A Weekend in the Country or Overly Verbose Recounting of My Life as of Late

The Farmhouse

I was called out on my blogging laziness as of late - though its more about time availability and computer access than laziness I'd venture to say. This has been an odd week, both flying past the radar of my awareness and plodding endlessly along in horrendously elongated moments all at once. I have been searching in vain for a chunk of time in which to sit down and relay my life as of late and somehow its just been an impossibility. I suppose some weeks are just like that.

So the weekend was so very lovely - as I had hypothesized, once I finally got there I was incredibly glad I went. The outdoors and nature are the temple of my own personal spirituality; its my connective force and when I am away for too long I start to unravel. I had no idea how badly I was in need of some outdoor time until I actually got the salve for the city wounds I had no idea had been inflicted.

The trip began with us leaving two hours later than originally scheduled. Doc Harley had been big on us leaving as early as possible because we were riding the motorcycle and it gets quite cold when riding in the daytime, much less at night. So I left work early, threw anything that looked incredibly warm and a bunch of long underwear into a backpack in 15 minutes and then waited for an hour and a half. This didn't actually bother me at all; on the contrary I was just happy that it wasn't my fault we were leaving late. DH pulled up with the motorcycle and trailer attached, and we proceeded to get geared up. For me, this entailed putting on this special motorcycle pants and coat engineered to keep the wind out, protect you, and make yuo look like an abominable snowman. Once bundled within an inch of my life, I then rolled towards the bike and attempted to heft my exponentially increased frame into the bike without damaging DH, the bike, or myself. Doc Harley has special electric clothes that plug into the bike and keep him oh so warm and toasty, so with all my layers and his lack of we were about the same size. I felt so very butch.

Then we sat in traffic for a very long time inching our way towards and across the George Washington Bridge. That was definitely not the fun part.

Once we got going on the highway, I got to truly discover the joys of the motorcycle, which is quickly becoming one of my favorite modes of transportation. It was like flying but oh so smooth and more comfortable than a car. I was actually nice and toasty throughout the 4 hour trip except for my fingers and toes. I need thermal socks. A lot of them.

The colors were spectacular; we floated through the vibrant dreamland of a million and one great works of art.

The farmhouse was charming; cold, but absolutely charming. This lovely couple that I've met a few times were already there when we arrived several hours late, luckily they had wine and a fire going outside. We settled in, had some wine, Doc Harley started the homemade vegetarian lentil soup he was making for me to have all weekend, and then we went out to sit by the fire with the other couple. I happen to enjoy their company a lot, especially the woman whom I will dub The Persian Princess since she is from the land I was born in. At one point The Persian Princess and I started bellydancing to some of the bellydancing music she had on her ipod. We danced together for a very long time, and it was such an odd bonding experience - just the act of our bodies moving rhythmically together interpreting and navigating the space where the music travelled through our bodies. It made me think that we were somehow participating in an age old ritual that was not in any way time or place specific, but something womyn have done for years and years. It was like venting and communicating and liberating something deep within all at once.

Or maybe I was just tipsy.

By the time we stopped, we had stripped down to only our bras and jeans (bellydancing is quite a workout, you know); needless to say the boys were enjoying the dancing as much as we were. Lets just say that I really enjoyed the great outdoors Friday night; and boy was it hot.

Saturday we went for a gorgeous motorcycle ride through the mountains, spent quite a bit of time sitting by a brilliantly noisy stream, and found this absolute treasure of an art gallery with an even bigger treasure of a little old man who was the artist creating these fantastical sculptures with found objects. Then we headed back to make a fire and start dinner. I, unfortunately had a bit too much wine Saturday night and somehow ended up completely passed out quite early. All I remember is Doc Harley coming in and gently taking off my clothes and tucking me into bed. I had intended to work on the gigantic wings Saturday night, but the unexpected nap forced me to work all morning on Sunday instead, while DH packed up everything and cleaned up everything.

There were a few frustrating moments as well. He is frighteningly like my father in some respects, such as the tendency to make suggestions in a way that sounds more like an order than a suggestion. I know he doesn't intend it that way, as at one point when he said "Put that bag in the trailer" I snapped back at him and he responded with "I'm sorry. I won't try to be helpful anymore." He's also like an impatient little kid; when he decides he wants to do something he wants to do it right then. When we were in the gallery, the Persian Princess was buying a sculpture; Doc Harley had already bought his work of art and he was hungry and ready to go. He said "We're going now, we'll meet you back at the house." instead of just waiting a few minutes for her to complete her purchase and finish talking with the artist. I said "You're not going to die of starvation for waiting a few extra moments for The Persian Princess to finish up here. Let's wait." And he did, it was just a little frustrating.

In the grand scheme of things, I suppose that the annoying habbits really don't outweigh the wonderful qualities that make me absolutely gaga over this man. My mother said "Look, no one's perfect. You're never going to find someone perfect so you either learn to live with the faults or you end it, but it sounds like this is pretty good and you really like this man so I'd stick it out if I were you and find a way to deal with it." She's right, I think it just triggered something in those moments being so reminiscent of the frustrating qualities of my father.

The truth of the matter is that I think I'm falling in love with this man.

On Tuesday night I went with Mr. Artsy Hotpants to the premiere of Craig Lucas' new film, The Dying Gaul,(which I highly reccomend, by the way. There's some absolutely beautiful acting in it) and got quite sloshed at the after party (just doing my duty to take advantage of free liquor, as any starving actor would do...plus I always get shy at these things). As we were walking/stumbling towards the subway, I blurted out my plan to inform Doc Harley of my feelings that night. Luckily MAH is a very wise and loving friend, who made me promise not to make the mistake of saying this drunk. I am a womyn of my word, even when messy drunk, and kept my promise. Instead I drunkenly said "I'm really drunk and trying to be careful what I say. MAH told me there are things I shouldn't tell you.", to which Dh responded, "If he told yuo not to tell me something, then by all means don't tell me!." I then said "Oh no, its not about MAH, its about you." Dh replied, "That's okay. I don't mind if people talk about me when I'm not there." To which I blurted out "No! Its a good thing! A really good thing! I'm just not supposed to say anything while I'm drunk!"

My god, its astounding what little grasp I have on subtlety. Thankfully I then passed out about 2.5 seconds later, a loud snore being the only sound emitted from my mushy brain.

Mr. Artsy Hotpants believes that I shouldn't tell DH how I feel. He asked me if I needed to say it. I said I supposed that I didn't. He then said "Right. You want to. You want to say it because you want him to say it back to you. That's why you shouldn't say it.". MAH says that he clearly likes me, he clearly wants to be with me and I should let that be enough right now. I suppose he's right, but at the same time I want reassurance. I want constant reassurance. I want an insurance policy that I'm not going to open myself only to be cruelly trampled and have my guts callously strewn about.

I'm not sure an insurance policy like that exists.

I suppose I ought to just take the little signs I get - the fact that he text messages me during the day just to let me know he's thinking of me. The fact that last night on the phone he suggested that we go to the Guggenheim on Saturday with MAH and then take him out to lunch to celebrate his wonderful LSAT score - he's thinking of my friends and clearly wanting to be a part of my life. These are clear signs that he wants to be with me and likes me. Why am I still frightened and insecure? Why is love a terrifying prospect, when really its a joyous one? Why am I such a fucking mess?

Please tell me I'm just human!