Sunday, October 18, 2009

אני שומעת שיר ואני מזילה דמעות
ואין לי למה להיות עצובה
אבל המוזיקה פורטת על מיתרי הנוסטליה ופותחת מגירות שלא ידעתי שהיו קיימות
ומוציאים ממני רגש דמוי-ייאוש ועצב.
הוא התלהב מהרעיון של ר' אריה לוין שהתייחס לאשתו ולו כישות אחת- "כואבת לנו הרגל", וכו'.
אז הוא מדבר ככה לפעמים ואני ממש אוהבת את זה:
"עוד מעט נקבל את המשכורת ויהיה לנו 1,000 ומשהו שקל..."
ואני לא זוכרת מה עוד אבל יש עוד...

אני כל כך אוהבת איך שהוא מתייחס לדברים ומדבר על דברים. על כל דבר הוא מדבר בצורה הכי נכונה והכי מכובדת, זה ממש מעורר השראה. ופשוט איך שלפני כל דבר שהוא עושה או כל החלטה הוא חושב מה הכי נכון. לפעמים זה אפילו משגע אותי. לפעמים המוסריות שלו מכה אותי בהפתעה ומעליבה אותי לרגע אחד עד שאני מתאוששת ונזכרת שהוא צודק ושנשאר לי רק ללמוד ממנו: שלפעמים אנחנו צריכים לוותר על הנוחות והאנוכיות שלנו כזוג כדי לעשות את מה שנכון וטוב כלפי אחרים.
אני כל הזמן לומדת ומשתפרת כשאני איתו.
אני לא טובה כמוהו. הוא כל כך טוב. בנאדם פשוט טוב. אין לי עוד דרך לתאר את זה

It reminds me of my favorite book, Walk Two Moons (it's about time I quote the book):

Chapter 18: The Good Man

I should mention my father.
When I was telling Phoebe's story to Gram and Gramps, I did not say much about my father. He was their son, and not only did they know him better than I, but as Gram often said, he was thel ight of their lives. They had three other sons at one time, but one son died when a tractor flipped over on him, one was killed when he skied into a tree, and the third died when he jumped into the freezing cold Ohio River to save his best friend (the best friend survived but my uncle did not).
My father was the only son left, but even if their other sons were still alive, my father might still be their light because he is also a kind, honest, simple and good man. I do not mean simple as in simple-minded--I mean he lies plain and simple things. His favorite clothes are the flannel shirts and blue jeans that he has had for twenty years. It nearly killed him to buy white shirts and a suit for his new job in Euclid.
He loved the farm because he could be out in the real air, and he wouldn't wear work gloves because he liked to touch the earth and the wood and the animals. It was painful for him to go to work in an office when we moved. He did not like being sealed up inside with nothing real to touch.
My mother was right when she said my father was good. He was always thinking of little things to cheer up someone else. This nearly drove my mother crazy because I think she wanted to keep up with him, but it was not her natural gift like it was with my father. He would be out in the field and see a flowering bush that my grandmother might like, and he would dig the whole thing up and take it straight over to Gram's garden and replant it. If it snowed, he would be up at dawn to trek over to his parents' house and shovel out their driveway.
I had never seen him angry. "Sometimes I don't think you're human," my mother told him. It was the sort of thing she said just before she left, and it bothered me, because it seemes as if she wanted him to be meaner, less good.
Two days before she left, when I first heard her raise the subject of leaving, she said, "I feel so rotten in comparison."
"Sugar, you're not rotten," he said.
"See?" She said. "See? Why couldn't you at least believe I'm rotten?"
"Because you're not," he said.
It nearly killed my father after she left, I know it, but he continued on doing everything just as before, whistling and humming and finding little gifts for people. He kept bringing home gifts for my mother and stacking them in a pile in their bedroom.

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