The Autodidact

This year I will have been married to my dearest friend for 26 years. Usually, the anniversaries that get more attention are the ones that are factors of 5's and 10's. But this one, 26, is also special to me. I have been married exactly half of my life. I'm not sure why, but it struck me as significant to have been married half of my time on this earth. And so, to mark this auspicious anniversary, I give you, in no special order, 26 items that have contributed to an enduring marriage. 1. Laugh. Laugh at yourself, with each other. Laugh at each other when appropriate. Laugh at the end of your arguments, because most of them are silly anyway. 2. Study. Study your husband. What does he like? What are his dreams? What makes him feel loved?(these must be exploited!) What are his fears and insecurities? (these must never be exploited.) 3. Cook. Cook his favorites (if his mom is still around, ask her for ideas). But cook new things for him, too. Cook nutritious, hearty f...

My husband is an avid gardener, and left to his own devices, he would happily transform our entire yard into a garden. But, with all our kids and a dog, well, it's not going to happen. But he loves his garden. It's high summer now in the Northeast, and his garden is lovely. Perfectly straight rows. Not a weed in sight. It's a work of art as well as a labor of love. My pictures just can't do it justice. But in the midst of it all is a strawberry patch. He put it in just for me because I wanted them. And I do manage to get the few that the chipmunks and children don't get. But it's a wild part of the garden, blocked off by a crooked wall made of old bricks and pieces of sandstone. One day, as I looked out the dining room window at the garden, I thought how it served as a picture of our marriage. I am not a stickler for detail, but my husband is. I like to start something and sit back to see what happens, while my husband likes to attend to ever...

The other day I was taking dictation for the 17 year-old as he was filling out a questionnaire. One of the questions asked the applicant to list the things they were most thankful for. I had no idea what he was going to say, or if he would be able to think of something to be grateful for; teenagers can sometimes be, well, shallow. Without hesitation, the first thing he listed was thankfulness that his parents were still married. Then he went on to list a few more things, such as a good education, a home and the chance to play sports, and for God. And I kept writing as he kept talking, but the first item in his list just got hung up in my brain and stayed there long after he finished answering all the questions. I savored it for a day before even telling anyone, it was that meaningful to me. I asked him about this and he replied that many of his friends live in a single parent home, and he can see the ripple effects of divorce. I told him that at one time in the past, psychologist...

He was sick in bed for a week. In all, sick for an entire month, with fever, trouble breathing, fatigue, headache and coughing. He dragged himself to work, week after week, and came home, had dinner and went to bed. Weekends he spent in bed. It seemed that it would never end, that my husband would be sick indefinitely. We glimpsed into each others' worlds; usually I am the sick or injured one for weeks on end, while he takes over the grocery shopping and care of the children. And patiently waits for me to get well, while I bemoan my fate. But he is long-suffering, he endures. He never complained, except once when I asked him if I could get him anything and he asked for a new body. He did a few things around the house and ran a few errands, even though I knew he'd rather not; that he'd rather be in bed. The younger kids spent a lot of time with him while he was in bed, snuggling, reading, keeping him company. He was too tired to play or wrestle or swing them in the air...

Submission.  So many people don't like that word. When we hear that word, we think doormat, pushover, second-rate or other negative words. It has a bad rap. Women, especially, bristle at the word and hate to think of themselves as submitting to their husbands. Men are afraid to bring it up for fear of offending their wives or getting hit over the head. We've come a long way baby, and all that, right? Why do we need to submit to our husbands? We aren't doormats or pushovers. And let's face it, ladies, we are capable, we are good at being in charge; we can multitask, and assess a situation and quickly make a decision. We can do it all! But that doesn't mean we should. Look what happened in the garden: Eve was deceived, made a snap decision, and then told her husband what to do. And it ended in disaster. I wonder what Adam would have done if approached by the serpent first? Probably said he'd think it over, gone home and made a flow chart, worked up some compar...

