Author: Sylvia

Dear Eddie,  Reposo is a gift. Most marriages could use one. The best reminder of our wonderful trip to Italy is the adoption of reposo into our daily life. We talk a great deal about the need for rest and peace in our busy lives. I can get all heady about spiritual rest for my soul and about refreshing changes of pace, like romantic trips. But, the rest I like first is the physical and emotional rest of reposo with you.

When we returned from Italy, we said that if a whole culture could stop business for a reposo in the middle of the day, we could, too. We are, after all, retired without the strictures of a work place. But, if we let it happen, any day will eat away our time for stopping for rest. Volunteer this and that can fill a day as quickly as the office ever did. Now, I treasure the mid day time for you and me, piled up on the bed with two cats and a blanket. It is truly permissible for us to take that time. We are the ones who must make sure we get it.

We guard reposo as necessary, almost sacred. We plan for it, as in “when are we having reposo today?” I finish errands so I can get home to reposo with you. We keep in touch with each other so that “junk” between us doesn’t make distracting tension. We turn off dryer-finished buzzers and make sure the cats are inside so someone isn’t meowing at the window. We put down task lists. And when you drop off to sleep, and begin to “purr,” I make myself stay bodily settled, which is against my obsessive inclination. And, when the “school bus time alarm” sounds, we are thankful for our reposo. We are refreshed, good with each other, and able to get to bedtime with grandchildren, through homework, basketball, hip-hop and all.

Reposo, a gift to ourselves and a gift to each other. What a deal!

Dear Eddie, Let’s talk about living out loud. We are a little frayed by recent heavy stuff—heavy good and heavy sad. We are grateful for the couples who have lived their lives out loud in front of us.

People love weddings. But, after couples get married, they are left on their own to learn how to be married. Forty years ago, we were blessed with a supportive marriage enrichment community. Precious friends near and far have shared their living with us–their happiness, their worries, their challenges, their laughter, their frustrations, their essentials. Their sometimes eloquent and sometimes hard plain statements have become touchstones for us. Their living informed our living. They have lived, and, yes, some of them have died, out loud.

Our friends’ living out loud offered us a range of emotions, wishes, viewpoints and possibilities that we did not have on our own. We have faced little in our marriage that has not been somehow previewed by others going before us. When we face new challenges, we have resources. Because these special couples broke the “keep it to yourself” marital taboo, we feel less alone and, certainly, less crazy.

Thank you for being open to growing together. Thank you for listening with me to all the people who have lived and are living their lives out loud.

Loving you (out loud)

Sylvia

Dear Eddie, Letting Go is hard, especially when I am not sure what I am hanging on to. I am sure this problem applies to things, to behaviors, and even to dreams. It is not the first time I have had this problem.  Before I can let something go, I need to name it.

This truth was most recently pointed out to me by a Telephone. We have wavered for years about disconnecting the land line at our Michigan lake house. The excuse has been that cell service was terrible there, and we needed the house phone for emergencies. We have indeed had emergencies there when I was glad for a house phone. Likewise, we did have to go to the dock or hug the picture window in order to get a cell connection. Hassles with the phone company twice yearly about moving the phone on and off of Vacation, and paying too much for the few weeks of service we needed were a royal pain. You would say, “Get rid of it.” I would make the call to do so, and waver again. So, why was I holding on?

It looked like I was holding on to telephone service. I was holding on to a black rotary telephone that sat on the telephone table of my childhood. It wasn’t even the actual phone we had; our phone like it gave way to a Touchtone Princess Phone and a kitchen Wall Phone—still ancient of days. But this table sat in the upstairs hall at home beside the laundry chute. I dragged the phone around the corner into my room for privacy, tucking the cord under the door, sitting backed up in a corner. And, yes, talking with you, never long enough, when we were separated in the summer.

What finally came to me and made me cry was that I was holding on to a sound. The phone at the lake had mechanical bells that jangled. When you said ‘hello,’ the vibrations could still be felt in the air and heard by the caller on the other end of the line.  You could hear that phone ring all the way down on the dock. That sound belonged to a another time.  Saying forever ‘goodbye’ to the sound and the time it represented made me cry. Still does- right now.

