His and hers: Pandemic edition

On so many levels we are a mixed marriage. Age doesn't even scratch the surface of differences. Politics is not a space we wander into often. Religion has about one inch of overlap. And most of all, people. He would claim he is as introverted as I am, but this has brought out the truth. I have prayed diligently for years for a lifestyle that allowed as little interaction with people as possible. These past days have been pretty great: horse, husband, dog. I work over Zoom and that's OK. It isn't peopling all day, every day, as most days are under normal circumstances. I come home wrecked, often unable to even go see my horse because I am so tired from all the peopling. I love my peoples, but time alone is GOLD. These days there is plenty of time for restoration between interactions and I can be present and pleasant (I hope) when I do show up in the videoconference. I get to do this alot and my eyes belie how happy I am.

By contrast, he calls everyone he knows all day long and plenty of people he doesn't know but would like to. Despite dire warnings and my death stares he still goes over to his friends (older than him) house for beers every afternoon. And yesterday, our neighbor and his son were digging in the yard by our fence. Another neighbor had come by. Keep in mind he has had VERY few conversations with these men; two barely speak English. We are not friends. Have never been in one another's houses. But when he saw this little gathering at the fence he literally trotted out the door. People! Whee! 

 And so, we have confirmation. I am indeed an introvert. Excuse me, an INTROVERT. He is an extrovert.  Please remember:

Marriage as C25K

I am reading Kate Braestrup's second memoir, Marriage and Other Acts of Charity. 

Her tale reminds me of my favorite admonition about marriage: a successful one is where both man and wife each think they got the better end of the deal. Today is our anniversary. And let me tell you. I won. 

What he got: neuroses, debt, abhorrence of household maintenance, neuroses, vegetables, political rants, oh, and did I mention my neuroses?

What I got: Love. 

A few months ago, in the midst of the time that shall not be mentioned (still processing) I found this was my horoscope:

 

I was crying a lot in those days but this made me grin from the inside out. Because that girl? The one with the mix tapes full of Bryan Adams, Journey, Cheap Trick and every other longing ballad? I want to tell her that those nights of wishing and hoping and thinking and praying - they worked! She won the marriage lottery!

 I just read this amazing obituary; Pink's story is the story Jesus wants to hear from every obituary he reads over his morning coffee. Love. A lot. Openly and with abandon. 

I am not guilty of this behavior.  I fail to love on many - well, most - occasions. My husband, on the other hand, is a gift. My first reaction to anything - a bird at the window, a letter in the mail, a new recipe - is analytic. 

My brain goes to all the factors, the whys, the implications, the context and relation to all things known before. It asserts dominance every time. Let's just say I don't radiate love and grace the way Pink did.

Jack, on the other hand, is the Ghost of Christmas Present. Come, and know me better, man! He lives fully and radiates love. He is grace when I have a tantrum, solace when I am afraid, hope when I doubt. His arms are always open. 

Why do we celebrate anniversaries? Some do to honor what the couple has made of their life together. Home, children, community. Some mark the survival of tumultuous years. Some renew their vows. 

 Today marks six years for us since we first said our vows.

We kept the whole better or worse stuff, the richer or poorer, the sickness and in health bit (see previous post).  We agreed faithful was probably good to stick in. Honesty, respect, trust, etc. Then we took a little creative license and declared: 

"I promise to honor you; to share all that I am with you and to love you all the days of my life."

"I join with you on your journey; that we may learn to better understand ourselves, the world and God." 

Yes, I love him every day. And every day he shows me how to be a little better at it. 

In her conclusion, the lady who performed the ceremony admonished us. "Cory and Jack, treat each other with respect and remind yourselves often of what brought you together. Give the highest priority to the tenderness, gentleness and kindness that your marriage deserves. If each of you takes responsibility for the quality of your life together, your marriage will be marked by abundance and delight." 

She was right. So today we celebrate this 5k victory while training for a marathon. Love is choice every minute of every day. Someday I hope I will finally learn it well enough so love will become my default the way Jack learned it to be from his parents and Pink - and Jesus - taught us it should be.

Close to the bone

We got up before dawn today to begin July in a fluttery cave of hairnets and booties, needles and nerves, and sterile everything.

It was a day labeled 'surgery' on the calendar. He teases the nurses, razzes the doctors and gives me his wedding ring to hold.

Sitting with all the other anxious families I hear snippets of their stories and feel little veins burst in my heart.

A wife, on the phone to her daughter: "They had to zap him to get his heart going again, but he's fine now. No, I don't know what they'll do if it happens again."

A grandmother to her sister: "We thought her last brain surgery would be it. I can't believe she has to go through this again. Those poor kids."

We are there for a procedure so routine that no overnight stay is required. There is risk, of course; there is always risk with general anesthesia, but for us there is certainty. This is nearly guaranteed to work. Tomorrow will begin a new, pain-free chapter in life for us. What will it bring for them?

