where they ended. One at the formal front door, and another made into a mantel.  We still didn’t have his marriage bed.

Until this past Valentine’s Day.  We bought a Rice bed.  It was so high he had to make steps for me.  For a couple of weeks he, being a tall man, would get in first and then drag me over the bed. If he wasn’t there, I would have to take a running leap.  I still can’t sleep in this bed comfortably, feeling  if I fall out  I will break something.

He is contented, finally having his all-important Marriage Bed. He sleeps and snores like a happy man.  I sleep with one eye open, moving away from the edge, spooning tightly to him, but perhaps this is the way of marriage.

Lady Nyo

–

POEM OF MY HUSBAND

–

“You’re all I have”

Heard in the dark

Heart almost stopping

In an inattentive breast.

–

I dare not look at him

Too bald a sentiment

And too true to bear

A light, comforting answer.

–

What would occasion such words,

Such a piteous sentiment?

–

When one has lived

Within another’s hours, days, years,

The fabric of this making

Can be frayed.

The warp and weave, the very thread

That appears as if out of air

(and it does)

becomes substantial.

It covers and clothes more than the body

and the life blood of sentiment,

Love-

Becomes the river within, unending,

Even transcending the pulse of life.

–

“You’re all I have,”

A whispered refrain

Echoing  in the heart

And burrowing deep.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009, 2011

A Woman’s Blessing and this issue of Submission.

Talking to a good friend this morning who just went through a major surgery, we were exchanging garden observations.  Her zucchinis and cukes are in overabundance and I have none.  We both have tomatoes but none too red.  The point of this is just that we both, being women, enjoy the gardening and all the issues of keeping our families fed, our houses bearable, and the summer canning and usage of good things from the garden.

We both went through this issue of “submission” and what it means for women.  At least women either interested or influenced in some way by D/s.  We found a lot of holes in the doing, and especially from the lips of men.

Distilled down, we thought it an  issue that could be good and very bad.  It could be something that cleaved us more to our husbands or it could curtail our creativity, our growth.  I’ve seen it both ways.  Some men are so insecure, especially from what I have seen in the hard-line ‘Gorean’ species,  (which is why when you base your philosophies on fairy tales, you could end up counting angels on the heads of pins…) and in the bdsm scene a lot….well, somethings are just stupid.

My friend and I have talked a lot about these issues:  what defines us as women?  Well, it’s in the day to day…and we don’t need no stinky bdsm philosophies to ‘tell’ us what we are.

I am blessed to have the freedom to work at home.   My dear Husband does not need me to work outside the home to supplant the home finances, he thinks in his German- Catholic upbringing that women should be ‘allowed’ to keep the home fires burning.

To that end I think my responsibilities are to constantly feed that home fire.  I do teach belly dancing, and that doesn’t bring in much money, but he has great hope I will become that elusive “famous author” someday  and make money this way.

Hah!  He knows nothing of publishing, literary fiction, what is happening in the publishing world especially right now, and he doesn’t know the competition.  But he loves to read my novels and stories and he foots all the bills for  publishing and promotion.   He thinks that is part of his role, to be supportive in all my endeavors.

He’s a wonderful man.  Secure in himself, with what he already is, he is a wonderful example of a decent and compassionate man.  His wiring is good.

After a recent period of some strange influences, we have come to a balance within our marriage.  I have all the freedoms to do as I want and this makes it imperative that I expend this freedom in the best ways possible. I know now what it is that makes me  happy and it’s a simple connection with what makes this marriage and family run in the best ways.  Or something like that.

Today I have been repairing linens, cutting out the pieces for a white, cotton kimono to wear as I dash from the shower in the garden to the house. I’ve made 4 pints of grape  and 10 pints of kudzu jelly.  I am planning on making loaves of french bread for this evening to go with the basil pesto.  I’ve collected eggs from our hens and checked on the growth of the tomatoes and grapes (this last is rather screwy. First year for grapes so we don’t know what we should be looking for, but they are tiny purple/black things and very bitter.)

These chores, which are really blessings, I account for the responsibilities I have to this marriage and family.  I don’t know where these issues of submission come in anymore, because what we have found out is this:

There is a balance within the ‘nature’ of both the man and woman in this house.  We are settled into the natural routine that pleases us both and gives the greatest amount of comfort and security.  If this is submission, I  embrace it, but it certainly is not what I have observed in many cases.

Yes, yes, I know about this issue of ‘power-exchange’.  We are ignoring it.  Or at least tending to it.  We both know our roles and there is peace.

As to his ‘dominance’, it’s a natural flow from his character as a man. He knows his duties and leads by doing.  He is a fine example to our only child, a son.  He has no rattling ego to dodge or to fear.  He is a naturally manly man whose only bad habit is to goose the wife when she is bent over the oven with hot things in her hands.

