Category: Marriage Enrichment

Darling Sylvia, No earbuds were in my ears.  I was a half a mile into my daily walk and realized that I had left my ipod behind.  I admit that I resent exercise.  I was livid when my skinny, anorexic cardiologist Doctor Battey poked my bulging Robertson belly and told me to lose it or get diabetes.

Without earbuds, I was aware there were sounds around me.  I heard elm leaves skittering across the dry concrete driveway in front of me.  Each serrated tip along the margin of the leaves created a low keyed pleasant sound. I heard leaves, felt the moist chill of the morning air on my bare arms, and smelled late fall and the earth around the recently planted pansies.   I need to leave my ipod behind more often.

I actually was aware enough to acknowledge the courtesy shown me by the hooded landscape worker blowing the leaves off the Cardiac Clinic’s parking lot. I was glad to be alive and without earbuds to filter out the present.

I thought about what a gift in my life you are. I delight, after all this time, to be in the moment with you. I do not tire of checking out your profile.  You have a way of smiling at me when we meet that brings sunshine into my life.  I love to look straight into your eyes and hear your concerns, hopes and dreams.  Your voice can be so soft that I feel the need to lean forward and touch your hands when you speak.

Too often, I forget to lose the earbuds.  I am on automatic and fail to savor the moment with you.  Time is fleeting; the present is becoming more and more precious.  I love my life with you.  Without earbuds, I can be more in your presence, in the moment with you.

Love You – Eddie Bert

Dear Eddie, change seems to be inevitable. Cornered by change? Blessed by change? Opportunities for change. Can’t get away from that word. We have just “fallen back in the fall.” In these early days of the time change, I really do not like driving in 6:00 pm pitch darkness, especially if wet, and that darkness will only get worse between now and Christmas. I also miss our grandchildren being babies. The pictures from the flip phone make me nostalgic. And I really hated feeling cornered into the decision to have the knee replacement last spring. And worse, I hated the recovery. Basically, I am hard headed and don’t give anyone authority over me easily—even change.

On the other hand, I do really like being able to see the sidewalk under my feet on our 6:50 am walk to the bus stop with our grands. That curb cut at the neighbor’s driveway is scary in the dark. I love having new adventures with the children, traveling, watching them play ball. And, I have to say that being able to walk without pain now is wonderful.

If I must deal with change, I am very lucky to have you as a partner. You listen to my rants. Sometimes, it takes me a while to realize I am not angry with you. You listen to my sadnesses, my “it’s not fairs,” and my “what ifs.” You walk along side of me. Changes for me usually mean changes for you, as well. And, perhaps most of all, I love the sense of irony and humor you bring to our process. Once in a while, you will hark back to our Canadian years and the Red Green Show. The giggles often add needed levity and perspective. The guys at The Possum Lodge always came back to the pledge: “I’m a man, but I can change, if I have to, I guess.” I can change if I have to, if I should, or if I want to. Thanks for being my companion in all of it! I find you both handsome and handy, by the way. Happy Thanksgiving, dear one.      Love, Sylvia

Darling Sylvia – I love we two moments. Hidden in the weeds beside the Polly Ann Trail, we spotted bottled gentians (Gentiana andrewsii) and turtleheads (Chelone glabra). The delicate blue gentian and the creamy pink tinged white turtlehead ten feet away were exquisite. The flowers became the signposts of a precious moment we two shared.  We were hand in hand in the mild fall “Pure Michigan” morning. I shared a story of my dad selling a bottled gentian for two dollars to Hubbardston’s Dr. Gibbe in 1929 for his wildflower garden. It was a story of Dad that in our 50 years together you had not heard.  We learned the botanical names in 1968 at Alma College. We were both grateful that Dr. Kapp took the time in Vascular Plant Taxonomy to give us a shared language of flowers.

Shared memories of special moments fill the landscape of our life together. We say to each other, “This deserves to be a memory.”  We want to keep this experience. How do we capture the magic of we two time?  We have learned to take the time to intentionally stop, look, listen and celebrate.  We sense the colors, see the shadows in the sunshine, hear the rustle of aspen leaves in the gentle breeze, feel the texture of the air, and smell the odors of the season. Together we give the experience a name.

 Our day to day living is busy. It’s a good busy. We gladly interact with our family and our world. Sometimes, we forget to notice the we two moments.  Precious and too few are the moments we two can share. I am glad that when those we two moments occur we have learned to recognize them.  We save the memories and savor them together over and over again.

Love you – Eddie Bert

Dear Eddie: There are so many things in my life that are taken for granted. At the northern end of what became Tropical Storm Irma, we had it easy, especially given what Texas and Florida family and friends experienced. In our area, wind, trees and transformers did not mix well. The Freeman’s ancient oak flipped out of the ground and across the highway, taking out a pole with banks of wires—Bam–no power, no gas and no direct way out of town for three days. I couldn’t count the number of times I flipped a light switch to no avail. Dark house, dark refrigerator, dark bathroom, dark stairs, dark walk to the bus when school resumed. Power, access, gas – all taken for granted.

