[3-minute read]
Looks like Gold Medal Ribbon’s in there. I WIN!
This silly “one/won” pun has always been about ice cream for me, until yesterday arrived. I achieved a new marital milestone, a personal best! And dessert is always on the menu…
Once upon an ad campaign, Baskin-Robbins touted their flavour for every day of the month (well, the 7 months that have 31 days) conceit by calling themselves “31-derful!” Who am I to disagree? I’ve likely sampled at least 31 of their flavours, and carry a cool, smooth and only occasionally crunchy minor grudge against B-R for their shelving of two of the greatest: German Chocolate Cake and Oregon Blackberry. Yummm. But this isn’t about loss, far from it!
Yesterday? This ol’ sweet-tooth and his sweetie celebrated another anniversary – oddly enough, exactly ONE YEAR AFTER we had observed thirty years of marriage! – with bicycles and Baha’i Studies and a basketball training session (okay, that was just me, and not-quite-31 high schoolers) and a freshwater swim (that was just her) AND an evening with the great Colson Whitehead, he of Nickel Boys and The Underground Railroad (and a truly odd first novel about elevator repair (!)) and his recently completed “Harlem Trilogy” of novels. Yes: a long and eventful day, a gorgeous one, and neither one of us had the time to write our annual tribute to each other and the wonders of making it this far. There’s a just-us dinner coming, later in Anniversary Week. But I seized this day’s hurried writing moment to praise my dearest friend and partner-in-time, and the brightness and consolation of our colourful marriage.
I’m a lucky man, that’s for sure. It looks like my latest application for a one-year marital contract-renewal will be granted! COACH JAY FOR THE WIN! I like to think that there are advantages also for my Sudden and Inexplicable Lady, but here’s to her, with an added sauce of why we’re blessed to still be doing this Togetherness Dance.
This year our anniversary coincided with the beginning of the North American conference of the Association for Baha’i Studies, which began in Ottawa 50 years ago. We share adherence to and exploration of the Baha’i teachings, and enormous thankfulness for the peace, hope and understanding that they give. We’re deep-diving into those teachings and practices and implications this weekend, and also greeting dear ones from all over, new friends and old. We dive in different waters and in distinct ways, and share what we find with each other. It’s rich, confirming, joyful, and it’s challenging, sometimes heart-breaking (“how come history takes such a long, long time?” Bruce Cockburn’s lyrics echo in my skull), but steadfastly scientific and visionary. When we’re serving and learning and yearning together, the troubles and trivialities of life fade away.
She came with me, after supper with American friends, to a sweaty stone Presbyterian Church, not far from the conference, for the Writers Festival event, her company a sweet gift to me. Although I’m the one who geeks out on literature and writing, and who stands in awe of the Whiteheads of the world, she’s a reader and investigator and appreciated an evening with the Festival folks nearly as much as I did. Bounty.
We pedalled home through downtown, across a canal and a river. “There’s nothing better than biking on a summer evening!” she sang out. I smilingly disagreed – I can think of a few things – but it was pretty sweet, and not only because I was in tandem with my favourite VeloGirl.
She’s healthy again after a year of health concerns that slowed her down, almost to my pace, and I’m thrilled to once again try (and fail) to keep up with her, while also granted occasional permission to help her slow down, maybe read her to sleep or leave the driving to me. Wonders. It’s amazing that I get to be with her, so often and for so long now.
She loves her work – yes, and she’s a federal government employee, so industrious and dedicated – as a promoter of green energy and other ecological solutions. Retirement would appear to be in the front view, but while she’ll never lack for things to be doing, her vibrant public service in such a critically important field has her thinking she’ll keep at it. I am proud of her work and the adventurous way she approaches it.
She loves to bike. She shines after a swim; heck, she’ll duck out (another bad pun, very much intended!) during the conference’s lunch break, ruffle her own and other feathers, and jump in a swimming spot near where the Rideau Canal joins the Ottawa River, not far from Canada’s Parliament and the downtown conference site. She’s a happy woman in open water. She’s her, as my ballplayers might say.
She loves and loves and loves, and I try my best to love her well. It ain’t just ice cream that’s thirty-oneDERFUL, in my fortunate little world. Happy me! Happy us (fingers and toes crossed)!