This topic was planting itself on my mental writing board a week ago in real-time. However, as it tends to do, life threw out a few curveballs, so I’m only getting to this now. But, if you’re one to adhere to the principle that “nothing happens by accident” or “there are no coincidences,” you might also appreciate the timing.
The truth is, I often think that the funny but small moments of a day, an event, or even in a marriage deliver anecdotes that would be appreciated by all who might read about it should I put them on paper. Yet, instead of rushing to the keyboard and jotting down something I think is a sure-fire side-splitter of guffaws, I let it sit and season. If I still laugh when I think about it days later, then it has the potential to make it to the screen.
I was going to give this story a pass, but then a wonderful thing happened- A Troll showed up.
A nasty, little goblinses, with a salty tongue and a sour soul, came and took a shit in my cornflakes
The reader who deserves not to be named commented on a previous story. I can’t even say which for sure, but she, in her worldly and well-wed wisdom, crapped out a comment declaring that my wife and were terrible for each other and I should get out or shut up “are you going to do something about it, or just whine” was part her gem of insight into my marriage.
While I can commend her for her concise and plain-speaking, upon further consideration, I feel it only fair to point out that for all her learned skill in the ways of successful matrimony, she has missed picking up on one thing-the nuance of marriage.
So, Smeagol, let’s begin school.
Lesson #1. Timing Is Crucial.
As a husband/wife, you must identify the prime time to ask your spouse a question of such gravity that it matches the level of stress your partner is currently under.
A good guide for this is to assess the level of imminent death they are trying to avoid and then break their focus with an interruption worthy of the effort.
Example #1. Headed home from an extended stay at my mother’s, I was driving our little Honda, packed with wife, child, ancient dog, loaded with luggage, gear, and goodies packed from floor to roof.
The weather was terrible. From my mother’s home to the base of the mountain pass, it was a whiteout blizzard of snow. Then, as we entered the stretch winding mountain road with certain death canyon drops on the right and a rushing mountain river on the left, it got worse.
Not only could you not see the highway ahead, but there was also so much fresh and falling snow that the tires couldn’t feel the road underneath. To improve matters, in a two-mile stretch, the temperature went from a balmy 1°c (33°f) plummeting to -22°c (-8°f). The bonus was that underneath the previously heavy, damp snow lay thick, well-glazed lanes of black ice.
My wife, that beautiful wicked genius, kept her eye on me. White knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel at 10&2, forehead beaded with sweat despite having shed my jacket at the last stop, and leaning hard towards the windshield, imploring my eyes to seek the road lost to the white or gleaming black.
It was at that moment she knew the time to strike had arrived.
“Sweetie,” she said softly, “When are we due for renewing our mortgage? It’s got to be coming up soon. Has the bank called at all? Did we get our latest assessment in the mail? What’s our interest rate now? We’re on a fixed rate, right?”
See what she did there? She’s like Ali. Pops you with one solid right, then jabs you with so many lefts you can’t think straight.
My brain seized harder than my death grip on the steering wheel.
“Wha?… I don’t…Huh?… Why would you ask?… Black ice! Woman, I can’t see the goddam road! The mortgage?” My mouth choked and sputtered.
My head snapped right with a look of befuddlement, stress, anxiety, and wonder before darting back to the death storm we were sailing through.
The car entered the first of a triple set of double S-bends. Traveling at a sloth-like 60km/h (37mph), I hardly had any control: no accelerator, no brake, only minor adjustments with the steering wheel and glide. Catch the straight stretch and adjust position and speed.
I looked back at my wife, having left her serious questions unanswered while wondering, “What on earth made her think about the mortgage right now? Who is this person?”
My wife, whose feet had chilled a bit, had her boots slipped off and her little tootsies in her thick purple woolen socks, rested on the dash vent, then adjusted the heat up a few notches.
“Oh! Are we sliding? I could feel us slipping a bit. You should pay attention to the road, babe, not looking at me. We should talk about the mortgage later.”
See? Nuances.
It’s essential to keep your partner guessing. Surprise them once in a while. Keep things fresh.
Lesson#2. The Language of Love; Dialogue Shifts.
When a romance begins, it’s the words that fertilize the flowers of love.
From November through January, the brisk winter nights in the mountain town where my wife and I met were filled with long walks under starry skies. With rosy cheeks and cold noses held over steaming cups of Chai Lattés, all the things were said, and six months later, we were wed.
If you’ve been in love and found yourself that one, you can recall communicating with the harmony of being on one frequency. You could finish each other’s sentences before your most adored gets more than a few words out.
Example #2.
“Sweetie?” Her sugary voice calls out, “Would you ever….”
