As Long As We Both Shall Live
In an effort to keep informed about the world, my wife subscribes to several magazines. She reads them religiously in her bath each night, at least she did until three months ago when our beleaguered post office stopped delivering them. Curious and a bit peeved, she confronted the postal worker behind the counter. “We’re down four carriers,” he said, as she noticed a huge pile of magazines lying on the floor. “We just can’t sort everything that comes in,” he continued in explanation and defense. “Well, you do pretty well sorting the junk mail, which is about all we get,” she quickly yet without anger replied. That mental sharpness along with the willingness and ability to ask people politely to confront the truth is one of the things I love best about her. I confess, of course, that however much it’s necessary when also directed at me, I never quite see it coming.
The person you marry is only part of the person you think you are marrying. Yes, the sparkling eyes, the hair that falls softly in bangs across her forehead, the ability to laugh heartily and care deeply – they’re still there after dating and decades. But who knew that she would love taking photos of spiders and their webs – lots of photos? Who knew – not me – that each spider and web would be intensely fascinating to her, on our walks in the woods when I am ten paces ahead before I realize she’s stopped and the camera is coming out of its case yet again?
Then there’s the end of summer. The air conditioning, set to prevent the house from getting hotter than 75 degrees, has been on all season. She sometimes wears a light sweater because “it’s cold in here.” The nighttime temperature soon dips into the mid-50s and the heat pump gets turned off with the declaration that “it’s fall.” Within a few weeks, the house temperature dips to the mid-60s, and I’m the one wearing the sweater as she’s declaring “it’s hot in here.” Huh? I’m tempted to chalk this up to menopause, except it’s been this way our entire marriage. I’ll never understand, yet I must admit I’m as amused as confused about it (at least when I’m properly clothed). Did I know this would happen when I said “I do”? Absolutely not. Would I want her to be different? Absolutely not.
I’ve always proclaimed the wonders of diversity, yet I didn’t know on our wedding day that I’d be living with so much of it the rest of my life. One day each month is “music box day.” Every music box in her collection – and there are lots of them – gets played in turn. As the classical and popular tunes (my personal favorite - the Beattles’ “When I’m 64”) fill the house, I have to smile and realize how blessed I am to be living with someone who enjoys this ritual so much – and how silly I was when I said (more than once): “You’re going to buy another one! For how much?!” And then there is the “Old Blue” Staffordshire china collection, the antique candlestand collection, the DVD collection – and, well, I won’t go into those except to say I never wanted them and now never want to see them go.
Our marriage began with a glorious ten day honeymoon in Europe, after which I was ready to settle down, it turned out, for 38 years of dedication to my job. She, on the other hand, quite rightly assumed there would be occasional vacation trips. She likes traveling, the wonders it offers, the freshness it adds to life. I like staying home. I did, of course, agree (often too slowly) to at least a yearly vacation with our children to Maine. When we became empty-nesters, I agreed to trips to Italy, Ireland, England - and Florida in winter. But the planning, the driving (flying), the disruption to my calm life always unnerved me. Looking back, however, I see that my resistance, had she acceded to it, would have denied both of us a lifetime of cherished memories.
I confess, after 55 years, that I never could have imagined what life would be like together. The romantic movies I love always end with “I love you” and a kiss. You never see what happens after that. That’s sort of where my young, naive understanding of marriage ended. Now that I see what really happens, that the closing credits of the film are really the opening credits of a real life, I can only stand back with amazement and thankfulness that I was so clueless at the start. The variety, confusion, surprise and, yes, occasional shock of seeing who you actually chose to wed is a priceless gift, one that the wrapping paper of life can never keep from you for long. I keep opening those gifts, and that is the beauty of having said I would love her “as long as we both shall live.”
Photo Credit: Carol Donsky Newell Archives, June 4, 1966
