Weekend Wanderer: Do I Really Need to Be Alone?

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weekend wanderer

Well. Now that Indy is —

Wait. How do I characterize Indy now that Indy is gone? Because I really can’t write, over and over, that Indy has died. I’m not ready for it to be that real yet. 

So … where has Indy gone?  

Well, where did Indiana Jones go?  

He went to the Well of Souls, where he found the Ark of the Covenant. And the Canyon of the Crescent Moon, where he found the Holy Grail. Ooh — and Marion’s bar in Nepal, where he found the Headpiece to the Staff of Ra. 

Two things I know after writing that last paragraph. 

One, my Indy would rather spend eternity in a bar with a feisty woman than in an underground chamber full of snakes or a cave with a 2,000-year-old knight. 

And two, Indy would tell me to turn off the tube, get off my rear end, and to get out of his house. 

Even though, you know, I don’t live in Indy’s house. I live in my house. But that, as Indy always said, is besides the point. I used to get in trouble with him all the time for failing to clean my refrigerator coils, setting my thermostat to the wrong temperature, and the frequency with which I cleaned my lint trap. 

So. 

Now that Indy has gone to Marion’s bar in Nepal, I am finding, amid the heartbreak and never-ending paperwork, some comedy. 

Like my husband. 

He’s great. Indy loved him. During Indy’s last weeks, my husband did the things a supportive husband does — stocked up on wine, carried Indy to his wheelchair, made me moose dinners.  

I mean, what girl doesn’t need a moose dinner when her dad is headed to Marion’s bar in Nepal? I’ll tell you what — a warm moose dinner chases off the chill of a December night. 

And, you know, the chill of impending trips to Marion’s bar in Nepal. 

In the aftermath, my husband cleared his schedule so he could be home for me. 

A hunter clearing his schedule is no small thing. There are strict rules about what you can hunt. And when you can hunt it. And how you can hunt it. And where you can hunt it. And how many of it you can hunt. 

Let me put it this way, because you probably get your meat from the supermarket like I do.  

The new Indiana Jones movie comes out in June. Now, imagine if you can only see that movie in a certain theater, the week it comes out, and the only concession you can have is popcorn. 

I mean, what monster sees a movie without candy? And you’re telling me I can’t see it in IMAX? Who are you? The KGB? 

And let’s say you can’t get to the theater that week. Now you have to wait until the digital release. But it’s not getting released in eight weeks like most movies. No. This is like 1985. Remember 1985? How long it took for Back to the Future to come out on VHS? 

See what I mean?  

Like I said. He’s truly great. 

But.  

But we never spend this much time together. His first night in my apartment after we got married, I asked him when he was going back to his place. 

“Never,” he said. “I live here now.” 

Which was, you know, problematic. 

Thankfully, his job takes him out of our house regularly. And when he discovered hunting he was gone even more. And then he began volunteering, and to be honest, I don’t think he really lives here anymore. 

But in his desire to support me through Indy’s sojourn to Marion’s bar in Nepal, he didn’t leave. I mean, he was home for the entire weekend last week! I don’t think I’ve seen him for an entire weekend since, well —

No. I’ve never seen him for an entire weekend. 

What do I do with a guy for a whole weekend? Cook dinner? Like, every night? What am I, Julia Child? Are we supposed to talk to each other? I mean, he didn’t even watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. What could we possibly talk about? 

Also, he doesn’t like sleeping with our dog. Like I’m going to evict my dog because Indy’s at Marion’s bar in Nepal. Be realistic, man! Oh, he talked to me while I was watching Welcome to Chippendales! Who talks when Kumail Nanjiani is right there, onscreen, being brilliant? 

Sunday night, after the hustle of preparing for Monday and shooing the kids off to bed, we poured some wine and settled in on the sofa. 

And he looked at me. He looked at me, and I knew what he was thinking. 

“You’re not used to being here this much, are you?” I said. 

He shook his head. “You guys are really loud. And you move around. A lot.” 

“It’s chaos,” I agreed. 

He looked at me again. 

“You want to get out of here, don’t you?” I asked. 

He did. Of course he did. 

Oh, yes! I mean, sure I miss Indy. Sure, yeah, I cry. And yeah, it’s a little weird to eat that many cookies while you watch Welcome to Chippendales

But I’m OK. Indy — well, Indy would tell me I had to take care of myself.  

Which was easy when I knew Indy was there to get my back. 

But Indy also made sure I had a good man to get my back when Indy couldn’t. And he did such a good job of it that I have two — my father-in-law is a rocking dude in his own right. 

So I told my husband to go back to work. To go hunting. To do his little outdoorsy things. 

I know he’ll be there when I need him. 

But right now, I need to watch Welcome to Chippendales

Alone. 

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