A Word Edgewise |
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A Word Edgewise |
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Last Updated 06/30/05
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Email: mjclen@our-town.com
STATE OF THE UNION REPORT: HANGING IN THERE
Consider this a State of the Union Report, and assign it appropriate priority—State of the Clendenin Union, that is. After all, we will celebrate 57 years of wedded b----well, of union this month. Some days we have experienced bliss, for others bliss might not be the most descriptive word.
Pick a day at random, say a day last week. For Ray it started off with a little ill wind blowing. We had company during breakfast and in clearing the table of the newspaper, Ray lost his favorite part, or one of his favorites, the sports section, or the crossword puzzle.
After a few minutes search he asked, “What happened to the sports page?”
I said, “We put the paper on that chair. I think you put it in the utility room in the usual box.”
After looking in the box he came back giving me a look that said, “You hid it from me.” Aloud he said, “It’s not there.”
He looked a bit more and found it near his recliner where he had placed it out of harms’ way.
Later that morning he reported that he had lost his billfold. With pictures of credit cards, social security cards, driver’s license and money flashing through my mind I helped him search. It was a pretty thorough search, behind cushions, in both cars, under stuff on dressers, in the refrigerator, in shoes. No billfold. All the time we were trying to retrace steps of where he might have left it. Naught bore fruit.
Finally, he swallowed a bit of pride and went to Wal-Mart, Piggly Wiggly, HEB, and Chevron station to see if it had turned up. Truth was, he didn’t know when he had it last.
By noon he still had not found his billfold. Nell was here for lunch commiserating with us about loss of identity and no telling what other grave consequences. I got up from the table and went to his closet one more time. After reaching my hand into a number of pockets with no luck, I picked up a jacket from the floor, and low and behold, I found his billfold in a pocket. We were joyful—but realizing the ego burn when a wife finds something in the very place husband has hunted, I was not surprised when his joy was a little shallow.
He was gracious enough, however, to tell me he would renew my contract for two more weeks. I felt a little smug because that would carry me beyond the day of celebration.
I think it was the night of that same day, we were watching a TV program about as boring as watching a pealed apple turn brown, when I took about a 15 minute nap toward the end of the program. He reached over, handed me the remote control and said something like, “time for Amy.” I thought he said, “….from Amy.”
I took the remote, pushed a middle button, held to my ear and said, “Hello.”
I might say that was a typical day, but no day is typical around here. Always a few surprises, a few laughs, a few glares, and much hunting for lost items. But a little calculation would show that we have sat across a table for meals at least 40,400+ times. Of course, about the first 30 years of those were with kids, our own and collected ones. We’ve always had at least two meals a day together. Poor picked on kids had to get up for breakfast and be there for supper, unless prior arrangements were made. I always figured if I could get up and cook a hot breakfast, usually biscuits, bacon, eggs, gravy, they could at least get up for it. We all had to get up for school anyway—and most of our family visiting was at mealtime.
Those school or work days we didn’t have lunch together. Then there were the mothers that made their home with us. These last few years with only two of us has witnessed much less conversation at the table.
There were, and are, a few constants in our days. Those meals were always eaten after a prayer of Thanksgiving to God, and we’ve recognized some house rules.
One constant in our lives at this time is our daily walk. Our little dog, Jeddie sees to our preparations, getting into warm clothing, putting his leash on him, impatiently driving us out the door. That early morning walk sets the tone of the day as we take the opportunity to silently commune with God and nature, let the fresh air awaken our senses—and a few sore mussels. We’ve only missed two days this year. It was raining and Jeddie can’t carry an umbrella.
Sometimes we don’t really like each other. But we do love each other. There is a difference. To quote, “Love covers a multitude of sins.”
Dare you ask what has strengthened the glue that binds, I might offer these things:
Commitment. We made a contract, shook hands—no kissed as a seal, and we hope to see that contract fulfilled.
Contrariness. Both of us are too contrary to let little faults and differences blind us.
Compliment, don’t criticize. There is always something to see and appreciate—like you made a good selection of ties this morning. That one goes well with that shirt. Or I appreciate you glad you don’t snore while you’re awake.
Respect and trust. That means respect for our differences in tastes and opinions. I don’t expect him to enjoy all the things I enjoy, nor does he expect me to get whole-heartedly into sports. At least he has agreed, years ago, to turn off the TV, even when the Cow boys were winning, during meals. We respect each other’s freedom to enjoy different things, go live our own lives.
The last words that I say at night that I say to this husband, my first husband, are, “I love you.” He usually replies the same—or he says, “You are my love.” We’ve remembered that Paul said, “Be angry and sin not. Let not the sun go down on your wrath.”
All things considered. The Lord willing, we make celebrate a 58th.