SongsForGrownups

In the first light I had to smile

when I turned my head to see you sleeping there.

Took a long long night and a million miles

for that sun to reach out and touch you.

As it filters through the trees

and mocks the morning breeze

and plays its golden fingers through your hair,

I want to laugh,

I want to fly,

take the reins of the wind in my hands.

I want to wake you,

I want to take you

to where the cold and the dark are a foreign land,

and dance upon the morning.

When you wake up and meet my gaze,

will you smile at me to see me smile at you?

Took a long long night and longer days

for my heart to finally reach out and touch you.

There’s so much I have to share.

Can you feel it in the air?

Darling, I have seen the morning dancing through your hair.

Do you want to laugh?

Do you want to fly,

take the reins of the wind in your hands?

I want to wake you,

I want to take you

to where the cold and the dark are a foreign land,

and dance upon the morning.

“Dance Upon the Morning”  c 1976 Lyrics by Liam Randall and Kurt Asplund

Twenty-two years ago yesterday Leslie and I married in Spalding Park, which is about 4 miles from the house we bought about 3 and a half years ago.  (“Twenty-two years,”  she said.  ”Seems a lot longer.”  Then she looked at me sideways and we both laughed.)  So I’ve been thinking about the time and what it feels like to me.  I’ve noticed that sometimes when you settle into something, it feels like it’s always been that way.  And that’s what it feels like to me, as though that’s the way it’s always been.  So if I were to say it,  it would sound like the old joke.  But yeah.  It feels like, well, forever.   So thank you, honey, for marrying me.  It feels like forever.

If you have been married awhile, you might understand this one.  If not, you might wonder what the fuss is about, or at least think me a bit, well, odd.

A few years ago I attended the 60th wedding anniversary celebration for Cecil and Essie Carter.  Cecil’s speech began something like this:  ”People ask me, what’s your secret?  How have you stayed married for so long?  I tell them:  I do whatever she wants.”

Now,  Essie is a formidable woman.  So,  no doubt, there is some truth to it.  My wife Leslie is also formidable.  She loves fiercely.  She makes me want her to be happy, and happy with me.  So I feel the truth in Cecil’s words too.  But.

This morning I made Leslie the breakfast she usually prefers,  Zoom whole-wheat cereal with chopped almonds and pecans, brown sugar and milk.  For myself I made a sort-of-fritter with leftover mashed potatoes, eggs, shredded cheddar, and mushrooms sauteed in butter and a little Jamaica-me-Crazy garlic salt.  It was very tasty.  Mostly because Leslie bought the mushrooms just for me.  See, she really hates mushrooms.  Evan too.  So I’m the only one in the house who will eat them.  But she went to Valley Foods the other day and they were having a 24-hour sale, and she bought a load of fruit and veggies, and the mushrooms.

I do stuff for Leslie.  I spoil her, everyone says so.  Sometimes when I do something for her, she will say “I love you”. You know, in that voice.  That’s not really what I did it for, and it’s not really why she loves me, but it’s nice.  Lately I’ve been thinking that it’s the little things that bring it home.

Most nights when we’re getting ready for bed, Leslie will hand me a pair of her most comfortable socks and proffer her feet.  And I will put the socks on her, not too tight around the toes, so her feet will stay warm when she kicks off the covers, I think.  I’ve been thinking about this little intimacy for quite awhile, and about what it represents for us.  It almost seems too intimate to share with everyone, and I hope she doesn’t mind.  I’ve learned to say “I love you” often, and I mean it when I say it.  But this little ritual with the socks–well, if you’ve been married for awhile, maybe you already know.

So my breakfast this morning was particularly delicious, especially the mushrooms, because when Leslie bought them, she was saying, “I love you”.  You know.  In that voice.

O Holy Lord!  O Lord of loving-kindness!  We stray about thy dwelling, longing to behold Thy beauty, and loving all Thy ways.  We are hapless, lowly, and of small account.  We are paupers:  show us mercy, give us bounty; look not upon our failings, hide Thou our endless sins.  Whatever we are, still are we Thine, and what we speak and hear is praise of Thee, and it is Thy face we seek, Thy path we follow.  Thou art the Lord of loving-kindness, we are sinners and astray and far from home. –’Abdu’l-Bahá

We buried our eldest son a week ago.  He was 28 years old, and had been ill for a week.  He passed away suddenly but peacefully.  This post will be the first of several, as I gather and collect my thoughts, now that I’m finally able.

Cal came to stay with us on the Nez Perce Reservation this spring after an unsuccessful job search in Portland, Oregon.  He was hired by the Clearwater River Casino and Resort, a Tribally-owned enterprise, and eventually was on a full-time schedule as a cook.  Thus began a long-awaited turnaround:  after the breakup of his marriage and a few years of severe depression, Calvin was expressing happiness.  He hung out with his little brother Evan (who was home with him when he died); he talked with his mother often; and she was able to be with him.  He felt needed.  His boss really liked him and his work.

Then, suddenly, he was gone.  Cousins were here within minutes.  The Rez community knows what it’s like to lose loved ones too soon, and they don’t want anyone to go through it alone.  The Bahá’is were not far behind.

Then we found what an impact Calvin had on his friends.  He had toured for three years with the Wildfire Dance Theatre, a troupe of young Bahá’is in Canada, who hailed from not only Canada and the United States, but also Spain, New Zealand, Iran, France, Scotland, Japan. . .  He met his wife in Wildfire.  The experience generated many deep and lasting friendships, which became apparent to us when the tributes began flooding in.  Some of these friends we had met and come to love; others were new to us, but they all wrote of his loving generosity, his desire to serve, his quiet steadfastness and unifying influence.  They initiated a 24-hour prayer circle, in which friends all around the world participated.  Some of them came for the funeral from Saskatoon, Calgary, and Toronto.  The tributes of many others were read at the funeral.

This is where Facebook becomes a really powerful tool.  Leslie kept in communication with everyone, pretty much in real time.  I’m still amazed.  I guess this is how she kept herself together, but the fact is that I am in awe of her strength throughout this whole time.  She would feel rage or extreme grief or guilt and would go pray.  In a few minutes she would be back doing what needed to be done.  I’ve managed to function by keeping busy, but I’ve spent a good amount of time just kind of feeling lost.  I can’t imagine really what is going on with Evan.  He and his brother Edward are going through Cal’s few belongings; together they chose songs for a CD compilation Ed made as part of the funeral program.  In his death, Calvin has brought out good things in us.  This by itself is a good legacy.