Dearest one is in the other room working on Statistics.
I'm pretty sure he thinks Statistics is the spawn of Satan.
We slept in this morning after having a full day yesterday.
We saw our niece exchange vows with her beloved.
It was a small wedding in her faith community's terms.
That means it was less than 400 people.
We sat with family and enjoyed their company.
I visited with different women, some of dearest one's aunts,
people I don't usually see unless there is a family function.
It was good.
My journey to becoming comfortable within this cultural circle
has been long and winding.
That I can simply be myself is a gift.
Which is a far, far cry from my days as a newlywed
when I hadn't the foggiest idea of how different
dearest one and I had been raised.
Pure culture shock.
I went from living in a city apartment
to a 10 x 20 bunk shack with no running water.
A five gallon pail served as a bathroom.
Despite our path going in a different direction than his family's
I do take comfort in living in a community
where dearest one's last name is widely known.
Where his family has lived for over 50 years now.
Yesterday another woman and I stood talking about dearest one
and her husband's common family trait of being able to
strike up a conversation with anyone.
That the journey from the table to the car would no doubt be
stalled by countless conversations along the way
and the possibility of an hour's delay at least.
We left the building together
and when I turned to talk to dearest one
he was in another conversation
back on the front steps.
This is the way of most of the men in his family.
It used to drive me batty
in the days when I took it personally.
Today I take comfort that it is a trait passed down from
generation to generation.
Now if only Statistics could talk.