Yesterday, for the very first time in our decade teacher, my wife, a/k/a Tarzana, The Willa Cather Girl, the Freda Kahlo Girl, the Vulva Girl, the Garden And Nature Girl, announced firmly and dramatically that we were going to deal with the heatwave in this way: “we’re going up to the bedroom, turning on the air conditioner, reading, napping, talking.”
She ordered me upstairs – no argument – and to my surprise, joined me in this sudden Saturday afternoon “vacation,” normally a time of frantic hard labor on the farm.
We had the sweetest time for about three hours. We brought snacks up there and cool drinks, I finished a novel and started a non-fiction book, “Leonardo’s Last Painting,” and slept and stayed cool and comfortable, heatwaves don’t mix with the medications I’m on.
Maria was absolutely euphoric about this time off from work, she has always struggled to rest, she not only has the blood of a lizard but the heart of a nuclear reactor. This is how it should be, she insisted, this is how it will be! I was intrigued by this new turn, this sudden realization that we don’t need to go away and spend money to relax, we can do it anytime right here in our own house.
“Isn’t this great,” she said, “I’m so happy relaxing like this with you!” Me, too, I said, me too.
Didn’t I agree, she asked several times? Wasn’t it a good idea? I uttered some of the most important words that I know: “yes, dear, you’re probably right!” I did express some mild skepticism that this would ever happen since it has never happened when temperatures were less than 105 degrees and people like me were being warned to stay inside and lie down in cold water.
That was a mistake, I was berated scornfully as short-sighted and weak of heart and imagination.
This morning, I got up early, as I do on Sunday, to let Maria sleep and do some farm chores like feeding the animals, making sure they had water, etc.
“What time is it?,” she asked suddenly when I came upstairs to check on her? “It’s almost eight o’clock,” I said.
“Goodness,” she said. “I’ve got to get up!” What’s the hurry I asked?
Well, she said, “I’ve got to put frames on Sue Silverstein’s paintings for the Mansion Memory Care unit, I’ve got to stack some of the firewood, there’s a cord left out there, we’ve got to Jean’s for breakfast and the farmer’s market for some mushrooms and chicken meatballs, water the gardens, and maybe we’ll go to see a movie. And,” she added brightly, “I want to finish my book and blog, and we should do a podcast.”
In my head, I counted up about seven or eight straight hours of work, driving around and hard labor. When I asked was this “rest,” this “vacation at home” going to come?
She looked at me as if I had just fallen out of the back end of a horse. When we got home from breakfast, I blogged and took some photos and I couldn’t find her. I went outside and I heard a banging and a thumping, and I followed the sound.
There, I found Tarzana, one of Maria’s many alternative identities, she was swinging a giant sledgehammer like a toothpick, pounding stakes into the ground to stabilize some hollyhocks that had gotten too tall and fallen over.
As I write this, the afternoon is wearing on and I hear the sound of metal frames being assembled – the framing of the paintings for the Mansion. I’m not even going to mention the “vacation” we were going to take, and the firewood stacking hasn’t even begun.
Maybe the next time it’s 105 degrees, she will rest again.
I’m planning for dinner. Spinach lasagna for her, chicken meatballs for me.
I love all the subpersonalities Maria has. I am a great fan of playing with my own subpersonalities and those of my friends. There is a very interesting book on the subject: “Subpersonalities, The People Inside Us.” (John Rowan). This is reproduced from a page talking about the book:
We all have had the experience of being divided, of being in two minds’ about something – one part of us wants to do this, another wants to do that. Subpersonalities is the first book to do justice to the phenomenon as a normal feature of our psychological life. John Rowan argues that we all have a number of personalities that express themselves in different situations and that by recognising them we can come to understand ourselves better and improve our relationships with others. Anyone reading this book will run the risk of making quite new discoveries about themselves. In looking at where subpersonalities come from, John Rowan explores the work of psychologists and psychotherapists, from Jung and Freud onwards, and adds insights gained from his own work as a therapist and counsellor. He relates the journey of discovery that he himself undertook in search of his own subpersonalities. The result is a fascinating book that challenges our accepted view of ourselves and provides an intriguing picture of how human beings work and why communication between them so often goes wrong. Subpersonalties is a book for anyone interested in their own personality and how it helps or hinders their everyday life.