Posts Tagged ‘anniversary’

Poetry Friday round-up is with Laura at Writing the World for Kids.
Photo by Daria Obymaha on Pexels.com

Today is my 38th wedding anniversary. Yesterday I was buying a last minute card for my husband, and I told the clerk, “I almost forgot; tomorrow is my 38th wedding anniversary.”

She smiled under her mask and behind plexiglass and said, “That’s so nice.” Something in her voice made me hear her longing for love in her own life.

I replied, “It is nice when you find the right one.”

I’ve been blessed I found him so early in my life. I was not yet 21 when I walked down a long, candlelit aisle knowing with confidence I was doing the best thing I could ever do. And I was so right!

On Sundays we change the sheets. Sometimes he’ll put them back on the bed before I know it, a sweet surprise. And sometimes we make the bed together. I am reminded of this love poem by Li-Young Lee from Behind My Eyes. Li-Young Lee turns this chore into a love song.

to hold :: li-young lee

So we’re dust. In the meantime, my wife and I
make the bed. Holding opposite edges of the sheet,
we raise it, billowing, then pull it tight,
measuring by eye as it falls into alignment
between us. We tug, fold, tuck. And if I’m lucky,
she’ll remember a recent dream and tell me.

One day we’ll lie down and not get up.
One day, all we guard will be surrendered.

Until then, we’ll go on learning to recognize
what we love, and what it takes
to tend what isn’t for our having.
So often, fear has led me
to abandon what I know I must relinquish
in time. But for the moment,
I’ll listen to her dream,
and she to mine, our mutual hearing calling
more and more detail into the light
of a joint and fragile keeping.

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Discover. Play. Build.

Ruth Ayres invites us the celebrate each week. Click over to her site Discover. Play. Build. to read more celebrations.

August 7, 1982

August 7, 1982

On August 7, 1982, I was not even 21 yet. But I made a very wise and wonderful decision to marry my best friend. We celebrated 32 years by dancing to our favorite Zydeco band, Geno Delafose and the French Rockin Boogie. They were playing in New Orleans at the Rock N Bowl. Yes, you read that right, Rock and Bowl. Only in New Orleans can you bowl and dance to Zydeco. Read about the interesting history of the place here.

I thought the band started at 7 PM. I don’t know why I thought that and having not verified it, we showed up at the Rock n Bowl at five minutes to 7. With our hands stamped, we were told that the music started at 8:30. Jeff and I walked next door to another longtime New Orleans establishment, Ye Ole College Inn. I’ve never had a bad meal there. We had a delicious meal and a drink (or two), so we were ready for dancing the night away. Geno has more stamina than we do, so we rarely see the tip of his hat and his farewell. But we made it until 11:30, dancing our last dance to “Make the Dust Fly.”

We took our time getting up on Friday morning. We had a nice lunch and visit with my cousin and his wife. They are renovating an old four-plex in Uptown making it into a single family home. My cousin is an architect. I am fascinated by his choices. The door to the back porch is an automatic garage door. He has salvaged tin from an old shed to make a tin wall. He is also using an old gurney to make a rolling island in the kitchen. Regretfully, I didn’t take any pictures. I just listened to him talk passionately about keeping the integrity of the materials he is using. I celebrate his endeavor.

One of our favorite bars is The Napoleon House, known for its Pim’s Cup, a delicious refreshing gin-based drink. When we were dating long ago at LSU, we would drive to NOLA after a game and hang out at The Napoleon House, a unique bar/restaurant with crumbling concrete walls, cheerful male waiters most of whom have a handle-bar mustache, and loud classical music.

Our celebration continues today.

Napoleon House

Napoleon House

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A few days ago, I celebrated my 31st wedding anniversary. Why does this seem so hard to believe? I heard you all gasp! On this day, Amy from The Poem Farm posted a link to Famous, a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye, on Facebook. Naomi (I feel we will be friends one day and will be on a first name basis) is a favorite of mine. My husband, however, has never heard of her. This is not surprising because he doesn’t really read poetry, so he is not familiar with any famous poets. But he likes to talk about being famous. It is one of those “familial phrases.”

Let me explain. We live in a small town, so it is not that uncommon for one of us to be in the paper every once in a while. That doesn’t mean we’re famous, but when you see your name in print or see your picture in the newspaper, you feel famous. The phrase around our house is “you are famous” if any part of you is mentioned in the Daily Iberian.

When I read Naomi’s poem, I was compelled to send it to my husband. Maybe because it was our anniversary. Maybe I was flirting. But he actually read it and sent a message back to me. He wrote, “You are famous to me.”

Now I hope you are sighing “Aw!”

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

(See the entire poem here.)

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Renee at No Water River.

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Renee at No Water River.

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