Marriage Is:
Opposites Attracting (and Annoying)
While praying together recently, Dave said, "Sometimes, God, it seems like you intended Heather and I to be together because of how different we are, and it's a good thing even when it's frustrating." I'm happy with anything, and Dave is picky about everything. I can make a decision on a dime, but Dave needs a week's notice before he can make a decision. I crave the stimulation of people, but Dave is perfectly content without it. I am Dave's excitement and motivation. Dave is my prudence and wisdom. I thrust people into Dave's life and he diminishes my need for their affirmation. It usually works out well, even though our opposing opposites sometimes manifest in ugly nagging and feet-dragging, but all said and done, together we get It done and do It right.
I have a dim memory from when I was twelve of walking into our yellow kitchen while my mother was at the stove. My father was hugging her from behind as she stirred the noodles, and they laughed and kissed over my mother's shoulder. I can still feel the sloshy happiness. My aunt told me about a time when my young cousin, Jake, discovered she and my uncle mid-kiss, and he laughed loudly and yelled, "Do it again!" Kissing is important. It's a conjunction, a thermometer, a punctuation mark, a transition. It's a symbol of reconciliation, an affectionate salutation, an expression of wanting to be close to the other person, even a comfort to those around you able to witness that the relationship is healthy. I make sure to kiss Dave a lot, even when it's forced upon him, like a puckered great-aunt descending on her protesting 8-year-old nephew. Those kinds of kisses are more fun to inflict, anyways. But the other kinds are pretty good, too.
An Emotional Swamp
Dave and I were arguing about our vacation - at least, that's what the tip of the iceberg looked like. It was one of those arguments that we had been pacing the shore of for a while now, and when it was finally clear there was no way around it, we put on our waders for the long slog. We were chest-deep in muddied water, sure we would drown in our miscommunication before we reached the other side. I can't understand why Dave will go on vacations with our friends, but not with just me. Dave doesn't get why I will spend money on a weekend that can be saved for a better trip later. Bumbling through the emotional swamp toward each other is dirty painful work; we sat on the bed, staring at each other over the impasse, knee-deep in muck and internally asking Why again did I marry this unknowable alien lifeform? I don't understand how he can be such a perfectionist. I don't understand how she can be happy with anything. And then, unexpectedly, our weary feet hit the mossy shore. The unfathomable absurdity became amusement, and we began to laugh. After all that work, all we can say is that we now at least know what we don't understand about each other. And, with any luck, the crossing of this swamp will give us more courage and hope when we come to the next.
Moments
Two weeks ago the orbit of the International Space Station came at both the perfect time and angle for those in Columbus to witness its passing. The first pass went by at the sky's meridian while we were still out with our friends, nothing more than a fleet bright star. About an hour later, after going completely around the earth in the time it took for Dave and I to get home, it circled back around. Looking at the clock, we rushed outside together across the street and Dave pointed to the left of the elementary school, saying it would be coming out of the southwest. For a full ten minutes, we stood there at the playground fence and watched that dot glide across the sky before us, now barely above the treeline and dimming as it crossed the distance. I remember the air smelled summer sweet when it was finally lost behind a cluster of branches. Dave's hand was warm when I clasped it for the walk back to our apartment.
Yesterday was a good day. Dave and I were both in good moods, and planned to spend the evening in the machining lab so he could get some work done. There was a moment before we left when Dave was boiling Kroger-brand macaroni and cheese and I came around behind him, wrapping my arms around his middle and pressing my nose into the back of his shirt. It was slate grey and redolent of soap, and joined by the smell of the summer rain coming in the kitchen window. The water boiled and the drops pattered and the linoleum felt sticky under my bare feet, and I wanted to stand there forever with my arms around him and the box fan blowing.
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