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Dearest Sylvia,

I can remember when and where I stole my first kiss from you. It was 49 years ago in front of Newberry Hall after the Delt Sig hayride. You said, “I don’t kiss on the first date,” and I laughed and replied, “Well I do.” I remember your taste—peaches–and the warmth of your lips. I have never regretted that brash move. In this busy Christmas week, let’s try adding at least one one minute kiss into this week’s daily routine. I will let you count the seconds. Remember when we tried a one minute kiss in the Wyoming Snowy Range? We could not make a full 10 seconds without a breath. Some geology professor–I had forgotten about the effects of altitude on the oxygen content of air.

Mistletoe (Phoradendron leucarpum) is used as an excuse to kiss the special ones in our lives. Dr. Oz and the magazines are prescribing kissing as a way to wake up and energize marriages. My primary love language is touch, and I like the idea. We can cost the kisses out as a medical expense (exercising my new nose) on this year’s income tax. I take enjoyment of you as a wonderful gift intended by God for pleasure and for reaffirming our bond no matter how long we have been married. At this time of year, I have once again hung mistletoe in our kitchen doorway and on the front porch hoping to intercept you.

Love you,

Eddie Bert

Note to my granddaughters – Papa Eddie’s advice does not apply to you and, if any boy tries to steal a kiss, tell me immediately.

Note to Couple Friends –

Where was your first kiss?

Are there other memorable kisses?

Find some Mistletoe and make one.

Darling Sylvia,

 In the boys’ dormitory at 501 Ottawa Street, Grayling, Michigan, a manly nose which recorded a history of past events was a family trademark to be treasured. I was taught by Joe and Johnny that we were rugged ugly and that pain was to be endured with stoic manliness. Tears would only invoke ridicule. As a result, I shed no tears when I broke my nose during my freshman year of football or when my nose met Chris Kroll’s elbow in 1963 during a basketball scrimmage between the JVs (me) and the Varsity (him). Copious blood but no tears followed. My previous experience when Dr. Blaha packed my first break made me decide to reset my own. The resulting pain and lack of skill in setting it helped convince me that botany and geology rather than medicine would become my eventual career path. The upper reaches of my nose carried a reminder of Chris that resembled the old ski jump at Hanson’s Hills.

In the Grayling dorm, our bodies were not considered temples but fortresses. My fortress served me without a care until the arrival in the mail at the age of fifty of my invitation to join ARRP. That invitation marked the first cracks in the walls of my fortress. At that very moment of the hated junk mail’s arrival, the first symptoms appeared that indicated that benign bilateral enlargement of my prostate was occurring. At fifty-eight, a cardiac syncope and a pacemaker destroyed the drawbridge entering into my fortress. At sixty-two, a plunge from our lake cottage balcony resulted in a smashed hip. The entire north wall of the fortress began to crumble. At sixty-three, a hernia in my groin was repaired by a robot inserted of all places through my belly button. That breached the south wall of my fort. At sixty-eight, in response to a chronic rosacea infection, the sebaceous tissue under the skin of my nose proliferated into benign growths (rhinophyma) that changed my face into the winner of the Freddy Kruger look-alike contest. It became obvious to everyone, except me, that something needed to be done. You took action on my behalf. This morning, I looked in the mirror; I have a new nose. It is still a manly big nose but it lacks the ski jump at the top. The tip and nares were given shape as a gift of the extra cartilage from Chris’s elbow. I think it is the first time since 1963 that so much air has entered my lungs via my nose. Sylvia, in 1969 you heard the part of the marriage vows dealing with sickness and health. Thank you for taking them seriously. I never would have thought that my nose was included. Unlike the kid who got his two front teeth for Christmas, I got a new nose

Love you,
Eddie Bert

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

Darling Sylvia,

On October 10, I celebrated 50 years of knowing you were in my world. On the dance floor of the Country Club of Detroit (the GPHS 50th Reunion), we danced the box social, the twist, the truck stop and everything in between. I love to watch you dance. Your joy radiates on your face and, oh darling, your body looks so good. You let me be your rooster, and I strut and preen knowing you are my hen. Not PC but I am so proud that you chose to be my trophy wife.

Like a dance, life with you has been very good. Sometimes, it has been like the twist very exciting and dangerous. Sometimes, we dance apart but always we know where the other is. Sometimes, it is like the box social, a coordination of being close and then apart but always in step; I am sorry for stepping on your toes. Sometimes, it is like the truck stop with your head resting on my shoulder and the curve of your body so close that I can feel the beating of your heart. I am so glad that you said yes when I asked you to dance.

Love,

Eddie

Darling Sylvia,  I celebrated Labor Day by taking our seven year old grandson in the truck for a boys-only adventure. We took our 10% off coupon to Lowe’s and purchased a steel cart for my Troy-Bilt mower. My jaw clenched when I discovered the cart was in a box which declared blithely “30 minutes assembly required.” I sensed  do-overs on the horizon.

It was readily apparent that the boy was really up for some quality put-it-together time. The kit included 380 nuts, bolts and lock washers. After three hours and lots of good man-to-man talk, I discovered that you and our five year old granddaughter had invaded our man cave. As we prepared to bolt the tail gate on to the cart assembly, you quietly said that perhaps the base of the cart was upside down. The two inch gap in the tail gate assembly indicated that you might have a point. Unlike my reactions in my thirties, after 50 years of loving you, I paused and said we would return to the job another time and do it right.

