I was listening to my daily payer podcast, courtesy of the Jesuits at Pray As You Go, and I heard something familiar. The words of the meditation song were the same as the meditation sung by my best man at our wedding twenty years ago. But it was some other arrangement, not the Ralph Vaughan Williams melody I was familar with. This made me smile, and I started trying to sing the old tune I knew.
Later, Heidi called me on her way out to class. “Did you listen to the prayer podcast this morning? Anything sound familiar?” So we shared a quick moment.
It makes some great poetry. Better when sung. I wish my voice were in shape enough to do this justice. Anyway, here it is.
Come My Way, from The Call, by George Herbert
Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:
Such a way as gives us breath;
Such a truth as ends all strife,
Such a life as killeth death.
Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength:
Such a light as shows a feast,
Such a feast as mends in length,
Such a strength as makes his guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:
Such a joy as none can move,
Such a love as none can part,
Such a heart as joys in love.
I have updated my collection of online poetry with new poems and old poems newly found. An old professor contacted me about some futuristic poems of mine and I went out there for the first time in months. I realized that the collection was not complete and I might as well have a complete collection somewhere.
Whether or not the poetry is good is beside the point. I would only be proud enough to read a few in front of a group, but most of it is sentimental, goofy love offerings. But I do need a record. Something to hand on to my daughters so they can remember what a sentimental goof their father was. It is the witness to our lives through love that makes us real.
One of these days I’ll spend a few bucks to get these printed and bound, but until then you can read them here.
Until last night, when my wife corrected me, I thought today was going to be our nineteenth wedding anniversary. Apparently it’s just our eighteenth anniversary and I’ve been deluded for the past few months. I feel oddly disappointed. It just seems like we’ve lived ninteen years worth of marriage in eighteen, I guess.
With our nets being full to breaking most of the time, it always seems like we have lots of fish wiggling free and flopping around in the bottom of our boat and there’s no time to oil the squeaky oarlock or fix the cracked gunwhale. Heidi and I have this bursting at the seams approach to family that is more expansive than either of us can account for. People ask us how we fit it all in, how we do all we do. We don’t, I don’t believe. The results are greater than the sum of our parts. We don’t know exactly how the fishes and loaves expand to feed everybody, all we can do is just stare at the leftover baskets in wonderment every once in a while and give thanks.
Today is one of those staring in wonderment days. Happy ninteenth eighteenth anniversary baby!
It’s good for them. And you, I’d venture to hypothesize. I wonder if oxytocin and arginine vasopressin are part of the reason why it feels so much better to have someone else rub your neck than it feels to rub your own?
Okay, here’s my agenda for an afternoon date:
I am wanting to go see the Jean-Michel Basquiat exhibit at the MFA.
Then stroll over to browse the Thornton Dial exhibit.
Cross the street and go see Andrea Zittel’s Critical Space exhibit at the CAM.
And right before dinner, we can whet our appetites with the Art Guys’ Food Sculpture at the Art League Houston.
And since we’re over that direction, do dinner at Daily Review, our favorite cafe.
And then we can be home in time to put the kids to bed and read them stories.
Sounds great to me. I just need to figure out when I can get a whole afternoon off, with babysitting, for Heidi and I.
If you’re in Houston, feel free to steal my date idea. I may not get to use it before some of those exhibits turn into pumpkins.
For a more clear-eyed look at love and marriage, read these refreshing articles in Boundless Magazine. These are based on Scott Stanley’s book, The Power of Commitment: A Guide to Active, Lifelong Love. Being certified to teach his and Stanley Markman’s PREP course, I’m already a fan.
And I do not mourn the myth of the Soul Mate. Heidi is my mate. I’m happy she has her own soul and I have mine.
Opening
Years fall to the table
as petals – fragrant, supple –
a lovely disarray on faded linen.
My banner, once skillfully curled,
is unfurled by tiny degrees,
catching the breeze in a weary wave.
In this unraveling, I open to you
my cabinet of curiosities,
a trophy case, gathering dust,
half-unpacked boxes,
shelves of dog-eared books,
and secret drawers that only
your fingers can open.
‘Second Honeymoon’
The blue that startled his heart has faded:
blue-grey like denim now her eyes by candlelight
across the table – and he knows the fingerprints
of time are on him, too, though candle’s bloom
is less truthful than the unrelenting sun.
He knows them both to be weathered in the cascade
of the years, beyond redress – still, his hand
which has crept without volition over the linen
to clasp hers, touches, not the flesh time mars,
but the undimmed radiance of her love, pulsing
stronger for the passage of the years since first
he touched her. His hand tightens over hers
in that familiar reflex which has saved him,
times beyond remembering, from drowning.
– Tony Scanlon
About five years ago, we wimped out on a romantic weekend getaway. We had just shipped the kids off to friends for the weekend (very good friends indeed) and were getting packed for our elaborate hotel hideaway when we wimped out. We – okay Heidi, but I went along – started to feel guilty about spending money on romantic luxury when there were so many practical things needing funds around the house. So we spend a (admittedly nice, peaceful, child-free) weekend at home and used the money to buy a couch instead, which we desperately needed.
A practical, wise thing to do. But on a deeper level, somewhat unsatisfying. I refer to this practice – putting off the romantic indulgence in favor of the practical – as “Buying the Couch.” We “buy the couch” a lot. Out of necessity. And most of the time, buying the couch is the most appropriate thing to do.
