Marriage on Vacation

Take a marriage on vacation and like a toddler it stands up and yells, "Hey look at me!  I'm here!  I have needs!"  Separated from the other organisms that leach it's energy, the marriage can be examined isolated, unhindered. 

Hmmm.  Too much time with toxic substances has created abnormal patterns in the specimens.  He, being used to time, time and more time on his own, takes decisions and schedule into his own hands, taking his own needs into account, rarely asking, seldom counseling.  She, used to mothering and teaching, monitors his vegetable intake, warns of the danger of too much sun, and tries to get him to keep the room clean.  Years of knowing and sharing have passed him from an outer passion into a presence that pervades my life, my soul, unnoticed, unappreciated.  At some point he's become such an extension of my own thoughts and being, I treat him as I do myself, which isn't very good. 

I notice these abberations.  They are more visible in this sterile environment.  But, when the illness is identified, the cure can be as well.  One month of my happiness project will be devoted to my marriage.  I asked him what one thing I could do to help our marriage.  He answered that he just wants to be treated like the cat.  "Huh?"  I ask.  "I like the way you look at the cat, talk to the cat, and touch the cat.  I want to feel . . . cherished." 

Resolved:  Not to treat my spouse like a child.  Adults can choose what to wear and when, what to eat and how to eat it. 

Resolved:  There is no love, only tokens of love.  It must be seen and felt to be love. 

Noticed: 

This marriage not only has abnormalities that have gone unnoticed, but also beautiful depths that have gone unappreciated due to the glut of business and others.  I've let him sleep as I wake each morning early and creep out to the patio to have my devotional.  His dishes have been taken care of while he lounges.  I've let him use my key each time he's lost his. 

He's taken care of many odds and ends I've completely taken for granted.  Who says it's his job to secure the cabana?  And why if we left something at the room does he automaticly get to run back to get it?  He loves reading my writing.  He even gets a bit choked up.  What's not to love about all these things that are just life as usual to me. 

  We walked out to tell the ocean good night.  We spotted house geckos and the hunt was on.  My overgrown boy leapt, crept, whispered and grabbed as we attacked each lighted doorway.  I smiled inside as our gecko assault surprised many passing guests, curious at our strange behavior. 

We walked out to the ocean.  The remote location and lack of other lights and buildings stretched the sky like a large blanket overhead, shrinking the land and us to insignificance.  Constallations and the Milky Way loomed above reminding us of our insignificance.  If that wasn't enough, the tide was in and the waves crashed along the shore with over 15 foot spray looking ever so much like the horses and chariots of Neptune in ancient legend.  The moon smiled just like a mischeivious cheshire cat.  My white skirt blew up around my waist as we walked and I realized as we held each other on the beach, that like mothering, these moments are impermanent.  One day, one of us will look at a scene like this and wish the other were there to share it... to understand without words the feelings inspired.  I looked at Briz and thought, "You are here.  I am here.  It won't always be this way.  This is a good night." 

Like the Hawaiian he is, he plucked a Plumeria blossom and stuck it behind my left ear.  After all, I am taken.