Round and Round - A Marriage Allegory

We celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary last year with a trip to Florida. 

This year we enjoyed a nice dinner and a ride in a posh Ferris wheel. 

So, if you'll indulge me, I'll "spin" an 

over-obvious parallel 

between marriage and a Ferris wheel ride. 

After paying too much money to ride, anticipation builds as you stand in line watching other riders settle into neon-lit gondolas and spin slowly up, into thick summer-evening air. Anticipation makes waiting almost unbearable, but finally, it's your turn. Someone with a badge mumbles a litany of rules and recommendations. You and your partner rush aboard,  fastening safety buckles and latches in all haste.

Revolutions which looked slow and relatively safe from the ground spin by impossibly fast.

The dazzling view and intimate seating arrangement are thrilling, although either may prove uncomfortable over the course of the ride. The free-fall sensation of the downward spin and the unpredictable swing of the car delight, excite, and cause many to cling even more tightly. 

Multiply the excitement (or terror) if your partner decides to jostle or even swing the cab during the ride. But, if your companion is the quiet sort, you may be challenged to celebrate simple joys: starry night gazing or a gentle handclasp. 

Too soon, it's time to exit the ride. The wheel slows as others leave their gondolas, allowing enough time for a kiss or two before arriving at the bottom for the last time. You exit on the far side of the wheel, unnoticed by glee-filled new riders, eager to begin their circular journey. 

"What's next?" your spouse asks and reaches for your hand.

"How about some ice cream to top off the night?" you reply. 

And off you wander, hand in hand, toward the next allegory-worthy adventure.

Just Get Away

When our guys were boys, we were huge fans of 

a well-placed Get Away. 

Because, of course, there was so much to  get away from, like: 

* Non-sensical bickering about who touched what first, and 

the never-ending argument about who looked at whom. 

* Dirty socks which multiplied, somehow, under the couch, and their companions ... 

dirty dishes, dirty sheets, dirty looks, dirty pets, dirty feet—DIRT.

* Conversations which started like these—

"You used my toothbrush for WHAT?"

"Please do not lick the door handle."

"Don't touch your brothers butt."

"That's too high. It's too high! Stop!"

Things are not the same, these days.

I won't say that we don't need the well-timed Get Away like we 

used to, because we still definitely do. It's just that the intensity of 

mid-life  is pressure of a different kind. We no longer 

 run (screaming) from our home trailing 

gummy worms and wet wipes. 

Now we struggle to make room in our over-stuffed schedules

and hatch complicated plots regarding the comings and goings of 

the other people who live here.

The same ones who used to lick doorknobs.

But it's worth it to enjoy soothing fountains like this one, 

 long conversations while holding hands, 

and antique mall smooching.

* Richwood on the River, Milton, Kentucky

What's your favorite place for a Get-Away?

Summer Visiting

Guest posting is fun.

Check out my guest post at

Lindsey Brackett's blog

Just Write Life.

Lindsey is a wonderful writer friend and an earnest soul.

Browse around—you'll be glad you visited her blog.

Empty

     "Do you want to sit here?" His hand flipped from one jacket pocket to offer her the seat.
     She looked at the rusted metal chair and grimaced. What makes him think I would want to sit in that? "No. Thanks." She stood behind the chair, gripped the top edge, and directed her gaze at the collar of his flannel shirt. "They're going to wonder why we're still out here. You know they don't like to wait on supper." She looked down at the chair and flicked a piece of loose paint. It landed on the gravel at his feet. "What do you want to say? Just say it."
     She watched him take a deep breath and kick the gravel mixed with sticks. His words now would change the course of the visit. 
     Of the day. 
     Of her life.

 

Treasure Hunt - Marriage

I found this tiny bride and groom at a yardsale last weekend.

With only one dollar bill and some change in my pocket, I was happy to find  

a few treasures to take home. The homeowner tucked this clingy pair in a tiny 

cigar box, and they made the ride home without incident.

Right away, I took them to the kitchen sink for a gentle washing.

The worst of the dust and grime came off with a damp cloth, but the hem 
of the bride's gown would not come completely clean. 

There wasn't anything to be done about their hair - it's just worn away.

And they both have some lumps in unflattering places.

In fact, the more closely you examine this couple, the more flaws become evident -

those lips ... the hands ... some pretty smug eyebrow action ...