I flipped the switch at some point, and my heart cried out, “Please don’t let me take Eddie for granted.” Being married with you includes being reliable and counting on each other, yet, I never want to lose the sense of thankfulness and wonder I have for you. You make you and me a priority. You look out for me and our family in your own Eddie-perfect ways with at home breakfasts (“better than at Grandparents’ Breakfast at school”), suppers in the treehouse, veggies from the garden, lots of hugs and wrestling, and a million signature songs. “I love you a bushel and a peck,” and I never want you to feel taken for granted.

Love, Sylvia

Dearest Sylvia, My pacemaker is a small device placed in my chest that uses electrical impulses to keep my heartbeat going. I received my Medtronic pacemaker eleven years ago when my heart stopped, a cardiac syncopy in a Kentucky rest area on the way to our Michigan lake cabin.  The stopping of my heart made me black out, a condition undesirable for driving the I-75 corridor north. My pacemaker has made a profound difference in the quality of my life.  It keeps my heart from dropping below a beat per second. I sleep well at night.  My breathing never stops, and I have energy for living and loving in the now.

This morning at my checkup, I discovered that it is time to replace my device.  Its battery, unlike that bunny with the drum, is giving out.  Next Tuesday, I will travel to Atlanta for a replacement, a newer model with more bells and whistles, one that will last me into my early nineties.

You, darling bride of my youth, are my real pacemaker.  In the last fifty plus years, you have captured the electrical system of my heart.  You keep me honest, grounded in body, mind and spirit.  You lift me up when I am down and bring me down gently when I fly too close to the sun.  You believe in me and love me even when that love is deemed crazy by others. I don’t deserve your love, but breathe it in like the oxygen that keeps me alive.

You have access to my heart and, unlike the mechanical device, you do not need an upgrade.  You are flesh of my flesh and spirit of my spirit.  I can never express the joy and comfort that you bring to my existence. You are my personal pacemaker with a lifetime warranty.

Love you – Eddie Bert

Dear Eddie,

everybody needs community. In family memory, this will always be the summer of Buzz, the Turkey Vulture who joined the family at the lake in Michigan. He might have been attracted by the fish cleaning station; vultures are known for their noses after all, but he appeared on the deck railing one morning. He was neither shy nor aggressive with people or cats.  Buzz would come down to the house most mornings. He did make a pretty big rustle in the bushes and did startle me if I stepped out the door without first thinking about him.He and the cats would greet each other. If he needed to pass by, he would detour in a three-foot loop around them with no apparent hurry. One day, the guys killed a Blue Jay, and Buzz showed up for lunch. As we learned, Buzz had a lame wing and could loft off a perch for short bursts, but he could not lift to fly. Sadly, no soaring on the thermals with his family, but he found us– a multi-species flock.

You and I had several conversations about flocks, about how flocks are comprised and the safety they provide for their members. That led to conversations about our flocks, our several communities. For many years, we have organized our living into our couple, our family, our faith community, and our marriage enrichment community.

In the beginning, we were invited into a marriage enrichment group. Later, whenever we moved, and we did that a lot, we learned to actively seek out community to support us in our marriage journey. There have been different couples at different times. In sharing their experiences with us, they increased our awareness of blessings and never left us desperately alone with our challenges. Early learning about living married, challenges with jobs and security, staying connected while raising children, loving our parents through their lifetimes, parenting adult children, staying connected as we have grown older—we have done none of these in isolation.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for being the kind of man who is open to listening to my feelings and experiences and to cross-learning from the experiences of other couples. Thank you for being open to working with me to make our marriage better through the years. I love you.   Sylvia

Darling Sylvia, you are my only one. Beefsteak tomatoes 3 inches across, cut 3/8 of an inch thick, sandwiched  between leaves of curly red basil, topped with 2 strips of bacon on whole wheat bread slathered with mayonnaise, cucumbers in sour cream, sweet green (Big Bertha) peppers filled with sausage and rice, zucchini nuked in the microwave and topped with sour cream, bacon bits and salsa for lunch,–these are the scents and savory flavors of a mellow summer. Our children are safe. The grands are thriving. The other night, they wrote their names with glowing sparklers against a star filled sky. Fireflies in the backyard oaks blinked out the message – “Is there an unknown only one in the vicinity?”  Sylvia, we are in quiet waters in between life’s inevitable storms.  I am soaking up the peacefulness of the now.

Last week at Chamber House, I found the right bracelet to celebrate our 48^th anniversary. Getting the right gift to express how precious you are is a daunting task for me.  Your smile when you opened the box was my reward.  Your response was a lot more pleasant than your response to the box of my favorite chocolates after we started Weight Watchers.  You are one fine looking grandma.

In two weeks, we will both be seventy.  I never imagined that our seventies would be so good.  We have tickets tomorrow for the Rome Braves.  We will hold hands and watch this year’s 4^th of July fireworks.  I am so glad that 52 years ago I got fresh with you in Dr. Potter’s bonehead chemistry lab.  You were, and are, too much for this Grayling boy to resist. Like the fireflies in the backyard, I blinked, but I got lucky and found my only one.

