Shopping with Mari for shirts will take my mind off of a lot of things.
It is like all of my favorite things at once: fabric, clothes, mixing & matching, details, menswear, envisioning, tiny pieces, ordering, my man. I love it.
I asked him if he didn't want one white shirt. "Only, if the fabric is really great," he said.
Oh, I know what he means. Can you see that? Thie circles and the herringbone? Ridiculous, I love it so much. I want 111000 square feet of it to drape our bedroom walls & ceiling.
I've been thinking a lot about (encore vingt ans après) when the Israeli was serving his compulsory. While he was there, Hamas began in detonating suicide bombers with some zeal, and there was a long, hazy space where how Israel would choose to respond militarily was unclear.
I was glad when he returned, glad to have him back. We differed so elementally then, in the 90s, about what was happening, what it was to be, his role -- what was a right perspective. I let it lie, a lot of the time, a big, fat elephant in room with us, but I would shoo it behind a column or throw some old quilt over it, and really, there were times nothing loomed larger than he. (I could drink a case of him.)
Right before he left, we had some honest, careful, diplomatic words about our difference, both of us coy in concealment. While he was away, we sent a raft of debating missives, day after day, week in and week out. When he came home, I did not want to argue any more.
It was in the 90s, then, with my best & oldest friend, that I learned how to let rightness -- actual moral rectitude -- be the ground upon which I would stand. Its gravitational field would inform him when he came near, impose its rule. I could quietly let the beam of rightness shine from my fingertips, from my eyes, and from the ends of my hair. Quietly, so as to separate rightness from righteousness.
I don't think I could articulate it then, but now I think that there is everything in that, with an important person, with an issue that has no compromise, to live where you are, to hold the line, but quietly. After he came to me, since he has stayed with me, I have only once in all these years ever talked about what it was like before. To talk about what it was like before has this implication of before when you were so wrong & ok, silently, anyway.
I have never been able to exercise such restraint in every situation, God knows I lack the strength, but also: I lack the interest. Not everyone can be so important.
The Israeli told me just last week, "I might make that, but I will not call it hummous."
I said, "Ok, baby." Then I zipped my lips.
Je demeure xoxox