Give too much attention to these detracting details, and
you'll miss the really good stuff :

Closeness 

Don't you just want to stare, and drink in the quiet intimacy of their proximity?
She tucks her hand into the small triangle of his arm, 
and he crooks his arm to hold it securely to his side. 
They lean toward each other instead of away,
 allowing selective magnetism to draw them closer. 
In light of this, her nose blob seems much smaller, doesn't it?

Perseverance 
 Clearly they've been a couple for a long, long time.
All the evidence points to the fact that they've been used, maybe many times.
According to the layers of dirt (mold?), they spent some years in the basement.
There's no doubt that they're mostly unappreciated, 
 unpopular, even among those they've served in the past.
Available for pocket change, right next to random Tupperware lids.

 But they are still together. 
Together at the wedding celebrations.
Together during the dark basement years. 
Together on the discard table.
Don't muddy hems and awkward trousers seem completely 
beside the point now?

Determination 
Look at their faces again - 
 those are game-faces if I've ever seen any. 
They take their marriage seriously and seem to know that their relationship
 is worth fighting for; worth the courage it takes to go the distance.
Perhaps the smug eyebrow this groom wears is not one of arrogance, 
but more along the lines of,  "Bring it on!"

When confronted with such a heroic expression, 
concerns about hair-or the lack of it-disappear.
Poof!

The conclusion of my  kitchen sink thoughts, for what it's worth:

In the micro-examination of negative, often trivial details, the most 

valuable features of a mature marriage are often overlooked.
 Disappointments take center stage while treasures 
 go unnoticed and unappreciated.

***

Tools for further thought HERE.

Rolling Hills

 The rolling hills of Kentucky, as seen from the walkways of Shaker Village in Pleasant Hill.

We stayed here on our Christmas Get-Away, January 2nd and 3rd. 

 Oh the peace of nearly-deserted museum rooms, reading history until I'm finally satisfied. 

Tours of restored buildings and tales of the long-gone citizens of Shakertown 

from docents and enactors eager to please their only visitors of the day. 

I'm still thinking of it. 

One of the unexpected pleasures of a get-away is the reminiscing. 

"Remember how much fun we had when we went to ____?" 

"Yes! The fireplace ... the balcony ... that Chinese place in town ..."

Fond smiles, clasped hands, sparkling eyes. 

I'll never regret the time, effort and expense it's taken 

 to get away from our daily lives and make memories with each other, 

as husband and wife.

The Bag Men

It's funny how age and experience can bring a certain variety of wisdoms, I think. For example ...

- The neighbor's cat is just going to eat a few birds. There's no fighting nature.

- That whole 'You can't judge a book by its cover' thing - really true.

- People speeding wildly in their vehicles can be oh! so easily explained.

- It's just reasonable (and economical) to keep a few different sizes of jeans in your wardrobe.

And now I've come realize something new about  those men you sometimes see carrying the purse. Not their own --- you can tell by the unwieldy handling. I must admit to some inward snickering and scoffing in the past, and yes, even to quietly pointing out the occasional sight of  a bag-bearing husband  for a quiet chuckle among friends. Especially that rare fellow who awkwardly shoulders his wife's purse, in order to have both hands free.

I have to say, I've tried to spare my husband this particular indignity 
among the many which I've managed to inflicted upon him - 

"Thanks, but I 'll carry that myself."  

Said too sharply, I know, because of the big ding that would put in my own pride. It just seems like a 
too-huge admission of weakness to not be able to carry my own purse, right up there with being 
unable to slip on my own socks.*  And Lord knows, I hang on to my (perceived) 'independence' 
pretty fiercely. He's still working with me on that.

*These seem like two of the most basic functions of everyday life. There are other, even more basic,
 of course, but I refuse to let myself even consider those for now.  

So recently, when My Wonderful Husband had to carry my bag to the house while I gripped his other arm, slowly making painful progress toward the house, the tenderness of his helpful gesture smacked me right in the face. "I can't believe you're carrying my purse..."  I managed to squeak, to which he began to swing it and sashay along, being careful to  not jar me too much. It was funny - he made it funny,  to diffuse my emotional response and defeat my pride.   "Not a big deal," he smiled, "Does it match my outfit?"  

I Can't Believe I'm Here is a refrain of my life, maybe of everyone's life,  and one that is sometimes accompanied by mournful tears. Now, laughing is generally better than crying, and we try to stick to that motto around here. But some moments pass by unLIVED if they are refused a recognition which may require tears, even tears mixed with laughter. Even though I can't believe it,  I am here, in a purse-surrendering-spot of life, and the bag-bearing husband is no longer an object of smirky amusement to me. 