When our blow-ups occur and it gets hot in the kitchen we have learned to cool down and then say “I am sorry and please let’s have a do-over.” Thank you for teaching me that an occasional do-over (even redoing the thirty bolts on the garden cart) is a sign of strength in our relationship rather a sign of failure. I am grateful for the past do-overs and the ones I am sure I will need in the future.

Love,  Eddie Bert

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

Darling Sylvia,
I vividly remember our first fight in the fall of 1967. We were leaving Tyler Dining Hall. The fight started when you stated the obvious; “It’s your attitude – Eddie!” I laughed and shared with the young married resident advisors of Mitchell Hall approaching on the sidewalk that it was ‘my attitude.’ They joined me in my mirth.
What I did was wrong in so many ways. I had heard ‘your attitude’ from Mrs. Stripe (Spanish teacher), Bruce Smith (basketball coach), Denny Stoltz (football coach), my mother, and now I was hearing it from the person that would become the most important person in my life. With so many important people in my life in agreement, I realized that my attitude did need to improve.
At 20, I had not mastered the skill of straight talk. I had not (1) sensed (seen the hives on your neck) , (2) I had not identified how I felt (a 20 year old defensive end in 1967 did not have feelings), (3) I thought absurdly that everything I did was from my great intellect, (4) I wanted to be close to you and (5) I had brought others into what you had privately said. My action had not matched my wishes, and you had been humiliated in public by the boy you loved.
After 49 years of wanting to be close to you, I am still struggling with the skills that make up straight talk. I do a lot better with feelings (yes, I do have them and now can name them occasionally), I sometimes still have a problem identifying what I intend or want to achieve (which is to be a better man and to be closer to you), and I still may act like an idiot. Have patience; our work is not yet done. I am still a work in progress.
This letter is a very belated and public repair attempt. And, in the present, I am very sorry that I got so pissed off at you Thursday when the roofers came just as we sat down to a supper of your wonderful eggplant pizza.

Love you, Doll,

Eddie Bert

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.

Darling Sylvia,

On the eve of returning to Grayling for my 50th high school reunion, I have been thinking a lot about the boy that left Grayling and the man that you helped me to become.

Grayling like many rural small towns was a warm and safe place to be. People knew who I was, who my people were, and when Tom and Ruth’s good boy, Eddie, skipped from the Southside School in the second grade. It really did take a village. They knew me and my place. Granddad raised kids and stones on the banks of the Maple River. The expectation was that we take the next step up the educational and economic ladder. We were to become teachers, preachers, doctors or lawyers. Because of sharing the bass section in choir with Doc Allison, I added scientist to the list. Fortunately, my older brother Joe became the preacher. As the fourth child, Mom’s expectation had been reduced to my becoming a good person who would not embarrass the family.

In the fall of 1965, I was desperate to get out of “safe” Grayling. Little did I know that Grayling, and the things that I learned there, would always be a part of the boy within me. Some of my understandings of the world were worth keeping. Some had to be unlearned.

When I arrived at Alma College, I had a new me to create. Unfortunately, some of my drive was powered by the “better than” syndrome that took another forty years to discard. The new me was nurtured in Drs. Oltz, Kapp, Eyer and Edgar’s biology classrooms and Denny Stoltz’s football practice fields.

I was also in search of a beautiful bright girl to share my love of family, flowers, animals and faith. In bonehead chemistry, I found you. I knew I was really in this thing called love after a date at Lumberjack Park when I realized that you loved me more than I loved me. I had no idea what a wonderful challenging couple journey we would have. We were two lead horses who had to give up the need to be right or to have the last word. I had to learn that compromise was not an evil thing. I had to discover that your request to listen to you was not an invitation to fix. I had to learn more about the child I had brought from Grayling and to honor and cherish the child you brought from Grosse Pointe Park. It’s been a fine ride these last 46 years, and I look forward to a future in which we learn more about each other. I love you.

Eddie Bert

Our home needs regular scheduled maintenance: the siding around the outside faucet is crumbling; the privet is overgrowing the fence; a heat pump is over 20 years old. Cars need oil changes, hoses, transmissions flushed. Our bodies fare a little better; we see some doctor every three months, pacemaker checks, blood work. Extended family relationships need nurturing. Jobs require continuing education and licensures; we can’t let those requirements lapse, can we?

Likewise, our marriages need regular scheduled maintenance. We say, “I do,” and somehow expect our marriages to keep up with us as we fly through our two lives. Demands pull us away from each other and the joy we can experience as married partners in life. When we married, we made some promises to each other before God and in the presence of our community. Churches, agencies, and marriage enrichment groups offer many opportunities for marital growth.

We just returned from the Better Marriages Conference in St. Louis. This is the “big one” that happens every two years. Why did we go? Why did we invest the time and money? We need maintenance. A crucial part of that maintenance is to share in the experiences of other couples, to learn new skills, and to access resources for ourselves and those we love. We found skills on fighting fairly (all around the world), we gained insight into helping those experiencing betrayal, we learned of services for families impacted by incarceration, we revisited the power of humor based in self-knowledge, and giggled our way through the reintroduction of the “Ten Second Kiss” (you can stop at 7 at high altitudes). We will share the new resources with you on this site. We need a periodic marriage friendly, marriage energizing event to tune our couple engine. We encourage you to find one for yourselves. It is a maintenance investment you will never regret. For example, we will be at the Better Marriages Georgia Getaway for Valentine’s weekend in 2016. www.bettermarriagesga.org

Will you think about your vows and commit to cherish your spouse in some program this fall? Time conflicts come immediately to mind; we all have them. It’s important.

Explore making a commitment to your marriage in a couples’ program this year knee to knee.

What opportunities are available?

What would you like to do?

Who will take the next step of registering?