He called. The mailman that was introduced to me today, called.
That’s what I wrote in my journal on May 30, 1986.
We talked for hours.
I put the little’s to bed and enjoyed a real conversation with a man – for hours! Not flirty, but real live and meaningful conversing. We talked about cuts and scrapes and the garden and fishing and dancing and who knows what else. We talked about his daughters and my two little ones. We talked about our small town, the cars, the churches. You name it, I think we covered it. It was a heart centered conversation.
Fast forward 30+ years later and we just finished talking about the yard and maybe going fishing and we enjoyed a short dance after dinner. I love dancing in the kitchen, don’t you?
We married in 1988. Our first Christmas we started our first tradition. Dancing in the kitchen to music from the Victrola. He received it as a birthday gift when he was 9 and through the years, we’ve acquired a few more records and a whole cup of needles. Some people don’t appreciate them anymore. No electricity required, they are loud and scratchy. The voices of those recordings are innocent, some untrained, but delightful. We play the records on Christmas eve after service and dance in the kitchen. We’ve done it for 30 years now.
Photo by Claire Brear on Unsplash (thanks Claire!)
We know each others steps by heart. Really, by heart. I can sense his movement and feel his breath as he holds me close and takes the lead. He securely holds my hand in his. He’s been doing it for years. I trust his steps. When he spins me out and under his arm, I land in the perfect place to take the next step. He smiles, I hum. Sometimes we laugh out loud or bump into the counter or frig. Always holding on to each other. Really, it’s by heart.
Sometimes, it’s hard for him to lead now. Sometimes he needs me to lead a conversation or make a decision or drive the car in traffic.
He never needs me to lead the dance. We’ve got this heart stuff down pat. It’s how we live better. And I love it that way.