Monday, July 18, 2011

Suburbs of Our Discontent

"She loved me for the dangers I had passed, and I loved her that she did pity them."

I used to think that Othello and Desdemona's relationship was a crock. This was back when I was a sophomore in college, and was raging against the patriarchy in that way that only 19-year-olds freshly sprung from their first Feminist Theory class can. I thought that Othello's whole "I loved her because she listened to my stories and felt badly for me" was the least romantic courtship story ever--plus, why wasn't he listening to her problems?

Then I got married. For 14 years and counting as of last week.

I still think Othello was a crappy listener, but I understand more about loving someone for the dangers they've passed (even if they don't involve pirates and cannibals). We've seen each other through a lot. We've covered a lot of ground together.

Today, my husband called me from Palo Alto where he's doing some business. He had just dropped in on the Greek landlady who rented us our first apartment. I love that she's still there, and that she remembers us, and still likes to pull out the Ouzo at 2:00 in the afternoon.

We got engaged there, and got our first jobs there; it's where he watched without judging as I obsessively made paper ornaments for our first Christmas tree to get my mind off waiting for the phone to ring for MLA interviews; I made my first 9-1-1 call there when he sliced his finger doing dishes and then passed out when he saw the blood.

I do love him for the dangers that he's passed, and for the stories we've made together. Even the ones that didn't work out anywhere near the way we planned.

No comments:

Post a Comment