I love you Grandma – Eddie Bert

Darling Eddie, Honeymoons are on my mind. Forty-eight years ago this evening, you and I headed out together. We stayed in our Grayling apartment, left pansies on our dining table, worshiped in the family pew, and took off on the first of many honeymoons.  Across the UP we went, stopping at The Mystery Spot at St. Ignace and a motel in Engadine. I remember HEE HAW on a fuzzy television and the radio repeatedly proclaiming the summer’s anthem “Come On, Let’s Do It in the Road.” We had three days to get to Minneapolis, find a place to live in September, and return to work. And, we were away and alone together.

In all the years hence, we have reminded ourselves of the necessity of time away together. When we wrote our Marriage Growth Plan for the year, we promised each other two consecutive nights away alone every quarter. And, we were gifted last month with two whole weeks at our Michigan cabin.

It was a terrific honeymoon. You mowed the grass so my ankles would not get chiggers. We did a few spring chores, but, mostly, we chilled together. Lots of cuddling by the fire, sleeping late if we wanted to, reading multiple “trash novels” from our local church rummage sale, cooking for two, and hanging out in the hammock. We began the summer’s twosome Scrabble tournament. We day tripped to Ontario and froze as Lake Huron impressively blew and crashed. And, to crown it all, the temperatures rose high enough to dare each other into the lake, not once, but twice. Once through the cold shock, the water was like silk on our skin, and you said, “The best part of swimming with you is the kissing.” The person who invented swim noodles is a genius.

Let’s never forget the magic of twosome time away from our normal routine. We aren’t bored at home, but away is a tonic for our twosome.

I love you. Here’s to many more wonderful honeymoons. Happy Anniversary to you, my personal Jack Pine Stump Jumper!       Love, Sylvia

Darling Sylvia, if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.  It’s early morning.  You are a slug a bug in bed.  Last night you couldn’t sleep.  I’ve just spent two glorious hours in the garden.  I fertilized the blueberries.  The Vigoro “Beautiful Gardens Since 1924” label on the fertilizer bag triggered thoughts of Dad.  If you do something, son, do it well.  Have some pride.  If it is worth doing, do it well.  I was guilty of leaving the Vigoro in the bag all winter.  Dad’s rules for life paralleled his rules for his garden. Fertilizer was not left in the shed all winter; it was spread in the fall.  A sprayer half full of Malathion was to be used.  It killed no bugs sitting in the shed.  The plants in the garden were to be tilled; otherwise, they would be smothered out by weeds.  A garden not watered dries up.  If you have a garden, son, tend it or don’t do it at all.

What I am talking about, of course, is our marriage.  Our marriage is our life’s garden.  Words of love not said, acts of love not completed, and the investment of time and energy not taken do not grow our marriage.  I want to grow our marriage. It’s worth doing well.

I love you because of who you are and the grace you bring into my life.  Since that moment at Lumberjack Park in 1968, when you said yes, I have known that you think I can become a better person than I think I can.  I love you because you always have my back.  Of course, your sleepy almost seventy-year-old body turns on my seventy-year-old body as much as it did when it was nineteen. You are beautiful when you sleep.

Love Eddie Bert, aka Garden Boy

Dear Eddie, I am “the perfect age.” Thank you for being my partner.  I felt you cringe under my right elbow when my orthopedist’s Physician’s Assistant, surely no older than twelve, gushed, “Oh, seventy, you are the perfect age. The life on these new knees is 25-30 years.”  Yep, that translates to “the knee will outlast you, old lady.” Oh, I like these blunt science kids; you taught  so many over the years. But, admittedly, my sense of humor has been a little ragged the last few weeks.

Deciding to replace the troublesome knee, that has limited my mobility and our walking together for way too long, was one of those pain in the neck, or pain in the knee, adult decisions made with the head and not with the heart. And, people are right; for the first few weeks, I have been convinced it was the dumbest thing I have ever done. I may be on the edge of seeing the good to come. Maybe my sense of humor will recover.

Caring friends gifted us with Lucy and Charlie Brown, (with strings attached). The punch line inside the card is from I Peter 1:6 as presented in The Message: “You have to put up with every kind of aggravation in the meantime.” If that ain’t the truth? And, then the words, “Just letting you know I care, no strings attached.”

You, my dear husband, are showing wonderful care for me, in spite of our individual and couple aggravations. We talk about our Love Languages, ala Dr. Gary Chapman. Surely, in these weeks, my need for Acts of Service has been paramount. Thank you for every pillow shifted, ice contraption refilled, cold drink proffered. Thank you for all the company to Physical Therapy, grocery store trips made, stairs climbed, and kid errands completed. I caught myself responding with gratefulness when I heard the sounds of you emptying the dish washer drifting from the kitchen. And, thank you for your body comfort wrapped around this wincing person. We are so used to being a team, and my perfect age part of the team has been laid low. I love you, darling Eddie.