Monday, October 27, 2008


I'm single. But still married, so I guess the name of the blog holds true. In the big scheme of things naming a blog hardly ranks as a top concern when the the horrors of same-sex divorce loom large. The specter of having the farm I co-own with Mr. Lesbian foreclosed upon is omnipresent. In what can only be described as horrible luck, s/he lost hir job the day after I told hir that I was moving out.

The moving vans came to the marital home five weeks ago, and I'm now living in the sweetest, coziest apartment in an even older antique farmhouse than the one I left (this one was built in 1763), twenty miles from the village I was living in previously. Access to my apartment is through a barn. Yes, this is how we roll in the countryside, people.

It's a huge relief to be away from Mr. Lesbian. I've cried. But not as much as I thought I would. I miss my former best friend much more than I miss Mr. Lesbian. The overwhelming sense of freedom has been fabulous, and I've been nesting, setting up house, putting up blinds and trying to find a space for everything. I moved from a 2,500 square foot Cape farmhouse, into a one bedroom apartment of about 700 square feet, so I don't have much room here. But there's a greenhouse here that I'm allowed to share, and I have as much space to plant vegetables in the very large existing garden as I could possibly wish. There are solar panels on the roof, which heat my hot water and there are brand new windows in the house, and the walls are well-insulated. It's nearly November and I haven't put the heat on yet. I wrap up warmly, with wool socks and slippers, and a few extra layers, smothered in a wool blanket and I'm quite toasty, thank-you-very-much.

The photograph above is the bovine line-up you see from my living room window, so I'm still living very rurally with woods on one side, and fields and a lake on the other. The sweet little calf was born a couple of weeks ago, much to my delight and that of my granddaughter. She visits him every time she comes to stay, spending hours sitting on the fence, chatting to the cows.

What I miss most is the village I was living in. The friendships I was starting to make, the land I own (where Mr. Lesbian is still living - ironically in a town s/he didn't want to live in in the first place), the church I was attending, the local lesbian-owned store where I shopped, dined and's painful to go back there now. I searched and searched for a place to live in the village or somewhere close by to no avail. I'm still determined to make it back there some day, but for the time being I'm making my home here.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I've missed you. Attaining freedom is painful. Be proud that you can grow and flourish in new soil even while missing the old. (That sounds like you were a re-potted plant - maybe not such a bad analogy.) Keep writing.

12:00 AM  
Blogger Sapphique said...

Anonymous, thank you for your kind comments. I agree. Attaining freedom is a painful process, and is usually accompanied by growing pains. You can't reach for it without stretching. I'm very much enjoying my new soil, and hopefully putting out new roots (to continue with the potted plant analogy!) will encourage me to write more.

9:30 AM  
Blogger jmc said...

That little barn home was the perfect transition place for you.

11:29 AM  
Blogger jmc said...

That little barn home was the perfect transition place for you.

11:29 AM  

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