I can’t begin to praise my wife highly enough. We met in college, she was walking down the staircase as I was walking up. I checked her out and she turned to check me out checking her out. It was like dueling cashiers. It was 1974 and the personal computer had not been invented yet nor had grocery scanners. If they had been, I would have gone “blink” and Sara would have gone “blink” as we scanned each other. In a day or two we met through mutual friends that we have not seen in decades. The neural synapses fired and the transporter chemicals disappeared… and this sort of brain knowledge had not been discovered and reported either. Basically we were two steps ahead of the CroMagnons in 1974 as disco music invaded the culture. “Stayin’ Alive, stayin’ alive. Ah,ah,ah, ah, stayin’ alive.” We’ve been running ever since then, away from disco, away from the big city, away from blatant materialism… but also towards other destinations. Trust me on this one, Bloggisatva.
Enough about peripherals. This post is about my wife of 33 years. She stepped down the socioeconomic ladder when she chose to connect with me. Her mom wanted her to marry a diplomat or a head of state, not including mood states here. I was more of a rebel with a bad mood and shoulder length hair. I’ve already outed myself in previous posts about hitchhiking to see Sara in California four years later. Why didn’t I just start at the beginning and proceed logically? There is no fun in that. It’s been done. I have always done things the Hard Way of the Stubborn Tribe, which is a grandiose way of saying stupidly.
Her mahogany brown eyes competed with her captivating smile to slay me. She was not drop dead gorgeous but slowly pass-out-I-forgot-to-breathe beautiful, the kind of woman whose beauty sticks around for decades. A figure that has always been trim and easy on the eyes, not athletic, no, but irresistible. She is the original Miss Klutzillevania, able to drop pickle jars or trip on completely level tile floors, or both, without any warning. Zap! Pow! Crash!!! Still fetching somehow. Not full of herself or too proud to apologize. 11% Steve Erkel. 9% Mary Tyler Moore. 100% unique.
Faithful too, beyond reproach in our marriage, and I am hard to live with. I have threatened to leave myself many times over the years. I’ve told myself, “I can’t live like this anymore!” And I had no retort to myself. She has willed herself through some tough spots, more like deserts that ended at abysses that were swollen with bubbling lava. Perhaps this is why her faith in God is so robust. I helped her prayer life by giving her so much insufferable material to gnaw on. In our nearly 40 years together she has drawn closer to God and others, and this does my heart good. I believe God is the capstone who keeps all the pieces underneath Him locked together. There is no doubt in my mind that we would not be we if He were not He.
And now it’s her birthday, the same age that I am but she looks at least 10 years younger. Then our anniversary in July…so I thought I needed to dedicate a post to her. It’s a very economical combination present for the two events. (Whack!! offstage a cast iron frying pan meets an empty skull. Crushing is heard though no violence is seen.) What I mean is that I bought her a nice anniversary ring an hour ago and now I have to wait for the proper time to surprise her with it. Plus, I can’t screw up and create hostility between now and then, something I have innate skill in doing. Pressure mounts as the time crawls by. “It had to be you” serenades from Pandora radio, sung by Doris Day. Huh? I never liked her until this moment, until this part of this song. Wow! I’m coming apart.
The jewelry store lady is holding the ring for sizing. It also helps for the check to clear in a few days. Financial sizing, I suppose. We’ve decided to renew our vows at a civil ceremony at a winery of all places in two weeks. Despite my earlier objections, I am fine with reaffirming my committed love to her. I know the rest of the journey is not as pretty as the first 33 years, but that’s how life is. Scott Peck said it was a stripping away process that leaves only the spirit. I’m down with that. I just hope that my spirit is sterling titanium splendid as I am sure that Sara’s will be. I don’t want to go through eternity with her explaining to the other souls who Rusty Dust Cloud is. That would be insufferable.