But last weekend was not one of those times. Heidi and I had our seventeenth wedding anniversary last Sunday. Instead of a couch, we bought one night in a downtown luxury hotel called Hotel Icon . We ate a sumptous meal at Zula. Our one night might not have been able to pay for a couch, but let’s say a nice coffee table would have been easily within reach. But I didn’t want us to buy the couch this time and I’m glad we didn’t.
Hotel Icon was perfect. It had a 1930’s midwest old money opulence that was studied but generous. We got the cheapest room we could but when we walked in, our eyes widened like farm hands getting a first look at gay Pah-ree. I was amused at how quickly our little inner aristocrats bloomed. As much as we like to think of ourselves as sensible and practical people, we are quite fine with pampering and sensual indulgence. It was a perfect night in perfect company. Heidi deserves such a classy elegant setting.
We only spent one night. We both agreed that another night would have spoiled it. Besides, we have couches to buy.
Yes, I’m back from Oklahoma. More later. Meanwhile…
I love poetry about devotion, especially between spouses.
“The Shipfitter’s Wife”
I loved him most
when he came home from work,
his fingers still curled from fitting pipe,
his denim shirt ringed with sweat
and smelling of salt, the drying weeds
of the ocean. I would go to him where he sat
on the edge of the bed, his forehead
anointed with grease, his cracked hands
jammed between his thighs, and unlace
the steel-toed boots, stroke his ankles,
his calves, the pads and bones of his feet.
Then I’d open his clothes and take
the whole day inside me – the ship’s
gray sides, the miles of copper pipe,
the voice of the first man clanging
off the hull’s silver ribs, spark of lead
kissing metal, the clamp, the winch,
the white fire of the torch, the whistle
and the long drive home.
– Dorianne Laux
We just returned from the wedding of that fresh-faced young couple we were Married Sponsors for this last winter. They make a very handsome bride and groom and it was a very nice affair. Open Bar. Dancing. Catholics know how to throw a wedding, I’ll say.
And so it begins, Jessica and David. Keep your hands and feet in the car at all times. Hold on to your valuables. Don’t attempt to exit until the ride comes to a complete stop.
From a blog perspective, here’s an interesting Scientific American review of a book on the brain chemistry of romantic love. About how dopmaine and other neurochemicals facilitate infatuation and attachment and how those serve evolutionary purposes.
Interesting yes, but how one makes love last after the chemicals are gone is more interesting to me.
Landed
My anchor is rusting, unused.
In drydock, My sails, permanently furled, are in dry rot
My keel a stranger to seafaring danger
My mast is a tree again, putting down roots
I’m landed. A Landed Gent. Landed Gentry.
I traded sea for soil;
Purchased this plot,
deeded to me by patience,
this soil, grown soft and dull
under the shade of my hull.
My crumbling decks, unneeded
are becoming fertile soil, useful again;
sprouting flowers, ferns, fungus,
feeding snails and wonders.
Years of cruising high seas,
pirate-ing for booty — long over.
Funny, now that I’m high and dry
I have found my treasure.
Copyright me, I guess. (As if anyone would want to steal my writing)
Had a very nice dinner with my beloved at Artista to celebrate our anniversary. We had time to sit and talk over a two hour dinner. We made plans. We talked dreams. We picked from among our many memories. We had a chance to sit in unawkward silence and just enjoy each others’ presence. (I like that we are comfortable enough with each other that we don’t have to fill every moment with conversation. Witty repartee is a lot of work.)
Afterward we indulged in our favorite post-dinner date activity — bookstore browsing. We each picked out books for the other to buy us for our anniversary. Heidi, the thoughtful woman she is, bought me a volume of poetry by Polish poet Adam Zagajewski.
Later that night, as we were laying in bed, Heidi feeding Olivia her midnight bottle, I read the following poem to her:
Don’t allow the lucid moment to dissolve
Let the radiant thought last in stillness
though the page is almost filled and the flame flickers
We haven’t risen yet to the level of ourselves
Knowledge grows slowly like a wisdom tooth
The stature of a man is still notched
high up on a white door
From far off, the joyful voice of a trumpet
and of a song rolled up like a cat
What passes doesn’t fall into a void
A stoker is still feeding coal into the fire
Don’t allow the lucid moment to dissolve
On a hard dry substance
you have to engrave the truth
— Adam Zagajewski
(Translated by Renata Gorczynski )
This is a perfect poem for the moment after the anniversary date. After the night of discussing dreams, memories, plans. Perfect for the moment after that moment when it seems all laid out. Laid out to be lived out or forgotten.
As of today, Heidi and I have been married for sixteen years. We’ve known each other for over half our lives. I’ve often say that I can’t imagine life without her. In a few years, that’ll be true because I can’t remember life without her.
One thing I treasure about our marriage is the many ways that loving Heidi has come back to me in personal blessings, personal growth. I am a better man for loving Heidi. And I want to be an even better man for her in the future.
Another thing (and then I’ll quit gushing) I treasure about us as a couple is that we have a lifelong learning approach to our relationship. We, in many respects, treat our marriage as a career — an asset we need to nurture with training, growing knowledge, and mindful practice. (In fact, our diocese is talking about sponsoring us to go to Dallas this summer and get that certification I talked about a few days ago. That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about.)
Of course, the fact I am working out my salvation through my marriage and my family is a big plus.