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Just a few days ago, a mail person came to the door of our house in the middle of nowhere, with a registered letter, which turned out to be…an invitation from the high commissioner of Canadian diplomatic relations in the UK and the Queen, to my husband, Lee.  It turns out that Lee was invited to the grand opening of the new Canada House in Trafalgar Square, London, along with The Queen, the duke of Edinburgh, and a bunch of other Very Very Important People. This honour is being bestowed upon Lee, because  he is an incredible, world-class artist, and three of his sculptural ceramic works were purchased by Foreign Affairs, and will be exhibited at this event, at Canada House in London.

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Lee sent me these photos of himself (above) looking insanely handsome, dashing and gorgeous in his suit and tie  as he arrived at Trafalgar Square. I showed the photo to the kids and Horus said, sincerely, “That is not my father.”, and Treva said, “Who is that man, mummy?” and Felix said “Dad looks funny!” and Felix said “ABABababaaaababbbbb”.  We are *so* excited for him, and so proud of him, and I do believe this honour is entirely deserved, because he is, as I have proclaimed since the day I met him, the best potter in the world.

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But (haha) let’s face it, I’d be a terrible cheerleader.  Ambivalence is my MO, so let me go on to say (in hopes that this isn’t interpreted as an attempt to take away from Lee’s glory) that I do wonder and worry about living in a world in which image and pomp and class and “honour” and impression and wealth are so unduly lionized.  I’m sure the royal family are very nice people (and I’m sure it couldn’t possibly be true that members of the house of windsor are sexually abusing children), but the whole thing (the world, our society) is a little bit off, and a little bit bizarre, and leaves me feeling very uncomfortable, considering that if pressed, I would describe myself as an anarcho-syndicalist, or a socialist-libertarian, of sorts, which is, I know, extremely easy for me to announce, as I sit in my warm house that I have thanks to the benefits of capitalism, the fruits of which I am able to access on account of my own unearned privilege, although it is still often tricky figuring out where grocery money is coming from, never mind sending Lee off to London to see the queen.  So we literally begged and borrowed, although the kind and generous people in our lives didn’t question for a moment the importance and worthiness of contributing funds so that Lee can schmooze with the top brass.  The optics and implications of all of it are…interesting, no?

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I made  a little half-joke on fb about my anarcho-syndicalist tendencies, (which did not receive a whole host of “likes”, btw), but I also quickly pointed out that I suppose everyone becomes a monarchist, if only for a day, when invited to see The Queen.  It is a genuine relief to me that I’ll never have to worry about being invited anywhere–for many obvious reasons, including not being an art star, and not being able to shut up about anything, (especially on subjects that tend to be controversial), and simply because all of these things come down to the choices we make–the choices that I have I have made: to have these children, and to mother them the way I have determined to.  All this sounds suspiciously like I feel sorry for myself, which I don’t, except that I do in that ultimate way that every woman on some level feels sorry for herself, (and so she should), because having a vagina and a uterus means occupying a constant, endless double-bind, and if you’d like to tell me you don’t believe it, or that you haven’t noticed this play out in your own life, I’ll happily respond by telling you I think you’re completely deluded.  And I understand why: the delusion works, and it is important for many women to maintain the delusion, because it is so much more comfortable and pleasing, in countless ways, to be a Lady Misogynist, and to ignore the glaring imbalance between men and women (especially women who are mothers and wives, especially in our own relationships) or to proclaim that that imbalance doesn’t exist, than to make oneself unpopular by standing up and speaking out, which, let me tell you, is pretty much a no-win situation each and every time.

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Whenever I write about this, I always feel torn and guilty, because on one hand, I am very aware of how sweet and wonderful my husband is, and I am tempted to laud Lee for doing childcare, and changing diapers, and for not, you know, beating me up, or sexually abusing me, or bringing pornography into our home, or generally being vile, but I would love to see our society get to a point where these things are a given, rather than something to remark on, you know?.  And I do get a little tired of feeling compelled to publicly congratulate him, because apart from the fact that he *is* a genius of an artist, there seems to be an expectation on the part of others (or maybe I’m projecting?) that I proclaim his artistic brilliance in the same breath that I fawn over what a wonderful domestic partner he is, which, maybe he is, but maybe sometimes not, too, and the degree to which he is a “good” husband and father is unrelated to his public persona, and separate from his work as an artist.  Please don’t get me wrong.  Lee *is* wonderful.  And he is better, and kinder, and more decent than most people out there.  But the truth is that he grew up in a milieu entrenched in a pernicious form of patriarchy and misogyny, and because these continue to be indulged in our culture, there is little motivation on the part of anyone who benefits from these, to parse their part, or to renege on the deal. Things are imbalanced in my relationship in ways that sometimes feel intolerable to me, and  if I didn’t love Lee with a completely inexplicable, senseless passion, I wouldn’t be here.  (And yes, clearly he must love me, and otherwise he wouldn’t still be here, but please don’t write to tell me that, I do know how often unbearable and awful I am, and yet my point is that our problems are gendered, as are everyone’s).  I did consider shutting right up about this, but to do so would be to betray my Self, my daughter and all those other women who are dealing with the same sort of thing; some to a lesser degree, and many many more to a much greater and more insidious degree.  Germaine Greer has always maintained that she finds the “man-hating feminist” trope to be laughable, because if we could distill the problem that women have down to one issue, it would be that we love men too much, and I can’t disagree.

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I am completely secure in the knowledge that I am Lee’s loudest, best and most enthusiastic supporter, and I’m happy to be that, and will continue to be that.  I also hope that the sincerity with which I am attempting to express myself here will be interpreted in both our favours, because we are real, and our family is real, and as such flawed, and dynamic.  And, I think this is True Romance, actually–making the choice to love someone in spite of it all, and with open eyes. In any case, I’m going to continue to say whatever the heck I need to say to live with myself, and if you’re reading this now, and thinking What a bitch, or drafting up your own little note to me, in order to point out how uncharitable or mean-spirited or ungrateful you think this post is…Naw.  I’m here, navigating four kids and how to clothe, feed and educate them, figuring out where the money’s coming from, along with dishes, laundry, cleaning toilets and refrigerators, the overall upkeep of the household, my own inner life, my compulsion to write, my work with, and commitments to, other women and families (who happen to be *far* more important than the House of Windsor, thanks very much), my own little pottery career, and my heartfelt and genuine belief in, and promotion of, Lee’s brilliance. Lee tends not to notice some of the practical aspects of life, because…Art–a cliche which I don’t blame him for inhabiting at all, but which I also recognize as being an attitude that is so overwhelmingly pervasive and sexist that most of us actually believe that [male] artists are *just like that*.  Which I categorically reject.

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Anyway, the kids and I listened to Lee’s two CBC radio interviews yesterday, and I was so moved and inspired, listening to Lee speak so eloquently, sincerely and humbly about his artwork, and about what an incredible experience it is for him to be in London, that I burst into tears.   All told, Lee is profoundly worthy of this, and deserving of this, and I know that this is only the beginning of his garnering the international recognition and appreciation that is his due.

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Congratulations my love!  We adore you, we’re proud of you, and we miss you.  xoxoxo