One evening last week I packed a bag with snacks and a beer and headed out into the night. I brushed what felt like 18 inches of snow off my car and slipped inside, headed downtown to the Big Sky Documentary Film Festival.
I arrived to find a packed lobby, everyone buzzing around talking about the film they’d just seen or the one they were about to see. When the doors to the theatre opened I walked the worn aisle of the Wilma Theatre, found a seat close to the front and got comfortable.
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When Seth and I embarked on this marriage thing some six and a half years ago, we promised to keep it between the two of us. We promised to love only each other and I think we really meant it when we said we’d do it.
But, as every couple knows, some things change. Especially when you have children.
We’ve tried not to, but in the end we’ve both looked to someone other than each other to provide support, guidance and the occasional late night drink. I never thought I’d be into this sort of thing but I can honestly say I’m okay with it. We get what we need. We’re happier, our children are happier.
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Even though I logged enough hours in malls as a teenager that the thought of it makes me cringe, I’m not really a shopper these days.
Part of it has to do with money. Why go if you don’t have the money? So, usually, I stay home. I mean I shop for food and make the obligatory trip to Target every few weeks but I rarely go to the mall unless I need something specific, something I don’t think I can get anywhere else on the planet or in the virtual universe.
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The other day I walked in the door at the end of the day to find Seth ready to pull his hair out.
“Juice won’t take a nap, Eliza either and they are both bouncing off the walls,” he said. I sort of half ignored him nuzzled sweet Lucille and followed Eliza to her room so she could show me her dress up outfit.
A little while later he announced that he and his dad, who was visiting, were going to the bar to watch the game. That got my attention. Seth’s dad doesn’t drink and Seth has “never watched the game” as long as I’ve known him. He, after all, still refers to football teams as squads.
“What game?” I said.
“Oregon is playing in the national championship,” he said. “In football.”
“Oh, I knew that,” I said. “But I had no idea you did.”
“Bye,” he said. “We’ll be back soon.” And there were gone, out the door before I could say another word. [Read more]