Transitory storm

I returned from Pennsylvania two days ago. The drive is nearly seven hours. I stopped by Marie's house on my way home, bringing a tribute of fresh blueberry jam and stealing a few minutes to chat with Marie.  

Mark met me at home. Mark grew up in Ohio and then became a bush pilot in Tanzania for a number of years. He is a very calm person. And he's game for anything I throw at him. He makes me feel comfortable, so it's easy to have him around. Until I started hanging out with him, I didn't realize how often men feel that they need to compete with me. This guy seems totally okay being himself and this relaxes me. It lets me be myself. Also, he's game for almost any activity I'm interested in doing. We hike and bike, and bike some more. 

Mark spent the night and, as he slept in, I arose early. I made coffee and worked on a proposal for a few hours (it was due today).  When he awoke, we walked to the UPS store and around the block. I showered and left for a meeting and he returned home. This evening we met again for a bicycle ride. We rode down the Mt. Vernon trail and then returned and crossed the bridge for the National Harbor. It was beginning to rain. We stopped at a Mexican restaurant and ate guacamole and waited for the storm to pass. 

Mark and I talk about our experiences. I have been very frank with him, and he seems more interested than disturbed by what he hears.  He knows about Sjors and MIVD. I can talk through the details with him and it doesn't bother him. Because it is an unusual circumstance and because it had such a profound impact on my life, my close friends often don't like to know about it. Maybe it makes them feel that there is something fundamental they don't understand about me. In turn, I have found it difficult to relate to my friends when they're upset about gardening decisions or a difficult visit from the in-laws because these types of problems made me feel the bizarre gap between us.  But Mark has experienced deep personal tragedy and now, years later, this allows him to see and acknowledge another person's grief. I find this to be a relief. I don't have to hide the things that matter most to me. They are in the room with us, but they sit quietly in the corner, and we eat guacamole.