Precious Sylvia, We are always better together. It was in the late summer of 1969; these two recent Alma grads were in a junker with bald tires and a U-Haul trailer in tow. It was a fourteen-hour drive to a place we hadn’t been before. We were scared and hopeful at the same time. You and I were sure that whatever the future would bring it would be always better together. Grayling was my only frame of reference. Needless to say, it was not sufficient. Together, we shared Sharon Avenue, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, Saint Paul, and snow that seemed to last forever. I loved your bravery and belief in us. Together we laughed, loved, cried, fought and learned the joy of making up. In the first three months, we discovered three-dimensional tic-tac-toe, Milborne, and cribbage. At Christmas, we broke down and bought a thirteen-inch television. We watched the Super Bowl and Luscious Lars Anderson of the American Wrestling Association from Aunt Nellie’s rollaway.
Five years later, we left for Calgary. In the U-Haul truck were a cat, a dog and a four-month-old Charity Jean. The roads across Saskatchewan showed the bumpy effects of frost heave. Once again, we were brave but knew that it was going to be always better together.
It is day 20 of social distancing. Today’s excitement was old people’s early hours at Aldi’s. Among our purchases of essentials were seven rolls of landscape cloth and two bottles of sangria. The garden is tilled, the greenhouse holds 127 flats of flowers to be planted for the coming season at the Waleska Farmers’ Market. Our attic is orderly, and the refrigerator spotless. We have almost acquired the knowledge needed to Zoom with our three grandchildren. I miss the noise and chaos that they bring into our life.
I am mindful , now more than ever, of how much your smile and sounds bring light and joy into my rather dull life. Sunday, I told you about a memory of being nine years old and recovering from viral pneumonia. I was sick, lonesome and locked inside. I was looking out the raindrop spattered window of the old white house on the corner of Chestnut and Ottawa and singing “Rain, rain, go away; little Eddie wants to play.” This crisis will pass. The sun will shine, and we will go outside and play. I know it is always better together. Especially if the together is with you.
Love, Eddie Bert