Fluff and Depth In One Package

Holding a baby is a very healing pastime. Dearest one and I took turns on Sunday doing just that. Couple that with good, deep conversation with our guests and it was a great way to spend our time. They were unexpected company to have. In God's good humourous way and timing because I'd just left Mass where I had bemoaned my self centeredness to God only to came home to a baby and her mom waiting to visit the day away. Later we were joined by another couple and the conversation went deep and there's nothing I quite like so much as deep conversation about the guts of life.

Even if we continue to get snow at least when the sun shines it is warm and comforting and a very hopeful thing. I lay on the couch the other day reading a book enjoying the sun tickling my feet with kisses as I lazed away the afternoon. I used to read 100+ books a year and since I've gone back to work that number has dwindled to a handful. I didn't realize how much I missed it until I requested a passel of books from the library and began devouring them. I do have time to read after all. I've read half a dozen books in the past 10 days. I have always been the type that really couldn't care less about the state of the house around me if there was a good book waiting to be read.

One of those books was this one. I ordered it in to read because a writing teacher had recommended it as a great example of writing. It is a purely fun read that left me with great admiration for the author and how she ramped it up all the way through and made me laugh, too. The kind of laughing that begs you to go find someone and read a little bit to so that they can enjoy a belly laugh,too.

A "fluff" book as I used to declare derisively to my kids when they were growing up. A stage I went through where fluff was the enemy. Now it is fun. Oh, Lordy - when I looked it up to give you a link I found there is a whole series of books about Miss Julia. I have my fluff reading in order for years to come now. I am thrilled! (Only daughter is alternately feeling vindicated and horrified I bet!) HA!

Another book I read was this one. I remember a friend sending me her essay in the New York Time the summer I was going through the very same marriage journey. Laura Munson and I handled it in the same way so reading her book was both painful and affirming. I guess the point is that I went through it and came out the other side with a much deeper and satisfying marriage. Enough said.

And here I thought I had nothing left to blog about, that it was time to close up shop and put my energy into other things. For today I'm content to write and read although the only fluff I will encounter are the growing piles of dust bunnies.



Photo Credit

A Good Day

"Today's gonna be a good day." That was the lyric going through my head this morning as I woke up. I'd made my way to the bathroom hoping it was still the middle of the night but when I looked at the alarm clock it was only minutes until my alarm went off. Nevertheless that song lyric popped into my mind as my day started.

And it was.

My coworkers got together and showed their appreciation for all the hard work I've done the past few weeks by gifting me with a certificate to a local Spa. I'm not good at opening cards or gifts in front of others so for a moment I turned my back on all of them while I opened the card. Their kindness really touched me.

It was one of those work days when the work kept piling up and I felt like I wasn't even treading water at points. In the middle of that, in a lull, dearest one called to let me know someone had phoned me at home needing to talk about their problem with alcohol. I was able to slip away in private and return her call. It had to be Divinely led because of how that call went and how my story and hers intersected. You know when things pop out of your mouth and are unplanned and unexpected? The kicker was when she told me she was putting my number away for safekeeping right next to the word hope. Kind of gave me goose bumps, that did. I offered to stay in town and meet her at a meeting. She took me up on it only to call later and cancel. I hope to hear her voice again. I had to remind myself that we carry the message not the person. I so want today to be her bottom.

If you are the praying type please remember dearest one tomorrow in your prayers. He is having surgery tomorrow. He'll be off work quite a while recuperating. While it is not life threatening I think any time one goes under anaesthetic one faces their mortality. I am hoping he is pain free soon. I doubt he knows what that feels like anymore. It's been years.

Tonight we went out for supper to celebrate it being nearly 30 years since we got engaged. I was a teenager back then. I thought I was so grown up. I want to be a ballet dancer when I grow up. I've said that since I was a young girl. My mom used to laugh at me when I told her that. I probably said it the most often when I was in that awkward stage of adolescence when ones limbs are gangly and don't seem to fit the body they're attached to. I said that as often as I told her I wanted a nose job for Christmas or my birthday. I said it for years. Today I never give my nose a thought. It still looks the same as ever but I've changed. Today I take my wish to be a ballet dancer as having its roots in being about the beauty of the movement and about the inherent grace in it as well.

And today I feel beautiful and graceful so maybe my wish came true after all.

Where We Are Headed

"If you go this way you only have to turn right, if you go the other way you have to make two lefts."
I pause and then realize what I'm doing.
"Oops, sorry I was telling you how to drive."

He makes his way to the highway and I ask him if he had been impressed earlier in the day, when we were in big city far away, without a map and on an unfamiliar street, that I hadn't gotten bossy and tried to tell him how to drive.

