I bet you didn’t believe me when I said I would be back here on the first day of the month. Honestly, I wasn’t sure myself. I am notorious for setting an intention (especially one to write on a schedule) and then not keeping it.
Yet, here I am. A pleasant surprise for both of us.
Gliding into the month of June after a somewhat momentous May, at least by the standards of my usually small life. It included a note-worthy anniversary, the annual planting of the garden, and even some travel (a rare event for our little trio.) All the while keeping up with my reading projects and daily journal writing. I even had time to try a little creative play making a collage card to send to a friend.
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At the top of this post, I poked fun for not always keeping my promises to myself; however, I am very loyal to my promises to others – as evidenced by the aforementioned wedding anniversary Jim and I celebrated on the 8th of the month – our 50th. In fact, Loyal is the named attribute for my Enneagram type: Number 6, the Loyalist. Always responsible, always prepared, always wanting to ensure that all bases are covered.
And that pretty much describes my role throughout most of our married life. Which is alright with me, actually, because my 6-ness also means that deep down I don’t think anyone could do a better job of that than me-myself-and I. Toxic independence, a therapist once named it.
Seriously, fifty years is a long time to spend together, especially when you start out at age 20. I thought I was all grown up then, isn’t that just hilarious? When in fact I did not know how to change a roll of toilet paper. (Really, I didn’t.) I’m sure everyone in the church that day of our wedding didn’t expect it to last – we were two only children, barely more than teenagers, with no real life experience. But I learn fast, and I learn well. Before long I was taking care of not just a hard-working husband, but a house, a yard, a dog, a baby, the household finances, and a part time job here and there.
My husband and I were married in a small chapel housed in a historic village near our hometown, a well known destination spot for visitors and school groups. Each year we make a pilgrimage back to the chapel on our anniversary. We worm our way past the tourists who are listening to the docent’s spiel about all the weddings held here. We usually find a way to insert our story, whereupon they happily invite us past the retaining cord and up to the altar and obligingly take our photo. Sometimes the other people visiting will even applaud.
This year our docent was thrilled to have only his second 50th anniversary couple “return to scene of the crime,” as he put it. He shooed all the school children out (they clearly weren’t very interested anyway) and even closed the doors so we could spend as long as we wanted. He asked the whole story of our day – we told him we were late getting started because the couple ahead of us had a fight and almost called the whole thing off. He shared the particulars of the other 50th anniversary couple he hosted last year…the ones who came in with their wedding album, containing photos of the bride in her muslin dress with flowers in her hair, and the groom with a waist length pony tail and a denim tuxedo.
It was fun and heartwarming.
Fifty years is a long time. I felt the enormity of it in ways I didn’t expect. It was made all the more poignant I’m sure by the fact that my husband has stage four chronic kidney disease and is now on a transplant list. We feel blessed by the grace of his relative good health at this stage of disease, knowing it is otherwise for many in his condition. We are living each precious day as it comes, taking care to do the things we most enjoy for as long as we can enjoy them. They are small and simple because we like them that way.
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As part of our celebration this month, we took a few days and drove to Traverse City, Michigan, the area of our state that’s known fondly as Up North. It’s a gorgeous spot, right on the shore of Lake Michigan, and our rental house overlooked the west bay. It’s also wine country, so we drove around visiting several lovely vineyards. The weather was picture perfect every single day. How about that for luck? We sat outside at each of these places, sipping wine, looking at the water, feeling the sun just-right-warm on our faces. We relaxed a lot. (Yes, even I relaxed.) This past week was technically before the start of tourist season, so it was much quieter overall in town than it will be a couple of weeks from now – which is of course why we chose to go when we did. I had none of my customary homesickness; savored the lack of hustle-bustle that seems to have exploded around here in our once sleepy little town; and was grateful for the many signs and symbols (literally) on display of a citizenry that values democracy as much as we do.
Still, it’s always wonderful to be home again - to a freshly planted flower garden; my friends and neighbors; to familiar spaces, dear objects, and routines/rituals. I’ve just come inside from giving all the plants a good watering, feeding, and pruning, and having my second cup of a coffee in this pretty new cup, splurging on a bit of French vanilla creamer to sweeten it up.
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I admit, reading got short shrift in May. But that’s okay. There’s no timetable anymore, I read what and when I like – in fact, that’s something of my philosophy of life at this season. Before I engage in anything, say yes to anything, I ponder - is this something I want to spend on precious time on in what’s left of my wild and precious life? There is much more discernment these days about what I’m willing to do and for what reason I’m doing it. It’s a very empowering feeling, really.
Favorite fiction this month was Elizabeth Strout’s gorgeous new novel, The Things We Never Say. The novel focuses on high school teacher, Artie Dam, and grapples with themes of lonliness, grief, isolation, and the secrets people keep.
Here’s what I wrote in my reflection journal:
I felt so tender reading this novel, and even recognized myself in Artie in the ways he cares about others; how he’s coming to terms with aging; how he sometimes feels alone even in his closest relationships. How he craves deeper connection with his son, his spouse. The novel is set in very real time; Artie’s deep sadness about the state of the world in these times and his continual wondering about how to respond feels very familiar.
Artie Dam - and his last name is significant I believe, because he keeps so much of his feelings bottled up inside – is, like me, trying to hold it all. The beauty, grief, fears of this life at a certain age. Artie thinks that “now, after all these years, he was finally becoming a grown up. That he was finally beginning to understand the multitudinous aspect of people – that they held within themselves a vast, unknowable universe.”
As does Artie. As do I.
And so do you.