Overall, blessings to stroke and to cherish.

KUDZU JELLY… a Southern jelly.   That weed from Japan.

4 cups of kudzu flowers (those purple/lavender blooms that look like wisteria blooms under the leaves)

4 cups of boiling water.

Seep overnight in the fridge.  A gray liquid results when you strain the flowers from the bowl.  Throw flowers away, and keep the gray liquid.  Heat up in high pan and put 1 lemon of fresh juice into the gray liquid and it become purple!  Boil for a few minutes with 6 cups of sugar and throw in one packet of liquid pectin (or powdered).

Boil for one minute.

IF you boil your lids for a few minutes, you can usually decant the jelly into the CLEAN glass jars and screw down lids, turn over for 30 minutes or so, and you don’t have to seal in a pressure cooker.

Kudzu jelly is a beautiful clear jelly that tastes like a cross of grape and strawberry.  Keeps forever, but we give them away as holiday gifts.

Lady Nyo

Simple Gifts

I want an outhouse.

Before you laugh, know that we have been out of plumbing and water for two days now.  And the workman haven’t shown up to complete the job.  Around 9:30 am is work hours, right?

They’ve been already called this morning, but it’s by my husband.  He has more authority with the workmen than I do.  I’m just the housewife in their eyes, but they don’t know me much.

I can be the deranged housewife with a butcher knife, but it will be a dirty one because of no water.

They don’t want to push me.  My floors have just been redone, they looked beautiful, shiny and clean…and now they appear  like the circus has been through.  With elephants.

They put these blue footies on when they walk through the house, but for some reason, they aren’t working.

Oh! some of them have appeared, but it is a false warning: they are here to take back some equipment….’borrowing’ it, as they say.  And they will bring it back later…Not good.

You step to the front gate and there is a 4 foot x 3 foot (or maybe 4 foot) trench that runs 84 feet into the street.  At the end of it is Volvo Ballerina…a big yellow digger that digs with surgical percision.  At least they aren’t taking that piece of machinery.

I asked where the crew is and they said back at the office doing paperwork.  Well, the rain is moving in, faster than we thought, and the trench can’t get wet or they can’t inspect and close, and we can’t use the fixtures.

I told them to tell the office boys that the Lady of the House is looking rather psychotic right now, and about to go into a rage.  LOL!

It would behoove these boys to drop the paperwork for later and get their asses out here and finish the job.  The Lady has toilets to flush, dishes and laundry to do, and floors to clean. All take water…lots of water.

I love my husband.  I asked him how much is this going to cost us in the end?  He tells me ‘it will cost what it costs’.  But I have been patient and we have been careful about what we eat because in a very clear way, we are realizing  we are the top end of the sewage lines…in fact we are movable sewage systems and I think some days that is all that can be expected.

But back to the outhouse. We are 3 miles from downtown Atlanta, with 9 (denuded ) acres of land behind us.  A small, just a modest outhouse , one with a cut out moon and just one seat and lots of lovely lime under it (I think you dig a hole beneath the hole) and maybe painted a forest green so it doesn’t stick out…and planters of flowers outside on each side of the door, and a little shelf with reading material on one wall, and maybe stick on battery powered (or solar powered!) lamps so you can read in the dark, and a firm latch so you can be alone.  (cause husbands like to come in and discuss world events with you at the wrong times…)

That would be nirvana.  Simple gifts, indeed.

Lady Nyo

My Husband is a Scream…

He came back from NYC and apparently he ate very well up there.  Seems  the clients did a full round of different cuisine and each night had a different cultural offering.  One night was spent in Little Italy, another at a French restaurant, etc.

Although he came home sick with something, his tastebuds were not at all sick and he rattled off the different meals.

His is not a cook.  When we first married, our kitchen was too small for both of us working there, so I took over all kitchen duty.  Four years ago he made it a very large kitchen…almost too much so, but then again, when you can place a wing chair for reading, plus an island and table and 4 chairs….. with all the cabinets and counters, etc. that a normal kitchen has….it will find it’s purpose eventually.

I like to cook because he has a large marble slab as a counter top in one place  and this is great for rolling out dough and kneading breads.  Unfortunately, the general counters are copper.  I don’t recommend this at all.  They stain and the green patina that is nice on roofs just don’t look sanitary in a kitchen.  Every so often, I scrub the tops (actually a lot…) with steel wool…and that makes (for a while) circular patterns in the copper.  They look like crop circles in England for a while before the whole process needs to be done again.

I am convinced that copper, steel, etc…are masculine ideas of a kitchen, which would be good if he ever used it.

We have a small den off the kitchen, with a wide entrance so he can bark orders to the cook while he watches tv.

But since he has come back from NY, he seems interested in cooking.