He replies that he was although there had been a bit of snarkiness in my voice when I'd told him he had lucked out when we blindly turned onto a familiar street, the same street that would get us out of the city of a million people without making another turn for 60 blocks. He said it calmly and I calmly admitted that yep, I had had a bit of snarkiness in there. I apologized.

We talked about how he processed what was going on within him at my snarkiness and how I processed my fear that we were in a big city without my meticulous, turn right on 11th Ave. and then left on 23rd st. directions that I normally write. The directions that make me feel safe and secure to know where we are headed and how to get there. My snarkiness was part relief of recognizing a familiar street and part plain bitchiness that he hadn't seemed in the least fazed when it appeared that we didn't know how to get where we were going. Misery likes company and all that jazz.

If you only knew how these kind of situations used to turn into ugly fights that racheted up the stress level until it crowded the roof of the car and seeped out of the windows. It is amazing to me that we can have a matter of fact conversation about my shit and his shit without getting the lines blurred and with both of us coming out of it with a new awareness of ourselves, encouraging each other in that awareness and having not taken one iota of the conversation personally.

Who'd A Thunk It?

"You need to find some kind of leisure activity to do together." So said my treatment counselor nearly 3 years ago. I looked at her and wanted to protest. Dearest one and I are homebodies. When I went through my mental list of what I knew other couples did together I couldn't find anything I thought we both might like. Golfing? Maybe. If his knee replacement happened and my rotator cuff injury ever healed up. I can't remember any other leisure activity I thought of that day and maybe you have some suggestions. Our favourite thing to do is go for a walk together. We go as far as his knee will allow and then we turn around and come home. We like to go on road trips and so consider our 6 hours of weekly commuting together as many mini road trips.

See those planters up there? That's about two-thirds of the ones we planted flowers in on the weekend. A few years ago a friend told me how her husband got out the ruler, yes, the ruler!, when he planted bedding plants to make sure they were evenly spaced. I sympathized with them both. In times past, although I never got out the ruler, I sure wanted to. And then gradually I morphed into liking a wild looking flower patch which happily coincided with the period of my life when I couldn't weed anything anyway. I didn't like help with planting my flowers, I wanted it all done my way, you know, the right way. Lord have mercy.

Last week dearest one and I went flower shopping together. We went a tad bit overboard. So much so that we have several dozen bedding plants left over and no pots to put them in. Other than the row of petunias I plant in the garden I don't plant them in the ground anywhere else because bending over to weed still makes my lungs hurt.

We had fun. Together. We are excited like little kids get except we can hardly wait for all those flowers to grow and bloom and fill our world with colour. Once the threat of frost is over we will move the pots to the gravel pads on either side of the walkway. In between the big round pots will be rectangle ones filled with Evening Scented Stock. That was dearest one's idea. I love it. We puttered and planted and thoroughly enjoyed sticking flower after flower after flower in a pot. The Yoga Pup keeps sticking his face into flower pots and it looks like he is smelling the roses.

Which is more or less what the counselor wanted dearest one and I to make time for.
Looks like we have done that at last.

Good Night Mary Ellen

It is just past dusk as I type and I can hear the last of the birds singing in the trees. I think of them as being one big family like The Waltons and saying goodnight to each other through the branches. In the time it took me to type that they have all gone silent. I wonder if the occasional chirping I'm hearing is one of them telling their mother that they are thirsty or have to go pee or one of a gazillion things little ones can think up to stall having to snuggle up to the dark.

Dearest one and I met in town to go grocery shopping. It is a simple pleasure we like to do together when we can. I hadn't been out of the house since I came home sick from work on Monday and it felt good to get in the car and go somewhere. We went out for lunch afterwards and then he went home and I went to the office. It was Friday afternoon so everyone had gone home early. The rest of our building is being taken over by the public for the next 6 weeks which means I have to work behind a locked door for the duration. I am interested in seeing how the imagined working out of it all is going to look like in reality. God gives grace for the situation, not the imagination. Doesn't that sound like a worthwhile mantra?

Tonight dearest one decided to join me as I lay on the recliner and as he sat on the edge of it he teasingly pushed the top of the chair back as far as it could go. Our combined weight pushed the recliner over backwards to the floor and we lay there laughing while the blood rushed to our heads. He hopped off the side and I asked him to please help me get right side up again but it took awhile because we kept erupting in that hysterical kind of laughter that makes it hard to do anything else. I would have doubled up with laughter but I couldn't even get my head off the floor. Being upside down isn't much fun but we sure laughed anyway.

Bowing To Red Green

"See? I can change."
I say it with a grin because sometimes I get so proud of myself over very little things.
"And you're not even a man." he deadpans as he waltzes down the hallway.
There's a split second before I get his joke. My laughter follows him down the hallway.

