I met him on a Monday, and my heart stood still…. and so the song goes (for those of you who are purists… the song is actually “I met him on a Sunday” by the Shirelles). We had our first cup of coffee and then he asked if he could take me to dinner. I told him that I had to walk the dog. He asked if he could meet the dog. I acquiesed, because Charley, who was my roommate at that time and my beloved border collie mix pooch, was a very good judge of character. And so it began…we went to dinner and I found out that he was not a fan of Frank Sinatra, he wore very nice clothing and he was very creative and had a lot to say and I was in the mood to listen to every word. He also took his mother out which I thought was a nice trait, especially when he would bring her back. Thoughtful, I thought. We spoke every day back then even though he said he was not a phone person. We progressed to spending time together every day which turned into weeks and months and marriage and life. And there we were and here we are.
Sharing a home is often an experiment in compromise, collaboration and sorting out the conflict. It is also a marriage of creativity, a cultural exchange and contentment. A home is more than a space but is a metaphor for feeling safe when the world is fraught with inexplicable and insurmountable madness. We found each other, my FHB and me, later in life. There didn’t need to be a lot of time to figure out that we were walking in the same direction, didn’t want drama, and wanted harmony. We started out as adults and then began to remember what it was to like someone and then know that it was bigger and deeper and very personal. Having been alone for a while without a partner re-established my understanding of my own strengths, subborn determination to do it on my own and to know that I was capable and smart. It took a while to allow myself to lean on and into someone who was gentle and generous and very helpful. I don’t ask for help…that’s the stubborn. I’m working on it.
We do projects…my Lucy moments to his Ricky minutes. I can feel the eyes roll even if I am not in the same room. He is metered in his thinking and creating. I am impulsive and pushy to get things done. We’re not getting any younger so let’s take only a minute not an hour and let’s do it! It’s not easy, for either of us. We are in the coordinating doctor’s appointment years and the “Talk louder” moments. But we still inately can read each other’s minds at times which saves a lot of wear and tear and brings a lot of laughter and smiles. My FHB has made our space our home, not only in the furniture and design elements he has created, but every time he walks in the door, I feel the “homing signal”.
Happy Anniversary, my FHB….thanks for all the days ahead of us and for all the ones we filled already.