I disconnected the land line. I am letting go of another physical piece of my childhood and youth. I can smile through the tears because I have named the loss.  I can relegate the ring of a rotary phone to sweet memory. Now, I will need to apply the learning the next time that I find myself hanging on a little too hard to something. When I am being a little too much of a hard head,  I will ask myself what I am holding so tightly. I will ask for your help. Thanks for listening to me and not laughing at me. Love, Sylvia

Dear Eddie,  Different views yield different fruit. It’s June, and you and I are picking blueberries. If we escape a freeze in April and we have rain, we have berries at this time every year. I like picking with you in the early mornings or the cool of the evenings. You work down the row or across the bushes from me. I can hear you move and see your shadow. It occurs to me that picking berries, especially with the two of us picking together, is very like our living together in our marriage.

In our marriage and in picking berries, we both have viewpoints. You can see berries up high and outside; I can look at the same plant and find berries inside, low down, and from up-side down. We both can think that we have clean-picked, walk back, and, from another angle or in another light, there are more berries. Even after we have both done our best picking, the cups we both take to the house are mixtures of pink, green, blue and purple. Only after a day of “blueing up” in pans on the counter do the berries approach “blueberry” color and attain their ripe sweetness.

As we celebrate our 47^th wedding anniversary, I am so happy that we learned to listen to each other.  Your views give me alternate perspectives, alternate possibilities. They give me comfort, encouragement, pause, and lots of laughter. I usually try to share my views in ways that are honoring of you. As we share and let our views sit together, we sometimes agree on one view. Often we come to a joint view that is altogether new. We have had adventures, laughter, and tears. Our life together continues to be a blast. I’m so glad you asked me to dance so many years ago at Alma.

Happy Anniversary! I love you dearly.

Sylvia

Dear Eddie,

There is no time to waste; no threat, just fact. Neither of us is sick; life is good. But, we have less days of life to spend than when we first began. I am grateful that our friends Alice and Lee with Better Marriages North Carolina gave us the opportunity to update our Marriage Mission Statement. As we talked, with the background murmur of other couples writing their statements, I had a gut level recognition of a change. We wrote our Statement on March 8, 1997. I am so glad we did write it down. We have reevaluated it repeatedly. We have always agreed; it has always fit, and we didn’t need a new one. This time the tone and urgency had changed.

To live our lives as darling companions, honoring our past, living zestfully in the present, and looking forward to the future in joyous confidence that our intimacy will only grow deeper

In the almost 20 years since we wrote those words, we have lived life fully, and that life has become part of the past to be honored. We have learned to more consciously enjoy the present. Now, in our legacy phase of life, as lovers and marriage partners, as parents and as grandparents, as friends, and as marriage enrichment leaders, our call is be even more congruent in our living of the best of our values.  Thank you for the important conversations. Thank you for sharing life with me. We can add more emphasis to our statement with these new words:

And may we leave others with a little less pain, a little less loneliness, and a little more joy. May those who come behind us find us faithful.

Always,

Sylvia

Dear Eddie,
Thank you for our weekend road trip. I heard a woman say those words at the gym the other day, and I thought, “That is just what we need!” Our road trips are great! Sometimes, they have destinations; other times, we just go and see where we land. They may be short or long. Always, I enjoy the quiet “in the moment” time with you punctuated by the sharing of what we see and the remembering of past experiences. I continue to cherish moments with just you, looking ahead side by side.

An afternoon trip to see Grandpa and Aunt Nellie on the farm—big kids, a couple, away from the campus. The crystal palace of Minnehaha Falls. Eagles on the ice at Red Wing. Migrating birds at Point Pelee. Sandhills. Catfish heads on fence posts. Glacier lilies in the snow. And pink lady slippers. Ice fog on everything at Clingman’s Dome. “Oh, look-a Ruby-crowned Kinglet.” And, spring after spring, the red maples foretelling the redbud and dogwood to come. And, “Do you remember?” It is glue for you and me.

Thank you for staying in touch with me. When we are “caught up” on the “work” of life and marriage, we are free to enjoy revitalizing play together. Even when we do have some of that “work” talk to do on the road, it feels like teamwork instead of a chore.

Looking ahead side by side.

Let’s make time to road trip often.

Love, Sylvia

Darling Eddie:

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for a decision you made back in the seventies. You decided that it was important to place our marriage in a marriage friendly zone. You stepped up when many husbands would not have done so. For us, that decision first meant accepting an invitation to join in a marriage enrichment group. Later, your commitment and our joint value led to “working for better marriages, beginning with our own.” Because you said “yes,” and we continued to say “yes,” we live in the presence of a blessed cloud of witnesses.

Our cloud of witnesses is a precious resource for us. The cloud is made up of couples in the present and couples from other times who keep us in their hearts. They broke the marital taboo that says, “You made your bed; you sleep in it.” They shared their real marriage experiences, joys, sorrows, challenges, and fears, and allowed us to preview natural parts of the life we have lived and now live. Their long term view continues to give us hope. Whether physically or spiritually present, those couples make space for us to do our necessary work on the holy ground of their care.