We'd been having a conversation about my attempt to load the dishwasher the way he does. I tried it for no other reason than I could. We do most things differently. From folding towels to hanging toilet paper to shovelling snow. We don't argue about these differences anymore but we do notice them. And some days I try things his way just because I can. Which is both monumental and insignificant at the same time.

I was reminded of this the other day while talking to my mom on the phone. I'd asked her a question and she'd turned to my dad for clarification. There was an exchange between them and on her end I heard that My God, you are such an insufferable idiot full of contempt tone of voice that she uses with him. I hate that tone of voice. Hate it. I don't know if it's worse because they have been married nearly 55 years and I wish there was tenderness and compassion between them instead of this pissing contest that never seems to end. I can feel the tension building in my body just writing about it.

I know all about pissing contests and that tone of voice. It was the way I approached my marriage for many of the last 28 years. The world was out to get me, including dearest one, and I only felt secure when I had the upper hand. I forget that I used to look at life that way until I hear my mom's tone of voice or when I choose to do something someone else's way and find out it doesn't hurt one little bit not to be in control of the universe. And some days I still find a hint of that tone of voice coming out of my mouth. That happened the other day in a public place and I apologized instantly. That tone of voice is so, so ugly.

One time, several years ago, I made an offhand remark to dearest one about the way he folds towels. I can get pissy about the stupidest things. Any time I talk to my mom about these things she eggs me on in a men are such idiots and far inferior to us women kind of way. And that day dearest one said to me, "Show me how you do it." He meant it in the sincerest way and when I gave him a puzzled look he added that in his job they only succeed when they work as a team so why not try it at home. Team work never entered my mind. In any bit of life. His comment stunned me into silence and much contemplation.

I think of that conversation every time I look at the pile of folded towels in the bathroom. He has a knack to them now that I can't duplicate no matter how much I try. That conversation is also the reason I try to do things like loading the dishwasher a totally different way just because I can. And because I need the practice. The world will not end if it (or the toilet paper is on backwards) doesn't run according to the book of Hope.

And, God help me, if I keep on trying I might just be in the market for a pair of these suspenders before you know it.

Piddly, Piddly Problems

I'm typing to the whine of the rug shampooer going in the livingroom. We were both working at it until dearest one muttered that it was akin to wallpapering together. I decided he really didn't need me standing there telling him how to shampoo the rug my way so I left him to it.

I am looking forward to lying on the floor doing yoga this week without inhaling the scent of stale dog pee every time I take a deep breath in and out.

In the whole scope of life what piddly (!) problems we whine about.
Hopefully I'll remember that the next time I come home to a new pee stain on the carpet. If only Yoga Pup actually did yoga maybe he would reform.

I Vow....

"...to take you as my awfully wedded husband...."

I was a teenager when I said those words 28 years ago today. It was on a Friday, too. Five o'clock in the afternoon to be exact. We showed up at the JP's house rather unprepared. No wedding ring, no camera. We did have a best man (aged 77) but no maid of honour because we didn't know we needed one. By the time I stumbled over my vows we dared not look at one another for fear of dissolving into never ending laughter. Half an hour later we were sitting drinking wine with our best man in a restaurant (the maid of honour turned out to be the JP's daughter, the only other person available on such short notice. I've often wondered how confused she must have been to be called out of her bedroom to witness a wedding just before suppertime.)

This week at work a student asked me how we made it through the hard times, how we kept together this long. I looked at her and said, "Faith." She gave me the most puzzled look and when I tried to explain she looked even more puzzled. How does one explain that in order to get through the rough patches together we had to turn to a power greater than ourselves? That on our own steam we were a mess and without faith in a higher power we didn't have a hope in hell of beating the odds? And that that faith gave us the courage to look at the hard stuff and do the work while leaning mightily on grace and mercy and compassion. The phone rang while I was trying to explain my explanation so we never did finish our conversation. I think she was as relieved as I was for the interruption.

The other day I drove past the JP's house just so I could show it to my daughter-in-law. The little brick house on the corner with its blue shuttered windows looks the same as it did that Friday in 1982 when I got the words "awful" and "lawful" mixed up.

Strewn Along The Path

"I obeyed him, but I don't always. My newly married daughter said I wasn't being a good example to her when I disobeyed him. I think most women have trouble with obedience."

Stunned into silence I look away from her and into the room of couples. We are sitting in a corner visiting quietly. She is eighty years old and battling leukemia. A bout of chest pain had plagued her the day before so her husband had told her to do nothing today. Still, she struggled to obey him because it was Saturday; the day in her religious culture where floors demanded washing and bathrooms scrubbed. After I told her I'd done nothing that day she told me, as if we were keeping a secret from all the other women in the room, how my day of nothing made her feel better. Had I a litany of tasks completed she would've most likely hidden a sheepish smile behind her hand before confessing to doing absolutely nothing. She saw it as a victory of having obeyed her husband. As I gaze at the other women in the room I notice how angry and sad I feel that she most likely will die before ever owning her own life.

