I used to have a lot of rules. I needed to make love at midnight on New Year’s Eve to make sure the incoming year would be beautiful. Or, whenever my spouse and I went on a trip for either vacation or business, the sooner we made love the sooner the trip seemed to begin. I once gave my new boyfriend, the one I next married, oral sex in the car on the way to a retreat for his law firm. It set the tone that we are connected.
My first husband and I made love every night except those where I was indisposed. It’s probably why we stayed married for 10 years even though the union was doomed. We got married when I was fifteen and he was 18, two months before our daughter was born. Although I knew we were in for the long haul when we tied the knot, the ensuing years allowed me to develop clarity for who I wanted to be and who I wanted to be with. It wasn’t him. It took me a few years to clue him in on that. Nevertheless, he was unprepared for my departure.
Looking back on those times I’ve often thought these were the rules of a young mind. Wise women don’t hold themselves to rules and regulations regarding these things, I thought. Then this morning I realized it is the wise woman who knows revealing your inner self or tender underbelly, showing another that you care is an entrée into the moment you connect with that someone special.
Norin and I got to the cabin on Wednesday. It’s been a stressful time for us. We had houseguests four nights the weekend before, and our friend who is sitting our house was there the night before we got on the road. We’re partners in a restaurant and the chef quit the Saturday we had guests. It seemed all the partners were on edge and although we have back-up plans, unrelenting tension was in the back of our minds. After being on the road for 8 hours, getting settled and getting dinner ready, we had no energy for intimacy.
We’re considering selling the cabin. We have a lot of history in the area, coming up here with the kids and grandkids, Norin’s parents when they were still alive. We’ve owned the cabin for 16 years and when we bought it, it changed our priorities. We were both working, living the high life in Los Angeles and traveling the world. This place was our sanctuary from that busy hectic life.
We both retired from our jobs in 2015 and eventually moved away to the Central Coast. Our new home is big and beautiful with grand views and vistas, a pool, a sand volleyball court, our gardens and an orchard. Norin and I have our own private offices and more space than we need on grounds that shield us from others. We have lovely neighbors and we’re only 20 minutes from Morro Bay with the best fishing for the fish we actually like to eat.
Contrast that to the cabin where the majority of our friends have retired and moved away, the homes around ours are filled with noisy workaday people, and our little nest is just that. A 1000 foot nest in the midst of a very active beautiful, populated area filled with tourists, photographers and fishermen. We don’t go up in the winter, so we don’t trade out fishermen for skiers.
Friday morning at the cabin, Norin turned over to me in bed. I just woke and we were spooning, him rubbing my back and shoulders. He murmured, “your skin is so soft,” into my ear and I rolled over closer to him. His hand wandered where his intentions became clear. I wanted this, all of this. We connected in the way we have forever. Through illness, pain, joy, aging, anger or frustration, we reconnect each time in whatever way we can and whatever way works. Our connections aren’t related to where we are, it’s who we are and who we choose to be and who we choose to be with. I hope it lasts forever and think it will for as long as we choose.