woodbuck27
07-09-2006, 08:47 PM
Take your life together one day at a time
July 9, 2006
This is the first day of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Bigelow Sahlin Jr.'s officially blessed life together. Yesterday they were married. Today they are married.
Already, one night is gone. Already the world has changed, and my friend's son and his new bride have changed, too, in obvious and in imperceptible ways.
For life does not stand still, not even when you're snapping photographs and wishing it would. The earth spins. Molecules whirl. A wedding is a day, a marriage a lifetime. But it, too, trundles past, the way a child grows, obviously and imperceptibly. You see, but you don't see. And when you do, you're stunned.
I came across a picture last week, shot on my honeymoon, of me in a two-piece bathing suit, which my mother gave me. I never wore it in public. I chose a shamrock green, layered-in-fringe thing that came down to my knees instead. Cross my heart. I was that Catholic-schooled. And that silly.
I look at the photo of this foolish girl, and I remember her fondly. But I don't remember being her. It's as if I read about her and her wedding in a book. I remember details -- it was sunny and warm for January. My father took my arm, and led me out my front door. Outside the church, I saw my best friend, Rosemary. Inside, there was Ann Galvin with her class of fourth -graders, whom I was student teaching. And there I am, my father beside me, walking down the aisle.
And there I am in a white bathing suit that never saw the light of day.
But who was I then?
I don't know. I don't remember.
And what about the boy I married? Who was he? I study our wedding picture hoping to see more than that moment, hoping to connect that day with now. But what I see is an earnest young man, in a tuxedo, trying but failing to look serious and old.
I was 20 on my wedding day, and my husband was 21. I loved fried bologna and macaroni and cheese out of a can. He loved white bread cheese-and-butter sandwiches and Pepperidge Farm raspberry turnovers.
Now I shudder at the thought of canned macaroni. And he hasn't had white bread in years.
We used to play Scrabble and Boggle. He used to have hair. I used to have a waist. I loved the heat. Now I love air conditioning.
We were different people then.
So how do marriages survive when people change so much? How do two people grow tired of so many things -- food, games, clothes, even a favorite place -- but not each other?
One day at a time, that's how. One joke. One movie. One walk. One conversation. One ``Remember when?" One midnight snack. One kiss. One night. One year.
And one becomes two becomes a lifetime, and before you know it, you're standing in your front hall staring at your wedding picture, wondering not just when food in a can stopped tasting good, but how you got from then to now without learning anything weighty and wise and professorial to pass down.
Today is the first day of Peter and Becky Sahlin's life together. I would so like to give them some sage advice, but all I can give them is a few stories and a lot of love.
And this reminder: Remember what brought you here. Remember why you chose one another in the first place. Remind yourself, every day, of the love that has led you to now.
And build on this. It is a solid foundation that will get you through the hard times. And there will be hard times. They're like the weather. Once in a while, maybe more than once in a while, you'll go from clear blue skies with 100 percent visibility to fog and drowning rain or high winds and blizzard conditions , and all you'll want to do is pack up and go back to where it's 80 degrees with an ocean breeze 24/7.
But there is no place where it's always 80 degrees with an ocean breeze. Except in memory. Except when you go back and remember how it was today.
Perfect. The new Mr. and Mrs.
The earth spinning. Molecules whirling. Officially blessed, beginning a life together, two people, now one couple, in love.
July 9, 2006
This is the first day of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Bigelow Sahlin Jr.'s officially blessed life together. Yesterday they were married. Today they are married.
Already, one night is gone. Already the world has changed, and my friend's son and his new bride have changed, too, in obvious and in imperceptible ways.
For life does not stand still, not even when you're snapping photographs and wishing it would. The earth spins. Molecules whirl. A wedding is a day, a marriage a lifetime. But it, too, trundles past, the way a child grows, obviously and imperceptibly. You see, but you don't see. And when you do, you're stunned.
I came across a picture last week, shot on my honeymoon, of me in a two-piece bathing suit, which my mother gave me. I never wore it in public. I chose a shamrock green, layered-in-fringe thing that came down to my knees instead. Cross my heart. I was that Catholic-schooled. And that silly.
I look at the photo of this foolish girl, and I remember her fondly. But I don't remember being her. It's as if I read about her and her wedding in a book. I remember details -- it was sunny and warm for January. My father took my arm, and led me out my front door. Outside the church, I saw my best friend, Rosemary. Inside, there was Ann Galvin with her class of fourth -graders, whom I was student teaching. And there I am, my father beside me, walking down the aisle.
And there I am in a white bathing suit that never saw the light of day.
But who was I then?
I don't know. I don't remember.
And what about the boy I married? Who was he? I study our wedding picture hoping to see more than that moment, hoping to connect that day with now. But what I see is an earnest young man, in a tuxedo, trying but failing to look serious and old.
I was 20 on my wedding day, and my husband was 21. I loved fried bologna and macaroni and cheese out of a can. He loved white bread cheese-and-butter sandwiches and Pepperidge Farm raspberry turnovers.
Now I shudder at the thought of canned macaroni. And he hasn't had white bread in years.
We used to play Scrabble and Boggle. He used to have hair. I used to have a waist. I loved the heat. Now I love air conditioning.
We were different people then.
So how do marriages survive when people change so much? How do two people grow tired of so many things -- food, games, clothes, even a favorite place -- but not each other?
One day at a time, that's how. One joke. One movie. One walk. One conversation. One ``Remember when?" One midnight snack. One kiss. One night. One year.
And one becomes two becomes a lifetime, and before you know it, you're standing in your front hall staring at your wedding picture, wondering not just when food in a can stopped tasting good, but how you got from then to now without learning anything weighty and wise and professorial to pass down.
Today is the first day of Peter and Becky Sahlin's life together. I would so like to give them some sage advice, but all I can give them is a few stories and a lot of love.
And this reminder: Remember what brought you here. Remember why you chose one another in the first place. Remind yourself, every day, of the love that has led you to now.
And build on this. It is a solid foundation that will get you through the hard times. And there will be hard times. They're like the weather. Once in a while, maybe more than once in a while, you'll go from clear blue skies with 100 percent visibility to fog and drowning rain or high winds and blizzard conditions , and all you'll want to do is pack up and go back to where it's 80 degrees with an ocean breeze 24/7.
But there is no place where it's always 80 degrees with an ocean breeze. Except in memory. Except when you go back and remember how it was today.
Perfect. The new Mr. and Mrs.
The earth spinning. Molecules whirling. Officially blessed, beginning a life together, two people, now one couple, in love.