I didn't grow up in her culture but still, I see my own story in hers. During one period of my life, a time which I tell my adult children should have given them spiritual whiplash, I defined being a good wife by not having any thoughts about anything. I became opinionless because I held deferring to dearest one as the ideal. He didn't ask that from me. His observation of women trying to be submissive was that they often were skilled manipulators. I'd decided, after reading many books on being a good wife, that deferring to him was what a Godly woman did. Which is humourous in itself now that I think about it, considering I decided how best to be submissive without consulting him one bit. Oh, the irony.

It became one of the most manipulative, passive aggressive times of my life. One day a friend asked me about something and I told her I'd have to ask dearest one. Exasperated, she questioned, "But what do you think?" Her question startled me. I hadn't even considered what I thought.

But deep down of course I knew what I thought. I'd never lost my opinionated ways. I just stuffed them deep down inside while striving to be sweet and quiet on the outside. That was interspersed by episodes of going absolutely ballistic verbally. Oh, the joy.

One morning I looked in the mirror, weary of the facade, and decided I could either continue to put on my mask or I could shed the outward appearance of submission and begin owning my choices. I was both relieved and scared to step into my life.

I didn't tell this woman last night that I no longer relate to her view of marriage. She assumes because we are both women of faith that I too, wait for permission to have a life. I couldn't tell you exactly how I see it. All I know is that I don't see it how I once did. In the decade since I stepped into my life I continue to shed who I think I should be. There's no straight line between then and now. Just a crooked path with layers of onion skin strewn along the way.

Being in active recovery has shown me that I not only need to own my choices today but also my choice long ago to pretend to have no choices, too.

That doesn't stop me though, from feeling sad about an 80 year old woman feeling the need for permission to skip doing her Saturday work.

I Will

"Will you marry me?"

Not many women can say they've been asked that
27 times in their life, but I can.
Before the day is over I will add one more to that number, making it 28.
Twenty-eight years ago today dearest one asked me to marry him
and he has repeated the question every year on this day ever since.

For the record, I've always said yes.
Sometimes that yes had been very faint in my heart,
and sometimes a little stronger,
and sometimes downright enthusiastic.

I've not always meant it.

While I can't imagine life without him,
some of the past 10,000 days (I counted)
I couldn't stand life with him, either.
I think those feelings,
both of them, are mutual.
Such is married life.

There is also something very comforting
being married so long to someone
who has known me at my best and at my worst
and is still here.

Even on the worst of days,
for more years than I can remember,
I rest my head on his shoulder
before we go to sleep.
I try not to take that for granted.

This past year has been the hardest
of all our years together.
I had not a clue what commitment looked like
when we married.
I'd seen my parents
treat their marriage commitment lightly.
I didn't know what it looked like
to treat it seriously.
Nor did I really know 10 years in, either.
Not even 20 years in.

Because of this past year,
I do now.
Learned it in such a painful way, too.
There have been several times in the past 28 years
when either one of us
could have walked away
with very good reason.
Reasons that no one would blame us for.
But here we are, still together.
And for that I am really grateful.

When I got home from town today
dearest one parted the drapes in the bay window
to show me a beautiful big rock with the word Hope
engraved in it.
He had gone into the flower shop this afternoon
and it was sitting there right in front
to greet him
so he said he just had to buy it.
It's just the kind of thing I would have bought
had I seen it first.

But the puglies?
Well.
They created a long and loud ruckus
at the sight of something so strange
sitting in the window.
They barked at it as if they had never seen hope before.
I am grateful, more than you could know,
that hope is as settled in my bones
as that rock is in the window.
I'm so grateful that hope
is no stranger to me.

On The Cusp Of A Sorry State

Dearest one and I went for a drive last night.
to see the countryside that is on the cusp of spring.
We went in his pick up.
When we were newlweds everyone had a pickup.
It was a topic of conversation in his family
to see which couples in the community
sat close together in a pickup.
They'd say the honeymoon must be over
when they started sitting on their own side of the truck
instead of like two peas in a pod.
I thought about this as I got in the truck last night.
Every so often I still sit in the middle,
right next to dearest one
just to confuse people.
Actually, I'd sit there every time
but I have this fear of lap seat belts
and am convinced that if we're in an accident
I will surely be paralyzed for life.
So I choose safety over romance.
Which surely must mean I am no newlywed.
But I never tire of riding in a pickup with dearest one.
It always feels special.
Even when I sit way over on my side of the truck.
_______________________________________


The pugs were in fine shape this morning.
Raced outside to do their business.
Raced back in to sit in front of bedroom doors
in hopes that their masters would wake up.
I waited for them to race back up the hallway
and then proceeded to block it off
so dearest one and youngest son wouldn't
get woken up by pitiful whining
outside their doors.
The energizer bunny guessed what I was up to
while I was in the middle of blocking her path
and she tried every which way from Sunday
to get past me.
She didn't.
I thought to myself that it's a sorry state of affairs
to feel such triumph for outwitting a dog
who doesn't even reach halfway up to my knee.

