The Right Words

Like most people, I find learning something new to be semi-fraught with frustration. Looking at it superficially, sterning is not the most obvious thing for me to be trying my hand at. I am smallish. Have generally worked at some sort of desk. I didn't grow up around boats, really. Oh, I'm an old hand at rowing- but running an outboard, tying knots, slinging around traps... ha. Welcome, Morgan, to the shallow end of your aptitude pool.

Last Friday found us setting two loads of traps- high tide was running at about 5 am and 5 pm, so those hours found us at the town landing, him in the boat receiving traps, me on the dock unloading them from his truck and passing them down. The traps are fished in pairs, and the order in which the traps are loaded makes a difference. At this point I had helped him take up most of his 800 traps last fall, and had then helped him put in the few hundred we'd managed to make time to set this spring. And yet. I still couldn't tell sink rope from float unless they were different colors. And I couldn't remember which had to be loaded first. It was all chicken and egg to me. While he can be very impatient with himself, fellow fisherman, his boat, and his gear, Dave is generally very patient with any sort of student. But at this point, at 5 am, on the third load of traps, after god knows how many seven-day work weeks, his patience was wearing thin.

"I'm sorry, I just don't know how to explain it better..."

My mood wasn't any better- I was feeling utterly inept. In almost everything academic, I've been a quick study, but all things mechanical, I am a drooling idiot. I don't know the jargon, I might get the big picture, but the little things escape me. I forget things easily if they aren't repeated daily.

After a while he says "The ones without the toggle in them. I need the ones without the toggle in them first."

No matter my trap dyslexia, no matter how bad I am at telling float from sink, I can definitely identify trap with a toggle attached to its coiled warp. I can also identify a trap without toggle.
We didn't say much, but quickly the process was smoother.

Later that night, dead tired, and about to get in some curative cuddles before dinner- the ones we were hanging on for all day, the phone rings. Cue the ex-wife ranting about how Dave needed to go find out who took her leaking propane tank- and why didn't he already know? For twenty years he has been letting her method of communication roll off his back. Her bizarre demands (it is still his job to deal with her problems?) coupled with her tone (strident puts it lightly) just raises his eyebrow and cues his selective hearing. I haven't had the time to learn that response, nor do I think it would ultimately be my style. I heard, as loudly as if the phone were up to my own ear, completely irrational demands. Which a.) makes me irritated and defensive, and b.) makes me want to set very clear boundaries. As to point b., I worked with a lot of poorly parented kids, so what can I say?

I wanted him to tell her exactly what she could do with her expectations. The more I listened, the more any sort of potential for an evening of relaxation slipped away. By the time he got off the phone, having somewhat placated her, I was strung out in the very special way that can only be brought on by intense ex-spousal contact. They are his boundaries to build, but they affect me, whether I like it or not. And whether he likes it or not.

I was, perhaps, visibly riled up. Which engendered his question "are you mad now?" One for emotional honesty, I replied "yes." So he rolled over to go to sleep. And I took a breath, and asked him to fill me in on whatever information he had managed to glean about his daughter who was having boyfriend trouble. That was what prompted the call- she was returning one he had made concerning their daughter. The opening line opening was literally "oh, whatever, she's fine- you need to find out who fucking took my propane tank..." To my overtures, he ruefully responded "nope, you're mad at me, and you don't want to hear it." And rolled over to his sleeping side.

Awesome. A long day, all we wanted to do relax together at day's end, and because of one phone call, we end the day unhappy. He is tired, and falls asleep, leaving me alone with my mood. I am tired, and do not fall asleep. Because now I am even more upset that Dave has ignored my attempts to move through my mood and to bring the evening back to normalcy. Pretty much all I wanted was for him talk to me, and to get back to sleepy limb-entwinement. Even when discussing the stressful stuff, we can generally do it well, in a mellow and reflective style. But we can't do that with either back turned.

I got up. Moved to the couch with my iPod and a comforter. And my cat. Contemplated going out for hike but realized I was way too tired physically for that to be a good fix. So I cocooned myself, and waited for my mood to go through metamorphosis. And for Dave to wake up.

He woke up just as I was beginning to doze. Comparatively puny as I am, he did not see my shape in the crumpled covers on the couch, and thought I had gone outside. He grabbed a beer and went to check the garden, and by the time he came back in, I had moved up to the bed where I hoped to get actual sleep. The cat (who had been giving me the requisite cheering cuddle) had left me when Dave had opened the door, so the couch had lost its charm.

So there we were. Me all catless and tired, him with a broken beer bottle. Both miserable. We curled up again and worked on definitions.

Prior to this night he assumed that when I am feeling any negative emotion he is to absolutely leave me alone. Sadly, I have two modes of crankiness, each needing opposite antidotes. When I am "annoyed," as when he repeatedly asks me what I writing (invariably I am writing something long-winded, so each time he asks, I am still writing the same damned thing I was writing when he asked five minutes prior), he should leave me alone. Or possibly he could put food in front me, and quietly back away. Irritability on my part has to do with tiredness, low blood sugar, and yes, repeated questions. It is trifling, and given a little bit of space (and a snack), I quickly swallow it. I don't like being irritable. When I am upset, it is over a particular and generally important issue: I want to work through things, preferably sooner rather than later. I don't like being upset.

So that was that. Is Morgan annoyed? Leave her alone. Is Morgan upset? Don't leave her alone. As to determining which diagnosis applied, he need only ask. When I am annoyed, he does get that one free question.

We quickly fell to being glad we were done with miscommunication for the day, and joined forces to determine the much more pressing matter of what in god's name we'd have the energy to prepare for dinner. Then to sleep, then to another 5am load of traps.

As to the propane mystery? A new friend of hers had loaded it onto his truck, so he could load it onto his boat, to take care of it for her.