He seems more like a hero, actually.

Bliss

1988 in Charleston, South Carolina. 

We were post-wedding bliss.

Honeymoon Me

Can you see our faces sort of glowing?

Honeymoon He

Our First Married Morning

on the front steps of the Graustein Inn in Knoxville.

These photos were rarely seen, boxed slides and have been recently transferred to digital. 

I'm thinking this might be a fun small business. 

Let me know if you have some slides you'd like to have switched over - I've got the gear! 

In the Pew - Alone

I'd like to ask if you ever really look at those worshipping around you on Sunday morning.

Do you wonder what their lives are really like? 

What are their concerns or cares?

What are their joys and triumphs?

Who's in the pew next to you?

***********************

He slipped into his seat during that bustling moment before the music began, just as he always did now, according to his every-Sunday plan. Finding isolation in the midst of the churchgoing crowd felt safe and tight, and he judged his strategy to be serving him well. It didn't matter what pew he occupied, as long as it wasn't 'their' pew, which he steadfastly refused to even look toward.

When his Marnie had been by his side, the Sunday morning experience had been completely different. It had been a joy to arrive at church early. Every encounter with friends had been an opportunity for laughter and shared confidences, hardy handshakes and stiff slaps on the back. In those days, it had been his barely secret delight to study Marnie over the shoulders of others. How he had cherished the curve of her cheek, and the shape of her neck as it held up the head he loved to cradle in their bed at night. Her form in its loudly patterned Sabbath dresses had been his touchstone; her smile, his homing beacon. As she moved among their friends and reached to greet strangers, he had been her faithful Always Admirer, gratefully savoring the wife of his youth.

Now alone and moving stiffly, he seemed to have aged many years in the few weeks since she had gone on, losing whatever youth he had left to the continually fierce pain which loss had brought along as its partner. There was a hole in his side, a gaping rip like the war wound of his past. His breath was perpetually shallow and sour-tasting with grief, and the trembling hands at the ends of his arms did not seem to be his own as he placed his Bible in the empty space next to him. 

He was unaware of the morning light as it poured through the stained glass, bathing his solitude with shafts of green, pink and blue. The piano pounded to life and obediently he stood to sing, helplessly shouldering the weight of his bereavement.

You Gotta Laugh

When I start to fret about finances, I try to regrow lettuce. 

If this makes sense to you, you've probably been in similar circumstances.

Thinking of too many things the other afternoon, I cut a lovely head of 

ruffly lettuce, put a handful in with my tomato lunch and

absentmindedly threw the delicious remainder in the garbage.

Hovering over the trashcan for a moment, I considered trying to retrieve it, 

since I believe almost  anything is pretty much still fine if you just rinse it really well, 

but ... no.

So I felt obligated to get the very most out of the  heel.

 Here it is in its place on the window sill just above the kitchen sink. 
New leaves began to sprout from the center the same afternoon!

It didn't take me long to see it.
Do you see it?

THIS made me shout out with laughter!

A plastic caveman staring at me from the leafy lettuce foliage: 

I knew it was just my husband, playing with me. 

I stopped washing dishes to go find him and enjoy the joke.

A long time ago, we discovered that the component of 'play' in our marriage

was invaluable. We misplaced it, actually, for a little while, after the 

birth of our first son. The pressures of decoding a new baby (when neither of us had

any experience with them at all) seemed so heavy as we each tried to

put on a good show of being  GROWN UP enough to parent.

Then one  night, as we lay awake hoping that the baby didn't wake up again in the wee hours,

we mused over how hard this all seemed to be. 

And how long it had been since we had laughed. 

Really hard. 

Out loud. 

Tears-on-your-face laughter.

We made a change that very night! I'll spare you the details, but with  

determination, PLAY was re-established at our address. Doesn't it seem odd to

pair words like 'determination' and 'play'? Maybe so, but in the more difficult bits of

our life together, this very element has saved the day more than once, 

making it worth the cost of a good helping of determined diligence.

How long since you and your spouse had a really good laugh together?

I'd love to hear about that!

We've Been Away

It's easy to recommend St. Augustine as a nice place to celebrate a 25th wedding anniversary.

We spent a whole week there - SEVEN nights - and decided that might be a little too long to be away.

We got a whole lot of sand between our toes as we jockeyed from beach to beach,

 looking for just the right spot. 

(Found it on the last day at Vilano Beach.)

Visited as many cemeteries as we could - most of them are locked up

unless you're on a GHOST TOUR.