Sleep Purgatory

"Don't talk to me, I'm almost in that place, in between waking and sleeping."

I say it rather snarkily.
If I go backwards towards being awake,
sleep might elude me for hours.
I panic at the thought.
Dearest one crawls into bed and I snuggle up
and kiss that spot in between his shoulder blades.
"Careful, you might lose your in between place."
I can tell he's grinning as he says it.
Then he informs me that he has no in between place,
he's either awake or sleeping.
"I don't have sleep purgatory like you do."
We both laugh.
When I think about how snarky I am about someone disturbing my purgatory I say, "Maybe I deserve sleep purgatory."
I don't remember if dearest one replied
because I promptly fell asleep.
Maybe someone was praying for me.

Of Rainbows and Furrowed Roads

"I'm not used to you being impatient."

We're sitting in a portrait studio, waiting to choose pictures of dearest one in his graduation garb. There are 5 big photos of him in front of me. He is smiling with those rainbow arched wrinkles above his eyes. It's easy to pick my favourites.

If they took my picture right then there'd be a scowl and no doubt furrowed brows. No rainbow arches for me. More like a rut in the road wrinkle between my eyebrows.
I'm tired. I just want to go home. I'm feeling inflexible about taking a detour to pick the photos and the saleslady is taking forever to come help us. I'm not used to me having no patience either. And I'm too tired to care.

Just as I'm ready to walk out of the store she comes over and tries to sell us nearly 250 dollars worth of photos. Yeesh. I love this man. I love looking at these photos of him. But I seriously don't need a mirror like experience of looking at a photo everywhere I turn. We pick our photo package and I leave while dearest one pays the bill.

I have one stop to make. Well, I had three but I decided to cut two of them because I am feeling impatient as hell and I just want to go home. Dearest one has a stop as well. We're in separate vehicles and I fully expect him to be home before me.

It's a long drive home. About half way there dearest one passes me in his pick up. I reach for my cell phone and call him. I can see him ahead of me holding his cell phone to his ear. I make amends right then about being so impatient over an important decision to him. He's worked hard these past two years to work full time and get his degree. He'll have a few months off before he starts on the next level of education. It means job security for him to do this and I kind of like having a roof over my head. We chat and I say sorry and he tells me how he felt about my impatience. It's all good as we hang up our respective phones.

I think about step 10 as I drive home.
Soon dearest one is beyond my sight.
Tonight he'll be my rainbow
at the end of my furrowed road home.

49 and Counting

It's dearest one's birthday today.
Next year will be the big five oh for him.
It freaks him out.
He doesn't feel that old.
He doesn't look that old, either.
One of the most loveable things about dearest one
is that he has retained his ability to be child like.
Not childish.
Child like.
You know, that wonder about the world around him.
He makes life fun.
I hope he has a fun day today.
He left before daylight for work.
I was sleeping. Probably snoring.
He's very hard to buy a present for.
He never gives me a list of things to choose from.
I have to figure it out on my own.
Which I did.
I can get like a kid when I have a present for someone.
In that annoying way - like Garfield's dog friend.
Sorry, it's too early for me to remember his name.
But I do get kind of yappy/jumping up and down
when I have a surprise for you.

I don't mind getting one year older.
It means I got to live this long.
That is a gift.
Pure gift.
Which is really something to jump up and down about.
Happy birthday dearest one.

Of Padlocks And Porn

I've written before about how I don't like to be alone at night.
Being alone at night is when I am most tempted
to throw my abstinence
from sexual addiction away.
I was alone this past weekend
and did exactly that.

I read this post this morning and identified immediately with the thoughts within it except last weekend I went from feeling pin pricked beyond bearable right into chucking my abstinence out the window.
I tried my damndest to numb the pin pricks away.
It. didn't. work.
Of course not.
The committee in my head can never deliver what it tells me it can.

Yesterday as I sat hashing this out with my therapist I said
I felt disappointed
that the high I was looking for didn't materialize.
The addiction doesn't have the same power it used to.
After the second night it lost its charm.
And although this time around
the bungee jump ride to the bottom
was much higher than it's been in the past,
what is making red flags scream at me
is that I felt relieved that I relapsed.
It was as if it jolted me awake.
There's something so sick to that thinking
that it still's freaking me out.
Why did it take relapse to make me go back to doing those things on a daily basis that I need to do so that relapse isn't even on my radar screen?
Why didn't I do them when I first realized
(weeks and weeks ago) that I was playing with fire?

