Yesterday, I spent a lot of time hunkered over a psychology book. The inconsistent teacher makes testing a real challenge. I read both the chapter on learning and motivation over again, taking a second round of copious notes, I tested on-line. I spent the biggest part of the day with my nose in that book, or staring off into space, my lips moving silently. I love school though. It would never have occured to me to go on my own. Really, that was Tim's idea. Left to my own devices, I'd have continued to say, 'after Cara graduates, then it will be my turn...' It was Tim who said, "Now's the time. You can't find work. Do it." And so I have done it, and I am having the time of my life.
Tim continues to work on an apartment. It should be ready to rent in a month or so. He's doing some beautiful work. He's doing most of it alone, which makes me feel like crap, but he's cheerful about it. He doesn't have any desire to go to school, he tells me (he's already been. He's a mathematical genius, but the rest of it bores him. He's the opposite of me, actually).
I sort of expected that when the kids grew up and it was just Tim and I, we'd have all sorts of time with each other, we'd be doing things together, and yet here we are, like as not headed in different directions each day.
The other day, I walked in the door after work, exhausted to my very bones. There was Tim sprawled on the couch watching, of all things, a cooking show. I stood behind the couch looking over him at the television as I took off my shoes, and I laughed just a little. But later on, before bed, I was checking the refrigerator to make sure that he had something for dinner the following night. He said, "Well, do we have any of that tafu stuff?" Tafu? I looked at him bewilderedly until I figured it out. Tofu. "No. We don't have tofu." Well, on the cooking show, the woman had been making a 'western omelet' using tofu. Once Tim found out what tofu was, he opted to make his western omelet the old fashioned way. With eggs. In any case, it kind of surprised me. Tim does not like to cook. He was on his own for eight years after his divorce, and as far as I can tell, he survived on hotdogs, frozen pizza and Taco Bell. He does not like to cook. He does not like to clean up the mess. He was very up front about that when we married. He likes to eat, and the fact that I like to cook was the underpinnings of a match made in heaven, to his way of thinking. But anyways, all these years later, I went off to work, and Tim made his own supper, whipping up a western omelet, which 'tasted great' he cheerfully told me, and he was quite pleased with it. Still surprises me to think of it. I'm going to school now, and I'm being changed by the experience. Tim's changing too. Like dance partners, he sways and bends with me, but we're always in step. The music that we dance to is a rhythm that we have created ourselves. It makes me so very glad.