I fumbled for calculator. I did the math. Unbelieving, I did it again.
1,095.
The amount of days in three years. Since the first official yes given in the backyard.
The children were clean and your shirt was thin creamy and my dress was homemade, buttons sewn on that morning.
Such a small number for so many days of yes.
So many mornings of waking in gray light, curling in closer to warm body grateful and amazed that he’s still here, right here beside me, a man I didn’t know I needed or wanted. Pulling up the quilt I made and matching my breath with his, wanting to climb past skin into him and wander through his slumbering brain on adventure and peer through eyes from that side.
I take you to have and to hold…for better…for health…times of good.
The quilt, our hoopa. The butterfly fabric is the keystone. Pink, turquioise, gold. Like a sunrise and sunset pixelated out. Symbol of rebirth, of begin again. Of dream of different and so good indescribable. Of tangible.
So many mornings of rising from a marriage bed where the inches between bodies felt like miles of war torn rubble after the bomb mushroomed across the kitchen island. And feet hit floor heavy. with the weight of world and its hardness. And I think of the quilt I toss with little thought to place I just left, but is still body warm next tohim.
I take you…for worse…for sickness…in and through bad times.
And I do. And yes I will.
“You need to remember these good times,” the sage woman said. “You’ll need them,” she said with pointed laughter. And I wonder if she ties her memories of dancing laughter slamming doors and dirt moved to build a new home and dinners laundry. ties them with ribbon and roses fragrant to use as a balm.
And I do remember this wildness, first spoken in crazy azalea and rose backyard under homemade hoopa hanging on arbor protecting in halting low voice. I remember the grasp of hand, the cling to idea, of dream of woo-ing going on despite, strong.
And in book, leather, for three, I tape onto homemade paper, photos of vulnerable wide like that blue sky on that day and I say yes. And I twist the nearly liquid soft leather cord around it thick and whisper yes binding, holding together, tangible. Again and again and
***
Confession:
Written in more than five minutes! Eight and a bit, I believe. I forgot to push start on the timer. Durn.
And well, I broke all the rules. Afterward. Because I got lost in the words during re-read.
And am fumbling over buttons. Derailed. And floundering. Attempting to mend.
Forgivness, please. Humbly asking.
So Inspired by…
Lisa Jo and others at The Gypsy Mama.
“Such a small number for so many days of yes.”
I love that statement. Marriage, the wonderful and the difficult, all rolled into one big lumpy, happy package, that began with the first yes.
Great post. It made me misty eyed thinking about our wedding day almost 30 years ago!
30 years! That is awesome, Kim. I like it that you are on the way to that lifetime kinda love when this world hails against it.
Loved the imagery here. Precious.
Cxx
Thank you, Claire. I loved your perspective of time being a tiny obstacle. I wish I had that view sometimes.
You have a lovely way with words… I loved this. LOVED it. And honestly, very worth the timer oversight. 🙂
Your words deserved 8 minutes of your time! A beautifully written post and one that will help preserve those precious moments of three years ago!