Last night dearest one and I went out
for a belated anniversary dinner.
I knew I needed to fess up about my slip.
I didn't want to.
Earlier in the day my therapist and I had talked
about how hard taking emotional risks is for me.
We talked about my reasons for
telling dearest one of my slip.
That it felt like keeping secrets if I didn't.
And how secrets are the slipperiest of slopes.

After I'd fessed up, dearest one
said it had nothing to do with him.
I'd just made myself vulnerable to the core
and he had no feelings about it.
None.
I replied that if he had himself
a little porn addiction
then I think I'd have some feelings about it.
Phrasing it that way helped him see that maybe
there are some feelings buried deep inside him.
He looked at me and said, "Do we really want to go there?"
I thought he was saying it as in "ever?"
It took me a few moments to clue in that
he meant "right now, right here in Denny's?"

Sometimes this journey feels like a strip tease.
A dance of 'this is part of who I am'
'this is how much of me I'll let you see'
'the rest I'm keeping close to my chest for safekeeping'.
We've both played it well.
And while it feels like a long, winding road
to expose ourselves to one another,
both of us are committed to going forward.
For that I am extremely grateful.
He assures me that the conversation
will happen, just not yet.
I said that I will be both scared and relieved
when that day comes.
Scared because his pain is not mine to fix.
What's done is done.
And saying sorry seems so lame.
Relieved because when he bears this part of his soul
he will be relating to me out of his core being,
the place we store our pain for safekeeping.
Our core beings are beautiful.
Weird how that works.
This man is never more beautiful to me than when he
takes the padlock off his heart
and lets me in.

I've let this post sit here for several hours
torn between delete and publish.
I rarely talk about my recovery journey
when it comes to sexual addiction
on here anymore.
It's humbling to let you in.

Sensible Insanity

Twenty seven years ago there was no walk down the aisle, no wedding dress, no wedding rings. Instead we walked up to the Justic of the Peace's home and knocked on the door. With us was an elderly bachelor friend dressed in his go to town shirt of bright blue gingham.

The Justice of the Peace invited us in and asked us about the necessary second witness. We looked at each other and at him and shrugged our shoulders. We just wanted to get married. We had no idea you needed two witnesses. Luckily his daughter was home and agreed to sign for us.

Next he wondered about rings. We looked at each other and at him and shrugged our shoulders again. We just wanted to get married. I took off my engagement ring and we used that, changing it from one hand to the other. Suited us just fine.

I was laying in bed last night thinking of that day. It's complicated why we chose the way we did to get married. I'm sure there were many family members thinking I was pregnant and that we'd moved our wedding date up nearly 2 and a half years for that reason. I'd just been released from the hospital. The doctors had told me then, due to the serious STDs they'd treated me for, that they couldn't guarantee I'd ever get pregnant. Not that I went around telling people that bit of information. I can just about see dearest one's family blanche in horror had I been so forthright. Dang, I missed a chance to shock them. I didn't let many of those go buy back then.

In what seems like a weird bit of logic, considering parts of my past, I just didn't want to live with dearest one without being married. I'd moved into his humble abode (no running water, no bathroom) barely two weeks before and I knew I didn't want to continue this way. It had never been in my plans. His family dynamics were of the sort that if his family came to our wedding when they hadn't gone to his younger brother's, well, we'd wanted to side step that mess of anger and resentments. Both of them married outside of dearest one's family's faith and that was serious business. So much so that dearest one's parents tried to convince him the night before our marriage, while I was downstairs in their house having a nice hot shower, to not marry me at all. Dearest one and I had been together about 6 weeks at the time. I'd spent three of those weeks in the hospital. I don't blame them a bit. I've told them so since. I had no clue how sacred marriage was and I wasn't going to listen to anyone tell me anything anyway. I was in loooove, what else was there to know?

I did have a beautiful to me dress. One that was most immodest in my soon to be mother-in-law's eyes. I still smile when I think of how she insisted I wear her sweater (because it was cold, she said) when I went to take off my coat at her church a few weeks later, nearly exposing my immodesty to her world. I liked a little shock value back then even though in my eyes the dress was beautiful. Do you remember ribbon dresses? They had a matching full silky slip underneath that was visible through the see through gauzy ribbon like material? I went on to buy a second ribbon dress; I loved them so much.

We stumbled through our vows. We signed on the dotted line. We went out and got drunk. During our supper of three, our 77 year old best man proclaimed in his toast to us, that it was the most sensible wedding he'd ever seen. He never stopped telling people that.

And so here we are.
By the grace of God.
Together.
Had we not turned to God.
Had I not sobered up.
Today would be another kind of post entirely.

