steve uber alles

Tonight, I discovered sentimentalism in the most unlikely of sources: the Italian national anthem.
My husband and I are avid followers of Formula One; and on this night, the start of the 2005 season, we weren’t together to watch the race. I watched it here from my home as I packed vases, and he watched it with someone from his new workplace who has cable. Our least favorite driver – Michael Schumacher, who usually wins every race – got out about midway through and never was a factor, which was very exciting for us, and we called each other to scream and yell about it. And one of our favorite drivers – Giancarlo Fisichella, an Italian who never catches a break – won, and we called each other to scream and yell about that, too.
Now, Michael Schumacher drives for the Italian outfit Ferrari, and we’ve grown accustomed to hearing what we call “the Formula One theme song” at the podium ceremony that follows each race. First, we hear “Deutschland Uber Alles,” the German anthem, played for Schumacher; then the Italian anthem, played in honor of Ferrari. Tonight, of course, the Italian anthem was played first for Fisichella.
The Italian anthem is not a sentimental song. It's a bouncy, lively march. But we always make up words to it, we conduct, we get it stuck in our heads. You get the idea.
So, I heard it, I started to conduct, and immediately I burst into tears. Totally unexpected. Like a storm in the flatlands.

I’m having a hard time being alone. Emotionally, it’s a challenge. I am fortunate to be married to someone who, after more than a decade, still remains my closest friend and confidante. We are partners in every way – we work well together. I knew the separation would be difficult, but I never anticipated this. Tomorrow marks one week apart; two more to go before he’s back for a short visit, then gone for at least three more long weeks.

I’m not sure who’s got it easier. On the one hand, he’s away from all of us, with a steep learning curve at work, an unfamiliar apartment and people he’s never met. But he also gets to put home behind him and move on. And I have the kids close by and can maintain some semblance of a routine and normalcy; but, of course, nothing about it is normal because someone very important in the equation is missing. I have to pack all the reminders, keep the children from being sad, keep the house in good working order; and take care of my writing business and the family finances. I don’t think either of us has it easy.