Today marks 16 years of marriage between my husband and myself. I'd like to think of it as a good marriage but it's been a mixed bag.
Our early years were spent in mutual admiration and adoration. We rode motorcycles, logging miles all over Washington State, including Mount St. Helens, Mt. Rainier National Park, Hurricane Ridge in OlympicNational Park, as well as Crater Lake, Glacier National Park, and Canada.
A memory, that I hold dear, is Rod and I riding double up on his black Harley "bagger", along with his brother, Stephen, on his white Honda Shadow, to the Carbon Glacier. A hot, early summer day drove us up to the cooler elevations of Mount Rainier to enjoy the breezes and wildflowers.We kicked about for awhile, clad in our leathers, until the day waned and cooled then headed back down the mountain. No traffic to speak of, we gently slalom down the roadway, wide, sweeping arcs and I lift my arms and imagine I'm flying. A delicious respite, freedom from the routine, a promise of days to come. My man veers left and plucks a flower from a tall, arching stem and hands it to me over his shoulder. When I take it, he pats my leg affectionately, we're still rolling. I put my arms loosely about his neck and squeeze.
We set up housekeeping, and became acquainted with each other's families. We went through his father's stroke, incapacitation, and subsequent death; attended his aunt's funeral; waded through his mother's guardianship, broken hip, rehab, and subsequent nursing home. Additionally, he had a work injury and surgery to fix his herniated disc. Then, just before we married, I was in an automobile accident and endured vertigo and a period of disability.
Through it all, we couldn't be swayed from our determination to marry. In a small ceremony in a humble little church in Hobart, we tied the knot. Our families and friends surrounded us and saw us off on my husband's 1996 Harley Davidson FLHTC, after plastering us with Silly String, leathers, chrome, and all.
This marriage has been fraught with arguments but steeped in love. Infidelity did not tread here. We were semi-traditional with both of us working outside the home. Though I had higher education, I earned half as much as my husband, a tradesman. In all fairness, he has many years as a journeyman, while I was a late-bloomer in my chosen field, earning my accounting degree in 2005.
In my opinion, we lived relatively frugally. Although, I believe my husband would not agree. We lived in a modest home, a 1992 mobile home attached to a half-acre, wooded perimeter lot. We added on an egress from the master bedroom with wheelchair access as well as a deck and wheelchair access to the main entrance following my ALS diagnosis. Oh yeah! I forgot, my husband built a beautiful 3-car garage to match the house. A brick-lined, circular, gravel driveway guides you past arborvitaes and blueberry bushes, and the garage, to the entry.
So many memories are wrapped up in that house! The excitement of working on improvements, completing mulching the flowerbeds, edging the driveway, or picking our own blueberries. Brimming with pride following painting the exterior of the house or a single room. I couldn't wait to show off my work. Of course, he'd grouch about the paintbrushes I neglected to clean. The whole house would sparkle and he'd pick up the broom and act put upon to have to sweep, or worse, sing a dirge about being the "garbage man". Man, he'd pour it on thick!
Hosting holidays for the family; Thanksgiving sweet yams, pecan pies (one for my brother to take home), Why do we have to clean the house?What's a charger for and why do we have to use them? Christmas baking, salt-encrusted prime rib, and the trimmings, same story, Why do I get roped into your plans! Why do the table cloths have to match? Easter dinner with Honey-baked Ham, because my mother must have it! Mass quantities deviled eggs with paprika sprinkles; Mom's potato salad; Broccoli salad; Pickles, olives, cheeses, gardiniera blend peppers for Dad and Jimmy. What's the fuss? Fourth of July outdoor party brought out the barbecue ribs, baked beans, potato salad, macaroni salad, chips, and dragging indoor furniture out of doors.
Little did we know that the bickering and give and take would be the days we'd look back on fondly. If only we could do that now. After diagnosis, I was determined to live out my life audaciously. We were at cross purposes entirely. I wanted to move to Maui; he nixed the idea out of hand. The more I pushed to remodel and prepare for my approaching disability, the more he dragged his feet. Even refusing to install my free portable bidet onto my toilet. I wanted to skydive one last time; he put up roadblocks. I looked forward to my first and last cruise experience and he canceled my ticket a month prior and took the trip without me. Enroute to see my father for the last time, he turned around. When I was helpless and disabled and struggling with a respiratory infection, he abandoned me in our home alone and stayed gone for 3 months, ensuring I'd be forced into a nursing home.
When he returned, I expressed my displeasure by running him over with my power wheelchair. I'm still not sorry for the violence of my action. After his mother died, I let him back in. He's been my most loyal visitor, bringing me delicious foods, beautiful flowers, and gifts. When I get frustrated or sad and dissolve into tears, he leaves. He is not shoulder to cry on. When I went into a choking fit in the ICU a year ago, he disentangled his hand from mine and left the room; he will not be there for me in the end.
With this man, I cut firewood; fished for and caught trout, silver salmon, and sturgeon; learned to identify wildflowers; visited twelve different national parks; followed much of the Oregon trail; traveled to Maui four separate times; snorkeled and witnessed turtles glide in the ocean; hiked trails in seven different states; four-wheeled in the sand dunes and made sauerkraut in an old crock; among other things. He loves my daughter as his own and treats her well.