When my husband and I were engaged, we discussed many topics: how many kids we wanted, what would our household budget look like, where to go to church, and if I would work or stay home. Yes, you read that last one right. We weren't going to have kids right away, and so it would seem like a no-brainer  that I would work until we started having kids, and so the question would be where to work, not if to work. That's what most of my peers were doing, but I wanted out. Out of the working world, where women can be vicious back-stabbers and gossips, or just silly, and men either patronize you or sell you short, or just do not know how to treat you. Out of someone else's schedule and demands and agenda. Out of the working world, where I would have to work not only for someone else, but work for my husband as well, keeping house and cooking. We both agreed that my staying home from the start was something we both wanted; I was thrilled and my then-finance was relieved to kno...

Grow Old Let's grow old together, eyes pleading with mine. Let's grow old and not mind the time. Take my hand, come with me; Locked in your heart, throw away the key.  How long the journey would be, none could say. Where will this go? Will we love like we do today? Grow old with me,  hands tugging at mine. Let's cling to each other, and our hearts be twined. Take my name, take my all.  Love I give you freely, for you I have been called. We could not see: Tears, heartaches, joys and mystery that love can be. Growing old, growing grey, hearts full.  Time slips by, not enough days. Let's grow old together, until our time is done. Stay with me, and we will be one. For my husband, who has given me 21 years (and counting) of his life and love.

My husband loves to garden. He would love to move out to the country, have a huge garden and maybe some chickens, and perhaps a cow. But we are planted in the city, so to speak, and he manages to grow a nice variety of vegetables. Every February, he pores over seed catalogs and dreams of his next garden. He plants his seeds indoors while there is still snow on the ground, and when he comes home from work each night, he checks on his seedlings, adjusting the temperature of the room, the lighting and air flow. His workshop in the basement is transformed into a greenhouse of sorts for the last few cold months of the season. When it gets warm enough, he tills the soil and brings his seedlings outside to his cold frame, or plants the hardier early plants.  The kids look forward to this every year; the garden goes from being full of potential: to being full of life!  I find things like this on my kitchen counter: And I find little people in ...

     The house has been half empty for three days now and I have washed and cleaned and organized about everything I can lay my hands on, trying to fill the time. The three younger kids and I have read stories and watched movies and played games to fill the quiet that permeates the house. I have seen these little ones in a new light. The 7 year-old is the oldest for the time being and has taken charge of the baby and her 4 year-old brother; she has learned how to run the dishwasher and washer and dryer, stepping up to the job well. The 4 year-old, the man of the house, has been fearless and protective and ever encouraging, doing his part to fill the shoes his brothers and father have left behind. The baby, is, well, still the baby, but has begun saying new words and doing new things that the older ones have missed and will have to hear about second-hand.      If I stop moving and working and planning, the silence becomes too loud, but I am learning to welc...

Since we said goodbye my heart keeps sinking, sinking. I know it's a short time,  but I feel like I am falling, falling off a cliff. I keep hearing your voice, your footstep,  but I am imagining, imagining. How could someone so quiet  leave such silence behind? Part of me is gone,  but it's hard, it's hard to tell what part. I keep breathing, breathing to keep from stumbling over my heart. The time passes slowly, then quickly, slowly, but not steadily. Since we said goodbye, I have been thinking, thinking of how we intertwine in each others' lives. I keep seeing your face, your eyes when my eyes are closing, closing to sleep. How can a few miles  leave such silence behind? Part of you is here, here with me, in me, and I can't tell where it hurts. I keep whispering, whispering to myself that you will be home soon. The day passes but I don't perceive, it makes little sense. Since we said goodby...

Something has been bugging me for years, but only recently have I been able to put my finger on it. When my husband and I got married we were told that we were entering a one-flesh relationship; that we were two, but now one. The state granted us permission to do so and gave authority to proclaim us so to our pastor. But at the same time, the state allows the union to be undermined. Here are some examples: We must have separate library cards and some libraries won't let one of us check out materials reserved on the other's card. Privacy laws! I can't use my husband's credit card; I have to have my own. Only one of us can be the parent on our children's savings account; I cannot transact banking business on behalf of my husband (or my child) if I am not the parent named on the account. At least my husband and I are allowed to hold a joint checking account!  One of us cannot resolve issues with PayPal or utilities in the other's stead if...