I’ve been married twice. My first husband died.
You know how you don’t know what you don’t know until you experience it?
I didn’t know how unconnected I was in my first marriage.
I had doubts about getting married; everyone told me it was normal. Maybe.
Or maybe the right man was living right down
Siskiyou Blvd and I should run to him. Quickly.
Gain a dozen great years with my destiny!
My first marriage wasn’t a “bad” marriage. I continued my
years-of-living-alone ways and didn’t know what I didn’t know.
We argued in unsatisfying ways, often never getting to the other side of issues.
I many ways I was unhappy, but didn’t know why exactly.
I kept working on myself, a Buddhist pathway.
I met Mitchell nine months after Bob dropped dead.
Mitchell walked in my front door to find me.
I knew and he knew and we were together within days, non-stop,
giddy with having found each other, and have been inseparable ever since.
As we grew toward each other with joy, overcoming the incredible hurls thrown at us,
I began to know what I didn’t know in my first marriage.
I can BE myself with him — almost as I am in private.
I don’t need to retreat —
I can be in creative mode with him hanging around doing whatever.
We can disagree and come to resolution. Usually without even fighting about it.
Forgiveness comes easily.
His happiness is, in many ways, more important to me than mine.
I don’t mean I lose myself in him;
I want him to be treated well, to be loved, to be cherished as I cherished him.
I want his dreams to come to fruition.
All the corny lines from all the corny love songs make me think of him,
and I don’t mind that he changes the words to every great love song into
silly squirrel songs that I can’t get out of my head.
( I draw the line at Andrea Bocelli.)
I sing the demanding-coffee-chant to move him to get up with me in the morning,
and after working all day together,
the best-time-of-the-day is curling up in bed together.
Our wedding rings are cherished because of what they symbolize!
I am a big believer in
signs and rituals.
Early in our living together, our ritual
coffee pot, the one
over which many of our first coffee songs
were sung, broke — just before a momentous
life change for us.
“Oh NO,” I wailed,
“Its a sign!”
“Yes,” Mitchell said,
“Its a sign we need a
new coffee pot.”
(I learned not to put symbolism in fragile
glass press pots.)
This pragmatism is a good thing in him, because when I first stepped into arthritis
and could not wear my rings, he said, “Its a sign that you have arthritis!”
I took my rings off and began wearing them in a silk pouch around my neck. Always.
Now he has some of the same in his joints. I added his ring to mine around my neck.
As we realize our hands will never be the same size again,
we are having a ritual resizing of the rings this week. It’s a sign of a happy marriage.
OM is the primordial sound of happiness.
Cherished Blogfest 2016 July 29, 30, 31! Want to join? Tell us about a
cherished object — 500 words or less, and no, you don’t have to paint…
Then sign the Linky List so we can come visit you!
#CBF16 is our hashtag.
Moleskin 8×11 watercolor journal, Pentalic HB woodless pencil, Platinum Carbon pen, Lamy Al-Star, Noodler’s, De Atramentis Document, and Super5 inks;
and Greenleaf & Blueberry, Sennelier, Holbein, QoR and Daniel Smith watercolors.
©D. Katie Powell.
My images/blog posts may be reposted; please link back to dkatiepowellart