Today The Mister is in the mountains, snowshoeing. I am concentrating on the fact that he will most certainly come back alive.
To distract myself, I watched Silkwood, an ’80’s flick, starring Meryl Streep and Kurt Russell.
The movie had a scene where Meryl had just had a lovely evening with Kurt, and he was showing her out the next day. He looked all lovey-dovey at her while she asked him to do some chores before she returned that night. She said something goofy, they both laughed, she waved good bye, got into her car, and drove off.
I thought, this scene smacks of foreshadow. She’ll get into a car accident and die. Cutting away from the car wreckage, they’re going to replay this scene, only it will be in slow motion, with sappy music.
And that’s exactly what they did.
And that’s why it’s Hollywood’s fault I always think The Mister is going to unwittingly snowshoe himself off a cliff–because each time we have a tender moment, I think about how heart wrenching it would be to rewatch it in slow motion to a bittersweet soundtrack.
This charming quirk of mine takes many forms. He likes to travel, and I’m convinced his plane will crash every time. He loves to camp, and I’ve imagined him getting struck by lightening. The first time I said “I love you” was the night before he was going to foray into the woods, and I was traveling overseas to visit a friend. I had to say it then or never, because it was so obvious that if I managed to survive my plane ride, he would most certainly be eaten by bears.
I like to think of this irrational fear as the last bit of housekeeping I should tend to before I procreate. I can imagine it translating into a desperate need to keep my child safe, at the expense of not letting him do outrageous things like ride a bike, go to school, or eat peanuts.

7 comments
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March 25, 2008 at 3:07 pm
Baraka
The more I wrote, and the more I handed out the URL to my friends, the more I realized that what made a compelling story was honesty.But who wants to be honest when everyone you know is reading your blog?
And who wants to read a blog that’s less than honest?
Exactly.
I relate so much to your dilemma, having shut down one blog and started another where I could be honest and not worry about what my mom (et al) was going to say.
That’s why I love this essay and recite 5, 13, 15, and 19 to myself every day over morning coffee.
Welcome back to blogging - I’m looking forward to reading more!
Love,
Baraka
March 31, 2008 at 9:56 am
Madeline
What a fabulous link! Thanks, Baraka. I think I’ll need to make that blog a daily haunt for a while. She rocks.
P.S. regarding #13, kindly point me to all your entries about sex.
March 31, 2008 at 4:39 pm
Baraka
Ah Maddy, it’s all about sex on my secret blog
April 2, 2008 at 2:40 am
muppiechronicles
When I was really little, like too little to think about these things, I decided that someday I would write a book because it was the only way to become immortal.
So, I dig.
(Loving it, by the by.)
April 2, 2008 at 9:53 am
Madeline
Muppichronicles: Thanks so much for dropping by. Crazy thoughts for little thinkers, don’t you think? But I copy that, my friend. Happy to meet a kindred.
May 4, 2008 at 6:28 am
Achelois
“The first time I said “I love you” was the night before he was going to foray into the woods, and I was traveling overseas to visit a friend. I had to say it then or never, because it was so obvious that if I managed to survive my plane ride, he would most certainly be eaten by bears.”
Haha! i couldn’t stop laughing at that. You are so crazy and so sweet! I am just as paranoid myself. I try not to look into the children’s or Aly’s eyes when they leave home every morning
May 12, 2008 at 11:34 pm
Madeline
Achelois, SO great to find another paranoid person out there. So strange, isn’t it? We really do have to laugh, or else we’ll go mad.