Seeds

March 7, 2019

Memories accumulate when you’ve spent nearly fifty years together. We had a rare afternoon when neither of us had previous commitments, so Linda and I decided to go to town to pick up seeds and peat cups for the spring planting. She is eager to try out her garden window in the bedroom, knowing that it will become the locus of a pleasant afternoon with little Gemma, our youngest grandchild as they push seeds into the cups and set them on the windowsill. 

It took a bit of searching, but we found what we wanted, and purchases in hand, we had lunch at Panera, her favorite lunchtime destination, before heading home. During lunch and on the ride home, we marveled at how comfortable we are with each other. We both wouldn’t mind rejuvenated bodies, but not in exchange for the ease and depth of our relationship. Issues that picked away at our contentment in those early years have faded like the mist on a summer’s morning; they just don’t matter anymore. We aren’t in competition, don’t feel like we have to win while the other loses, and just like spending time together. I haven’t yet convinced her to do a cross-country trip in the sidecar, but other than that, there’s nothing to complain about. (I hope you catch the wink in my eye). Once home, she tended to some chores while I practiced my bass, and now we sit in the back room by the fire till it’s time for me to go to rehearsal for the school musical. 

There’s no one on earth I’d rather spend time with. As a certified introvert, people tend to wear me out. Not her. She’s the one in whose presence my spirit thrives. It’s vibrant today. The seeds of love we planted years ago, watered with tears, and cultivated in conversation, are bearing fruit today that feeds our souls. We are well, and so very thankful for the years we’ve been given, and those, Lord willing, yet to come.