This moment in time looks like fun. I have no idea if five seconds later they collapsed in a puddle of tears, or even broke a few bones on impact. But this moment, captured in all its autumnal glory, holds joy.
Marriage is a stream of moments. Sometimes we fall prey to the illusion that they will be an inexhaustible parade of happy ones. Or romantic one, or well intentioned ones. But the stellar ones seem as spread out as the clouds on a nippy November day.
One time I interviewed a sweet lady who has been married for seventy years. I held my pen an inch above the paper waiting to capture her riveting stories about successful marriage. When she reminisced about playing cards while they went on group dates, I wondered if I should write or keep listening for better material. I kept trying to steer her toward the juicy parts, where they made it through touch circumstances. But she never went there. I noticed how easily the years slipped
together.
"We dated for five years."
"He went to night school for seven years."
"We lived in that house for forty years, and then moved to the country for twenty."
Those feel like big chunks to me, and yet from her wing backed chair it was a passing memory.
I wonder what musings I will share in 2050 when some youngster asks me to pontificate about long term matrimony. Will I drone on about the hours spent raking the leaves, or smile at the flashing image of our twins leaping into the pile?