The couples in our cloud tell us repeatedly that we are not the only people to have our kinds of experiences. They never make us feel stupid or awful. They never tell us what to do. They encourage us to speak for ourselves and to listen with our hearts. They encourage us to be intentional and challenge us to celebrate successes and to be gentle in our failures. They expect us to play and to nourish our marriage. The names and details would take pages. I appreciate them so much.

And, most of all, I am grateful for your “yes.” I am so happy you said “yes” to making our marriage a priority. I love you. Be my Valentine?

Sylvia

Dear Eddie—I’ve been thinking how we have relearned the practice of resting together. I get fried; we get fried. We need physical and emotional rest. I am so glad we can create a welcome island of peace for both of us.

You give me the gift of permission to rest. I don’t rest easily. There is always another load of laundry to fold, another meal or meeting to plan, another key to find. But you give me permission to stop; you remind me to give myself permission to rest with you. From our couple beginning, we found peace in physical contact; we remember our couches. We brought the reposo back from Italy. If a whole culture can rest in the afternoon, we can, too. Closing eyes snuggled with you in the hammock even for a short while is precious. When the alarm startles us awake to get the kids from the school bus, I am refreshed. I now find myself heading home from errands, making sure I am in time for reposo.

You give me the gift of preparation for rest. You keep in touch with me through frequent check-in conversations. We learned the importance of those conversations years ago. Thankfully, retirement provides more opportunities for them. We deal with the logistics of grandparenthood and the inevitable pinches in life before they ambush us when we don’t expect them. When we make a chance to rest with naps or play, my overactive mind is better prepared to actually rest.

I hope we get to enjoy resting together for a long while yet.

Love, Sylvia

Dear Eddie:

Last week, we took part in a Virtual Marriage Enrichment Group about Differences. A couple shared that when they are vulnerable, their differences rise up. Under stress, you and I often fall back into Default Mode. Our personal factory settings give us the illusion of safety. In our marriage, those practices on both our parts can separate us from each other.

And I did it; right there in the rocking chair next to you on the porch, in the middle of a conversation about not Defaulting, I Defaulted. You remind me that it helps to name our own Defaults so we can recognize them. When I am threatened or vulnerable, I can slip into control and loneliness. I like that we practice “having the conversations,” in Wonderful Wednesdays. But yesterday, I turned to the next page, and it read “Needing Support.” My heart dropped, I teared up, and I changed the subject. The day’s agenda included laser surgery on my eye—one of those 30 second procedures that office staff minimize as “you’ll just see a bunch of flashing light” when you know that lasers can bring down airplanes. I had decided that I was a big girl, that you had a meeting to attend, and that I could do this on my own. And, yes, I was “in control” and “lonely.”

So I ‘fessed up. Without hesitation, you said, “I’ve got your back.” I appreciate that we have learned to recognize our own Defaults and make better choices. When we are honest about our need for help, we draw closer together.

Thank you, precious friend, for accompanying me in a myriad of ways.

Love,

Sylvia

Our “retirement” is much more active than we anticipated. Our family needs us in ways we did not plan. There are still endless tasks to be accomplished. In stress, I regress to old strategies, the “default” settings of my personality. My “default” says, “If you don’t do it/fix it, it won’t get fixed.” So, I climb back on the gerbil wheel, striving to exhaustion to fix.

I need to stop. Yesterday, I was glad to go to my prayer group. I know that the discipline focuses me in helpful ways. But, even in the middle of the reading, my mind said, “There was a box of spaghetti on the counter. Wonder how much is in it? Last time, we had to cook extra. Must add to list.” Really?

Likewise, when I revert to “default,” Eddie and I as a couple get lost. We know that we gain sustenance from retreating into our “Couple Bubble.” That is a blessed place where we are listened to, where we affirm each other, and where, sometimes, we can just BE. We zipped to Michigan for Eddie’s high school reunion weekend. We went to the parties, but we also took some time to BE together. We took what his folks called “A ride to Mancelona.” We walked by the Au Sable river. We just lay on the big Bed and Breakfast four-poster and listened to the neighborhood sounds filtering in through the tall bright second-floor windows—windows like those in our honeymoon apartment.

In reality, no “fix” is possible. Life is life. Life has both trials and blessings. I need to remember where I get my sustenance; I need to remember where Eddie and I get our couple sustenance. I need to act on what I have learned.