When the milk goes sour...

This week I talked to several neighbors and friends I hadn't seen in while, so we had a lot to catching up to do.

First, we talked about You-Know-Who and the election results, then we moved closer-to-home-- grandchildren, travel tales, and building projects. When three people in one day asked me the dreaded question (Is Mike coming for the holidays?) I thought Ugh Oh, I have to say it again.

"We broke up, we're going our separate ways," I said.

There are about 43 ways to tell a story.  I can look all sad and gloomy, or I can recount every unnerving detail.  What I say to two neighbors on the street-- "Long distance relationships are hard to sustain."

When people break up, they've been breaking up slowly for a while, but patching it together with plaster, hoping for the best. And even while they're patching, good things happen, too--as I wrote about earlier on the blog from New England.

Breaking up involves a series of falls. Like children's building blocks precariously stacked on top of each other, the falls finally add up to that last big one that brings the tower of love crashing down.  

I remember back when we could tell each other everything, no secrets.  The first months of loving someone is full of telling everything, everything, everything.  Then distance creeps in.  Gazes turn to glances and, and you know it's dissolving.

So I tell the story, in abbreviated versions mostly, and each person gives me a new block for my new tower, whatever that is.

One neighbor who asked that question yesterday said she was sad to hear the news, but then said,  "When the milk goes sour, there's no reason to drink it anymore."