The grass wanted to have a conversation with us, the thin leaves poking and tickling us  with a steady synchronization. We weren’t paying attention, but gazing at the wide eyed sunflowers, the sun’s rays dripping mints of gold in our laps. Over ten years ago, we sat in the middle of the French countryside, the fresh capes of newlywed covered us like a blanket. We tasted baguettes with brie, while in the distance we watched creamy white and raven black cows, almost dancing to the bells around their neck.

That memory stays with me, the vastness of deciphering the hieroglyphics of a new place and discovering the intricacies of the person you have decided is good enough to penetrate your space. There is an unprecedented excitement with that feeling, not knowing the final destination of your marriage, but a passionate willingness to be enveloped in whatever may come because love swallows you and entrances you to bow your head acknowledging that it is supreme. But as much as that feeling is powerful, the freshness and passion of that kissing in the park love is transient.

It’s the everyday ordinary of a marriage that works to sustain the remnants of an early, fiery love. The beat that works is one that you recognize. I know my husband craves lentils over spaghetti, clean floors, and holding a basketball while catching a game on TNT. He prefers silence over noise, minimalism over clutter and books over a sitcom on TV. There are other particulars that we both love together, like late night movies while eating Junior Mints, museum walks and excitement over a new Mediterranean restaurant. These days we share our space on the grass with our daughter, the conversation different, but the love still present, one that we not only feel, but visualize. There is an uninterrupted silent laughter that echoes. My husband and I both feel it even though we aren’t verbalizing it. It’s the everyday rhythm of respect, the continuity that is familiar and comforting, the tone of knowing that when you are not together, there is something incomplete.  It is what sustains us and gives us the ability to come back, even after ten years, and allows us to recapture the feeling of baguettes in the French countryside.

Two weeks ago, just short a few months from our ten year anniversary, we decided to take a couples trip to Santa Barbara. We decided to drive, spending almost eight hours on the road, eating snacks and enjoying the tranquility and the absence of car seats, bathrooms stops, and incessant questions. My husband and I shared breakfast together, attended a Buddhist meditation, and took a trolley tour around Santa Barbara.

We walked to Stearns Wharf, where we witnessed rays of sunlight glimmering on the surface of the ocean. I watched the water, a couple walking on the sand, and took pictures of sea gulls skipping in the air. My husband was on the other side of the wharf, enjoying how the waves played target practice with the sand. The blue ocean, the vastness of its design, took its stance in the background. My eyes recognized the man who was buying saltwater taffy for me, my husband who knows my everyday ordinary, but also carries baguettes and a blue ocean in his hands.

Image by DieselDemon


What are some of the everyday ordinary things in your relationship with your significant other? Do you think about the nostalgia of the past and look at the evolution of your relationship? My anniversary isn’t until June, but I am pondering reflections about different aspects of marriage.

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