30th Anniversary
Thirty years ago today we made legal our previous 2 ½
years living together. It was a small garden party with about two dozen friends
of which almost half are now deceased. It happens that way to octo and nonagenarians.
Anniversaries are to be celebrated and we do but as I
think back, the day before September 20, 1986 was no different than the day after.
Peggy and I were married soulfully since we met in late 1980 when I won the human
lottery. We meshed. Every day is the observance of the day before.
There is a certain rhythm mutually composed. A
choreography in the way we move particularly in these late innings with her walker
and cane, the running of her bath and dozens of other small steps, a ritual dance
in our dailiness.
At the core of course is a love that doesn’t need to
speak its name. It is our own creation. A sort of poem, a sort of sculpture. It
finds new stanzas and shapes by itself.
We each honor the secret self in the other, that sacred
inner terrain which may never be fully known. The opportunity to explore and
slowly share that dimension is what feeds the intimacy.
This last third of our lives has gone by in a wink.
Yet it is also dense with shared moments each of which can halt time when we
dwell there. The eleven trips to Europe, four to Canada and excursions to about
half the States are all noted in detail in Peggy’s journals. It’s always the unexpected
happenings that seem to get etched in our album of memories.
Yet with all this travel we now find these days of
simple mooring to be most enriching. Reading aloud to each other every evening,
watching movies and our creativity more than fills the vessel. The quiet years
are still bee-loud in that internal meadow saying the unsayable.
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