Grace Filled Courage

I am grateful that most nights I sleep right through the night.
That makes this night of insomnia easier to accept.

I am grateful that the weather is spring like.
The road is too icy to walk on but
the temperature is so full of hope.
My mood is lifting with the weather.
I tend to beat myself up for the weather affecting me.
Try as I might I simply am not grateful
when it's between 30 and 45 below zero.
Well, grateful to be alive and in a warm house, yes,
and for many other things,
but not grateful that it's cold.

Next week dearest one and I will celebrate
27 years together.
We eloped, sort of.
Phoned our folks and told them:
"We're getting married next Friday and we're not inviting anyone."
We stumbled through our vows.
Forgot that we needed rings.
I promised to take dearest one as my awful wedded husband.
We dared not glance at each other at that point.
We would have had uncontrollable fits of laughter.
That's what happens when you get married as a teenager.

This past year has had us dig deeper than ever
into our issues.
At times they seem to be a bottomless pit.
The good news is that both of us have taken ownership
of stuff we have long pointed fingers at each other about.
You know, that old lie - "if only you would (change, grow up, do it my way, lighten up and on and on).....then I would (be happy, be nice, be responsible, be much easier to live with and other such nonsense)....."

Courage is the word I would use to describe this past year.
We've both had more courage than we ever thought possible.

Boy, I never planned on writing about my marriage
when I sat down to type.
But I'd glanced at the calendar and saw my anniversary date
highlighted in red and some days
that's all it takes for my thoughts to go sideways.
I am no expert on marriage, that's for sure.
But I am grateful for the almost 27 years that is my reality.

Between His Shoulder Blades

I'm going to crawl into an empty bed soon.
Dearest one is away.
He works way too early tomorrow to make the 80km trip to town plus pull a 12 hour work day on top of that. Oldest son and his new bride graciously open their door to him every week. Not everyone is that fortunate to have such a welcoming relationship with their married children; we try not to take it for granted.

Dearest one and I used to tease each other that whoever got the bed to themselves was one lucky person. No bed hog (that would be me) to deal with. No blanket hog (me, too) to wrestle with. No tug of war between a fickle throw the blankets off person (me) or hug them tight to keep out the cold (that would be me, too). No, having the bed to oneself meant you could do what you please with covers and space and pillows.

Sometime in the past 26 years an empty bed lost its appeal.
Whether we're in a for better or for worse time in married life, I try not to take for granted that (even if seconds earlier I've been tempted to whack him with a pillow), dearest one's still very much there, you know?
I have a friend who lost her husband in an accident 10 years ago.
She never slept in their bed again.
I think of her every single night that I crawl into bed and snuggle up to dearest one's back. I always kiss the spot between his shoulder blades when I feel the warmth of his body. Then he turns over and I snuggle into his arms. We've done that every night for ages now. We did it in the beginning of our relationship; falling asleep that way. Then there were years and years when we forgot that comforting ritual. During a really difficult time 5 years ago, though, we returned to it. When that tough time passed, we continued to snuggle up. Some days it's the only moment of connection we have. Even when we've been pissy with each other all day, we still snuggle up. I never forget my friend and how she longs for the warmth of her husband's body.

Early this morning my snoring must have woken up dearest one. Just as he was about to make me shut my mouth to stop the noise, I woke up. Then a moment later, I must have been breathing very quietly because I woke up again as he was checking to see if I was still breathing. There were too many years when it was a very real fear that I would permanently stop breathing in my sleep.

Anyway it is way past bed time.
I wait until I am good and tired before I crawl into bed when dearest one is away.
Otherwise I'll hear every darn thing out there.
Like mice (had one run across my pillow once),
and boogey men (those comic book characters that were escapees from jail? I used to think they would come out from under my bed as a child and grab my ankle),
and wildlife (moose, deer and elk) outside my window.

Maybe if I snore loud enough all the things
that go bump in the night will be scared of me.
At any rate I'm not sharing my covers.

PS I Love You

"I don't want to make any mistakes."

"You're of the wrong species then."

~ from the movie PS I Love You

I was more than antsy last night.
There was a point where I swear
the computer was calling to me as
insistently as any of my addictions ever have.
I found myself trying to make deals
within my head.
Trying to rationalize a way to go online
or pondering asking dearest one
to go on for me.
I even considered staying up until midnight
and then turning on the computer.
Maybe it will get easier every Sunday that goes by.
If not, there are so many worse things in the world.
I'll try not to make a full blown drama of it.
If it doesn't get easier then it's just telling me
something about myself. And, God help me,
life will do that until I die,
so it won't be anything new.

The wedding went fine.
The bride was beautiful.
She wore pink.
After the initial 15 seconds of taking off my coat
and standing in a swarm of women all in dresses and head coverings,
I didn't give what I was wearing (jeans) another thought.
That is a very hopeful happening.
Perhaps I'm a tad less self absorbed than I normally am.

