M is for Marriage.

What and how I write and post from now until mid-April belongs to the Great Unknown. I’m having cataract surgery on each eye in March so the Rx for my glasses isn’t going to match my eyes for a while. Plus we’re having the kitchen remodeled so we’ll be living in a fracas. I’ll be posting plenty of reruns. Thanks. 

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M is for Marriage 

First written February 2005 and updated February 2025 

Last fall (2004) Len didn't have a heart attack. It was a muggy autumn day and he'd ridden his bike thirty miles, something he's done once or twice a week for years. He drank lots of water, enjoyed the strenuous ride, came home, had a peanut butter sandwich plus snacks of prunes, orange juice, and sardines; he often leans towards the appetite of a cat on a health kick.

By midafternoon he didn't feel well and looked worse so I took him to the hospital. Quite a few hours and one serious test later, we knew for sure he has clear arteries and his heart still a strong, sure thing. No one would ever diagnose exactly what happened. It seems he suffered a siege of misfiring electrolyte dehydration one can get while drinking and eating, if they don't drink and eat the right stuff.

Isn't aging just the best adventure?

He had to stay in the hospital overnight. After he fell sleep I pulled my feet up onto the chair next to his bed, leaned my head against the headrest, and watched him breathe. There is nothing like sitting night vigil in a dim hospital room next to the bed of your spouse. It certainly brings clarity to what you think about the person to whom you joined your life.

I’ve been thinking since about this quirky thing called marriage. There are many who insist the foundation of marriage is making 100% sure there are two sexes in it. Nope, that’s not it. If this was what counted Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt would still be together.

Here are three humble and powerful things I've learned from this state called connubial bliss. Oh yeah.

First: The significant part of the phrase ‘significant other’ is ‘other’. One can get so used to the routine of living with a spouse that we forget they are not us. A husband is not the fifth limb of his wife. A wife does not live in a corner of her husband's brain. Our partner is, always, another human being with their own stories, past, hopes, goals, idiosyncrasies, and yearning to be deeply loved.               

I will never know why my husband likes to eat sardines, read maps in bed, and can't intuit when our kids are morose so he should stop with the jokes already. He is who he is and that is not me. Once I realized this, I gave up on expecting him to do things the way I think they ought to be done. Isn't it amazing how hard this is to accept? 

I love to read books about people who are perfectly attuned to each other. But when the fiction is done I get off the sofa to go see what my curious man is doing and most of the time, I'm surprised. Who even knew a person could make a sundial with cardboard and a straw? 

That's marriage.

Second: I think this could be a good litmus test for couples who are trying to decide if they should marry. If you don't laugh together, don't get married. Humor happens where people notice the wide and comical gap between how things ought to be and how they are. When you laugh, you are acknowledging that perfection is possibly an inspiration, never a path. People who laugh are clearing rooms in their life where love can grow. 

Try to not marry someone who doesn't, from time to time, crack you up. If you already did, well, look hard to find the things that make the two of you smile, then fan that little fire together. A book of Ole and Lena jokes might be a good place to start.

Third: What's the latest statistic? Average modern American couples talk to each other something like seventeen minutes per week. No wonder so many relationships flounder. 

This is why I think talking is important. First you have an experience. Then, as you tell someone about it you get to have the experience again which makes conversation become "Life, the Sequel." If a moment was fine and you share it with your spouse, you get to smile twice. If the event was awful you go through it again but this time with someone who cares. Sharing the ups and downs of life is like doubling the good parts, dividing the hard stuff in half. No, it's not magic, but it's close as most of us are ever going to get.

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I'm sorry if I make this sound easy. Maybe there should be reality TV shows that go undercover in the homes of contented couples. We could eavesdrop as people drink a cup of coffee or glass of wine as they chat with each about big, little, fascinating, and boring things. Wouldn't this skill be better for us to learn than those shows that illustrate how to paint flames on motorcycles or decorate sweatshirts with sequins?

What stunned me that long dark night in the hospital was this. If a couple is fairly respectful of each other's quirks and passions and if they talk and joke a little every day, then something astounding happens. Their bumpy, ordinary union sometimes turns inside out for a moment -- and you catch a glimpse of the unlikely paradise in which you live.