Flower Fortune- Sweetbriar: Poetry and fragrance.

Tying the knot in a bowstring.
Sweetbrair combs and honeysuckle earring
when I was trapped in an era of floral.

I have been away for so long from Mindsay. And I plan to write everything the way it's been happening. Otherwise, I'll have compromised the idea of a journal; of a place for soul-searching and finding, perhaps. For one thing, my children have been having their own troubles. The older twins' teacher has told them that they are not reading in the correct manner; that my children do not know the importance of reading in the right way. I brought her a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird and asked, Have you by chance read this book before? She grimaced at me, choosing right there and then not to like me. Yes, of course, she answered. So have my sons, I said. I left the book with her, the part where Scout goes to school for the first time highlighted and underlined. My husband told me I should not be so stubborn. Now, he said, she'll blame us for being English.

The second reason I haven't been on Mindsay is the biggest, most delicate issue. I was convinced I wouldn't write it for the whole world to see (if they wanted to). But I reasoned with myself. Why shouldn't I write it? Here I am, being myself, doing the things I do for a reason. And I'm a literary critic. I can do what I please when it comes to words, when it comes to the nitty gritty of truths and falsities. I am a reality in which I cannot even escape myself. And here I am.

My husband has not mentioned anything to me; has not doubted me in any shape. But he knows. He knows that I am in love with someone else.

You will judge me here. You will call me names, drown me in  your judgements. But it will not change the fact that I have fallen for a doctor that teaches me Renaissance fiction. It is not a physical affair in the least, although I should say that it has gone beyond just standing and wishing for something to happen. But, instead, it is an intellectual affair-one I cannot have with my husband who, in his own sense, clings to biology and chemistry as if they are his only truths in life.

I would also like to point out the fact that I am not out of love with my husband. He is still the only one I have ever trusted, the only man who knows exactly who I am, the only man whom I would die for. He is the father of my children, the one who saved me from a ruined past life, the one whom every woman wants but not can have, save me. He would never have his own affaire. It may perplex readers to know that he knew I was in love before I even did. He invited the chap over for parties many times, and watched while he bounced our children on his knee. He still invites him over for drinks on Wednesdays. He does not blame me, he does not think me crude or immoral, or any of the things our society would define me as.

It seems strange that after all these years, I would choose now to have such a love. I will write more later. Guns, Germs, and Steel I must read. My baby, Ginny is crying also. Harry wants me to talk with him. The boys are over at Rev's. I have so much to say, but with no time. Harry kisses me on the forehead. What's it? he asks. Eh bien.......

We have come so far to have lost so much.
We do not live by the same standards. Otherwise, we'd be
ordinary.