It began in 2024, with a highly anticipated visit with friends. Upon arriving at the house, one of our hosts, in a super festive mood, eagerly showed me a new purchase, and actually said these words, “I hope this makes you jealous.” My body froze in shock (why would anyone say this?!), and I quickly changed the subject. Later, in the warm intimacy of a moving vehicle, the two of us chatting convivially, more horrible words were uttered.

Before I say what they were, I have two thoughts/truths to convey. The first is a defense mechanism recently “invented” by my own person, but it may be actual gospel elsewhere, and I had yet to encounter it. Anyway, it goes like this: whenever I feel hurt by another, I mentally remove myself, repeat what was said aloud, and hear it as a stranger would, like eavesdropping. How do I react now?

The second relates to my marriage with Greg. Since we chose not to have kids, our relationship is our beloved child. It is nearly 35 years old and looked upon reverentially. It is sometimes petulant, oftentimes silly, other times awkward, and mostly quite loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. Without the distraction of child rearing, we have put our all into its cultivation. We have had lengthy discussions on what is best for it and us. It is well oiled, well loved, well considered. No detail has been left to chance, really. It works.

So, driving along, me feeling warm and fuzzy, with what I thought was the best company, I was verbally assaulted. My friend, in what I can only assume was, as I am not a mind reader, a fervent zeal to demonstrate her moral superiority over a different, lesser woman of close relation, forgot who she was with (unemployed me), and uttered a fierce pride in never “using” her partner, for “his” insurance. “At least I never did THAT.”

For context, when I was very young and imagined my life, it was not with a man, but as an independent woman, with a great job, in a fabulously cozy and well decorated home. What a crazy surprise to find a perfect partner so young (19!), and the homes I imagined soon thereafter. A greater surprise, more so anguish, was at not being gainfully employed, or even, to be honest, employable, for the better part of the last two decades.

After much soul searching, Greg and I made peace with it. Him more than me, truth be told, but with a great partnership, comes great understanding. It is now our shared pain, and when I am down about it, our shitty burden. OURS. No one else has dominion over it. We have mutually worked our way in, up, down, and around it.

That being said, this has not prevented me from having deep shame on the subject. No surprise, guess how horribly I was stricken upon hearing her words?! For nearly a year (!!), I lingered silently over them, sometimes defeated, others positively riled. Was I really a user? Did Greg feel the same? One day, he made mention of his tiring of our friend’s frequent caustic remarks on all manner of subjects, as she rarely had an unexpressed thought, however rude or unkind.

I saw my opening, screwed up my courage, and came to my eavesdropping exercise. We were now collectively sad and angry. Who on earth declares such things to a supposedly dear friend? So, we ruminated, for days and days and days, and wrote the kindest letter we could, leaving the friendship.

It was, wildly, not the last. After a horrifyingly painful few days in the company of another “friend,” aided by the eavesdropping tool, we felt yet more disbelief at how easy it seemed for people we dearly loved, for decades, to treat us so badly. And not for the first time.

We came to realize many things. First, these friendships were forged as young adults, when our values and beliefs were less solid, and unkindness wasn’t the deal breaker it is today. Second, when we lived in Portland (more than ten years ago!), and only encountered them every few years, their insensitive idiosyncrasies were less visible, and we didn’t truly know who they were. If we met them now, they would remain strangers. Finally, we noted, in small part, the fault was ours, for not setting better boundaries. “I don’t like that. Please stop.” You can bet your sweet bottom that future friends will know better where we stand.

Good Monday, dear reader! I type to you in the cool of August, a rare morning when the temperature upon waking was two degrees below seventy. The glory and wonder!

The cool short lived, as I worked out in the basement, intervally “running” my heart out on the rebounder. Four minutes of fury, followed by a more lackadaisical pace for the same length, three times through . It’s supposed to make me stronger. The jury is still out on that, but it does make me sweaty and tired.

Now to the flowers! The back garden is ripe with hollyhocks and sunflowers. Hundreds of blooms in total. Winged creatures galore: hummingbird, bee, butterfly, wasp, moth, fly, and tiny critters I cannot identify. I delight in being a source of food and congregation. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

After suffering pretty much my whole life from a painful and tender, vomit-prone digestive system, and having it only minorly given proper attention by doctors, I took the reins and made an appointment with a tummy pro. The wait was three months, and perhaps out of sheer relief at the thought, my symptoms dissipated. I went to the appointment anyway and had a delightful interaction with the specialist, felt 100% heard and believed and started a battery of tests. Our mutual guess at my condition: gallstones. Little nuggets of bile keeping me from proper digestion.

While waiting for the results, I awoke one middle of the night in a great, fevered pain. Nausea. Diarrhea. All the fun things. We called the nurse line and she said get ye to an E.R. pronto! We did. A full battery of pain and anti-nausea meds, tests by a kindly host of many nurses and one doctor, and not a single gallstone found. But what? The first I ever heard of biliary dyskenisia, what I am not-so-affectionately calling a lazy gallbladder. Like my Grandpa would say, “It’s just sitting there, like a bump on a log.”

Another big test one week later that included a radioactive tracer, and we have bump on a log confirmation. My gallbladder does not work! Because it causes much pain without offering anything useful means I will need yet another surgery. Wah. I really hoped I was done with them. Better than the alternative, however, so fingers crossed it is relatively soon and incident free. Please think good thoughts!

Also, if something continues to be wrong with your body, please advocate for yourself. My specialist said, “Everyone is always so happy to get this news, even though it means surgery.” It’s because we’re so relieved not be crazy!