read his mood, to cheer him on, to fight fair, making allowances for him, excuses for him, making myself attractive for him, making a home for all of us, making more money so the whole burden of bills wouldnât fall on his shoulders, working at home, working at work, working at everything, trying to be the woman who âhas it allâ and, in the end, having nothing.
For the previous seven days, that knowledge had driven me to despair. But now I realized that having nothing meant that I, too, was a blank slate. I was free to be or do anything I chose.
So what did I choose? If I had only myself to please, what would please me? How did I want to spend my time, effort, thoughts, and heart? Where should Iâ
A tremendous clank-bang, a sound like a hammer striking a broken brass bell, jarred me from my thoughts. The red monster bucked and jerked. I lost my grip on the handlebars and jumped back, frightened. It bucked again and tipped onto its side with the motor still running and the blades churning, throwing clods of dirt into the air.
I switched off the engine as quickly as I could and knelt down to inspect the damage. Iâd hit a rock, a big one. But there were no dents that I could see. Thank heaven! I really wasnât in the mood to explain a broken rototiller to Dan Kelleher.
He already thought I was crazy. He clearly hadnât bought my story about Brian not coming with me because he was traveling or about me being on sabbatical. Well, big deal. I wasnât trying to impress Dan Kelleher. I wasnât trying to impress anybody.
Besides that, I decided, I wasnât lying. I was on sabbatical. From here on out, if anybody asked me what I was doing in New Bern, I would say I was taking a sabbatical until the end of the summer. My seniors had all gotten their acceptance letters, so I could afford to take some time off. I needed a breakâfrom everything.
Come fall, I could write that fifty-thousand-dollar check to Libby Burrell and start the ball rolling on the divorce. But right now and for the rest of the summer, I would take a step back, focus on myself, on living and enjoying my life. It occurred to me that Brian might file divorce papers before the end of summer. Well, if he did, then he did. Iâd cross that bridge when I came to it. In the meantime, I was on sabbatical.
Of course, most sabbaticals involve some sort of project, lists of goals and plans of action. Normally that sort of thing would be right up my alley, but not now. Now I wanted something new, and maybe the new thing I needed was not to have a plan.
Unless . . . Unless ânewâ is the plan.
That was it! I would spend my sabbatical trying new thingsâthings Iâd always wanted to try but had never had time for. Something new every day. Or maybe every couple of days? Or even once a week? After all, there were apartment buildings in Manhattan with larger populations than the village of New Bern. How many new things could there be to do in a town this size?
But I had already tried one new thing: rototilling. My edges werenât as straight as they could have been, but I hadnât cut off any toes or broken the machine. Not bad for a first try.
I flopped on my behind in the dirt to catch my breath, still feeling the vibration of the big motor running through my hands and forearms, and laughed out loud.
The patch of tilled soil that stretched out before me was about forty feet long and twenty-five feet wide, a footprint almost as big as our apartment in the city! Holy crap!
Iâd been so focused on keeping the machine running in a straight line and so lost in my thoughts that Iâd tilled under at least a third of the side yard. Thank heaven for that rock in my path. If it hadnât stopped me, I probably wouldnât have any yard left.
But I was going to have a garden all right. A big one.
9
Ivy
âB ut why canât he?â Bobby whined, stretching out the âwhyâ and
For the previous seven days, that knowledge had driven me to despair. But now I realized that having nothing meant that I, too, was a blank slate. I was free to be or do anything I chose.
So what did I choose? If I had only myself to please, what would please me? How did I want to spend my time, effort, thoughts, and heart? Where should Iâ
A tremendous clank-bang, a sound like a hammer striking a broken brass bell, jarred me from my thoughts. The red monster bucked and jerked. I lost my grip on the handlebars and jumped back, frightened. It bucked again and tipped onto its side with the motor still running and the blades churning, throwing clods of dirt into the air.
I switched off the engine as quickly as I could and knelt down to inspect the damage. Iâd hit a rock, a big one. But there were no dents that I could see. Thank heaven! I really wasnât in the mood to explain a broken rototiller to Dan Kelleher.
He already thought I was crazy. He clearly hadnât bought my story about Brian not coming with me because he was traveling or about me being on sabbatical. Well, big deal. I wasnât trying to impress Dan Kelleher. I wasnât trying to impress anybody.
Besides that, I decided, I wasnât lying. I was on sabbatical. From here on out, if anybody asked me what I was doing in New Bern, I would say I was taking a sabbatical until the end of the summer. My seniors had all gotten their acceptance letters, so I could afford to take some time off. I needed a breakâfrom everything.
Come fall, I could write that fifty-thousand-dollar check to Libby Burrell and start the ball rolling on the divorce. But right now and for the rest of the summer, I would take a step back, focus on myself, on living and enjoying my life. It occurred to me that Brian might file divorce papers before the end of summer. Well, if he did, then he did. Iâd cross that bridge when I came to it. In the meantime, I was on sabbatical.
Of course, most sabbaticals involve some sort of project, lists of goals and plans of action. Normally that sort of thing would be right up my alley, but not now. Now I wanted something new, and maybe the new thing I needed was not to have a plan.
Unless . . . Unless ânewâ is the plan.
That was it! I would spend my sabbatical trying new thingsâthings Iâd always wanted to try but had never had time for. Something new every day. Or maybe every couple of days? Or even once a week? After all, there were apartment buildings in Manhattan with larger populations than the village of New Bern. How many new things could there be to do in a town this size?
But I had already tried one new thing: rototilling. My edges werenât as straight as they could have been, but I hadnât cut off any toes or broken the machine. Not bad for a first try.
I flopped on my behind in the dirt to catch my breath, still feeling the vibration of the big motor running through my hands and forearms, and laughed out loud.
The patch of tilled soil that stretched out before me was about forty feet long and twenty-five feet wide, a footprint almost as big as our apartment in the city! Holy crap!
Iâd been so focused on keeping the machine running in a straight line and so lost in my thoughts that Iâd tilled under at least a third of the side yard. Thank heaven for that rock in my path. If it hadnât stopped me, I probably wouldnât have any yard left.
But I was going to have a garden all right. A big one.
9
Ivy
âB ut why canât he?â Bobby whined, stretching out the âwhyâ and
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