It was beautiful to hear a group of young men
sing A Capella in 4 part harmony.
Dearest one's family
thinks musical instruments are of the world
so they sing without accompaniment.
I sat there before the service began and prayed
to be open to the beauty to be found,
instead of the nit picky things that I can downright enjoy
finding fault with.

I managed to choke/sputter only once
when the preacher said that he didn't want to make it seem
like love was hard
because it wasn't.
Lord have mercy on anyone who believes that.
I hate that a preacher said that to newlyweds.

At the pre wedding dinner two nights ago
I found myself snippy with dearest one
while visiting with family.
A habit I am so quick to judge in others.
I'm rarely snippy these days.
I've learned that snippiness means there are issues I am not facing.
Denial that I am sinking into.
Being snippy, especially in public, always sends up red flags that I am being
passive aggressive.
That whatever is gnawing at me under the surface
is making an attempt to be given a voice.

I watched as dearest one's body language went into freeze mode.
He got up and excused himself from the conversation we were
having with one of his sisters and her husband.
I sat there and thought about how they could go home and have a conversation
about the state of me and dearest one in that moment.
I see what I do.

We were not in the car on the way home
more than a moment
when I brought up his freeze mode
and my snarkiness.
We talked.
It was progress that it was spoken of immediately
instead of being left to fester into something uglier.

When we got home and he turned off the key,
the inside light came on and slowly illuminated his face.
Dearest one was looking at me and in his eyes
there was the deepest kindness.
I noticed.
I said nothing.
But I still hold it close in my heart.

There are but brief moments when I see,
truly see,
with eyes not my own.
Maybe that's what love is.

Forming Hope

Dearest one and I wandered together from place to place in town yesterday. At one point we found ourselves in a furniture store visiting with our bishop. Deep in conversation, we were brought back to reality by the salesperson inquiring if she could help us. Oh, right, we're not in a living room in our house, we're in a living room in a store. With that there were hugs all around and the bishop went his way while we continued ours.

We were passing the time in town, waiting to go to a wedding reception for one of our nieces in the evening. Wow. Get several hundred people together sharing food and fellowship and the noise level is overwhelming. In the midst of the cacophony we were able to connect with people we haven't seen for a few years. Sometimes I'm very aware of the twists and turns my spiritual life has taken as I sit among women whose hair is covered and whose dress is modest and feminine. At one point in my journey I sat among them in similar attire. Occasionally one of them asks me if my spiritual journey is the poorer for the lack of it. A wordy explanation is pointless. With my styled hair, dangling ear rings and blue jeans I can only smile and tell them no. I will always, however, have a special spot in my heart for that period of my life. It taught me much about myself and others. It's helped form me to be who I am today. When worn in simplicity and pureness of heart, I continue to see a head covering as beautiful. That period of my life was one of gross manipulation though, so simplicity and purity of heart were not part of my story. I desperately wanted them to be, but intention and reality are two different things.

Eventually dearest one and I made our way through the crowd and back to comfort of our car. As we drove home we talked about the highlight of our day. The best part for me was sitting in the food court with dearest one. He gave me the angel in the photo above, an angel of hope, and a card that brought tears to my eyes. Then he looked at me and said, "You've been doing a lot of hard inner work lately." We reached for each other's hand across the table, our eyes communicating the words that were stuck in our throats.

Dearest one must have run into a dozen people during the course of the day who he knew from somewhere (not counting the gazillion relatives at the wedding reception). In the mall there was the man he drove truck with, at the library -someone he worked with at a hospital. At the restaurant someone else was a patient's wife from long ago. At the reception last night I met a woman who was at oldest son's wedding this past summer. She talked about getting to know oldest son and how her and her elderly husband observed how he treated his love with respect. I imagined them watching out their living room window seeing him open her car door, or just the sensitive way he has of showing he cares. I looked at her and said, "He learned it from his dad." We then talked about our menfolk and how one of the dominant traits in the men of dearest one's family is their tenderheartedness. She nodded in agreement and then told me her husband was like that, too.

As dearest one made his way towards me in the furniture store yesterday one of the sales people turned to me and said, "Your husband is an incredible person." Turns out dearest one had nursed her father as he was dying. There is a sacredness to sharing this part of a family's journey that dearest one holds in his heart. I looked at the grief lingering in her eyes and said gently, "yes, he is."

Remember how cynical I was the other day when I heard this song playing on the radio? Wait a few minutes, hours, days and my attitude might change. After all, there is always hope. As I wrap up this post the song is playing on the radio again. It's been a few days of that kind of tenderness around here and it's a balm to my healing heart. Thanks be to God.