I send love and prayers for grace and hope to the patients, their families, and prayers for guidance and strength to the doctors and nurses. But most of all, I send gratitude. I fill balloons with appreciation and float them to the heavens. Today, grace comes to me through a short, spiky-haired young doctor's pronouncement: "He's doing great."

"Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving." 

- Kahlil Gibran

The wicked stepmother

It was an out of body moment, really.

It was our first official date. I knew he had been married before and had children, but the details were fuzzy. When I got them and did the math I was suddenly on the hood of the truck looking back in at myself.

This man, with whom I was so enamored I drove over a thousand miles for a date, had five children? And two of them were older than me? That's a lot for a girl to digest. (And even more so for the children!)

Fast forward a few years. Everyone seems to have adapted remarkably well to this sitcom scenario in which we live. Before we got married, Jack asked all of his children how they felt about it.

Most responded along the lines of "we just want you to be happy, and she makes you happy." One smiled in mock relief that she was off the hook for taking care of him when he got old. The youngest declared she was the youngest of his children and preferred to stay that way.

I agreed with the latter request, but told the other one that as soon as he got old I was shipping him to live with her!

This family is full of humor and good nature and they accepted this Yankee in with open-arms. We just got back from visiting them and I am again awed by how gracious and welcoming they are to me. The situation is strange - at least outside of Hollywood - but somehow it works. This last week I was struck by how the bond I have with Jack shapes the bonds I have to his family.

Two of Jack's five children might be older than I am, but with all of them my feelings are colored by the way he treasures them. His need for them to be happy and successful is catching. On paper, I am the stepmother to a woman nearly six years older than I am.

It is ridiculous and inappropriate to assign "mother" in any way to such a relationship, but it perhaps not incorrect. I want to be a person on whom they can rely. A resource in their journey, to help in any way I can.

I am not their mother. I am not their sister or cousin. None of us has a template for how to navigate this relationship. We do not have a shared history. But for me there is a sense of responsibility that defies explanation. I feel the urge the mother hen has to nudge the chick in the right direction, to where he can gain traction. Who am I to presume I know better than they? Good question. I told you - it's odd!

There is a lot of discussion about how fractured family trees have become and indeed, they are certainly pruned in new ways, but as long as we are open to relationships our trees will blossom.

What I do know is that watching my husband puff with pride when his chicks gather fills my heart and make me love him - and them - all the more.

Squeeze the present

Our Sunday morning ritual revolves around CBS Sunday Morning. We love the arts, the commentary, the human focus of the stories. This week, they re-aired Barry Peterson's story about his wife's early-onset Alzheimer's disease.

I've seen the piece three times and bawl every time.

The story is about love and how the disease manages to dissolve their dreams, one tiny pixel at a time. Peterson does such a good job showing how he and Jan were everything to each other until, without meaning to, she left. The disease floated her out of their intimacy into a cloud bank of confusion.

How much of marriage is being able to finish each other's sentences?  Knowing how to feed joy to your spouse? Retelling your favorite stories to swell the present with the sweetness of the past? Being a counterweight to your husband or wife's struggles?

If we could, we would hang sandbags, lower anchors, anything to keep them here with us, but no one can counterweight a person's evaporation, especially not the loved one left behind. In the story, Peterson shares a friend's perspective that every visit is another funeral.

Which is why I haven't read the book, Jan's Story. Jack has done an amazing job of teaching me that fear deserves no more attention than a kick in the teeth, but still. Some things eat me alive inside and this is one. Statistics show that Alzheimer's is on the rise and when your husband has 28 years of aging on you, fear has a leg up.

We all know that when you focus on what you fear you head right for it, which is why I don't mind seeing the story for the third time. I need frequent reminding; the lesson Jan taught him, Peterson says, is to soak up every day and be very grateful for the glory that is the present. Maybe if I learn that lesson fast enough I can diffuse the fear, let go of the future and trust it, too, will be glorious and full of love.

Jan and Jack are both right. Kick away from the dock of fear and water ski over that jump. That's how we do it, right? How we get those stories?

Yes, dear, I said you are right. So when do we do we get to go water skiing?

Comparing notes

A lady told me the other day her daughter was married to a man 26 years older than she is.

"She and I need to talk," I said. Jack and I are 28 years apart. "Yes, you do," she said.

We are rather peerless, you see.

Of course every marriage is unique, every relationship a landscape with its own flora, fauna and vistas, but ours mixes creatures not generally found in the same habitat. Few couples out there can relate.

I like to imagine the conversations we could have.
There's the obvious, like health care and retirement planning. Then there's the less obvious, like the cultural references.

"I'd never heard of Gene Simmons before I saw this show," Jack said today as Family Jewels went off the air.

Retirement planning

We visited Jack's investment banker today. We giggle when we call him that, since the total portfolio is worth less than a month of income, but it sounds good.

We talked about Jack's options with this retirement account and social security.

"Well, I advise people to retire when they are ready, not for the Social Security," said Mr. Broker Man.

Jack explained that there were physical reasons he was thinking about semi-retirement and yada yada yada. "Besides," he said, looking at me.

"She's my retirement plan. You're just the backup."