“Make a bowl of popcorn?” You finish, already opening the cupboard and retrieving the box.
“Aww, Babe! How did you know?” She coos with delight.
“I just know, love. I got you. We’re connected.” You reply with a smile.
You’re so damn ca-yuute! You can barely stand it, and your anticipation for each other permeates your thoughts.
Days when I arrived home after weeks working in away in the coldest corners of the province with the frost in my bones, my Missus would have an order of steaming beef saté soup waiting. Then, she’d sit me on the couch and tuck me in with a blanket fresh and warm from the dryer.
Now, add twenty years to that, and the warm dryer blanket has become an electric one plugged in the wall and ready to cover you both. You do less, but you give the same.
You can still finish those sentences for each other, but sometimes it just takes a little harder listening to find the words. But, with everything life has thrown at you, you’re still each other’s one, and you understand that you’re still playing the same game, although you may have lost some of the pieces along the way.
Final lesson; Life is a Battle; Fight With the One That Has Your Back.
The last time I was in a fists up, knock-em-down fight was on New Year’s Eve 2004. My wife had secured tickets to a popular Rock n’ Roll bar, and for $100 a head, you were in for hourly draws for fly away vacations. We liked the bar; we liked the music. We danced, we drank, we had fun.
And then my spidey senses went off. For no reason at all, I spied a guy standing at the far end of the dance floor that just looked a little off.
Beneath the flashing strobes and spinning disco lights, I could tell this guy was dark. His whole aura felt wrong as he stepped onto the dance floor solo. I shifted my wife and me to the far side of the floor and out of his likely path.
As we danced to tunes from back in the day when music and lyrics were distinguishable, I lost sight of the creepy guy. Right then, out of nowhere and with zero provocation, he cold-cocked me. One punch smashed into my jaw, and then he just kept walking. I squared my eyes on his back, slinking its way through the crowd and off the floor a moment later.
I was on him like white on rice and exacted a fair toll.
I had him pinned on the floor under my knee when his girl jumped on my back and started wailing shots at my head. Then, with one hand pushing the guy’s face into the sticky grime of the dance floor, I turned my head to the girl beating on me.
A second later, that girl flew off of my back and went sprawling across the dance floor on her ass. My rescuer? My 5’2, 110lb kick-ass little wife. She helped me up and pulled me into the melee of dancers packed body to body, rocking out New Year’s Eve.
Not only did we avoid getting tossed by the bouncers, but at the next contest call, my wife’s name was pulled. A few weeks later, we were in Miami, Florida, for the opening night of The Foo Fighter’s World Tour.
My wife is not only my backup; she’s my good luck charm.
When I tell that story now, my wife scolds me for the fight and plays down her role in the event, especially in front of my daughter, saying, “But remember honey, violence is not acceptable, and your father should have known better.” To which my daughter replies, “Okay, Mom, I know. But you’re kick-ass!”
“Well, she jumped on your father’s back, and I wasn’t going just to stand there and watch her punch your father!” she replies.
It’s the same way she talks down my road rage.
“For the love of God, it’s a merge lane, not a stop!” I’ll yell. Then my wife will offer up her never-ending empathy.
“Sweetie, don’t yell. You don’t know if that person might have gotten in an accident merging before,” she’ll say. “Or maybe it’s a new driver, and they’re not sure. Or what if it’s someone’s Grammie and she’s nervous because it’s so icy?” Then patting my knee, she’ll finish with, “Just have patience. You don’t know that person’s story.”
Or how she diffuses my stubbornness and frustration when mired in an argument. My wife, finished with delivering her opinion, has moved on while I stand stuck in my ego-wounded pose.
“Don’t be mad, sweetie,” her voice kind and soft, her mind already forgotten that she was upset with me, “Just love me. Can you do that? Just love me?” she’ll ask.
What am I going to say “No?” and choose to stay angry? C’mon. I’m better than that. We’re better than that.
So you see, Smeagol, we’re here because we were there. Together. From incredible, glorious, and delicious to awful, painful, to downright rotten and wrong. Yup, it’s tough right now. So what? You laugh, tease, tangle, bitch, and moan-but you still love.
You can take it any way you want, and I’m alright with taking some hits, but to read one story about my life, wife, and marriage and think you know something? Nuh-uh. Read more. Sorry, not sorry but you don’t know shit.
All jokes aside, I think what is sometimes missed, especially in the current generations, is that marriage isn’t meant to work only when it suits you and only when you’re getting what you want out of it.
A Marriage lasts because of all those small moments, those considerations, unselfish acts, and unreasonable sacrifices. One by one, those bricks you lay build a foundation strong enough to hold your marriage up when you don’t have the strength.
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Previously Published on medium
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