Today he asked me to buy the makings for something he had up there:  Asparagus and Shrimp soup.  He doesn’t know anything about the exact ingredients  but he wants to make this himself.

Now, we generally are more concerned with health, and when he rolled off the ingredients, I started to wonder.  Asparagus and grilled shrimp are fine, but I am bothered by the HEAVY cream, butter and olive oil.  We use olive oil a lot, but not butter and heavy cream.

I am concerned also with his reciting the ‘necessary’ spices for this soup:  Sage, rosemary, bay leaves, all fresh.  Well….my dear non cooking husband doesn’t understand that fresh herbs can be very strong and the combination can completely overwhelm the soup.

So…Here is a close version, as close as I can think would be right, and frankly the internet didn’t help one bit.

Cream of Asparagus and Shrimp Soup

1 bunch of asparagus,(green not white)  peeled and cut into 1 inch chunks.

3 cups of vegetable stock

2 cups of Heavy Cream

1/4 lb of butter

1 package of cut mushrooms, fresh

1 tablespoon of flour

1/2 cup of sherry

8 oz. of cocktail shrimp, sauteed in butter

Puree the boiled asparagus, combine with the stock and simmer for 15 minutes, add the flour (actually make a roux..otherwise you have lumps) shrimp, mushrooms,  heavy cream and also 1/2 cup of sherry.  Simmer very low heat and season to taste.

I would say that parsley , cut up , a good handful, would be the only herb you would need here…except for a grating of fresh nutmeg.

I’ll report back with the results….but I think I will make this myself, because he will use every pot and pan in the kitchen and I will be left to clean it up.

Plus, I can always bribe him with the sherry.

Lady Nyo

Dance, Weight loss and Husbands….

I have been fortunate  in getting some invitations to dance in different venues.  One in particular will be quite a challenge, and I am holding off  relaying  information because things are not set yet.  However, this will be a great opportunity to dance with my husband.

I have a tall, well built husband (a bit younger…) with long flowing hair! It makes him ‘look good’ on a dance floor, but it’s been more of him in the past 5 years watching me (and the other bellydancers ) than him dancing.

That is about to change.

We are working up a routine.  He actually is excited about it, but of course, as a man, he is very modest about expectations…

At first, I thought of him more as a ‘pole’ to dance around, but then, thought again.  He’s strong, flexible (mostly) and  can be trained.

So! we are taking tango lessons in a few weeks…and he tells me ‘this isn’t necessary”.  Hah!  We are going to do the difficult and violent “Apache Dance”…”Ah poe shay” in French.  Has nothing to do with Native Americans.

It’s a dance that sprang  out of tango at the turn of the 20th century.  It’s basically a lowerclass dance, a dance of the underworld.  It has quite an interesting and colorful history, full of bad characters and women who died because of broken backs and necks.  I am trying to avoid this, hence setting the basis in tango.

I have lost weight in the past months, and when I came home from Montreal just a month ago, I thought this period was over…and weight loss would slow down.  It did for a while, and then picked up.  I think there are probably many reasons a woman loses weight: stress, exhaustion, excitement, love, etc…but I have been talking to some of my students about this and trying to figure out why, now….I would be losing weight.

One of my students is in her mid forties.  She lost 40 lbs. and went to size O.  She looked like a skeleton in my estimation.  She gained back 19 lbs.  She looks great, not a walking bunch of bones.  And belly dance, well, you have to have some curves and something to ‘throw’.  Hips that stick out are painful to look at…and even more painful to sleep on.  She now has regained the status of woman, not concentration camp victim.

In losing about 30 lbs. this fall and winter, I told her that I noticed that people’s behavior, especially men, were different.  I was the same person as I was before losing that weight, why did people treat me differently?

She was emphatic:  No, you are NOT the same person.  You feel differently about yourself, and you look and act differently. This sends a ‘signal’ to others..especially men.  You walk differently (hell, I thought that was just the ‘bellydance walk’ we cultivate…)

She’s right.  My self-confidence has gone up, too. I am approaching   more the weight I want to be…and losing more will be beneficial to doing this particular “Apache Dance”.  You need to be thin enough to be picked up and thrown around, though the point is also to be able to ‘break fall’ without getting hurt.   Properly, it can be done.

Well, I already know I will be spinning on my knees so I intend to wear knee pads under my very high, thigh high boots.  Extra padding will help  in this “Apache”.

We are having fun, my husband and I, contemplating this new partnering.  I didn’t  expect him to be so enthusiastic, but there is a lot of violence and sexy moves in the Apache.  Perhaps it appeals to some “inner Gangster” in him, but we shall see.  The tango lessons are to contain and control, give a basis for the movements, and this can only be a good thing.  We have already been talking “choreography” and have walked through some steps.

The violence and sex comes later.

A good example of “Apache” is below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clXRBPHrWLA&feature=related

Lady Nyo