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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

Darling Sylvia,   Thank you for being my cheerleader. I have an ambiguous relationship with raccoons.  In 1965, I worked for the Crawford County Road Commission as Restroom Attendant Badge #278.  I was in charge of the privies along I-75, M-72 and Old US 27 and also had responsibility for roadkill.   It was in my secondary responsibility that I met Rocky a mile south of the Big Wheel.  Following SOP, I stopped the truck and chose my tool.  I slipped the blade of my flat shovel under Rocky.  He  reared up, snarled and lunged for my arm.   What he said about my intelligence, as he scrambled through the underbrush,  made me blush.  Rocky was not my cheerleader.

I encountered Rocky II on the side of Hubberston Road as you and I returned from Papa John’s farm.  I  needed  an animal skin to pass  Dr. Eyer’s Zoology class.  I  parked ahead of the animal’s body and  based on my previous training approached the body carefully. I nudged the carcass, and she rolled over and  glared at me.  I returned to the trunk of the Pontiac, removed a tire iron and claimed my prize.  Our ride back to campus was  quiet. My city mouse bride to be did not appreciate this country boy’s skill set.  Neither you nor Rocky II were my cheerleader.

Last week you discovered Rocky III,  a forty pound dead male raccoon. He was fifteen yards downhill from the front door of our lake cottage.  You refilled my coffee and quietly informed me that we had a problem. I threw rocks at the creature hoping he would run off – he didn’t.  I procrastinated as long as I could,  got up, searched for a shovel and applied my job skills of long ago. I dug the grave in the gravel and peat and dragged him by the tail to his resting place.  A cloud of flies followed as his pallbearers.  You were my cheerleader.  You stood by with extra tools, kept me company, and expressed your appreciation out loud. In our marriage, we have learned that there are moments when praise from our partner for stepping out our comfort zone for the good of the we is essential.    Love you,  Eddie  Bert

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

Darling Sylvia,  For thirty years at Reinhardt University I taught my biology students that the primary organs for listening are the ears.  You have, however,  taught me that the primary organ of  listening to you is my heart. Unfortunately,  I was a slow learner, but it is possible.  At the 50^th reunion of the Class of 65,  Richard Smith remembered that Coach Smith spent two hours teaching me the one move of my senior year (a reverse pivot to the baseline = reverse pivot, one dribble middle, spin baseline, shoot – right …).  It has taken  much longer for you to teach me to listen with my heart. I sit down opposite you, look into your eyes, bracket your knees (knee to knee) with mine and listen with my heart.  First of all,  I ask you what are you feeling.   I must,  although it is very hard for me, shut up and listen for your feelings with my heart.  Listening with my heart is a learned skill.  It is like that  reverse pivot to the baseline but it has taken longer to learn.

The other night,  friends said that they had been together so long that they knew automatically what the other was thinking and feeling.  Alarm bells rang in my head.  You have been my friend and lover for nearly fifty years. You are not the 19 year old that drove me crazy.  You are more gracious, generous, kind and beautiful now than you were then.  We both have changed and are changing all of the time. I listen to you with my heart instead of with my ears because I care and profoundly  respect you. Listening with the heart gives me a complete,  accurate and up-to-date information base.   It builds a safe place where you and I have the chance to be heard and understood in the now.  Listening with the heart allows a shared meaning of our experiences, a place of togetherness.

You knock my socks off.

Eddie Bert

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

Darling Sylvia,

I remember sitting in the truck at Lumberjack Park and talking for hours about who we were and what our future would be like.  We both understood that we were strong personalities.  We were sure we would love our way through the fact that we were both lead horses.  Some of our adult (21 year old) wisdom was right on the money.  One thing we missed in our in-love hormonal haze was that you were indeed a lead horse but I was really a jackass.

It took me another forty years to join the two phrases “I am sorry,” and  “I was wrong.“ During our years of marriage, there have been times when the we would have been better off if I could have said the couplet without choking.  In more recent years, I am trying to learn a second couplet, “Please forgive me“ and “What can I do to make it right?“  I still have some time to unlearn the old ways and learn new ways.  Let’s grow this marriage together.

Yours,   Eddie B.

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 Sylvia,

At 5:50 AM, I got up and let out the cat. I took my pills and put on the coffee.  I called to the kids to get up. Paper bowls, napkins, and three spoons were retrieved from their hiding places. Kid cereal, milk and orange drink were placed on the table, and I again called to the kids to get their butts out of bed. The kids were fed and out the door by 6:52.  At 7:05, I took Aryn’s hand in mine and led all three across the highway to the door of Ms Lisa’s bus.  At 7:08, I returned home and cuddled you down for an early morning nap. At 8:22, I petted Peter the cat, and you awoke.  We started another busy day of retirement (it’s not like what we had imagined). “Sunrise sunset, sunrise sunset, swiftly flow the years. One season following another, laiden with happiness and  tears.” You lay against me, your head on my shoulder.   You were asleep,  peaceful, and oh so beautiful.  Like Tevye,  I marveled that after all these years  you still love me, and I didn’t even have to ask you. There are tear tracks on my cheeks.  I’m allergic to cats.

Love you more than Nutter Butters,

Eddie B.

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

Darling Sylvia,

Last Monday, I had my second cataract removed. I had been told by a friend that after her surgery it was like living in high definition (HD). I am now a believer. The colors are incredible, glasses are gone, and I can once again read the fine print. I think clarity is the word I am searching for.

Looking ahead to the next year is part of our search for clarity as individuals and as a couple. It’s important to reflect on where we were and where we want to be. We celebrate our successes; mourn our losses, but, more importantly, plan for the coming year. We don’t always get what we want but we get much closer to our goals because we speak the words and listen to each other with our hearts. What do I want for me? What do you want for you? What do we want for us? What will we do in the next six months to a year to help get us where we want to go? It’s time to be intentional. It is time for a Marriage Growth Plan for this year.

Individually list, and then combine lists:
Three things you want for yourself

Three things you want for your mate

Three things you want for your marriage

Now, make a plan together knee to knee.
Include goals for short term (two week), mid term (6 month),long term (a year)

Include steps for each, and responsibilities for the steps.

Make dates to evaluate along the way. Put those dates on your calendars.

__________________________ ______________________
Sign, date, and seal with a kiss.