Blog/ Counterblog

Late in the evening, I am usually tucked into my office, reading or writing email, cruising the internet, or writing something. Marie will sometimes stop by, as she does her getting ready for bed routine, which also includes a last look at her computer, an email or two. I hear her and feel her behind me as she approaches, and as she rests her soft little hands on me, I can feel her love pour out, from her heart, down her arms, and out her fingertips into my shoulders.

Sometimes she will lie on my office couch and we will review the day, make plans, giggle. Other times she just stands behind me, softly massaging my shoulders, and feasts her eyes on my computer screen, maybe scanning for some damning comment in the blog entry I am composing.

Marie gets a kick out of my writing, and I love to share it with her, so at these times, I let her read, see what she says. Or I will even read it aloud to her, as she stands listening, and more fully concentrates on my massage, which suits me best.

Mostly, she signals her approval, while kneading my neck, with titters, and sometimes, a full blown belly laugh. But there are those times, as she explores my words with her eyes and ears, when she is taken aback by some comment I have made. At that moment, the full wrath of one assertive and honest female graduate of The University of Chicago comes to call.

There have been moments, along the blog trail, when Marie has let it be known in no uncertain terms that something I have written is, as she puts it, “wrong”, perhaps my description on some event in our life together. I will discuss the issue with her, and make any changes that I see fit, which basically means, if I have made a big faux, and it is bugging her, I change it. She will cautiously and respectfully give me her interpretation, while I listen attentively. Mostly, she makes good points, and I agree. Sometimes, though, I have to stick to my guns. (As in the “sickle controversy”.)

Marie is a fabulous writer, with a book on the way, but much of her writing time is sacked by her other responsibilites, her job, her filmmaking, the care of our son Blaine, and other pursuits. But she has sometimes threatened to start her own blog -- or as she calls it, a "counterblog"-- to refute anything in mine that she feels is incorrect. Our conversation about some topic I have covered begins politely, but has occasionally digressed, with humour, as we each take a stand. “Ric , you ignorant slut”, she lectures, “you can’t say that!”

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