This carving in a tombstone from the late 1700's caught my eye.

"Look at that, hubs - is that amazing or what?!"

"Tombstones just aren't that amazing, sweetheart."

 Endured an agonizing sales pitch for the resort where we were staying

(We ended up giving them the most ridiculous bottom line figures in answer to:

"What would it cost to make you an owner today?" Knowing the salesguy would 

have to politely decline our thrift - but he met it instead. Then we had to turn him down.)

in order to get a $100 Visa which we used to buy our private eco-tour of the bay with Captain Kyle.

We unashamedly became Total Tourist Nerds with trolley stickers, visitor bands,  

appropriately painful sunburns and audio tour devices. 

It was all good - we had lots and lots of company. 

At least I didn't sport a fanny pack.

Here's a tourist SHOULD for free:

People should keep their knees together when riding in a full trolley seat, 

instead of sitting like bullfrogs wearing short pants and tube socks.

And yes, even the elderly should follow this rule, I believe.

Our eyes were trained on the beaches searching for sharks teeth,

and on the skies, too.

More on St. Augustine coming your way soon.

It'll be like the missionary slide show held in the church hall 

on a slow Baptist Wednesday night.

Sweet Talkin'

Sometimes you just need to talk about desserts.

While having dessert at Outback tonight

(many thanks to those wonderful souls who graciously gave us those gift cards)

and rating their featured cinnamon apple dish a disappointed '5' out of '10', 

Cinnamon Oblivion

My Wonderful Husband and I discussed our all time favorite list of restaurant desserts.

It's a short list of three:

(Even when the kids were small, getting time away together was a priority and eating was usually a happy part of that. Our special occasion date was a Progressive Dinner Date. We'd visit the restaurant with our favorite appetizer, enjoy that, get the check and drive to another spot and enjoy our favorite entree, then end the evening with our most loved dessert. It makes for a nice long night out, with three different crowds of people to gawk at and lots to talk about, besides organizing a game plan on Surviving Parenting.) 

#1  TGI Friday's Rockslide Pie

#2  Salty Dog Cafe's Key  Lime Pie

#3  Rafferty's Apple Walnut Crunch

Do you have a list of favorite restaurant desserts?

There's a whole other list of super special HOMEMADE desserts ....

Stockings

These Christmas stockings were made for the boys as they were born. 

By me. (!)

I don't know much that is more soothing than following kit instructions. 

Making the stocking come together is so satisfying. 

A wonderful, intricate puzzle of felt, floss and sequins.

Over time, various bits of the stockings (doves, chickens, carrots) were pulled loose for 

closer examination, to make a trip to Grandma's

in a pajama pocket, or because the dog may have wanted a sniff/lick. 

No problem - all the bits sew back. 

Chocolate melting in the second stocking was alarming for a few minutes and actually 

'left a mark' that lends character. 

The stockings remain empty until sometime in the wee hours of Christmas morning, when we, bleary-eyed and full of our cut of stocking candy, stuff them and move them away
from the fire. Once we forgot that last part ... and someone's candy melted. Right.

Husband and I have stockings of our own that hang in our room (which I did not make). 
We follow our own stocking traditions which involve much anticipation, taunting and delight  - like any good marriage tradition. We drop items in the other's stocking, at least a week ahead. No peeking, but squeezing, guessing, and mocking is encouraged. It's fun, and the boys like to come check our stockings, too. 
They actually LOOK though, and taunt us also. 

Long Haul

Have I mentioned my husband lately?

I should have, then.

Sunshine, blue skies and puffy clouds

or 

storm clouds, lightning bolts and drenching drizzle - 

we're in this together, for the long haul!

It's a forever sort of friendship. 

What a gift - it's our Great Wealth.

He's my "Friend With Benefits".

Rich

I love Friday nights at our house.

The work week is finished, and the weekend is brand new.

Oh, the wealthy feeling of standing at the beginning of a brand new weekend!

Burgers on the grill with a slab of pepper jack cheese.

(2 lb ground beef + 1 package of Fresh Take Cheddar Jack and Bacon = slobbering and thankful men)

Enjoying the patio scenery while waiting for the burgers to be finished...

After dinner, a trip to the local park for some running, walking, biking, gawking.

The dog got to come with us this time - that doesn't usually happen. 

And look at those clouds that lined up over the ball field - 

is that amazing or what?

Don't you just love the sky show the Lord puts on every single day?

And us. 

I'm glad to be glad to be with my best friend on a Friday night.