As I said, good marriage, mixed bag....
Our early years were spent in mutual admiration and adoration. We rode motorcycles, logging miles all over Washington State, including Mount St. Helens, Mt. Rainier National Park, Hurricane Ridge in OlympicNational Park, as well as Crater Lake, Glacier National Park, and Canada.
A memory, that I hold dear, is Rod and I riding double up on his black Harley "bagger", along with his brother, Stephen, on his white Honda Shadow, to the Carbon Glacier. A hot, early summer day drove us up to the cooler elevations of Mount Rainier to enjoy the breezes and wildflowers.We kicked about for awhile, clad in our leathers, until the day waned and cooled then headed back down the mountain. No traffic to speak of, we gently slalom down the roadway, wide, sweeping arcs and I lift my arms and imagine I'm flying. A delicious respite, freedom from the routine, a promise of days to come. My man veers left and plucks a flower from a tall, arching stem and hands it to me over his shoulder. When I take it, he pats my leg affectionately, we're still rolling. I put my arms loosely about his neck and squeeze.
We set up housekeeping, and became acquainted with each other's families. We went through his father's stroke, incapacitation, and subsequent death; attended his aunt's funeral; waded through his mother's guardianship, broken hip, rehab, and subsequent nursing home. Additionally, he had a work injury and surgery to fix his herniated disc. Then, just before we married, I was in an automobile accident and endured vertigo and a period of disability.
Through it all, we couldn't be swayed from our determination to marry. In a small ceremony in a humble little church in Hobart, we tied the knot. Our families and friends surrounded us and saw us off on my husband's 1996 Harley Davidson FLHTC, after plastering us with Silly String, leathers, chrome, and all.
This marriage has been fraught with arguments but steeped in love. Infidelity did not tread here. We were semi-traditional with both of us working outside the home. Though I had higher education, I earned half as much as my husband, a tradesman. In all fairness, he has many years as a journeyman, while I was a late-bloomer in my chosen field, earning my accounting degree in 2005.
In my opinion, we lived relatively frugally. Although, I believe my husband would not agree. We lived in a modest home, a 1992 mobile home attached to a half-acre, wooded perimeter lot. We added on an egress from the master bedroom with wheelchair access as well as a deck and wheelchair access to the main entrance following my ALS diagnosis. Oh yeah! I forgot, my husband built a beautiful 3-car garage to match the house. A brick-lined, circular, gravel driveway guides you past arborvitaes and blueberry bushes, and the garage, to the entry.
So many memories are wrapped up in that house! The excitement of working on improvements, completing mulching the flowerbeds, edging the driveway, or picking our own blueberries. Brimming with pride following painting the exterior of the house or a single room. I couldn't wait to show off my work. Of course, he'd grouch about the paintbrushes I neglected to clean. The whole house would sparkle and he'd pick up the broom and act put upon to have to sweep, or worse, sing a dirge about being the "garbage man". Man, he'd pour it on thick!
Hosting holidays for the family; Thanksgiving sweet yams, pecan pies (one for my brother to take home), Why do we have to clean the house?What's a charger for and why do we have to use them? Christmas baking, salt-encrusted prime rib, and the trimmings, same story, Why do I get roped into your plans! Why do the table cloths have to match? Easter dinner with Honey-baked Ham, because my mother must have it! Mass quantities deviled eggs with paprika sprinkles; Mom's potato salad; Broccoli salad; Pickles, olives, cheeses, gardiniera blend peppers for Dad and Jimmy. What's the fuss? Fourth of July outdoor party brought out the barbecue ribs, baked beans, potato salad, macaroni salad, chips, and dragging indoor furniture out of doors.
Little did we know that the bickering and give and take would be the days we'd look back on fondly. If only we could do that now. After diagnosis, I was determined to live out my life audaciously. We were at cross purposes entirely. I wanted to move to Maui; he nixed the idea out of hand. The more I pushed to remodel and prepare for my approaching disability, the more he dragged his feet. Even refusing to install my free portable bidet onto my toilet. I wanted to skydive one last time; he put up roadblocks. I looked forward to my first and last cruise experience and he canceled my ticket a month prior and took the trip without me. Enroute to see my father for the last time, he turned around. When I was helpless and disabled and struggling with a respiratory infection, he abandoned me in our home alone and stayed gone for 3 months, ensuring I'd be forced into a nursing home.
When he returned, I expressed my displeasure by running him over with my power wheelchair. I'm still not sorry for the violence of my action. After his mother died, I let him back in. He's been my most loyal visitor, bringing me delicious foods, beautiful flowers, and gifts. When I get frustrated or sad and dissolve into tears, he leaves. He is not shoulder to cry on. When I went into a choking fit in the ICU a year ago, he disentangled his hand from mine and left the room; he will not be there for me in the end.
With this man, I cut firewood; fished for and caught trout, silver salmon, and sturgeon; learned to identify wildflowers; visited twelve different national parks; followed much of the Oregon trail; traveled to Maui four separate times; snorkeled and witnessed turtles glide in the ocean; hiked trails in seven different states; four-wheeled in the sand dunes and made sauerkraut in an old crock; among other things. He loves my daughter as his own and treats her well.
As I said, good marriage, mixed bag....
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