Why Be Married? For the Rituals of Home

Pull up a chair and visit with a happily married woman who truly appreciates the rituals of sharing a home…
Today’s guest blogger is Jennifer Blair. Jennifer is a recovering codependent, perfectionist, and workaholic. Sound like anyone you know? Jennifer can help. She will be speaking, along with Barbara Sher and six others, at the Time for Me retreat on March 27 – 29, 2009, which looks like a wonderful weekend of relaxation and new perspectives. It’s at the beautiful Mimslyn Inn in Luray, Virginia. I think you’ll enjoy her take on what’s really great about marriage.
I’m enjoying a cozy morning at home before driving back up to York, PA around lunchtime.
Last night my husband and I drove by our oldest son’s house and popped in to see if they wanted to go with us to a good Vietnamese restaurant nearby where we are all addicted to their #25 – broiled chicken over diced fresh veggies and rice noodles.
Now, my oldest (John) is 6’5″, my husband is around 6’3″ tall, John’s girlfriend, Karin, is around 5’10” or 11, and well, then there’s me, at 5’6″. We entered the restaurant and took a table off to the right. The owner, who’s about 4’11” and who normally greets us by yelling out “NUMBER 25!”, came over and fussed at us: “What you doing sitting there? You don’t sit there! Sit over here!” To which we all rose, and obediently moved over to the table on the left. And I had to smile. It’s good to be home.
This morning I awoke to the smell of Tim Horton’s coffee, one of God’s gifts to humanity. My husband had the Sunday paper out and was busy chopping onions, green peppers, and mushrooms for an omelet. Nice. He also had a frying pan full of my favorite Maple Bacon, slowly cooking. Ahh, the smells!
Spoiled, I sat down and read the Washington Post and sipped my coffee until he placed a plate filled with a steaming omelet and fragrant bacon in front of me. This is how the strong, silent types say “I missed you. I’m glad you’re home.” They shove food at you and grunt: “Here.”
After breakfast, I watched Larry attempt to wrestle wrapping paper around a present I picked out for myself yesterday. Using about twice as much paper as the box called for, he was alright until he got to the final corner and all the excess awaited. Mumbling and cursing inanimate objects are two of his favorite past times, so this was no exception. He folded the wad of paper into something that looked like an overstuffed diaper, then held it down with one large hand while he cut the scotch tape with his teeth and the other hand. Then he wrapped the long strip of tape around the package, grabbed a black marker and wrote my name on the paper, stood back proudly, and said “There!” There is no mistaking a package wrapped by my husband. They all have their own charm.
I will do my part Christmas morning and act surprised when I am handed this paper ball.
Such are the rituals of old people who forgot to celebrate their 32nd anniversary yesterday.
Or maybe we just did – in our own quiet way.